Tonight 6/11/09

Off for my date with GF; she hasn't punished me since Saturday, and since then I've accumulated several transgressions that will probably be dealt with severely. I have no way of knowing exactly what I am looking to receive until I am standing before her.

I ruined a perfectly good (and cute) pair of Air Walks by repeatedly wearing them without socks. From sweating in them as I ride my bike, they now smell like absolute hell, and I have them in a plastic bag because the smell is so overwhelming I can't have them open in the same room.

I have whined about my weight several times over the past few days. Worse, I have done it to people who obviously desire me, with the express intention of being complimented by them.

I have experienced guilt about things that in no way were my fault, yet still crippled me.

I haven't even pretended to pick up around here. I did a load of laundry because I was running out of underwear.

I am ready for whatever punishment I receive. I will post what happens tonight when I return.

The "Are You Bi" Question

I get asked this a lot-especially by on-line friends. I'm never comfortable with this question, not because it's personal or anything, but because I'm not happy with the term...and all the cultural baggage that comes with it. First, as soon as I hear the label "bi" I hear the faint steel drums of a Girls Gone Wild commercial in my head. There's something incredibly irritating about the sight of two spray-tanned blond bimbos tongue kissing for the viewing enjoyment of their beefhead boyfriends. A part of me suspects these "see how wild and free I am" springbreak sapphos are only the slightly older versions of the same girls who in high school called me lesbo and dyke.

i really really hate this...

There's a frustrating thing where most web sites where your sexual orientation is included in a profile- including those for explicit sex talk, social networking and even regular dating sites- have a shared category for bisexual and bicurious. And while I certainly applaud anyone who embraces their curiosity, I don't think it's fair to lump my sexuality in with some 40 year old car salesman in Iowa who's always kinda wondered what it'd be like to give a handjob. I'm not curious about sex with women, I've had it- and depending on what exact line you use to determine if it counts as "sex" (not an exact definition), I've actually had sex with more women then men. Reversely, because of two long-term straight relationships taking up the majority of the 8 years I've been sexually active, I've had more actual sex with men than women. It's all very confusing.

this, on the other hand...

I also don't know if I like this idea that my previous experience somehow defines my current situation. I am currently in a monogamous relationship with a woman; does having had sex with men before somehow change the definition of this relationship in a way that it wouldn't if I had only ever had sex with women? By identifying me as "bi" my commitment, my love for GF is somehow reduced and marginalized... a half person unable to genuinely give herself fully to anyone. This is more insulting than hurtful (although it is hurtful, too) because it defines my ability to love as less than other people-which is funny, because I personally believe the fact that gender is not a driving force in my attraction means I have the capacity to love more. I mean, I guess it's fighting words to put out there the suggestion that straight and gay people are less capable of truly loving the person, but I do think moving beyond the restrictions of gender definitely has afforded me the opportunity to connect with a wider range of people.

And yes, it is maybe a bit of an issue in terms of our relationship. Lesbians can be kind of weird about women who are sexually attracted to both sexes (interestingly, gay men don't seem to suffer this problem...maybe because they believe that deep down in side all men are two drinks away from being gay). There's this an ugly myth in the straight male world that all lesbians need to "cure" them is a good solid fucking, and sadly, a lot of lesbians seem to genuinely worry about this, that bi women will ran back to the hetero lifestyle the first time a random penis is wagged at them. There is a palpable hostility I feel from some lesbians- like either I'm some silly little tourist killing time until I move to suburbia to become a baby-making machine, or that I'm some sort of tragic, damaged victim who only recently overcame the cultural pressures to be "normal". Ending up in the Womens' Studies department hasn't exactly reduced this feeling of somehow falling short; Dworkin style feminism still casts a pretty large shadow (no pun intended), and this ridiculous belief that female heterosexuality is somehow a symptom of cultural ills is taken as gospel truth by far too many women.

And most disturbingly, I can sometimes detect just the faintest whiff of concern from GF- that there's something lacking in her that I can only find from a man. I don't know what this would be; I've never dated (or wanted to date) a man who in any way financially supported me, and a quick review of my past relationships with men reveals a complete lack of interest in hulking he-man types. She doesn't really say it, but I can see it in her eyes sometimes, that fear that I'll leave her for a man. She's got very little direct experience with men sexually- as a lifestyle Domme she's dominated them, but that was always non-sexual, and other than some high school stuff, she's thoroughbred. And like a lot of lesbians with that distinction, she actually buys into this (male created) myth that there's something only men can provide.

i just don't know about this one...the underwear is pretty cute...

Meaning, of course, penis: do I ache for that bit of business, miss kneeling before that alter of muscle? Good grief, no. I mean, if you the reader happen to have one attached to your body...well good for you, enjoy! I'm sure they're very nice to have. But being on the receiving end was never really all that wonderful, truth be told. It's not that they're bad or anything...they can be quite charming and personable. It's just that they're a lot of work and not very versatile. Semen is an incredibly gross substance, which I can't stand having on my skin, let alone in my mouth (before my first experience, I assumed it tasted like frosting...I was very, very wrong). Fellatio hurts my neck, and I always feel equally demeaned when they look down and watch me doing it and when they look away...like I'm a toilet to dump their waste in. I am willing to take it on faith that there are people out there who genuinely enjoy bobbing their head up and down as the thing threatens to trigger the gag reflex, but I could never really find much satisfaction in it.
I'm not going to say I don't enjoy getting fucked (sorry...do you have a more honest word?) , but GF certainly has fucked me into a complete, quivering stupor...thank you world of plastics, and all your many shapes and sizes for every occasion!

We live in the Obama era (thank god for that!). One of the things that comes from this new age is a breakdown of outdated categories; is our president black, white, biracial...and does it matter? We live in the 21st century, but we're still dependent on the language and groupings of Victorian sociologists.

in looking for pictures for this piece, i stumbled on this one. i have no idea why, but i find this weirdly hot.

Rectal Thermometers part two

I handed the thermometer to GF outside the Walgreens. She casually put it in her purse, saying nothing more about it as we walked off to the rest of our day. I had assumed as I was buying it that we'd be going back to her apartment that very afternoon to break in this new toy, and I was more than a little flushed with excitement at the thought of offering myself up to yield to the icy probing of the thermometer's tip. But once we returned to her apartment and began messing around, my excitement gradually turned into frustration as time progressed without her mentioning-or using- the thermometer.

Certainly not everyone considers their anus to be an erogenous zone...many people are in fact horrified by the idea of every being touched back there. But as those who do include this most personal area as part of their sexuality will tell you, it's like all the blood rushes back there, making it more sensitive for the attention about to be received. When you then don't receive that expected attention, you (or at least I) get an uncomfortable itching back there. I don't know...maybe that itching sensation is just a response my body has, like there's a hair stuck inside of me.

But it was an itch left unscratched (at least by the thermometer) for a long time. She didn't take my temperature that day...or any of the many days that followed. I've always struggled with discomfort when it comes to revealing my sexuality to others; I have a lot of difficulty not feeling weird and perverted and seriously damaged in the eyes of others. At 27, I intellectually understand that in the grand scheme of things, my particular fetishes and fantasies are relatively banal and pedestrian. I have a lot of close friends (including GF) who are into suspensions- where you hang from hooks that have been carefully inserted into your flesh. And while I find something darkly beautiful in the rituals involved in this practice, I can honestly say I could never myself do it. And yes, GF has been pretty serious in the BDSM scene for a long time, and has explored very edgy, serious power exchanges. Even knowing this, though, I can't shake the feeling that I am somehow just to weird and out there in my fantasies, something that has nothing to do with logic and everything to do with a deep-seated cultural training about what is "normal" and "abnormal". I don't know if it's a Catholic thing, a small town thing, or a result of my anxiety and esteem issues, but it's something I struggle with. By her not using it, or even mentioning it again, I started to feel a little dirty and weird.

So anyway, back to the thermometer. More than a month passed, and after awhile I forgot I had even mentioned it. There were certainly other things we were exploring, and my submissive plate was full enough that the absence of this one thing didn't leave a very big hole (not intended as a pun!). Because we both have jobs that have changing schedules, sometimes we don't get to see each other until late in the evening. I can get off at 9 or 10 at night, and either take the two buses to get from work to her place or, if it's at least reasonably warm outside, I'll ride my bicycle over. This past winter lingered a little later than normal (thanks, climate change!), so as soon as I could, I started riding my bike everywhere.

And so on this one particular night, I arrived at her place at about 10:30 pm, having biked the four miles from work to her place. Since winter had only just receded, I'd only been riding for a week or so, and my fat, cigarette smoking, out of shape ass was seriously kicked. I arrived at her door soaked in sweat and panting. I kissed her hello, then told her I should probably go take a quick shower and change. But she stopped me, telling me with a concerned look that she was worried I wasn't well. I shook my head, explaining that my wrecked look was merely the result of a long winter spent sitting on my fat butt eating oreos, but she expressed worry about my health. Her long, cool hand to my forehead, she told me I was pretty warm. "It could be the swine flu", she suggested. Swine flu was all over the news that week, and I felt a sudden sinking in my stomach at the prospect of being infected. It was possible; after all, I have a job in a university where I come into contact with a lot of people. Worse, I ride public transportation, and as a nail biter, there actually is a threat of picking up god knows what kind of bacteria from the surfaces I touch (thinking about it, that's genuinely a disgusting thought).

Holding my hand, GF led me into her bedroom, suggesting I might want to lay down. I got on the bed, careful to sit so my shoes hung over the edge (she's a serious neat-freak). Her hands on my shoulders, she gently directed me to lay down. I lay there like that for a minute, looking up at her concerned face. She sat there above me, stroking my face. With her other hand, she reached down and undid my belt, then unbuttoned my jeans and lowered the zipper. Her fingertips touched the strip of skin above the waist of my underwear, feeling the red mark where my jeans had dug into the flesh. Gently she whispered, "roll over, sweetie". I did as I was told, careful to keep my Chucks over the side of the bed; as soon as I was on my belly, she stood up and pulled my jeans down to my knees, leaving my undies on. "I'll be back in a moment", she told me.

I lay there feeling a weird, nervous rush of excitement and jitters as what was happening occurred to me. I stared at my hands as they kneaded the comforter, my body involuntarily trembling. I cursed myself for not having had a chance to wash up first, suddenly intensely self-aware of the sweat drying between my thighs. I at least found some small solace in the knowledge that I'd moved my bowels that morning before I showered. As bad as the prospect of being damp with sweat was, that would have been far too humiliating.

yes, I sweat...and you're so perfect

After what felt like half an hour of me laying there half stripped pressed against the bed (it was, in actually, probably 45 seconds), I could hear GF return. I could feel the mattress shift as she lowered herself down, sitting on her legs parallel with my hips. I felt the light weight of a few objects being placed on the small of my back. She stroked my hair a moment, then reached down and lowered my panties to below my butt. I felt the cold air against my skin, and that familiar heart beat skip that comes from being exposed in front of someone fully dressed. I felt a long, cool palm rest on one of my buttocks; feeling how hot my skin was from the bike ride, she commented again about how warm I was. She withdrew her hand- I tried to look over my shoulder at her, but she gently scolded; " you're going to want to look away for this, sweetie". I put my face in my head, nodding.

The items resting on my lower back were picked up, I heard the loud pop of a cap being removed, followed by the quieter snap of a second cap. Through the mattress I could feel her shift her weight so that she was over me. "Lift up a little for me, sweetie", she said. I lifted my hips a few inches from the bed, opening myself. Suddenly there was a cold wet finger between my cheeks, rubbing against me. It pressed against me without entering, generously lubricating me. I buried my face deeper into my hands, wondering if my blush extended as far as my bare bottom. Her right index finger withdrew from lubricating me, and I felt her left hand gently rest on top of my head.

My anus sensitized by her finger's touch, suddenly felt the tip of the thermometer poking against it. At first attempt, the thermometer approached at the wrong angle, sharply jabbing the skin just outside of my opening. In reaction to the pain, I pressed my hips down on the bed and rapidly shook my head no. GF withdrew her hand from my head so she could lean over my bottom. Hesitantly I lifted my hips again, and I felt her weight against my lower back as she leaned in to see better. With her the thumb of her free hand she spread me open further, and I could feel her lean close. The tip of the thermometer touched me again, this time more gently and centered correctly. I forced myself to breath deep and slowly, my anus unclentching. With no resistance the tip penetrated me. I felt the glass tube slowly slide into me; once it was inside me, GF withdrew the hand that was holding me open and I gingerly lowered my hips back to the bed. She shifted again, and I felt her hand stroking my hair again.

I lay there, my senses reduced to the hot moisture of my breath trapped in my hands my face was pressed against, my heartbeat racing in my ears, the cool air against my naked bottom and thighs, GF's hand slowly stroking my head, and the faint pressure of the thermometer inside of me. I folded completely into myself- there is a strange, calming focus where the outer world drops away that a few bodily sensations provide; I mainly exprience it during spankings, when just the right amount of pressure is put against my clitoris, when I'm blindfolded and very lightly touched by her fingertips and when I'm penetrated (vaginally or anally) in a way where there is minimal contact with my partner. All these sensations so focus me on a particular part of my body (especially if I can't see) that everything else sort of drops away. It's this impossible to explain thing where the the constant roll of your internal monologue is interrupted and you just are. It's why, while I don't consider myself a "pain slut", I do appreciate the place where the right kind of pain can take me.

I started crying. I didn't even realize it at first until my sobs became louder and my body convulsed. I lay there for a couple of minutes, nude from my waist to knees with a thermometer poking out from my butt, and I fucking cried. This was a mouth open, noisy, wet, body shaking helpless sobbing cry. Because of the role spanking plays in our relationship, GF has certainly seen me cry before...just never like this. GF later told me that she was actually quite frightened when I started crying, not knowing what to do, if she should remove the thermometer or not. Thankfully, she leaving the thermometer and not saying anything other than softly repeating my name over and over again as she stroked my hair. Once I had cried myself out, she carefully withdrew the thermometer from me (I was not running a fever, she later told me).

A little later, we got into her tub for a long soak. Leaning back against her, I genuinely couldn't answer what had happened. It wasn't pain (her initial concern, after the first aborted attempt at penetration); I'd certainly taken much larger wider things into me (no, not like super wide- just a lot wider than a thermometer...don't be porny!). I don't know that I was really thinking about anything as I lay there crying. Maybe it was finally conquering a childhood anxiety... maybe it was being touched by having a partner who is genuinely interested in fulfilling me...maybe it was a reaction to the wretched helplessness of thousand tiny indignities...I don't know. What I do know is that she has taken my temperature several times since then, and while each time has been an intensely erotic experience, it's not produced the kind of emotional outburst that first time did.

okay, you were good and read the whole thing; here's one nudy picture

Rectal Thermometers part one

Okay, I admit it; I really, really, really really love getting my temperature taken back there. There, I said it. I mean, there's lots of stuff I love - foot rubs, the first bike ride of the season, my iPod, inexpensive jeans that fit, the Vivian Girls , my job, Chuck Taylors (I have 11 pairs), ANTM (I know, I know!), living in the city...these are a few of my favorite things. But rolling over, having my pjs lowered and feeling that glass tube gently slide into me? It's like nothing else in the world.

Yes, before you ask, it is some kind of childhood issue. It'd be fair to say my mom could have probably dropped the two dollars on an oral thermometer several years earlier than she did, and my pediatrician preferred this port of entry for check-ups. Even after talking to other people who also experienced this growing up, I still don't quite understand why you would choose the anus to take a temperature of anyone but an infant or unconcious person, but there you go.

It's still the more common method in Europe (where my mom's from), as, I'm told, is taking most medicine in suppository form (disturbing!) I personally kind of think my doc did it when I was little because by starting out the check-up with this (after being weighed and measured) probably humbled kids enough to keep them quiet during the exam. That, or he was some kind of butt freak. Either way, I vividly remember laying on my tummy, staring down at the paper covering the table, while the adults (my mom, doctor and nurse) casually chatted away while I lay there, my naked butt penetrated.

Those experiences were always pretty degrading, but when my mom would do it it was a more affection thing for me. Not that I liked it-when she did it in the bathroom with me over her lap while she sat on the toilet it definitely felt like a spanking- but there was something tender in the experience; she'd rub my back as we waited for the thermometer to read my body temperature, making calming noises and being very gentle. There was something very intimate about laying there across her lap, so utterly helpless and dependent...is that weird? It probably is, I don't know. I talk to people in chat rooms about it, and they tell me it's perfectly normal. But then they start talking about how erotic it is to have your parents make you wear punishment diapers as a teenager, and I sort of lose confidence that these are automatically the people I should be using to determine my sexual health.

I've tentatively felt out my real life friends as an adult, to see if any of them have similar experiences. Not surprisingly, few do. Most have no memories of ever getting their temperatures taken, and the few who do, make it sound like they were violated with cucumber. I nod knowingly, agreeing, "oh my god, I can't believe they did that!!" and let it drop, trying not to blush or chew on my fingernails.

The thought of having someone taking my temperature has appealed to me for a long time, but I've never really been in a relationship with someone I was comfortable admitting it to. I've never been comfortable being that exposed and vulnerable with past boyfriends, and most of my girlfriends had this unfortunate attitude of politicizing everything, making me feel like I'm betraying the revolution if I want anything rough or dark.

One of the things I love about GF is that she really doesn't bring any hang-ups into sexuality: she's more experienced than I am-especially in BDSM terms- so there's very little that she automatically things is "wrong". One afternoon, while out for coffee, I got up the courage and told her about this desire, that I'd secretly wanted it for a long time. She definitely raised an eyebrow, not out of prudishness, but rather because as a Domme she's done some serious ass-splitting, so a thin glass tube seems an insignificant thing to be so blushing and awkward about.

Afterwards, we were walking by a Walgreens (they're every two blocks now) and she pulled me in after her. Leaning close to my ear, she told me to go purchase a rectal thermometer. I blushed and hesitated, but I wanted to show both her and myself that I'm not a coward, so I went to purchase a thermometer...which turned out to be less easy than I thought. In the first aide aisle, they had a wide selection of electronic and oral thermometers, but none rectal (I later learned the tube oral ones come in is blue, rectal red). I know I could have just bought an oral one- they're the same size, after all. But that really killed the point. I wanted a rectal thermometer, that would accurately read my temperature after penetrating my anus. It was a point of pride, damn it. But what to do? They didn't seem to have what I was looking for, and the idea of asking at the pharmacy counter was chilling. I wandered around for a bit not knowing what to do, when I stumbled into the baby product aisle where, staring at me in all its sinister coldness, hung the dreaded rectal thermometer! I quickly grabbed it and made for the check-out where I only pray they assumed I was a new mother. Outside, I handed the package to GF, who was more than a little amused by the whole business.

to be continued...

you were hoping for porn, weren't you? dirty bird!