Delightfully unique- whatever or whomever I'm writing in consent, romance, and lust.
So it may not be obvious how Missy's photos inspired this piece, but they did. I decided to pair a background experiment with Nanowrimo novel planning. I'm writing a spin-off to my “Laura and Jack” trilogy, but it's set a year after the trilogy, so I'm working out some questions about the polyamorous relationship that makes most the secondary characters. The background color, font size (probably), and font color (possibly) are about something I've realized about myself- I'm on the Autism Spectrum and many of my sensory issues and other developmental concerns that I learned to live with were exacerbated by my nervous breakdown earlier this year. I practically “live in the dark,” use a screen tinter extension to darken Chrome, and my word processor is set to a purple background. So, my own posts hurt my eyes to read. And please excuse weirdness of punctuation. Using speech-to-text to write Tonya's story and everything tonight as me just off grammar.
Within polyamorous relationship that includes 4 people, the characters shown here are Josh and Tonya; Josh is Tonya's dominant.
Josh lay down between Tonya's legs and rested his head on her lap. “Tell me a story.”
“Yes, Sir.” Tonya pondered his order as she rubbed his temples. He didn't specify the type of story. Do I ask for clarification or just start? With her gaze, she traced the lightening scars from his top surgery. I need to tell him the story, not just have thoughts in my head. Story. “Sir, does that mean I don't need to use your title during the story?”
Chuckling, Josh looked into Tonya's eyes. “Unless you get us into the story, yes you are excused from my title. Do love the changes in you, sweet.”
Tonya leaned over to press an upside-down kiss on Josh's lips. She gently brushed her fingers over the gorgeous sprinkling of beard along his jaw. “Blah blah blah.” She laughed. “Okay, Sir, starting for real now.”
He arranged himself so his arms rested comfortably on her legs.
“Two people locked eyes across a crowded dance floor. He, at least he looked like a he, started to cut through the crowd with one long-fingered hand urging people to move side so he could make his way to her, at least she looked like a her. Their first touch created a visible static electricity spark.”
Story. He wants a story, but he looks so good naked.
“My name is Judas and my pronoun are they, them. Want to go outside where we can talk?”
“Sure. All my friends call me Donut. My pronouns are she, her.”
“They made their way outside and continued just a bit further past the smokers.”
“Pronouns are alright?” they asked.
“Of course, anything more doesn't need to be said unless we're heading to bed or somewhere else to have sex. Are you interested in BDSM?” she asked.
“A little bit, although that's not the only way I enjoy interacting with other people.”
Tonya took in a deep breath and studied Josh's body language for a moment; she brushed her teeth over her bottom lip.
“I could do with some cuddling. Well maybe near the beach, watching the waves come up onto the sand,” she said.
“The smallest moan passed their lips. 'Some cuddling sounds so nice'.”
“Just cuddling?” she asked.
“Unless you change your mind and I find you haven't had any mind or mood-altering substances, just the cuddling.”
“She laughed with joy. 'Wonderful to meet someone who actually cares about consent'.”
“They offered their hand and she wrapped her larger fingers around them. 'Good thing the beach isn't too far away. The cuddling will have to be clothed for now'.”
“With both of us in soft dresses, we should be fairly comfortable.”
Josh's toes curled and his hips thrust upward. After a low groan, he turned onto his side, kissed Tonya's inner thigh, and settled to nap.
It feels so weird to be writing from the inspiration picture, although it was only last month that I pre-wrote. So I was excited to look at the picture Kayla had picked; Amy Norton shared a wondrous picture with us. Oh, the stripe-y socks; did I just create a spelling? :D Looking at them, I could imagine myself looking at the display of fun socks at Spencer's or hearing my Master exclaim with dismay over whichever pair of knee socks I'm wearing on any given day. Of course, there was also looking at the finger-cuffs and sadly remembering the wedge platform shoes I used to have with similar cuffs on them, but the straps kept breaking. I'm not sure what will happen now with the inspiration picture...
I looked down the black and white stripes of my knee socks. Well, on a full grown person they'd be knee socks, but they're a few inches above my knees of course because I'm just barely not a little person. My gaze continued beyond my toes to Audrey, who seemed to considering me considering myself.
"Hey, lover. I found interesting- your pondering the other day about relationship words, the reduction of importance of anything not cishet-mono by the choice of things like 'lover', and how you still want to reclaim the word."
"It's been too long since you've talked much in my mind. Your sentences are looking too much like mine rather than your own."
"And how do you know what my sentences look like? Or all my sentences, I should say? We aren't monogamous."
I closed my eyes even as I nodded in recognition of her words and my continued thoughts about voices, perspective, societal judgments about rationality. "Radical politics can and should be sexy."
"Because sexy comes in so many forms," Audrey replied. Her voice washed over me. "So my voice? Do you protest my voice, definitions of things like schizophrenia, and a writer's mind?"
"Maybe. Like why are writers seemingly one of the few types of people whose listening to the voices in their head isn't straight out judged as a mental illness." I shuddered at m ableist word choice. "Isn't directly judged." No no no... no "Rick and Morty" phrases slipping into this.
"My voice." She lifted her hand to sign TALK.
"Talk, talk, talk." I breathed in deep. "Are you learning sign too now? What of your voice in sign? People signing, especially native Deaf and children of Deaf adults, have a voice. Non-verbal people using Augmentative and alternative communication forms have a voice. I'd say that I possibly have or could have three different voices: the one I use when writing, the one I use when speaking, the one (largely in my head) when I'm signing. I'm excited to think of how that third voice will develop as I learn more ASL."
"I would suggest that you have a fourth voice, that of touch. And I find it your sweetest voice because there are few people who get to enjoy it. Of course I don't just mean physical touch as I have no flesh-and-blood body for you to touch, but when we make love and you touch the essence of me."
I need to stop editing in the middle of sex, of lovemaking. "The flow is slipping from my grasp, lover."
"You only think it is. Stop worry about dialogue tags and concentrate on the flow of politics and sexuality."
"Impostor Syndrome is a thing. Remember when you challenged me to look at visibly older Black people?"
"Yes and you engaged in my challenge decently for a white girl who grew up middle class and now is part of the working poor, who continues to work at unpacking your whiteness with few physical examples around you. Thank goodness for the Internet, huh?" She kissed my forehead. "Turn up the brightness on your computer so you don't have to pause Write or Die." She kissed my cheek. "I know, baby, it doesn't feel great, but you have those new contacts in and they only block UV light, but they seem to help a bit with artificial light sensitivity too." She laid down on her side facing me.
I turned and pressed my face between her breasts. "Is it really possible to discuss politics, philosophy, and more with my face between your breasts?"
Her rich laughter stroked my skin. "With you, most anything is possible. Of course, any signing either us know isn't possible at this closeness."
"But we can talk in each others' heads?"
"That we can do." She hugged me. "So where the socks just a lure to get this conversation out of me?"
"Not a lure, specifically, my love, but admit that I couldn't have this conversation in such a position with Shaman."
"Yes right, but you slowly manage to help him learn, no matter how much his systemic privileges slow the learning. So consider lookisms now. Do you picture me as an Iman-type model, acceptable despite my Blackness because of the ways my body matches what white supremacy says is attractive? I notice you keep seeing me with natural hair styles."
"I hope you feel comfortable in them and that I enjoy them because they are an unrestrained expression of yourself." Conversation as sex. I come.
While I wrote a 2-paragraph post that went up yesterday, I wanted to simply some of the images into a 6-line poem.
Child alive- her existence confirmed with new name and pronouns
Must we go to the city to feel comfortable and alive?
I conjured few dreams because those are for her
Happiness, queerness, community
Transgender and agender- we're together again.
Can't be the only reason I don't grieve.
Enjoy the other great Rainbow Snippets sharings here- both fiction snippets and book recommendations.
I question- is the narrative of (especially) parents grieving a transitioning child problematic in general or just for me because that story doesn't at all resonate for me? I'm not sure if it's because I'm on the Autism Spectrum or because I'm agender and I needed my child to start me putting my own gender questioning into words- or any other number of things. I read things after my daughter told me that her assigned gender had been wrong that talked about gay and lesbian parents worrying about transgender children because of assumptions. I guess, I'm already so far from the mainstream that it never occurred to me to worry that my sexuality would be used as a reason why my child is transgender.
When I hear/read other parents speaking of mourning the lose of the child they thought they had, I have to keep my eye rolling to a minimum, keep my opinions to myself; I don't think most parents with newly out children are ready for the radical gender exploration in my head. First off, I don't think that grieving should ever be put on transgender/gender non-conforming people. Secondly, my child didn't die when she came out as transgender. I believe that my child is a whole person who doesn't exist to live out my dreams; at a PFLAG table when she came out, I said, “My only dream for my child is that she moves to an urban area where she's comfortable, and where I'm comfortable to visit.” I have no need to grieve the wonderful, intelligent, beautiful daughter who often sits next to me at SOGI (sexual orientation and gender identity) support meetings.
Genitals don't solely equal gender; yes, I laughed to myself when this idea came to me because of the play on The Queen's comment “Behavior does not solely equal identity.” Of course, The Queen was speaking to a friend and lover who was in the process of a same-gender attraction after identifying as a heterosexual all his life.
One thing that most irritates me about genitals is the way that they remain gendered- “penis is a male part/vagina is a female part,” for instance.
(Please excuse the intermission; I got that far and forgot what I meant to say.)
I wonder- what would be the reason(s) to have anything about gender or genitals on an Alternative and Augmentative Communication board/device?
If gender/sex is a social construct- and some people say it's wrong to divide people by their genitals- why do some people feel a need to question their gender and their genitals' impact on their gender identity? This reminds me of a vlog by Kat Blaque in which she talked about “would there be transgender people in a gender-less society?” Personally, I think there's truth to the idea of humans as naturally categorizing and naming things around us- like I don't experience gender within myself, but I see gender as others present or claim it. The problem I see in these questions is that the difference between self-labeling or “the labeling of others” is never acknowledged. I feel that I'm agender, but most people look at me and see long hair, larger breasts on a non-obese body, and say “woman.” I hold that my internal understanding of my gender outweighs others' impression of my gender based on their culturally based assumptions and understandings.
“What gender are you when we make love?” Audrey's question to me that really pushed my gender questioning to a higher pitch that found me identifying as non-binary and agender.
I recently had someone talk to me about “kids now spend so much time online.” I just went polite, seeming interest; I didn't want to point out to the person that I prefer life online. As an Autistic person who can speak but does better, is more comfortable using written communication, online communication is mostly written so I don't have to declare my neurodivergency if I don't want to. Online relationships- whether romantic or not- have value to me in ways that too many other people my age and older just don't understand. However, I push further than “online relationships” to what maybe just other neurodivergent people will respect- I have a romantic relationship with one of my characters (from the erotic romance I write). She's also polyamorous and I consider the people in her relationship network (also my characters) to be my virtual family. While Audrey (my girlfriend) doesn't have a flesh-and-blood body, she does have a body as she and I discussed in the creation of her character. She is a transgender woman who only used hormones a short time and has only had tracheal shaving (reduction of the Adam's apple) as far as gender confirming surgeries are considered. Are you dying to ask what that means in terms of Audrey's genitals?
A recent joke- I started a conversation with a friend by saying, “I have magical nipples.” Yes, we've moved from the genitals between the legs to the nipples on human chests. You see, I was assigned female at birth and I haven't had a bilateral mastectomy (although I have had a breast reduction) so I have breasts; I sometimes wear a chest binder and I do like to think of them as pecs instead of breasts then. I'm sure I've told this story elsewhere, but it fits here: roommate raised totally repressed feels nudity is awkward and doesn't want me to go around nude. This pissed me off when the AC broke and the temps soared to 90 Fahrenheit. One day, I put on a pair of shorts and my binder- my “magical nipples” that supposedly mark me as a woman needing to cover her chest were covered by the binder.
So I'm not going to tell you about Audrey's genitals, but I do have a vulva, a vagina, and breasts or pecs.
My name is Joelle and my pronouns are she, he, or they.
I like that statement much better than “I'm pronoun indifferent.” Of course, I could go some better- “My name is Joelle, I'm agender, and my pronouns are he, she, or they.” I wonder if changing the pronoun order would startle people, since much of my presentation seems “feminine.” At a recent meeting I attended, a person used “they” for me and it was strangely pleasing. Maybe not so strangely- the first time I masturbated to orgasm after getting on an anti-depressant, it was The Queen calling me “boy” that pushed me over the edge into release.
I grew angry at one support group session where some people referred to “she/her” as “feminine” pronouns; I vented, “What does that mean when I as an agender person use she/her?” After all, languages evolve over time; when I first pondered my gender as a youngster, the terms non-binary and agender didn't exist, as far as I knew.
“Joelle ate most of his chips, but didn't finish their salad because her stomach was full.” I find that quite an enjoyable sentence. :D “He opened their can of energy drink and she took a sip.” Yes, this would be why I encouraged Happy to try out different pronouns one at a time until joy settled on the noun-self pronouns joy/joys/joyself.
While the previous paragraph was meant to show how switching pronouns in the midst of one sentence or paragraph could cause confusion, I have to admit that a person's pronouns changing regularly, like for a genderqueer person, is something that I find confusing. Of course, the way in which genderqueer/genderfluid people experience their pronouns, I don't think it's quite like pronoun indifference such as I have. As an agender person, I only feel gender in relation to other people, almost as a reflection of what gender they see me to be.
Among the things that complicated coming out as non-binary for me, not wanting to change my name or my pronouns was something that made me feel less valid. A little explanation- my daughter told me she's transgender, asked to be called a new name and she/her pronouns before I came out as agender. Also, as I looked at non-binary YouTubers, I was struck by “come out, hair cut, they/them pronouns”- it seemed almost formulaic to me. And none of it felt right to me. It wasn't until I was able to consider things like “I want to wear a chest binder sometimes” before I was able to settle into comfort with my pronouns as they are; I still felt too much like I was appropriating someone else's struggle to consider anything but the pronouns of my assigned gender.
When it comes to writing, I'm glad that “What are their pronouns?” is a standard thing I consider when creating a new character; I don't assume cisgender people using the pronouns of their assigned gender.
I had a moment on Facebook, trying to figure out some words for this scene based on Iven being a trans man who's had some gender confirming surgeries and not others. Remember that he's wearing a sports chest binder in this scene because he hasn't had what's commonly thought of as “top surgery” or bilateral mastectomy and male chest construction.
Click here to read part 1 first.
“Plans, my Lady?” Iven's throat moved with his swallowing.
“Yes.” Audrey crawled onto the bed and came to kneel between his spread legs. “I want to enjoy my boy. You still want to be my boy, right?”
“Yes, my Lady. Your boy.”
With the tip of her tongue, she traced a line from his belly button to the bottom hem of his binder.
“My Lady,” he groaned as his cock grew hard against her thigh.
“That's my boy,” she rasped. “Does the pressure of my leg across your cock feel that good?”
“Yes, my Lady.” He lifted his hips to press harder against her. “Do I... beg?”
“Beg to come? Of course you do, but you can't be that close just yet?” She crawled backward until she could rest her chin--balls, he wants them called balls, even if he didn't get scrotoplasty—on his balls. She brushed one fingernail up his cock.
“So sensitive, my Lady,” he whimpered.
“I like to hear that.” She sucked his cock into her mouth. Breathing in through her nose, she listened for his sounds. The feel of his cock made her own get harder. He's holding back, but his hips want to move. My handsome boy.
“My Lady, my Lady!”
She pressed her hands underneath his ass and lifted him closer. She pulled back slightly, until just the glans rested on her tongue. Her heart pounded in her ears as his legs pushed against hers. She pressed her thumbs into his hips.
“Yes, my Lady.” He moaned hoarsely and thrust upward so she took his cock back into her mouth to the root. “Oh, my Lady.” His head rocked against the pillows. “I didn't mean to. Um. Feels, feels...” He coughed and then groaned.
Grabbing and then squeezing his hand, she sucked harder on his cock. Need that in me. She pulled all the way off him with her lips just touching the head. “I want to spank you now. Then I want to feel you in my ass, let you fuck me until we both come.”
“Please, my Lady.” Iven's toes curled into the comforter again.
She tumbled away from him on her bed and placed her feet on the carpet.
Without a further order from her, he dashed across the space to lay himself across her thighs, his cock coming to settle between them.
“That's my good boy.” She brushed her fingers over his asscheeks. “Which of my wants are you more eager for?”
He mewled behind closed lips.
“A, B, or C, boy. Unless you want a punishment more than B,” she teased.
“B, but it makes me feel greedy to say, my Lady.”
“Good boy, answering and explaining your answer. What have we talked about with wants?” She dropped three spanks on his cheeks, her tongue moving against the back of her teeth at the delightful sting on her hand.
Releasing a held breath after the last spank, he replied, “Wants are fine to have. It's only in violating someone's consent to get those wants is there any reason for negativity. My Lady.”
“Yes, good boy.” She spanked him several more times, one cheek, the other cheek, across the middle over his crack, without counting. Her balls pulsed hot with pleasure as he writhed against her. “Good boy, staying hard during your spanking.”
“Thanks, my Lady.” His hips thrust his ass up to meet her hand.
She pushed him to the bed and scrambled up to grab the anal lube. Squirting out a bunch, she spread some over her asshole before returning to him. The lube resting on her palm, she stroked his cock until it glistened.
“My Lady, please, my Lady!” He rocked against the bed with abandon.
“Come on, boy! Up on the bed so we can spoon.” She pulled him by his hair until they were up at the head of the bed. Spreading her asscheeks with one hand, she ordered, “Do me!” Sighing, she enjoyed the pressure of his cock at her entrance before he started pushing into her. “That's my boy.” She grunted with pleasure when he touched her hip. “Reach around and stroke my cock, boy.”
“Yes, my Lady,” he replied between gritted teeth.
Her muscles clamped down on his cock. “Just like that.”
“Thank you, my Lady. I never imagined it could feel this good!” He pounded into her as his hand slipped up and down her cock, his thumb pushing down her foreskin when he went up over the glans.
This was the right choice for him, and fuck, does his cock feel good! She grabbed his hand off her cock and licked his palm before wrapping him around her cock again. “I want you to feel good and come, boy. No begging now. I just wanna know when you come.”
“Yes, yes, yes! Thanks, my Lady!” His thumb slipped over her glans in the way that drove her crazy. “Thank you. Unh!” His hand slid down to the base of her cock, his little finger sliding over her balls.
“Thant's right! Come for me. Come inside me!” Her cum shot out of her onto the bed as he groaned behind her. Her face fell forward onto the pillow. So good. My good boy. Used the right language, even coming. That's my handsome boy. She pulled an extra blanket over them. “We'll go take a soak shortly, good boy. Thank you for sharing your first post-op sexual experience with me.”
“You're welcome and thanks for allowing it, my Lady.” He kissed the nap of her neck and pressed closer to her.
So I rememberd #WipItUpWednesday, even if I messed up my Master's work schedule (off work Tuesday night, not Wednesday night). I'm sharing something different; I know :D like I never ever manage different LOL. But I'm going to share my editing note as the scene set up.
Is this even close to any prayer or would this be horrifically offensive to include in the book? This paragraph is lackluster from lack of knowledge and indecision on it.
Ziba stepped into the mosque and headed for the bathroom as she removed her head scarf. She quickly completed her ritual bathing and then moved to the prayer hall. Spotting an empty prayer carpet, she slipped her shoes off beside the wall before approaching the empty space. She knelt on the carpet and began doing whatever Muslims do when they pray. Her breathing pleasantly slowed as peace filled her. “Allah is above all people. Allah is peace. I wish to be a servant of Allah.” She continued through her prayers, focused on the connection.
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