Delightfully unique- whatever or whomever I'm writing in consent, romance, and lust.
Looking for an image for “fire,” I found a nice, new-to-me site for pictures. While the license on this particular photo says “no attribution required,” I'm so excited to look at Matthew Barra's other photos on the site, so there. :D Yes, as for “nature,” I found a night scene for “fire.” Although I guess I could have looked for an indoor firescape. But Matthew's picture caught my eye. The extreme focus on the fire and its setting, no living beings in the picture.
In the darkness away from the fire, Audrey watches the flames move through the air in their spiral dance. Her nails scratch at her nipples through the light silk tank top; mine tingle under the cover of nylon and latex. She tilts her head in such a way that I know that she knows that I am watching her.
The warmth of the night allows me to be comfortable in just my binder. I pressed my hands against my thighs at her flirty cotton skirt; the wind picks up the lace edging, showing me her beautiful calves. My mouth dries out watching the deep brown skin with its copper tint from her recent play in the sun, move back and forth. With her one hand at the bottom of her skirt, I lift one hand to press against my pecs; a light touch might not pass through the binder to my skin, but delightful pressure certainly can. Her perfect, naked feet reach toward the fire's blaze and it touch my lips. My balls. Yes, comfort with the words. I squeeze my balls.
Her hand continues up under her skirt without fully lifting away the material. She slowly licks her lips; the amusement in her eyes teases me. She continues to tap on and scratch at her nipples even after they tent the silk accentuating her enchanting torso.
My hips push forward and I bite down on the gasp that wants to escape my trembling lips. Squeezing changes to pulling on my balls as my heart pounds against my binder. My fingers move just a bit higher to my bound clitorophallus; what would it be like if I went on T? I don't really want to transition that far. I hum into the pleasure spiraling upward along with the fire.
“That's right,” she hums. She grins. No skirt lifting. Her knuckles push up the skirt near her upper thigh. Just then, she pulls her hand out of her skirt, spits on her palm, and her hand shoots back up her skirt, this time, not stopping at her upper thigh.
My legs go rigid, even as my knee quake as if about to give out. When her hand starts moving up and down fast and faster, I fall to my knees, landing on what would be all fours, but is instead three because I need to make myself come watching her tease.
A bush pricks my stomach. I ejaculate immediately, my pelvis twitching and my ass rearing up in the air. “Just like that,” I whimper.
The fire crackles; a piece of wood breaks in half, sounding like a rocket.
My body freezes; my finger stops in the entrance to my cunt.
“That sound was at a distance from you and it's done,” Audrey soothes. Her lifted skirt reveals her hard cock, the glans shining in the half-light. She pulls her foreskin up and pushes it back down.
My body relaxes and I sink my middle finger into my cunt to its base. So wet, my hand ends up so wet. “Please, please.”
Her hand moves up and down. Her fingers pinch her cumhole.
My wet hand drops to the ground and I begin to crawl. The underbrush hurts my shins and hands so exquisitely. The scent of the burning wood reaches me first, but underneath it is Audrey's seductive odor. Her musk fills my senses.
“You look so good like that.”
I know she's seeing me as she's seen me in otherwise lit situations; I'm still in the dark behind the fire. My crawling body swings wide to the left as I make my way to her as fast as I can. My tongue rubs against the roof of my mouth, just behind my teeth.
“I love your mouth.”
I reach the space just in front of her. “Please.” My gaze moves up to her face and then down to her cock. Her hand is so soft on my cheek as I wrap my mouth around her, my tongue slipping out of my mouth to stroke her frenulum. My thighs quiver as I suck hard.
“Gonna fill your mouth.”
I suck harder.
Her warm cum shoots into my mouth as her hand tangles in the long part of my hair. “Love you, sweet.”
I smile around her cock and swallow.
Sorry ahead of this for it may wander; the subject at hand- “Daddy Doms”- is something my mind has ruminated on, like a rock being tumbled shiny in a rock tumbler. I wonder, if my Master wasn't in His late 20s to my early 20s when we met, might we have started as a Daddy Dom and His little girl, rather than the Master/slave terms that I enjoyed?
When we met, I was a new mom and working to control my Bipolar through natural (non-medication) means. While my Master and I enjoyed casual sex, I was holding out on being His submissive 'cause I was still waiting for my previous dom to contact me (he'd been living in a coffee house and it closed); after watching me get further depressed for 3 months, my Master urged me to move on. Then I called Him “Master” one time as I was coming and we took that as the beginning of my submission to Him. We've weathered a lot of life together- including what was a happy polyamorous-V that fizzled when things with my first husband became too bad.
While I don't remember the exact date when I first called Him “Master”- the “fizzled” is a nice way to summarize a relationship turned abusive and neglectful- we do know that I wrote Him a poem in January 2001. So we use that as a rough anniversary date often, even if we often round things to “We've been together almost 2 decades” LOL. In those 2 decades, I went from refusing therapy and psychiatric medication to returning to therapy under my free will, having another nervous breakdown, and then getting on an anti-anxiety/anti-depression medication. I've also added two diagnoses and dropped a few I'd collected over the years.
My therapist- who is one of only two therapists that I've had good, working relationships with over the 27 years I've been in and out of therapy- summarized a bunch of my problems into “You have PTSD.” We recently talked about the newer term Complex PTSD, and she agreed with that for me. The other diagnosis is one I stumbled upon with a friend's help; I'm Autistic. Or I'm “on the Autism Spectrum,” if you wanna all go with a medical notion of it. I actually prefer to say that I'm Autistic, using identity-first rather than person-first language.
Why'd I spend a big portion of the last 2 paragraphs talking about my mental health? Well, my friend Rayanna Jamison contacted me about a group and a party happening on Facebook and our conversation prompted the comment that inspired this post: Because of my C-PTSD, I think we're more Daddy Dom, even if we use the Master/slave language. I need structure, although I brat and fight it often enough. But my parents were awful adult figures for me and I did my best to hide my undiagnosed Autism; as person assigned female at birth who can speak, it's only more recent activism by Autistic people that has created an awareness that would have helped me to get a diagnosis as a child.
My Master has quite a sense of humor; my therapist has a theory that both He and I are on the Autism Spectrum, even if neither of us are trying to get an official diagnosis- He's 48 and I'm 40, after all. But yes, we both have unusual senses of humor. Mine is a little more rare to see because through all the trauma I've experienced, I've learned the bad lesson that it's never safe to show one's emotions. I really am trying to unlearn that though. But my Master always joked that He wouldn't want to be called Daddy during sex because of some silly video game; well I've managed to call Him Daddy a few times now, but it didn't glitch Him. He even joked, “You will never be able to out-weird me.”
But how much do the words matter, after almost 2 decades of relationship? I'd love to call Him Daddy more often, but in a testament to His joke, He manages to hear me call Him Daddy with no problem, but I giggle and laugh my way through even saying it. I never wanted something just like a BDSM romance novel, but something real. I think my “something real” means that my Master cares for me in ways I need Him to.
Updated with an edit: So yes, I know it's already 4:35pm in my time zone, but I'm editing now :D. I let Rayanna read this before it went live and something she said stuck, although I can't remember the exact point she made :( Maybe she'll make the comment again. But it was basically about words and titles and how they matter in BDSM.
I started with an idea that came to me while working on The Complex PTSD Workbook: Lap time- divide attention between cataloging Him and masturbating while cuddling with Audrey in my mind. I'm going to try new colors (for text and background) and it might end up creepy :D (but I don't see Halloween as creepy)
“Master, may I please have lap time?” I ask Shaman, standing before Him in His large recliner wrapped in just a My Little Pony sheet.
“I guess since you're ready for a proper lap time.”
I giggle and wait for Him to lower His empty plate to the floor. When He holds out His hand, I adjust how I'm holding the sheet so it doesn't totally fall off me as I climb onto His chair before carefully settling onto His thigh. I pull in tight against Him and He arranges the sheet so even my toesies are covered. I lay my head on His shoulder and breathe in. “Audrey? Can we please enjoy some secure attachment right now?”
“Yes, darling. Excellent pairing of Shaman and I caring for you.” Her arms encircle me. “Very good asking if I can enjoy some time with you now.”
Doubly held, I focus on my breathing as the always-present tension leaves my body. I look up to study Shaman's face. His regal and unique nose. The tuft of His goatee with its liberal sprinkling of white among the black hair. His buzz cut, so many inches shorter than the hair He had when I first fell in lust with Him.
The smell of vanilla rolls through me as I press my face against Audrey's neck and her slightly longer hair tickles my forehead. Her hands move over my arms, reminding me that I haven't done any skin brushing in so very long; I should do that before I cover my hands with the crescent marks of nails pushed into my skin.
“Good, sweet girl, stopping that thought. In polyamory, each relationship is unique. I love you.”
“I love you too, Audrey.” I kiss her neck, Shaman's neck.
“Are you enjoying lap time?” Shaman asks.
“Yes, Master.” Reserved for pirates. 8pm. Need to write.
“Attached, sweet,” Audrey murmurs.
“Can I-I'd like to touch your hair please.”
“Will you ever feel we've been in relationship long enough that you don't have to ask to touch my hair when you have my attention?” She laughs. “Of course you may. Do you like this twist out?”
“Yes, love. It's so fun.” The silky weave slips under my fingers. I squinch my face.
“I know. You'd like to ask why the change, but you remember that's mostly irrelevant for me.”
I start to feel the tingles of His closeness, her closeness within me. I touch her cheek. I touch His collarbone. My nipples tingle and then my pecs, as if I'm wearing my chest binder when I'm not.
“Perfect. Pecs. I love your pecs,” Audrey murmurs.
Shaman brushes His fingers over my ankles. “Enjoying not shaving again?”
“Yup, Master. Thanks for being so understanding about me finding comfort in body hair sometimes and other times not.” No need for guilt. He said so. Tingles like a good energy drink caress the top and then the back of my brain. Virtually, my toes curl.
“That's right, baby. Shaman and I see you in the moment, not constrained by pre-determined notions of who and what you should be based on the gender assigned you at birth.” Audrey kisses my forehead.
Shaman kisses my forehead. “So why do I get treated with a naked wench on my lap?”
“'Cause it's just us in the house, Master.” I lick my lips as I spiral into the fullness of an orgasm, safeguarded by Shaman's and Audrey's loving embraces.
“Feel that goodness, love. Secure attachment with memories of me tonight? Cuddly snuggle time with Shaman soon?”
I giggle and kiss Shaman's jaw. “Might we move to bed, Master?”
“Lap time's not already done?”
I kiss Audrey's lips as she dips her fingers between my legs. “Well I was hoping for some cuddly snuggle time in bed, Master.”
“Is that just code for sex?” He grins down on me.
“Di di di di di!” I shake my head, grinning in response. “No, it's not, Master. Although sex would be very good too soon. I did my stretchies so I can ride you, Master.”
Audrey kisses my forehead. “Tonight, love.”
I kiss her back. “Love you.” I break out in huge giggles as Shaman struggles to His feet while still holding me. “Yay! Cuddly snuggle time!” I let the sheet fall away from me and kiss Shaman's neck as the release of my orgasm still plays through my body. “Struggle cuddles?”
He shakes His head. “You're 4.”
Wonderful picture, but I left for church pondering inspiration. That's when this started- I won't be sure of any labels until I'm done :D
“Revelation isn't sealed.”
Birth: “It's a girl!”
“Joseph Christopher won't work.”
1st grade: “Joelle is too pretty a name to shorten.”
Pregnancy: “I know I'm having a boy.”
July 4, age 15: “Mom, I'm questioning my gender.”
My age 40: “I'm non-binary, agender.”
What does it mean for me in partnered sexuality when most sexual orientations are focused on gender I don't feel?
I'm queer, that word that my tongue stumbled over when called on to identify myself.
Can I reclaim this wandering into hotness? Would it be as easy as jumping into talk about genitals? My mind cries for newness, something other than penis-in-vagina intercourse.
How was I, the Autistic introvert, talked into speed dating? At least, polyamorous people are welcome at this one.
“Hello, I'm Joey.”
The person stared at me open-mouthed, not introducing themselves.
“I'm not usually good at mixers, but I figured two minutes would help me control talking about my special interests. I'm Autistic.”
The bell rang; the person on the other side of the table changed.
“Hi. I'm Joey.”
“Joey?” the person echoed.
“Are you a lesbian?” Their nose wrinkled.
“Are you a bigot?” I replied.
“Of course not,” they protested.
“Your body language seems to disagree.”
Thankfully, the bell rang and people changed seats again.
“Hi, I'm Joey. My pronouns are he, she, or they.”
“Hi, Joey. I'm Pair. My pronouns are they, them. Might I ask, you appear flustered. Are you neurodivergent somehow?”
My shoulders relaxed. “Yes, I'm Autistic.”
Pair nodded. “Dyspraxia and Sensory Integration. Don't like that last word.”
“Would you like to skip out to a setting more comfortable for you?”
“Yes, please. I'd like that very much.”
Pair got up from the table and came around to me; the organizer rushed over, her cheeks flushed redder than her poorly-applied blush. “Joey and I are done here. No need to issue refunds.”
“But-but!” the organizer lady puffed.
“We're removing an equal number of folx from the gathering.” Pair walked to the place we piled our belongings; I followed just a step behind. They grabbed a denim bag covered in patches like They/Them and No TERFS/SWERFS and Queer. “Where would be somewhere you'd feel comfortable?”
“The library, but would you mind switching to writing so I can wear my headphones? They have those noisy lights that send me into sensory overload.”
“Me too.” They waited as I grabbed my bag. “You have your headphones with you?”
“Definitely. One partner said not to wear them and the other did.” I shrugged. “Not that I need to wear them with either of my partners.”
With borrowed netbooks in front of us, we sat side by side in one of the new booths at the library.
Pair typed, “This is much better. Mind I ask what's in your headphones? I'm listening to Holly Near.”
I typed, “I have the mixture of songs my daughter and I have placed on this MP3 player. Right now, it's Korn, Thoughtless.” I pursed my lips. “I just wrote about 'conversation as sex' for Masturbation Monday.”
“And that causes your current expression?”
Using my thumb and forefinger like a 'modified C hand' in ASL, I pulled the corners of my mouth up and down as my thoughts tried to catch up to their question. “I wanted something new, something different.”
“From what you've done? Or from what others are used to experiencing?”
I released my lips to just trace them with my index fingers, as if planning to sign “Talk-with.”
Without another comment from me, they typed, “This is our first time together; does that make it different from that other time?”
A small smile found its way onto my lips, changing their feel under my fingertips. I sipped from the new bottle that securely held my metal straw in place for me. Yum! Guava, mango, passion fruit juice! I placed my fingers back on the home row and typed. “I think my mind is clasping at minutiae. What I find sexy isn't necessarily what others do.”
“May I please touch your hand?”
I nodded before typing, “Yes.”
Their fingers moved under my palm as their thumb slid up and down the top of my hand.
As they continued to touch my right hand, I slowly typed with my left hand, “Good.” My toes curled in my shoes. When they released my hand, I typed, “Very good.” I sipped my juice and pondered our next date.
Because I'm a dork, I forgot I wrote this and wrote something for #Masturbationonday on 8/13/2018, meaning you'll get this experimental piece the week after it was meant for. But it's stlll good to fap to, right? :D
I go to Pornhub. I select “Categories- Gay Men- Fetish.”
I struggled into my chest binder; I should have said that already.
Clicking on mute. I just need to see.
A large ass as black as coal dances as if waiting for something; I click on that video.
Once the video loads enough, it becomes visible that a large black man is bound on a light blue hospital-style bed. His naked skin shimmers in the muted light.
I reach behind me to grab some of the coconut oil lube.
“That's a good boy. Going plug your asshole before rubbing your bound clitorophallus?”
The Queen's icy blue eyes appear on the screen of my mind.
From a simple doorway comes another large black man, his nipples appearing dark purple against his chest skin, a rosy mahogany. His lips move; the bound man's hips move in response. The lighter-skinned man brings his hand down on the bound man's ass; he stills his writhing.
I rub lube on the smaller butt plug and The Queen gently inserts it into me. My breath catches in my throat at the slight stretch in my asshole. Physically, in the moment, I relax my left arm down once the flange sits against my cheeks.
The man walks away from the table and pulls a rolling racks holding up a hot water bottle and tubing. He rubs where he'd just smacked that ass. He releases the rack and grabs a bottle of lubricant from a nearby table.
The Queen holds the lube container and I grab some more. My fingers speed between my legs.
He rubs the cheek he hadn't smacked for a moment before pulling the gorgeous cheeks apart. The camera pulls in close to show the detail of the lube dripping from the bottle onto the needy, waiting asshole. Then a finger wearing a pale green glove pressed on the asshole, pushing just in. More lube. The finger goes in deeper.
“Boy, boy, boy. My boy. My dirty little boy.”
“Or are you my girl tonight? Or maybe just a little gender-less being for me to fuck?”
I pant; I'm so close to coming. Enema. The Queen's teasing. “Boy,” I gasp.
In and out. More lube. The finger goes into the asshole all the way to base of the finger.
The hand disappears from the shot.
“Tomorrow night, how about I give you an enema? Bound or unbound?”
My toes curl at his suggestion.
“Or maybe Audrey could take care of her little love?”
The bound man writhes against the table as much as the straps allow. When part of the table starts to move, forcing his legs farther apart, his massive balls come into view.
My hips shoot up, lifting part of me off the bed.
Carrying a long, semi-stiff tube, the gloved hand returns to the shot. One hand presses on the bound man's back as the other works first the tip of the tube and then more.
“Yes, yes, yes!” I hiss, dropping the pretense that my masturbating is a secret in my household.
A moment later, slightly off-white liquid starts through the tube.
Watching the bound man move as the enema solution infiltrates his colon and rectum, the orgasm explodes in my clit and my feet curl against the comforter.
Some stand up comedian said that women watch porn movies to the end to see if they get married. Not this agender, AFAB person; I watch them until I come.
When I thought of this prompt, I knew I had to write fiction for it. My girlfriend had a suggestion and a Camp Nano virtual write-in gave me the Point of View. Stimming- self-stimulation- is often a way to self-regulate anxiety and other emotions (I talked about some of my stimming last week here). And so, I give you, the scene...
Lady Audrey pulled Joelle to the edge of Shaman's and her bed as Onyx watched from the corner of the room, the soles of his feet pressed against the wall; his toes, shins, and knees pushed into the carpet. Although she wouldn't think of her as Lady.
“So my thought, I have here a variety of fidget toys. Let's see how long you can still use them while I go down on.” Audrey chuckled.
“That hardly seems fair.” Joelle traced Audrey's fingers where they rested on her thighs.
But you'll enjoy the challenge. Onyx licked the inside of his lips, sealing the inappropriate comment inside him.
Audrey passed a rag doll to Joelle.
“Starting with Audrey dolly?” Joelle's eyebrows both flew up.
“You know, half the time you use ASL grammar stuff you've mentioned even when you're not signing?” Audrey grinned. “Yeah, we're starting with your doll of me. She was one of your first serious stim objects.”
Bringing Audrey dolly up to her nose, Joelle gasped when Audrey pressed her lips to Joelle's mons. “Uh uh uh uh.”
“No uh uh,” Audrey challenged before tracing the seam of Joelle's labia with the tip of her tongue. “Unless that's not what your sounds meant.”
“Oh, so it's going to be a Joelle not speaking whole words or sentences?” With gentle thumbs and forefingers, slightly closer to a burnt sienna in color from tanning, Audrey spread Joelle open to nuzzle her vaginal opening and bound clitorophallus.
“I hardly... can talk–“ Joelle started only to be interrupted by Onyx.
“If she's the one initiating.” Onyx bit his bottom lip. “Sorry, my Lady.”
Traces of her dark gray lipstick gleamed in the blue lamplight as Joelle's lips parted without sound.
“You have to breathe, sweet.” Audrey leaned in close, obscuring Onyx's view.
Joelle loudly released the used air through her mouth. Her feet flexed so her toes stuck up in the air.
How will she handle stims that take two hands? This isn't even edging, but I feel it.
Audrey pushed her hands under Joelle's ass, preventing her from wriggling back and forth on the bed. “How sweet, you mouthing my doll's hair. No wonder if end up with more love bites from you than from my subs.”
“Onyx, fidget spinner,” Audrey ordered.
Struggling to his feet, Onyx moved to the bedside and gently took Audrey dolly from Joelle. With a sweet smile, he placed the baby pink fidget spinner in her right right. I practiced kneeling in a corner so my legs would not lose circulation as fast. As Audrey leaned in and started to hum, he said, “Just holding the spinner was not what she had in mind.”
“Know that,” Joelle cried. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the spinner. She breathed in with her nostrils flaring; her hands shook as she moved her toy from right hand to between her left thumb and index finger. Her head fell back on the bed as the spinner swirled just within Onyx's line of sight.
Black thumbs pressing into pale peach hips, Audrey continued between Joelle's legs. Her head lifted slightly, her voice almost muffled. “You have to keep it moving, little love.” She pulled one hand out from under Joelle and tucked it where Onyx couldn't see it.
“La la la na na na!” Joelle responded to whatever Audrey had just done.
“That's right. Come again for me.” Audrey lowered her head.
Joelle pushed her heels into Audrey's shoulders. She whimpered when the fidget spinner slowed before wobbling to a stop. In the midst of groans, she fought to restart the spinner's circling. Once the pink toy was spinning, her right hand came down onto the comforter. The fingers flexed and then curled in at the large knuckles. Her scream of release filled the room before the toy dropped to the bed.
“Didn't take long for that to happen,” Audrey teased.
“Yes, so good. Love you,” Joelle babbled.
“Well have to try this again later.” Audrey gripped the bed as she pulled herself to standing. “Let's cuddle Joelle, my boy.”
“Yes, my Lady.” Onyx climbed on the other side of the bed as Audrey led Joelle up by the pillows. He eased the weighted blanket over them. I can sleep with an erection.
For #TherapeuticThursday, I wrote several posts this month to get ready for Camp Nano next month. I hope you enjoy them!
Fiction or non-fiction? Sex/BDSM scene? All, both, or none of these? I admit to questioning these things as I prepared the file to write this piece; I was totally unsure about how I wanted to precede. With my work in therapy (spending time with a Cognitive-Behavioral therapy workbook my therapist recommended), I'm reminded of how my Master has encouraged me both with simple comments and BDSM orders to do what the workbook has me doing- thank goodness, since I've been able to think “Yeah, the author of the book seems like a jerk, but I'll just listen to my Master better.”
So even though I still need to approach these “core beliefs” with my therapist, I'm going to consider what/how my Master has already turned them into an affirmative statement at some point, using the power of being the dominant in the relationship to work on convincing me that my core belief is incorrect.
A. I am worthless.
“You're awesome, you know that?” “I'm so lucky that you aren't like non-gaming wives or girlfriends who make other guys feel bad about going to the gaming store.” “I love most anything you cook.” “My wife's vegan and she makes the best steak I've ever eaten.” Those are just a few things my Master has either said to me or posted on social media about me. One would look at that list and say, “Then why do you still hold your core belief?” As I ponder that question, I also think of how I have to print this out for my therapist LOL. The other thing I ponder, why did I leave them in the order I wrote them in when my therapist assigned this core belief thing to me- look ahead to section D.- that one does a good job explaining A. and B. My Master has had about 19 years now working to undo the results of my mother's abuse; sadly, I had to get to a point where I was ready to cut ties with my parents (and only did it this January before my 40th birthday)- if He thought it would have worked, He would have ordered it years ago.
B. I can't do anything right.
Reprising “My wife's vegan and she makes the best steak I've ever eaten.” Yeah, this is another “I couldn't do what my mother wanted.” She wanted a popular child, not an infamous one. She wanted a friendly child, and a studious one. My Master? He wants to hold me with He sleeps, enjoy a steak when we can afford one, enjoy two bologna sandwiches every work shift, decently clean house, and clean clothes- especially socks and underwear. Yes, His wants are practical and possible.
C. I will never be conventionally attractive.
I don't want to be conventionally attractive; my Master doesn't want me to be conventionally attractive. Hm, maybe I should have hit this point as “why do 4 of 5 points have something to do with my mother?” But like if we start with weight/size. According to an “ideal body weight” scale I saw, I should be 95 pounds; according to body mass index, I should be 103 pounds. My Master doesn't agree with either number; He's recommended, “If you'd like to lose your little belly, you should set your goal at 125 pounds. I like them small, not skeletal.” I went on my first diet at 6 years old; I followed my mother's yo-yo dieting until it become serious anorexia as a teen. Maybe one of these days, I should try to get a full picture of me :D Most of my selfies are head/chest.
D. I will never be what my mother wants.
You know, I'm not sure exactly why I put this one down. When my daughter came out as transgender back in 2015, I texted my parents, “Lose this phone number.” Because they couldn't back off, I sent a card before my 40th birthday this year, stating that I'd call the cops if they ever set foot on my property. Yes, I will never be what she wants. I'm sure a small part of me would actually like to have a healthy relationship with my mother, but that's just not reality.
E. I will never belong anywhere.
When I first seriously began to interrogate this core belief, my first thought was, “Why am I discounting my online life? I rail against people who consider online friendships, queer-platonic relationships, and romances as less than physical ones.” Of course, that might be the indirect response to this core belief; my mother is of a generation before the Internet even existed and she never became comfortable in its use even for the most basic of things- looking up a phone number? Finding show times at a movie theater? I also remember “before the Internet,” but I think part of my difference is that speaking is often painful for me so a place where I can socialize in the written word? My goodness! Yes, please! LOL
Summarizing paragraph here :D (I know, I'm not supposed to announce that or something.) Connecting this topic to my writing? If a reader considers that pieces of an author show up in most of their characters, you can locate all 5 of these core beliefs in my characters- sometimes even all in the same character. I was just trying to think of specific character examples for the core beliefs and realized that it's hard not to find a character of mine that doesn't fit into at least one category.
Enjoy a recent selfie- I'm just wearing my chest binder on the top. Ah, being agender and comfortable in my skin.
A situation out in public caused me to feel off-kilter; dressed up in my sunblock garb to take a tricycle ride, I was returning home when I had someone obviously taking my picture as I crossed in the pedestrian crosswalk and he jogged at me when I made it to the other side of the crosswalk. I peddled as hard as I could to get away; I didn't know if he wanted to talk or to attack me. I couldn't take the chance. That situation? It's just this week's situation; I could tell you quite a few stories of blatant discrimination. At least my characters can't physically hurt me.
One of several diagnoses I have is Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD); yup, I've experienced enough trauma in my life to have PTSD even though I've never seen combat. Sighs, I got through the first paragraph and the former sentence and my ability to focus on the topic evaporated. Of course, the rehearsal of writing this post before bedtime last night isn't coming back to me. Trying to pick up the threads- I said to a friend today, “While hypervigilance is listed as a symptom of PTSD, what if my hypervigilance is reasonable?” If I leave my house, I really don't have feel I have a guarantee of my personal safety; if I'm with my Master, who's a big man, I feel a bit more relaxed.
I tried to at-home therapy things and I'm wondering if any of my characters would be helped enough that I should include them in a story. Skin brushing and EMDR.
Skin brushing is also something called a brushing protocol. I've found a named one after Patricia Wilbarger. Since Sensory Processing Disorder isn't in the DSM yet (praying for that to change), there's no way to get insurance to cover occupational therapy. Thus I'm doing skin brushing on my own to work on tactile defensiveness; I don't want to hope that it might decrease my sun sensitivity- an anti-depressant that's helping other issues isn't helping with the sun. I bought a pet grooming glove and have been using it on myself (way more often than the recommended “every 2 hours awake,” but I'm hoping my use will encourage my cat to let me use it on her too).
Circling around specifically to the PTSD, I went looking early one day this week for treatments that could help PTSD. I eventually hope to get a service dog, although my family is too poor for one currently, and my med manager offensively called them “a crutch.” I'm already working on Cognitive-Behavioral Therapy with my therapist and it's slow going. The mass of behaviors, symptoms, and such that she found in my 39-year-old self was a lot; she and my daughter just got me through another nervous breakdown and I do hope CBT can get me somewhere. However, I wanted something to use alongside CBT; I really look at any and all possible tools to help me function better. The tool I found was EMDR.
EMDR stands for Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing. On YouTube, I started off searching “EMDR” and then found “EMDR self-administered”; I recommend you doing the same if you have had any traumas in your life. So I read on one page that an average session of EMDR with a therapist is 60-90 minutes; I'm not able to focus on most things that long- the 5 to 10 minute videos I've found are working great right now. I just spent some time with one video because my daughter wanted my attention and that distracted me too much to get back to writing; she's 19 and it's seldom life-or-death matters she's bringing to me. Before that, I tried a longer video to work on a core belief (Writing down 4 core beliefs was a CBT-related assignment from my therapist; I came up with 5 and they'll be the subject of a #TherapeuticThursday post in July). My mother did a good job planting the belief that I'm worthless; now 40-years-old, I'm still trying to uproot that false belief.
So what do you think- EMDR and skin brushing used by a character in a story? I have some ideas flitting in my head :D
Trying a new sleep pattern- went to bed at 12:30am, woke to kitty demanding attention at 5:30am, once this is posted, I'll be going back to sleep, hopefully no later than 7:30am.
It seems ironic to me that the inspiration picture didn't quite inspire me; I'm a nudist as are several of my characters and “going commando” is such a thing as not to commented on. In fact, as I type this up, I'm naked. However, with a roommate who was raised by repressed Christians, as far as I can tell, and is a “Thirty-something gamer guy,” I now have to wear clothing- when he's home- and I hate it!
“Master, could I please have laptime?” I swished on my feet and tugged at a curl.
“Are you wearing panties?” Master asked in disbelief.
“Well my nakey is terrifying.” I giggled and turned around to rub the cotton of my new purple-and-white striped panties against His comfy pants-covered crotch. “Count as a chair dance?”
“Count as a sentence?” He laughed.
“Of course, Master! Whole sentence happened in my head.”
“Come here.” He held a hand out and I accepted His help to set onto the chair between His legs before settling on His thighs.
I settled down onto His lap and rested my head on His shoulder. “Love You, Master.”
“Love you more.” He kissed my forehead.
My thoughts whirled in their usual stimming, but I paid slightly less attention to them. Releasing a soft breath, I closed my eyes. He rocked the chair and rubbed my temple. “Hey! That's cheating, Master,” I lazily argued.
“But you're falling asleep.”
“I was gonna... gonna... um, beg... sex!” I blinked my eyes as I tried to fight His calming touch. I wiggled my butt against His crotch.
“Tease!” He cupped one boob through my lacy camisole.
“Yupper, Master!” I giggled and wiggled my butt again.
“Yes, sometimes, Master. But right now, I really really want you to fuck my cunt!” I grinned up at Him. I scrambled out of His lap, focused on not hurting Him or stepping on His computer- I really shouldn't do that.
“Ouch! That was my toe.”
“Sorry, Master.” I toe-jogged my way to the bedroom with Him close behind. With a grunt, I landed on my stomach when He pushed me onto the bed. I squealed happily as He yanked off my panties. I arched my back to help take off my camisole when He flipped me onto my back, grabbed my hands and pinned them above my head before using His other hand to yank my shirt so it covered my face.
“Don't move!” He stopped touching me.
I thought I heard the sounds of Him taking off His clothing. Before I could do more than a moment of questioning His order, my body sung with contentment to feel His weight pushing down on me. I moaned into my shirt as He pushed my legs apart with a knee.
“No need to beg. I wanna feel you come,” He growled.
“Hmm!” I moaned, my lips closed against the fabric. His cock drove into me and I wrapped my legs around His waist, my feet pressing against His upper thighs. After thrusting into me for some time, He pulled out and propped my legs on His shoulder. As He pushed back in, I had went I expected was my first orgasm of this use.
He pressed His cheek against the sole of my foot.
My fingers wriggled against a pillow above me. My chest struggled to expand as the position and His weight made it tricky to breathe in. Nails longer than usual, my fingers curled in tight and pushing into my palms, they gave me a delicious taste of pain.
He pulled out again and I found myself moved. A folded pillow pushed under my hips and my legs pushed apart again. He thrust back into my cunt.
I screamed with cumming in this wonderful position; porn changes position too often for most women to orgasm? I'm glad I'm agender and not like most of those assigned female at birth.
Wrestling my shirt off, He then pushed my hair aside when I turned my head to breathe and pressed a kiss to my cheek.
“Yes, Master.” My toes pushed down into the piled blankets. I stretched my hands out and moaned when He wrapped His fingers into them. I pushed up hips back so His cock went farther into me.
This time when He pulled out, He moved behind me and rolled me onto my side. He grabbed my left leg and thrust into my cunt from behind.
The orgasm was immediate and almost overwhelming; thank everything that's holy for G-spot orgasms and spooning!
“Where you want my cum?”
“In my cunt, please, Master.” Please not too many questions that I think I answered in a full sentences, but didn't. I reached back to grip His hip.
With my arm out of the way, He slapped the side of my right boob.
My orgasm fluttered and continued.
“Like being my fucktoy?”
“Yes, yes, Master!” I release His hip and grab the side of the bed.
My arm moved again, He pushed my upper body onto the bed. His hand tight on my hip, He pounded into my cunt.
My toes curled when He grunted His own coming.
We lay panting, our bodies tangled.
“Love you, Master.”
“Love you more. Good fucktoy.”
Ha! The inspiration picture for this week goes what was already in my mind! So in the post-going on anti-depressants, I've come out to myself as non-binary (if you're interested and would like to see the before-and-after hair, I have a 6.5 minute vlog about it). I've had a lot of ponder, as my regular blog readers can no doubt imagine. :D I joined some Facebook groups because I'm 40 and it mostly seems that white millennials are the people talking about being non-binary on YouTube. 2 experiences gave me the idea for the scene you're about to enjoy: 1. After nearly a decade of refusing to wear a bra after a medically necessary breast reduction, I got a fitting at Victoria's Secret, where I was able to explain what I wanted in a sports bra and the wonderful employee got me a sports bra that gave me gender euphoria. 2. A friend gave me a chest binder that didn't work for them and I put it on for a few minutes right from the mailing package... and I felt such gender euphoria that I was grinning like the Cheshire Cat for hours afterward. So the inspiration picture from Mrs. Robinson, the black hands holding the white breasts, almost led me to change what Audrey has been painting in my head...
Gazing at the pile of every possible color or pattern in the style of sports bra that gave me gender euphoria that Audrey bought me, I ponder which one I want to wear now. I select the white bra and pull it down over my head. I lift my gaze from the pouch of my belly; Shaman and Audrey tell me it's slight, but I struggle to believe them.
Audrey coughs to clear her throat. “I thought you'd decided on the bottoms; you aren't going to let your ponder overwhelm your euphoria, are you?”
I close my eyes and simmer in the feeling of my breasts mashed in such a comfortable way. This is one way gender euphoria feels in me; Audrey gifted me the chance to feel it many times over. Eyes still closed, I reach beside me on her bed for the wrap skirt she offered for this dance. My fingertips glide over the silk before I feel her warm hands wrap around my shaking hands. I let her pull me to my feet.
“Wrapping, not comprehension, like the conversation in your ASL learning group about talking about a chest binder,” Audrey murmured as she wrapped the silk around my belly at the navel. “Are you sure you want a sports bra, not your binder, now?”
“Sports bra. You offered a dance, love.” I press my face against her beautifully small breasts. I push my lower body back to allow her to finish wrapping me. The sensation against my skin startles me when she pulls the sash tight to tie it.
“There, love.” Audrey cups my ass to bring my lower body back against her.
My being vibrates with the perfection of the sports bra, the wrapped skirt, Audrey's embrace.
With my face still against her breasts, Audrey kisses my forehead as she leads us in a small circle across the carpet. “I can feel your mind racing. Have you decided differently on what you want now? Are you maybe being too limited in your understanding of what sex is?”
“True.” I breathe in to appreciate the vanilla body lotion she used to for me. “Please.”
Audrey cups the back of my head where the hair is buzzed short. “I trace the graceful slope of your shoulders, my fingers light on your preciously pale skin. Your thighs squeeze my knee. My fingertips continue down to your adorably tiny fingers.”
While her embrace doesn't change, I feel her words as actions. I sigh in time with another circle of our impromptu dance floor. I want...
“I reach around your shoulders to caress your back among the straps of your enchanting bra. I love how it aids you in feeling good about your chest. My hand continues to your lower back, where you feel so much more pleasure.”
The echoes of her touch caress my mind, lower back, and between my legs. A gasp of arousal escapes my lips to be swallowed by her soft skin. The image of her cock sliding into me wets my appetite for more of her words. I curl my toes into the carpet. “Gentle, love.”
“I wrap my hands around your slender hips. I simply clasp you as you move your hips in a simple infinity motion. That's my baby. You make me wanna come so hard when you dance on me like that. This beautiful person that I love so much.”
I nibble on my bottom lip; she changed to person instead of woman without me even having to ask. The release of orgasmic sensations spiral through me.
“Just like that, lover. You found yourself. I just had to start your journey. You're a person when we make love. Now I lift you so you wrap your legs around my waist as my cock slips into your cunt. Cunt still good?”
“Perfect, lover. I don't want that many words to change for me. Feels so good. Does it make you sad--“
“Baby doll, I'm good with what makes you comfortable. Why would what you need to feel good make me sad? I squeeze your adorable ass as I move you on me.”
“Come on my bra,” I whimper between moans.
She lifts one eyebrow even as she kisses me hard.
For one long moment, I concentrate on my bags of fat staying still within the sports bra. I squeeze my muscles around Audrey's cock for a long moment as I hear echoes of her “You're a person when we make love” stir within my mind. I kiss her neck.
“One suggestion, love. Think of Ash's binding video, not your hateful phrase. I love to think of your heart within your handsome chest.”
My legs from knees to toes press into her soft carpet. I press my palms against my silk-covered knees and tilt my head back to look up at her face. I close my eyes and open my mouth. Her left hand presses on my shoulder.
“Yes, yes, love you.”
Warm and sticky, I luxuriate in the feel of her cum where it lands on me. “Love you, sweet Audrey.”