Posts Tagged sex positive

Summer nights

Spring has well and truly sprung here now, and it’s glorious. While the temperatures we’re currently having would be cause for mass exodus to the park, topless, with litres of fortified wine at the ready, being much further south now means that people here are still inclined to wear jackets in this weather. Odd. Anyway, yesterday I was having a really brilliant day – it was really beautiful and I spent the morning at a conference and then the afternoon with course mates, initially down by the lake on campus but after a while we migrated to a colleague’s house for a barbecue and some drinks. Earlier on in the day I’d arranged with a guy from grindr to go for drinks and probable fun times with him that evening so I left the barbecue early and went home before meeting said man in town, taking my toothbrush with me because he’d said I could stay the night and I live miles away

He took me to a very fancy bar in town that I’d never heard of before but which was insanely expensive (I told KittyMama the price of one of the drinks on the phone last night and she nearly dropped her handset) where we had a couple, then went back to his for the whole “watch a movie” charade people still feel the need to do. On went The Devil Wears Prada, a short while later off came the clothes, and I found myself between his legs licking away. I really like giving head, possibly more so than receiving actually, so I was quite happily working away down there when suddenly (and very soon after I started) and with no warning, he came. I don’t mind having cum in my mouth, actually, so that’s not really the issue.

But as soon as he came, he put his glasses back on, sat up and began watching the film again. No eye contact, absolutely no attept to get me off. I stood up and looked at the time on my phone.
“I can still catch the last bus home if you’d rather.”
“Actually yeah,” came his reply.”It’s just that I’m not really used to sleeping with other people in the bed”. FUCK OFF liar. So I got dressed and left – and blocked him on grindr on the way home, just in case he hasn’t realised he was being a prick (the number of people that can do something like that and then ask you for another bite at the cherry is astounding, people are so blind to their own faults. I include myself in that, of course.)

So yeah, a bad end to an otherwise great day, it these things happen. It’s sunny again today so fingers crossed it’ll be just as good!

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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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Difficulties

My maternal grandmother, bless her, is almost 73 though despite being an ardent Catholic and her age and hailing from a mining village in northern Europe, she’s remarkably worldly-wise and tech savvy; she owns a blackberry, which yes she does know how to use, and is on Facebook, and even has the two things set up so that any time one of her 19 grandchildren post something on Facebook, she gets a text telling her about it (I’m exaggerating slightly; there are indeed 19 of us grandchildren on that side of the family but not all of us are on Facebook). Today, though, I took the unusual step of deleting my own grandmother from my friends list on Facebook. Let me explain why.

Though her opinions on non-heterosexual, non-cis people seemed to have undergone something of a metamorphosis since mum outed me to her two years ago (hint to any parents of LGBT* people out there, don’t out your kids to the rest of the family, it’s not your story to tell and it’s hugely disrespectful). She even recently took the unusual step of trying to set me up with her friend’s gay grandson, though with a five year age difference and 500-plus kilometre distance between us that was never really going to work out now, was it? (We do talk though, and as he is now single as of yesterday we’ve established that the next time I’m home we’re probably going to hook up.) I thought, perhaps naïvely, that the “gay people can never lead a normal life” grandmother I remembered from my high school days had been replaced with a more open-minded version. I’m starting to think I was wrong.

As my flight back to my university town (I’m on the plane just now, I seem to be composing a lot of blogs late at night on large modes of transport these days) lands quite late and, as I’ve said before, the airport isn’t in my city, I’m staying at my boyfriend’s tonight, also because I haven’t seen him in 9 days and could really use a cuddle right now. Two days ago she asked me if I would be able to get back to my city so late at night; I replied that I can’t, and that I’d be staying at my boyfriends because he lives closer to the airport. She stopped talking. And today she asked me if I was still planning on “staying at your friend’s tonight?” to which I replied, that yes, I am, and that he’s my boyfriend, “I told you the other day.” “I know, I remember” (and since facebook displays for all the world to see, I’m in a relationship with him). No apology, no correcting herself, nothing of the sort. Conversation just stopped. So, I deleted her from facebook, because I’m quite annoyed, and I think I’m right to be. Deleting someone from Facebook, of course, isn’t exactly a terrible thing to do to someone, but the message that”you are not someone I want to have information about my private life” I find appropriate here.

If she doesn’t condone relationships which don’t fit her religious ideal, that’s not great but it’s vaguely understandable, yet my oldest cousin has a live-in girlfriend which doesn’t fit the Catholic ideal and she refers to her as his girlfriend even though she dislikes her intensely; my brother and his partner aren’t married, but his girlfriend is afforded the same respect of being acknowledged as being so, and their newborn baby is acknowledged as her great granddaughter. My younger cousins’ three-week long relationships get to use the title of girlfriend or boyfriend too; so why won’t she acknowledge my boyfriend as being such?

The only explanation for it I can see is that she doesn’t seem to think that a relationship between two people of the same sex is as valid as one between two people not of the same sex. I’m aware that this is a fairly common perception among people, though I doubt it makes up the majority opinion in my country any more, but I don’t associate with people I know think like that if I can at all help it. And so I’m choosing to take a step back from her as well. I don’t get on with most of my extended family and rarely see them but my gran is one of the few relatives I feel particularly close to and so knowing that she thinks of me, rightly or wrongly, as somehow being worth less than the rest of her family or the general population – since my choice of partner isn’t afforded the same respect as everyone else’s – is extremely hurtful. If she’d met my boyfriend and decided she didn’t like him at would be one thing (though as I’ve said she does call opposite-sex partners she dislikes by their proper title) but that’s not the case. I find this insulting and hurtful and I’m sorry, no. If you don’t think my private life and relationships should be afforded the same basic fucking respects you pay everyone else’s, then you can’t be privy to it or part of it.

Part of me feels like I’m being really harsh here but most of me is angry, upset and, having decided to cut out a close relative from the bulk of my private life, I also feel a bit bereaved. What do you guys think? Am I being petulant? Is my anger justified? What about my actions? Feel free to leave a comment below or email me at triplexdexxx@gmail.com if you want to get a dialogue going on this.

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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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Grindr tales

How I managed to hook up with randoms before I got grindr is beyond me, really. Over the last three weeks or so I’ve hooked up with three guys from there – one, who I’ve seen twice now, I’ll probably see again, and two who for different reasons, I almost certainly won’t. Granted, this isn’t a lot, but still it’s nice to have the odd bit of fun during the week. Today, since it’s freshest in my memory and really only the only non-“he turned up, we fucked, he left” type story, I’ll tell you all about last night.

On Monday afternoon a guy sent me a message saying he was in town for work, they were putting him up in a hotel and did I fancy joining him. By the time the prerequisite exchange of photos and information had taken place, I’d missed the last bus to the centre and didn’t fancy a three-quarters of an hour long walk in the cold (it was -3 Celsius!). So we agreed on the following night instead and swapped phone numbers to arrange things. On Tuesday night, then, I met him in the city centre to go back to his hotel.

As it turns out he’s in a management training scheme for a certain well-known fruit based technology company and, as one would expect, they treat their staff very well. En-suite in the fanciest hotel on the central square in town? Don’t mind if I do. The guy was cute, too, tall, vaguely Celtic-looking (black hair, very blue eyes) despite not being from anywhere near anywhere Celtic. Actually he’s from the same place as The Boyfriend, weird that. Anyway, I had handily brought along my handy little box of condoms and lube since his supplies were limited and, after sneaking past the restaurant where his colleagues were having dinner, we got to the bedroom and onto the exceptionally comfy king sized bed. He seemed to have this thing about using his tongue more or less all over, which was fun but when you’re as ticklish as I am it can lead to bouts of hysteria quite easily. Then he suited up, so to speak (by which I mean put on a condom), lubed me up and off he went.

We changed position a few times but after a while I got a bit bored and we stopped that – but then he asked me to fuck him instead, which was a chance I jumped at since that’s quite a rare treat these days. We started off with him on his front, flat on the bed since that’s what works best for him starting out (and apparently he hadn’t bottomed since September), before I flipped him round to his back and fucked him with his legs wrapped round my hips. He came first over his own stomach and I came a few seconds after, then collapsed panting onto the bed.

After a quick bath to get all the lube, cum, and whatever other sticky stuff gets all over the place when two males have sex off, we went back to the cloudlike bed (it really was amazing) and during some small talk it transpired he was also training in massage, which I took full advantage of. He remarked – and it’s true, Magenta will tell you – that it sounds more like I’m having sex when I’m getting a massage than when I’m having sex (and I’m fairly vocal anyway!). That led to him stroking my dick through my underwear again which just set us both off, and so I sucked him until he came – didn’t seem to take as long the second time round, come to think of it, strange – and then finished myself off as he was recovering.

By this point there was no point in me trying to catch a bus back to mine because there are none by that time of night, so I got to stay over in the fancy bed. He went to spoon me at one point but I pushed him away – “no cuddles” to which he shrugged and said that was fair – and went to sleep. He had to get up early (well, I say early, eight in the morning) so I got up at the same time and left, slipping past the receptionists on my way out so as to save him any embarrassment with the expenses, and caught the bus home to get ready for uni. My bus drove past a coursemate on the way who spotted me and waved, which would have maybe been embarrassing under normal circumstances but given that he only just borrowed my copy of the Ethical Slut last week I sent him a text to tell him I was doing the walk of shame. “I think you mean the bus journey of triumph. Sex positive!” was his fantastic response, so I feel like I’ve educated someone a little. Also, there might be something to be said for getting up early like that, I’ve had an incredibly productive day!

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