I live and write BDSM. Age 18+. Scarleteen is great for under 18.
"A Little's New Holidays"- novella release 7/30/2019, links for preorder ASAP. Please enjoy this snippet and the cover reveal at the bottom of this post!
I wrote "A Littl'e's New Holidays" in first person so it can be a fictional extension of my real relationships and interests.
From "January- Spankymas- the two days between Shaman's and my birthdays"
Daddy,” I call out while holding a pony, drawing out the d's in the middle, “I has an idea for something fun for the year. Are ya game?”
Daddy rolls his eyes. “So being a Little means messed up words to you? I thought we agreed to no lisping.”
“I didn't lisp when I asked are ya game, Daddy.” I kneel in front of him in his big recliner chair. “Are ya? Are ya?”
“What's your idea? I hope it doesn't cost a lot.”
“We make a year of new holidays. One a month, Daddy. Things we like better than established holidays that give us bad memories.” I bat my eyelashes at him as I look at his face. “Like since your days off fall on the day after your birthday and the next, we'd have those two days to have Spankymas, to link our birthdays.” I nod with what I hope is a serious expression. I fall back onto the ground, narrowly missing his computer, as I burst into giggles.
Daddy reaches down to grab me by my collar.
“Daddy, Daddy! I said the day after your birthday!” I yelp as I find myself falling across his lap and grabbing the side of his chair so I don't knock a bunch of stuff to the floor.
“If I'm your Daddy, I think I can spank you whenever you're being a brat. And that's most of the time you're awake.”
I'm sometimes 4, 12, or an adult. Those are in my head and behavior- I'm physically an adult. Bad memories make most holidays hard so my Daddy let me create 12 new ones. You know you wanna join me for a year of a Little's New Holidays.
I'm always a person into BDSM- no matter what age I'm feeling. So some of the holidays include sex, whips, and other toys of an adult nature. But I like to color too. Stuffed animals are also very, very important. As you enjoy the story, you'll have to see what age I am.
Publisher's warning (or promise, depending on your point of view): BDSM, Ageplay (It's BDSM involving consenting adults), sexual intercourse, coloring, tea parties, bondage, nonbinary people.
You can preorder "Summer Heat: Imperfectly Yours Volume 1" now on Amazon- it'll be live on July 23rd. Here's the link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07VBJGHDT?ref_=pe_3052080_276849420
And now I'll share another tidbit from my story in the anthology: "Between the Pages"--
Eyes glittering, Adam asked, “Can you please tell me the story of when we met again?”
“Sometimes I think I should make a picture book for you of this story.” Joon grinned.
The corners of his lips playing at a smile, Adam asked, “An audio book, maybe, 'cause I like hearing you tell it?”
“That might be the trick.”
Adam eased his body down onto the blanket, his head coming to rest on Joon's thigh. “So good to live in a city that has an ordinance protecting people like us. We can cuddle, right?”
Joon snorted. “Yes.”
We're having a release day party in the Facebook group in the Disability and Romance Authors and Readers group https://www.facebook.com/groups/1456675944444093/ Tuesday 7/23 from 10am EST to 6pm EST.
'm sorry to say that I can't give you a release date yet for "Summer Heat," the anthology in which my story "Between the Pages" will be published. For now, I'm going to let you meet Joon and Adam just a bit.
Joon dragged his hand through his bushy salt-and-pepper hair. Still more pepper. Thank goodness that Koreans look young longer. “It's a good afternoon to be at the library.”
“Yes it is. Can we please go to the teen section first? I want to finish the teen science series before finding an adult book about those topics,” Adam said.
“Sure.” Joon started toward the elevator with Adam walking alongside. “Thanks for not hurrying ahead, nae salang.”
“You're so fast on your wheels that I gotta hurry to keep up.”
Once inside the elevator, Joon pushed the third floor button.
I'm still trying to finish a piece I started for Masturbation Monday a few weeks ago. It's not that it's Camp Nano or Nanowrimo; I'm struggling to write. A meme going around had me thinking- about gay people taking off all the rainbow/Pride stuff on the way to their car to keep from being jumped. I'm struggling to write because I feel unsafe within my own home. Nothing like domestic violence, but I'm constantly interrupted no matter what I'm trying to do. Writing has become a thing I do best outside the house; today's writing beside this was at church and I managed 537 between longhand and typing it up.
All this leads me to thinking- how does one even masturbate when you're feeling unsafe? All jokes about teen experimentation aside, I struggle with this. I don't know; I'm thinking after I finish this that I'll close the bedroom door, grab a book and some lube, and rub off a few. Sure, I got to come a bunch with my Master, when he used his fingers on me before fucking my cunt, but we don't have a rule where I can't masturbate and come without his permission.
I'm thinking again on polyamory. I've been a schmuck to my girlfriend; it's been way too long since I've done anything with her. There are so many different ways that mutual masturbation can work out. But when I read through post after post of seemingly cisgender, heterosexual man and woman doing something, I wonder where my queer self belongs. But you know, I'm writing in 1st person, present tense; how much does my queerness really bleed through the pages.
First I'm going to share with you all something I tweeted: “#AmWriting #transgender #TransMan #MasturbationMonday Sigh, I keep finding any reason I can to not finish this piece. @KaylaLords can you recommend I should be done so you can read it next week? LOL”
Working with Pekka, my transgender man who has had some gender confirming surgeries, I struggled to figure out the point of this scene. Inspired by JerBear's picture in week 236, I finally pushed through to what I found was a good ending late on Monday the 15th. Too much life happening, too much stress. But this is good. I even want to share it with my therapist.
Pekka rubbed the cocoa butter over the still healing area of his thigh where the surgeon had taken the skin graft for his phalloplasty. No more stitches, just tender skin.
He squeezed more lotion over his thigh. Some trickled between his legs. His palm slipped over his scrotum, that part of his body he worked to feel a part of him. His skin against skin felt good. He worked the pump within, made to feel as testicles.
“My Lady wanted me to grow used to this on my own,” he reminded himself aloud. After a few tentative pumps, he grew more comfortable. Once his neo-phallus stood erect, he squeezed more lotion onto his hand. He palmed his cock. Sucking in a breath, he focused on the sensations from his palm and phallus.
“This is me. All of me, even the surgical creations are still me.” His other hand moved to his chest, finger slipping over his nipples one at a time. He looked out his window in a small area between his scarlet drapes. He left off caressing his nipples to touch the puckered skin from his top surgery.
“I have become more me, but what does that mean?” He coughed. “I feel as I want to, inside and outside.” He cleared his mind before he continued his exploratory caresses. The sandalwood incense wafted over him. He left off touching his chest to wrap that hand around the base of his cock. With soft, even breaths, he relaxed into pleasant sensations. He groaned as a clitoral-like orgasm burst within him. “No limits, my Lady says.” His hand traveled up to the tip of his neo-phallus, his lips pulling upward into a smile at his cock lacking the slicing that would have made him look circumcised, unlike his beautiful domme. He grasped the base of his cock with both hands. His mouth caught in a wide circle as his hands suddenly felt slick. “Yes,” he whispered as the health of his Skene's glands made themselves knows. He paused with his hand clutching the round tip of his penis. “This won't be like a single cis-penis orgasm.”
A gust of warm air from the heater vent sent his drapes fluttering.
He grabbed for the warming lotion beside what he'd started with. Slicking his hand, he started rubbing his shaft faster. The friction made his hips thrust into the air. He grasped his inner thigh. “Can't grab my testicles. Could break the pump.” His toes pushed down into his bed and he fell flat a moment later. He let go of his inner thigh and grabbed the base of his cock again. He worked his hand in circles around it as he stroked again with the other. Crying out, he jerked against the bed and pounded his foot against the wall. His eyelids fluttered as the pleasure released throughout him. “Do I keep going?” He stilled with his hands on his cock. “This neo-phallus isn't just for penetrating others. I can feel pleasure on my own.”
The door opened and Lady Audrey leaned against the doorjamb. “Enjoying yourself, my boy?”
“It's amazing, my Lady. I'm so grateful you ordered me to try this.” Pekka stopped stroking his cock.
“Do you not want me to watch?”
“Um... I don't know, my Lady.” He frowned. “It's not like I can ejaculate, even if I'm managing some natural lubricant.”
“Lover, I'm bisexual. You think the only thing I enjoy seeing is a cock spewing cum?” She grinned as she moved to the foot of his bed. “I heard you kick the wall, during one orgasm, I guess.”
Pekka nodded and began to stroke his penis again. Moments later, he stopped again.
“Can I cuddle you?”
“Yes, please, my Lady. I think I'm done for now, unless you wanna order more.”
Lady Audrey lay down beside Pekka. “No order, my dear boy. I love you.”
“I love you, my Lady.” He rested his head on her chest and released the air from his neo-phallus. “Thank you, my Lady.”
What does a smut writer do when he's missing all inspiration and motivation? I don't wanna list what I tried. The inspiration picture was interesting, but then my thought was to consider Kayla's comment and then I couldn't manage anything but “How many times I can I deal with a cock?” Then a reader commented that she found this article about muffing interesting and I couldn't say when I wrote about muffing before so I sat to write. Audrey told me to write about someone other than her.
Joanna pressed her face against the cool, inner wall of her apartment. “What a day,” she muttered. A knock at her door startled her. “Just a moment,” she called out before scurrying to her door. She took a quick look through the peephole.
“I know you're there,” Michel cooed.
Grinning, she opened the thick wooden door to let him in.
“Love.” Michel gave her two quick air kisses, his lips just barely touching her soft skin. He pushed the door closed. “My love.”
“Such a sweet.” Joanna wandered ainto her bedroom, Michel trailing after her. “A guy at work was offering me a new job.”
“Oh?” He sat on her bed near the pillows.
She slipped out of her red pumps and pulled her nylons off. She reached under her tight lemon yellow dress. “At a sex toy shop.”
“You'd be great! Think of all the teaching you could do!”
“Or I'd just be more frustrated than I already am.” She pouted and crashed onto her bed.
He placed his hands on the hem of her dress. “You don't have to be frustrated right now.”
“Help with your fingers and tongue.”
“My pleasure.” He eased her g-string down to her knees. As she pushed, he eased her testicles out of the inguinal canals.
She groaned as he slipped the tips of his index fingers over her skin. “Oh, yes.”
His fingers pressed into the smallest of indents before he eased them further into her pockets. “I'm so glad you taught me how to finger you.” He looked up at her next groan. Wrapping his mouth around her cock, he lifted his gaze to her fingers pinching her nipples. He pressed his fingers deeper into her, both hands moving with short thrusts. He wiggled his hips, his own cock hard in his leather pants.
“Coming, coming,” she muttered with her head rocking back and fort against her pillow.
He hummed and sucked hard on her cock.
“So good, but no jizz yet.”
He kept up his fingering and sucking. He moved his chin against her shaved scrotum. His fingers still fucking her, he pulled his mouth off her cock. “So what's your pleasure?”
“I wanna finish this orgasm.”
He sucked on her more, his tongue working on circumcised head. He moved in his fingers in circles in her canals, the rest of his hands gripping her hips as she started to buck against him. He breathed in as her body spread out with her release.
“One hand, grab my balls,” she grunted.
He eased his left finger out of her canal and squeezed her balls in one hand.
Her feet pressed into the bed and her cum shot into his mouth.
His cock throbbed against his pants in response to her pleasure and he smiled around her cock as he worked to swallow her cum. He lifted his mouth slowly, swallowing as he went. He kissed the tip of her cock. “Thanks, love. Feeling less frustrated?”
“Yeah, for a bit. You come up here.”
Over on Facebook, I'm an admin for the Spanking Ficton Readers and Writers group. Wanting to get us talking about writing and sharing our writing, I offered a writing prompt. I decided to take some time from my WIPs to attempt the prompt myself.
Two dirt-poor art students survive by sharing a nasty little apartment above a bodega. They struggle through four years, barely making ends meet, comforting one another through tragedies and triumph, but never openly admit how they feel about each other…until they graduate, and one of them gets a job in another city. Is it too late to confess their love?
The stench washed over them, blue hair and purple hair.
“Here's the $30 down,” Timpany said.
“Move in now, if you want. I ain't got no money to clean it up first,” the landlord said.
Rela set hir bag on the floor. “It'll work. Thanks.” Ze closed the door behind the fleeing landlord.
“That's done.” Timpany relaxed onto the floor with his legs spread apart. “First class tomorrow at noon.”
“Yeah. And we're doing it without our families' support.”
“Right you are.” Timpany turned onto his side and closed his eyes.
Rela stood up with blue hair falling all around them. “Fuck yeah. New start.” Ze wandered onto the shower tiles and turned on the water. Fast rinse to push the hair to the drain, ze hurried through the cold shower. “Damn broken water heater.” Ze shook off the water.
The door opened and Timpany walked in. “You get a bad grade again?”
“I was gonna show my parents.”
Timpany wrapped his arms around the dripping wet Rela. “You can still show your parents. It's one bad grade. Just one.”
“What you get on the project?”
“B,” Timpany said.
“Shit.” He continued to hug hir. “Look, I scored us some ramen. Let's eat.”
Ze noticed a towel and grabbed it. “Dry enough.” Half-watching around the towel, ze relaxed into Timpany's care.
Pot on the hot pad, he ripped open two packages of ramen and poured the noodles into the boiling water.
“I'm laying.” Ze dropped down onto the futon.
“Shaved head's a cool look,” he called out.
“Another year of classes. Why are we doing bachelor's rather than associate's?” Timpany looked up from his sketch pad to watch Rela scrubbing the inside of their only window.
“Because we live in this shithole so we can get the slightly more impressive fine arts' degrees?”
Timpany snorted. He pulled his blanket up his lap and readjusted his sketch pad.
Gun shots sounded and Rela dropped to the floor moments before a bullet smashed through their window.
“Okay, going to tell Miranda. Don't clean up the glass, just our other stuff.” Timpany jumped to his feet and pulled a red dress that reached his ankles. He hopped across the floor to miss any broken glass, pulled on his flip-flops, and hurried out the door. He practically flew down the stairs to the bodega and stopped in front of the counter, trying to catch his breath.
“Yeah, Tim?” Miranda asked.
“Sen...senora, our window was broken by those gunshots.”
Miranda sighed. “Put a plastic bag or something over it. I'll see if I can get a cheap enough window.”
“Gracias.” Timpany rushed back up the stairs. Just inside the door, he said, “Fucking hell! Plastic bag or something! I should have known better. She's not coming to look.”
Rela looked up from hir tidying. “You tried to do the right thing, as far as we were raised to think it.”
“You mind getting all the glass up so I can finish this drawing? It's due tomorrow?”
“No problem. And then I'll get a garbage bag over the window hole.”
Gazing at his drawing for a long moment, he started to sketch a pistol in the upper left corner.
“Fuck, I'm cold!” Rela placed another garbage bag over the window and applied liberal amounts of duct tape.
“At least we're in New Mexico,” Timpany responded. He placed his sketch book on the floor. “Why don't you take a break and we'll cuddle. That'll warm you up.”
“You're naughty.” Still ze crossed the room, dropped their jeans to the floor, and then relaxed between his legs before he covered them both with the heavy, new blanket he'd found in the lost and found room at school. “You may be from the frozen north, but I'm from Brazil. This is frigid to me.”
“It's okay. Aren't you feeling warmer already?” He rubbed his hands against hir arms rapidly.
“Yeah. This is good. How's your classwork going?” Ze rested hir cheek on his chest.
“Lots of papers in this class. Freaking art history! But it feels good to be learning, especially since this is focused on art outside the Western, white male canon. You know, sometimes seeing people who look like me in the textbook?”
“I get you. I'm loving my sexuality in art class. All the extra reading material the prof suggests is way cool. Radical sexuality and politics.”
“That must warm your funky, little heart,” he teased.
“Shush your rotten mouth.”
“You know you like it.”
Ze turned to look at his sketch pad. “What's this you're working on? If it isn't for a class?”
“Oh, it's for a class, just not the art history one. Well I already had it started, but it fits an assignment.” He studied his drawing with hir. “A fantasy, something I'm not sure is an experience I could ever have.”
“I like it.” Ze closed hir eyes.
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” Rela screeched, a piece of paper in hir hands.
“What?” Timpany closed and then taped a cardboard box.
“The advertising company in Arizona that I wanted to work for said yes. They'll even help some toward my student loans.”
“That's great.” Timpany looked at the floor and moved to some last things of theirs needing boxed.
“What?” Rela moved in front of the box and grabbed Timpany's hands.
“I.” He dropped a sketch pad into the box; it fell open to show the picture of his fantasy from a few months before. “I mean, do you.”
Ze traced the lines of the nurturing figure without actually touching the paper.
Ripping his hands away, he turned to grab the paperback from the worn down futon mattress they'd agreed to leave behind.
“Adult babies?” Rela murmured. Ze flipped slowly through the dog-earred book, pausing to read and study various pictures and passages. “Do you want to be my baby?” Ze looked up quick to his face.
“I was too scared to ask. That you'd think me weird. That you might not.” He swallowed. “Love me.”
Ze flopped down on the futon. “Pants down and across my lap.”
Once he was in position, he murmured, “Love?”
“I was waiting for you, silly goose. I love you too. And since you almost waited until I was gone, I'm going to spank your butt with the book and then you'll start loading your stuff into my car.”
“Your Per loves you very much.” Ze brought the paperback down on his butt hard enough that it made a crisp smack five times before pulling up hir pants. “We'll have awhile on the road to take about this.”
“Yes, my love, my Per.” He sighed and burst into movement.
(Continuing from 12/24; this is part 2. It's still Audrey, Blaze, and I.)
I cling to Audrey as she scoots us a few inches closer to Blaze. “None of us are cis.”
“How does that make you feel?”
I lift my gaze to Blaze's face and then it drops to their hands. “Um. How should it make me feel? No. Curious. Interested. Good. Different. I'm a thesaurus.”
Audrey laughs at my last statement. “Now, now, little love. Are you forcing eye contact with Blaze that you find uncomfortable?”
I shake my head. “Not at all. They're responding like you or Amy would, not forcing me to maintain the contact longer than I'm comfortable with.” I press small kisses to Audrey's jaw and close my eyes. “I'm working on owning my feelings and remembering that most people aren't unsafe like my mother.” I swallow. I open my eyes. “Most people aren't unsafe like my mother.”
“That appears to be a good thing for you to affirm.” Blaze nods. “Parented differently?”
I giggle. “Good memory. Because even adults sometimes need their parents' support.” I look down at Blaze's hand on the couch. “Please hold my hand.”
Blaze's long fingers wrap around mine.
“Your hand makes mine look so tiny. I like it.” I brush my thumb across Blaze's palm. “I like you.”
“I like you too.” Blaze smiles at me. “Are you still good with talking?”
“Yeah, but thank you for asking. It's good to be reminded that you're open to communication other than just spoken.”
“I particularly enjoyed watching how you used various types of AAC in your Autistic love story, including during intimate moments.”
“Per, Audrey? Might I please lay across both your laps?” I breathe in deep to calm my rapid heartbeat.
“I would love that. Twelve isn't too old for cuddles, in my opinion.” Blaze squeezes my hand before releasing it.
I ponder movement and my body's potential placement. I scoot so my upper back an head are resting on Blaze's... Per's lap. My butt rests between my loved one and love-one-to-be. My legs rest in part over Audrey. I turn my knees so I can tuck my feet behind her back.
“And we have an adorable boy covered back up with his blanket.” Per tucks the blanket around my neck.
Per strokes my hair. “It appears that Audrey is having adult thoughts about an adult Joey.”
I glance at Audrey's eyes, those beautifully rich brown eyes, and see the haziness of which Per speaks.
“You know the adult Joey can consent to Audrey, if he wishes?”
“Consent?” I feel my eyebrows and forehead pull tight as if asking a WH-question in ASL.
“You can ask her what she wants and you can say yes or no.” Per leans forward to drop a small kiss on my forehead. “Of course a twelve-year-old can't legally consent in most of the US and I prefer to separate adult interactions from ageplay.”
“Separate how?” I feel Audrey's hand on my knee, but still above the blanket.
“It depends on the moment. Do you feel safe with part of you on my lap and part on Audrey's? Is that enough separation for you as well?” Per moves their arm so it supports the back of my head.
“Yes, Per.” I snuggle my face against Per's plaid-shirt covered belly.
Audrey caresses my knee until I look at her face. “Joey, I would like your verbal consent. To hear your sweet words. To hear you confirm that what I want is what you also want.”
I focus on my swallowing, the substantial being of Per with us, underneath me. “Yes or no? That's what I was missing when I was thirteen. No one had told me I had a choice.” I close my eyes to affirm Per's spoken truth inside me. “Audrey, had I told you yet--“
“Yes, I heard your thoughts, love.”
“Please help me find my masculine vulva and vagina. Please touch me in the ways you need to help me affirm that.” I look up at Per. “But Per, please help me put on a chest binder first.” I ease my legs from Audrey's lap and to the floor.
When I pause, Per says, “Look to the floor.”
I turn my head away from Per; a new black chest binder lays on the floor a few feet from us. “A new binder, Per?”
“Something my boy needs, right?” Per grins at me.
“Thanks, Per.” I struggle to sitting upright with Per's hand pushing on my back. My feet touch the floor as I look down to see Per's hands in the air beside my hips. “Yes, help, please, Per.”
Audrey looks at the screen narrating our actions. “So many commas, dear.”
I wrinkle my nose at Audrey before standing with Per's help. I pick up the binder and look into it. “Per! How'd you know my size?”
Audrey snorts. “I told them your size.”
“You've worn binders, right?” Per rests their hands on my shoulders.
“Yes, Per.” I turn the binder inside out and upside down before holding it out and stepping into it. As I tug it into place, I look up at Per's face.
“The compression feels good, doesn't it?” Per moves their shirt collar to show the strap of their own chest binder.
“Definitely!” I push my pecs into place under my binder. “Per, may I please hug you?”
“Sure.” Per holds their arms out wide and I barrel into the embrace, sighing when Per engulfs me in protective pressure. Their fingers press into my skin, but their hands are still.
I hum into their shirt, not quite trying to make words.
“Can I call you my boy?” Per continues to hold me.
I nod against their shirt.
“My boy, did you forget about Audrey?” At my gasp, Per asks, “May I carry you back to the couch?”
“Please.” I turn slightly in Per's embrace just before they position their arms behind my knees and back to lift me. I sniff. “Hmm, is that vertiver?”
“Yes.” I close my eyes and enjoy the movements. I cling to Per's neck as they relaxed down to the couch.
“You feel so good in my arms. Want help returning to your previous position?”
I nod. My stomach muscles clench under the longer, new binder. I've never worn a full length one. The back of my head again rests on Per's arm.
“Does it help that your tummy is covered? To consider your masculine vulva, that is?” Audrey traces her finger through my pubic hair, across the top edge of my vulva. “Does the fuzzy covering make you feel masculine?”
“Too many questions at once, love! I'm not sure what I think of the long binder. And I'm thinking your aroused expression and my interest are helping most with the idea of masculine vulva, my comfort with Per here.”
Audrey pushes lightly into my body. “Wonderfully pliable. I think of times I've gotten to watch you writhe as Shaman played with clothespins.”
“This is your first full length binder? I'll have to see about getting you some more then.” Per brushes their lips over my forehead.
Audrey brushes her fingers over the meeting of my outer labia. “So softly masculine. I'm always so drawn to your labia. You still like that word?”
I groan, huff a breath through my nose. My gaze meets Per's.
“That groan sounded like it could have been a yes. Was it?” Audrey moves her hand from my outer labia to the top of my thigh.
I lift my hand to sign YES.
Audrey tugs at my outer labia. “I think your inner labia might be the most masculine, the way they hang just beyond the outer lips.”
Per strokes my hair. “Still good, my boy?”
“Yes, Per, excellent.” I inhabit Middle and adult at the same time.
“Stroking your inner labia makes me feel so womanly. Do you prefer my fingertip or nail?”
“Your... your finger.” I cough. “But womanly?”
“Let your mind relax. I'm not saying that your body affirms or changes my gender identity. You affirm my feelings of womanliness.” Audrey continues to stroke my inner labia.
I whimper with the growling arousal that prompts my Skene's glands; how ever do I find such medical words arousing? “Mmm, yes.”
“Such strength in these gorgeous muscles.” Audrey traces her fingers around the opening of my vagina, dipping in shallowly in for my arousal. “And strength in your masculine vagina. It's so you, so wonderfully boyish. I love how your boy-pussy grips my fingers when you're coming.”
I brush my fingers over the bottom hem of my new binder. I look at Per's chin. “Yes is yes?”
“Yes.” Per chuckles.
Audrey slides two fingers into my vagina and starts to move them in scissor fashion. Her thumb presses against my bound clitorophallus. “Can you have a little orgasm for me, my sweet man?”
My butt rocks against the couch and Audrey's leg. “Like you so much, Per,” I mumble.
“I like you too, sweet Joey.” Per cups my cheek with one warm hand.
I close my eyes as the pleasure rockets through me, Audrey's suggestive question prepping my body alongside our chat. “Yes, yes, yes!” I focus on her fingers' movements inside me. I squeeze her fingers as my lips part in a long, long moan.
“That's my love.” Audrey presses down on my mons with her other hand, preventing me from pulling away from her touch. As my moan increases in pitch and volume, she slides a third finger into me.
I push up hard against her hands.
“That's right. You can feel all this pleasure as a consenting adult and I'll make us hot chocolate shortly.” Per kisses my nose.
“Yes!” I crash back down onto Audrey, no longer pressing against her hands. “Thanks, thanks, love.” I turn my head into Per's shirt. “Thanks for being here, my new Per.”
“You're welcome.” Per kisses my nose again. “Audrey, will you sure in the hot chocolate?”
“Most definitely.” Audrey kisses my mons.
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.