Posts Tagged blogging

Happy New Queer

Three months goes by surprisingly quickly, doesn’t it? Hi, Blogosphere!

It’s been a bit of an odd three months of kind of drifting through life, no longer in education for the first time, freelancing to get by; when I last wrote I’d moved back in with my family for the foreseeable future. Fortunately, while hindsight may always be 20/20, the future is something we’re blind to and that living situation didn’t last very long (Not because of any familial fallouts or anything – it’s just that living under those conditions and in that damn village is not for me. At all). So I’m now back in the city I did most of my undergraduate in and living with a certain central European you may have read about before and her – our, really – flatmate. We hooked up once after I arrived back in the country but before I moved in, and established a no-sex-while-living-together rule which so far we’ve stuck to, even having slept in the same bed some nights in the winter when it was cold/one or the other of us was upset/whatever. She’s also just started seeing this guy she’s absolutely smitten with – actually all of us in the flat and our close friends really like him, so more power to her. I’ve no idea how long I’ll be living here, but that’s kind of interesting in a way; I’ll probably move country again around Easter, with any luck.

I’m still in touch with That Guy I Was Kind Of Seeing, after a blip in communication around early October when he didn’t speak to me for a couple of weeks. Mentions have been made of a possible visit but he also wants to Skype soon for a “proper open discussion about what the deal is with us and go from there” which sounds ominous (and for being the person that wants to have this conversation he’s surprisingly good at dodging Skype, so it’s taking a while). More news on that when I have it.

And I’m also spending a fair amount of time with this other guy I met on OKCupid in October who’s sort of halfway between a friend and someone I’m casually dating. He’s the first person I’ve ever “dated”-ish from the same country as me, I realised a few weeks in, which is interesting/weird (I don’t need to think before I speak or say “Sorry, accent thing” when there’s a miscommunication, which being a linguistic geek I find really fascinating and I wonder vaguely if it impacts on the type of communication we have but anyway that’s not really the point). We get on pretty well and are from pretty similar backgrounds – we actually were both in the same School at University, he in the year below me, but we somehow never met – but there’s not much of a spark and he’s also painfully obviously in love with his best friend which neither of them seem to have realised or aren’t willing to accept, and as I said earlier I’m planning to emigrate again soonish anyway so with all that in mind I don’t really think this is going to be anything substantial in the long-run. But he gives good head and we’re having fun right now which is the main thing, right?

So what can you expect from sexwithdexxx over the next few months? There won’t be any massive changes in the content though I am hoping to write more of the article-style posts which featured in the blog’s early days so this doesn’t just become a monotonous list of casual encounters and innuendo. Nothing too much is planned beyond the first couple of posts – which, of course, hinge on not being cancelled on in the near future – so your guess is as good as mine as to what you’ll be reading should you choose to stick with me.

And so with that little summary out of the way, all I can really say to you all is Happy New Year and hopefully you’ll be hearing from me again before too long!

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Sex with the other Dex

In the “city” I’m living in at the moment, there is one (1) gay bar. Just the one, and to be blunt it’s kinda shite. The drinks are expensive, the floor is sticky, it tends to have more than its fair share of creepy people; but the LGBT society go there, I go there sometimes, just because I feel more comfortable in LGBT*-friendly environments. I’m happy to sacrifice the atmosphere the swish fancy bar round the corner offers in favour of feeling safe somewhere.

In this bar there works a twink whose name is the same as mine. It’s not a very common name (I’ve only met three other people with it) and to make matters weirder, he uses the same nickname I do. I’ve spoken to him maybe once, other than to order drinks, months ago when I was blind drunk. Yesterday he popped up on Grindr to say “nice name,” and we got talking a little bit; today he asked what I was doing tonight and I didn’t have any plans at the time, so he invited me over to his for some fun. It turns out he lives in the house above the bar (handy that, very central too) which is closed today, so I went over before I met some friends for dinner in the centre.

He was a few centimetres shorter than me and slim but toned, brown hair and, the cherry on top, big brown eyes. I started out going down on him but after a few minutes he pulled me up and took me in his mouth from below, and quite well too; we rolled rolled to the other side of the bed so I was on my back and he kept going, and it was at that point I noticed the rather large mirror leaning on the wardrobe giving me an excellent view of what was going on. I’ve only seen myself having sex in the mirror once before but I do quite like it because, narcissist that I am, I like the look of my naked body.

After a bit more rolling and sucking I asked him if he had a condom; he did, he put it on and straddled him as he fucked me (the boyfriend and I have been experimenting with various positions to see which one is easiest for me to bottom from and that seems to be the one). Once he got going he came fairly quickly, and stayed inside me and kissed me as I finished myself off on his chest.

As far as sex with a random stranger goes, it was really quite good, easily 8 out of ten. I’ve sent him a follow-up message on Grindr to let him know I’d be up for doing it again or making it regular; he seemed quite reluctant about seeing me again as I was leaving though so I don’t have too high hopes, but we’ll see.

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Differences

When I was in my last year of high school, I got quite involved with an LGBT youth group in the  capital city, largely thanks to my then (and now) best friend who had been going for longer than I ever did and who eventually ended up working for that organisation for a while. Every Wednesday we’d get one of the school buses we weren’t technically allowed on, to go to one of the two towns in our school district at the time that had a train station (it’s quite rural) and get changed from our uniforms on the train and go to the youth groups and, occasionally, they’d take us away for a weekend for various projects (I’ve written about one encounter that I had in those days here). During one long conversation that had went beyond all reasonable time of night, one of the older people there said to those of us that were still up that “there’s a big difference between having sex and making love, and when you’ve done both you’ll know the difference.” At the time it sort of awed me, but I didn’t really believe it and, as years passed and my sexual experiences increased in number, began to believe it even less.

Now, though, that cynical part of me has been quashed. (There are plenty more of them, but that one is gone at least). On Friday the Boyfriend came around to spend the night before I went to the coast to visit a friend and he went to a different part of the coast to visit his family, and pretty much as soon as he came through the door we were all over each other. I initially had him tied up with his arms and legs to the bedstead while I had a little play around with him. And then, suddenly, as I was straddling him and looked down at his face and into his eyes, there was this really perceptible shift in energy or emotion (I’m aware I sound like a hippy, hear me out) and I suddenly felt this really massive wave of connection and I really felt then how he felt about me, and so without even thinking about it I untied him and we started making love.

I can’t really describe the way it was other than just amazing and intense at the same time – arms wrapped around his shoulders, chest to chest, about as much skin touching as possible, kissing and whispering and just being really close. It was intimacy the likes of which I’ve never experienced before and it was really mind blowing.

It wasn’t mind blowing in the same way that mind blowing intense sex is, in the that was a really good fuck way – because that can, and does, come from a random person you have little to no emotional connection with. It was just a really fantastic, close experience and I feel far closer to the Boyfriend for it than I did before. I know I’ve had my doubts about him and us and I’m not saying that they’ve all dissipated, far from it; and there will continue to be problems and strife in the future, I’m certain. But I’m also certain that I am incredibly lucky to have met this wonderful person (through some very odd circumstances), to be in a place emotionally where I can feel accepting and deserving of the love and happiness we bring each other (because there are times when I really don’t), and to be physically in a place that’s relatively accepting and tolerant of same-sex couples (depressingly few places in the world); and that I am very in love.

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Doubts

I’m posting this because this blog is supposed to be a fairly full and accurate account of my sex and love life and while there are some things that I omit, largely unpleasant stuff, by desire or necessity, without this type of thing I’d be leaving out a large chunk of the first substantial relationship since I started writing in December 2011 and a break-up post would look a little out of the blue.

Like any couple, the Boyfriend and I have our share of ups and downs. The ups are wonderful, but the downs are never very pleasant. We seem to have been at each others throats a lot recently – not in the “hand around the throat during intercourse” sense – and, yes, the possibility of a break-up has been mooted more than once. Topics of conflicts range from the quotidian (“What do you mean you forgot the bread?!”) to miscommunication to open relationship related problems (him not wanting me hooking up with someone I had a romantic interest in when I first moved here or me being upset when he turns up with love bites from someone else when we don’t give them to one another, by agreement).

The good times are great though; and he is incredibly caring and affectionate; this weekend when I was so hungover I couldn’t sit up he came from his city to look after me and even endured Eurovision with me) and even stayed an extra two days to talk me down from the metaphorical ledge when I was going insane stressing out about my interpreting exams.

My main concern, which I’ve raised with him, is this.

  • I’m not sure I’m convinced that the good times are worth the confusion, upset, and sleeplessness of the bad times. Furthermore the fact that it’s only been not quite four months and already we argue like this, doesn’t really fill me with confidence.
  • I’m not sure where I’m going to be – physically – in three or four months’ time. I could be literally anywhere on the continent (today I’ve already been contacted about job openings in the Czech Republic and Éire) and long distance is just icky.

Because of that, a break-up seems inevitable, and I wonder whether it’s better to jump before we’re pushed? At the same time, I don’t want to stop seeing him, being with him, cuddling him, having him in my life, because I’m in love with him. It’s all very complicated. On the whole, I think we make each other happy, and throwing in the towel this early due to vague uncertainties seems a bit defeatist.

In other news I’m also conflicted because I’ve been offered to participate in an MTV documentary featuring young people talking about sex, their sex lives and thoughts and attitudes towards sex. I’d love to be part of it because I think it could be a really good way to get a fairly sex-positive message out to more people than this blog will ever realistically reach (daily page hits have been in decline since the start of this year, probably because I’m not posting as often as I once was) but that assumes they’ll portray me in a positive light rather than editing what I say to make me look like a sex-crazed nymphomaniacal lunatic, which is possible. There’s also a very loud part of my brain – let’s call that bit Rational Dex – who tells me that having that kind of thing out there, viewed by potentially millions and easy to find on-line, would not do my career the world of good. I know that the same could be said of this blog but a casual reader here wouldn’t be able to recognise me in the street or office precisely because there are no photos of me here, and to the best of my knowledge you can’t find this by googling the name that’s on my CV. Decisions decisions.

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The Higher your Number, the Lower your Value

I have some very talented, inspiring sex-positive friends out there. This poem was written by someone who I used to be on a committee with but never actually started speaking much to until I’d moved away from where we studied together, unfortunately, but we’re making up for lost time now. I asked her to write a bit of a commentary to the poem which is below it. Enjoy!

 

i never thought i’d hit double numbers by twenty,

was always taught the higher your number

the lower your value.

felt safe when my body count fit on one hand

remembered those people who told me

everyone you fuck takes a little bit away from you,

wondered how long til i was left empty.

but those nights i spent with girls

against bathroom doors, in their brothers beds,

didn’t feel draining

walks of shame didn’t feel so shameful

as my number grew so did i

left behind hair grips, underwear, but not any parts of myself

took books and photographs instead,

reminders of girls i loved or liked or wanted

for a night, for a moment

reminders that i am not who i fuck,

but if i was

i’d still be incredible.

“Before I lost my virginity, I was terrified of what having sex would mean. I grew up in a Catholic family and went to a Catholic school, so a lot of emphasis was put on how important sex was and how important it was that it only happened between a married man and woman. When I was much, much younger I genuinely did think that I wouldn’t have sex before marriage, and me and my friends would sit and imagine what losing our virginities would be like- these discussions usually involved lots of declarations of love and candlelight. When I realised I was gay though, I realised that I probably wouldn’t be losing my virginity to my future husband, while I was okay with that, I was still scared that after I did have sex, I’d feel different or regret it.

“When I finally did lose my virginity, it was not at all like the fantasy scenarios me and my childhood friends had imagined. I was drunk, and she was a complete stranger. It was the opposite of how I had imagined it to be- but somehow it was a ridiculously nice experience. The next day I didn’t feel any different, I didn’t feel ashamed or embarrassed like I’d been told I would, and all the fears I’d had surrounding sex pretty much disappeared. Over time I grew much more comfortable with my sexuality, and realised that every person I slept with was a new experience that added something to my life, rather than taking something away. So that was what I was thinking of when I wrote the poem- that having lots of sex isn’t a bad thing if you don’t want it to be, and it doesn’t change anything about who you are. “

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Is casual sex as fun as it could be?

I’m having a bit of what I think is an interesting conversation with myself in my head right now and I’ve not reached any conclusion yet; so maybe this post won’t have a conclusion either but it might help me get my head in order a little bit. Yesterday I was talking to a pretty boy on grindr (I’m not using “pretty boy” as a pejorative here), who as it turned out lives a couple of hundred kilometres away; when I said it was a shame he was so far away, he wrote back that “you just want to bend me over,” which is true, I did. But it occurred to me that until that point I had no idea whether he was top, bottom, versatile, what he was into at all – I just wanted to sleep with him because he was pretty and hadn’t put any thought into what it would be like or who would be doing what to whom.

Is this the difference between a more mature and a less mature approach to sex? “How much am I going to enjoy this?” as a key thought before jumping into bed with someone rather than “Pretty. Want.”? Not that it’s exclusively the latter that I’ve always taken into consideration, but more often than not it is. That’s not to say that I don’t enjoy one-nighters, of course I do, that’s why I do them. I just wonder whether I might enjoy them a bit more if I put more thought into them beforehand. The number of people I’m sleeping with would likely drop – not that it hasn’t recently, living in this shitty city that I resent; would that necessarily be a bad thing?

Actually yes, I think it would. I’m not under any illusions, I know that most of my sexual encounters aren’t substantial and they’re not intended to be, and I’m fine with that. Just because it’s neither explorative, boundary-pushing sex nor sex intended to be built upon into something other people might view as a worthwhile relationship doesn’t mean it isn’t valid, isn’t worthwhile, isn’t fun and can’t be learned from.

Well, I think I’ve settled this debate in my own head at least (don’t you often find writing things down helps?), that was easier than expected. Any of you have any thoughts on this?

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Over and under

I’m just back from a lovely extended weekend with the Boyfriend. I had my last set of classes until mid-April and a mock exam (which I excelled in, obviously; fingers crossed I can pull off a performance that well the last week in May) on Thursday so went out and got drunk that night, and turned up at his very hungover the next evening, he helped me recover by means of extensive cuddling and we had a fairly early night followed by some morning sex.

This time it was my turn to be the one in charge, which I quite enjoyed and he seemed to like as well. The first time he properly dominated me I wrote how it was a bit hypnotic to be focused 100% on someone else’s pleasure; having someone else 100% focused on you is equally amazing, if a bit more effort. I fucked his face for a while before lubing up, pushing him on his back and getting on top of him. You would think (I certainly always did) that bottoming also meant automatically being the submissive one in these contexts, but that couldn’t be further from the truth! Tumblr provides us with some useful advice here, from a blog called The Healthy Dominant:

advicew

Having a hand around the throat really does help keep the submissive under control, and it’s quite a nice sensation to have your hand there in the first place. There’s something quite gratifying about seeing his face turn red as he’s fucking me from below, and thanking me for spitting on him. (Actually he doesn’t like being spat on as much as I enjoy spitting on him, so we compromise and I spit in his mouth instead.) As we got closer to the end his breathing got faster and the thrusts became more frantic. “Come on, fuck me, really fuck me, do it like you hate me” and he did and it was brilliant. I came on his belly before he pulled out and we kissed while he finished off, then had a cuddle and some toast. Not a bad start to the day!

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