She Wakes

She Wakes
(Author’s note: I wrote this attempting to capture a gentler, more sensual moment.)

Her body lies sprawling, naked and peaceful, an erotic adornment to the stark crisp linen of her bed. The dawning sun shyly observes her calm and unmoving beauty, for she lies perfectly still but for the soft regular rise and fall of her small delicate bosom. Strong male hands run lightly across the tips of her breasts and grab hold of her curving hips; a firm cock slides gently inside of her; and she wakes.

The first coy greetings of the morning sun tentatively shine through and brighten the room, illuminating her precious nudity. She yawns, stretches out her arms, and then blearily wipes away the encrusted sleep from her sticky eyes. The bolder rays beam their warmth across her smiling face and neck, bringing welcome heat to the exposed breast, recently cupped so tenderly by the man now thrusting his way deeper and deeper within.

She wakes as the gentle thrusting quickens, intensifies and heats; as the penetrating rays of the sun explode and refract into a light of a thousand beautiful colours; and then it burns and dies. She feels a husky breath on her neck, her warm body is surrounded, cradled in the arms of her lover, and she emerges into the day feeling safe and content. One arm wraps tightly around her, hand playing fondly with her chest, the other gently squeezing downwards on her thigh.  His semi-rigid cock lies pressed up against her ass, while the seed it spilled trickles innocently down her leg. She wriggles, pushes her body onto his, and then giggles sweetly.  She mutters, “I love you,” incoherently before drifting back into sensuous sleep.

The sunlight creeps ever over, caressing her soft, naked skin.

Born this Way or Shoved Into a Gay Box?

Wise words from a wise lady.

Wise words from a wise lady?

We live in a world of tasty sound-bytes and “Born this Way” has, through its simplicity and well-meaning heart become an LGBT slogan for an American generation.  I’ve heard/seen it uttered as the ultimate trump card in a debate against those who belittle queer sexualities by arguing it’s a choice (therefore, immoral) more times than I’ve seen Star Wars, (and that’s a fucking lot) and every time I’ve ended up scratching my head wondering if the slogan ultimately does more harm than good. “It’s not fair to say I shouldn’t have same-sex attraction, I was born this way, I can’t help it any more than you can help your hetero-lust, dammit!”
 
Ethically it’s very dangerous to deprive people of their choices
 
Casting my mind back to days when I was a homophobic teenager (as I mentioned before that I was), I recall thinking in a similar way.  The simple logic of “Why would anyone choose this life for themselves?” Coupled with the notion of “it’s a little disgusting, so I guess people must be compelled to do it against their will,” persuaded me that there was a gay gene of some sort, forcing us to act out its morbid ideas of sexual fantasies that the rest of us never could and never should understand. (Nowadays I wonder what evolutionary benefit a gay gene would offer.  How would it replicate itself through natural selection exactly?  Thoughtful answers appreciated.  Creationist ones, not so much. Comment below.)  I didn’t dislike gay people; I just felt sorry for them and refused to try and understand their desires.
 
Growing up in England we’re not overwhelmed with this same style of rhetoric, perhaps because the gay debate is a little more divorced from religious debate.  Or at least there’s less potency to the religious debate.   Nobody ever pressured me or my friends to live a strict religious life or follow a religious moral code. Religious concepts rumble on in the background but Christianity doesn’t take over our culture, and my own secular atheist mind-set is rarely frowned upon.   The impression one gets from American culture is that religion is a big deal and that being gay does not mesh well with religion.  God will not be impressed with you if you make the choice to have homosexual sex since marriage in The Bible is between a man and a woman. Religion often relies on the power of its rhetoric, and anti-gay religious groups have chosen to focus on the rhetorical idea that “choosing” to be gay is a sin against God.  It’s a gay apple, really (eateth of it and you’ll discover the joy in being queer as well as naked, but you’ll be cast out of heaven!)  What has clearly proved useful for LGBT groups in the past is to have a rhetorical comeback of their own that religious groups struggle to argue against.  The “born this way” message of  “God made me this way, I have no choice,” really screws with their ethical systems.  If he made you that way then why would he punish you for it?
 
When you’re a teenager going through puberty and scrabbling to learn about your place and purpose in the world, it’s easy and seductive to latch onto the idea that you have no choice and that your emotions control you completely.  Life and lust is confusing at the best of times, and if you’re 15 and you have gay thoughts that set you apart from a rabid anti-gay crowd, it can be potentially very frightening.  I’ve spoken to a lot of people who are adamant that they wouldn’t have chosen a gay life for themselves because of the social outcast they felt it made them, and certainly it’s hard to think that someone would willingly make their own life that difficult if they didn’t have to.
 
People are, then, likely to develop a set of sexual preferences based on their discoveries at puberty and then form their teenage-adult identity around them and be defined by them.    And it’s this obsession we have of thinking in male/female binaries that’s causing problems: what is never discussed is that people also have an equal tendency to shape and define their sexual preferences over time, depending on where they are and what they are doping in life.  Sexual preference covers a whole lot more than male/female, it covers a wide spectrum of taste from body size, age, hair colour, ethnicity, to activities such as kink & BDSM, romance, voyeurism, exhibitionism, watching porn and so on.  As a teenager it’s impossible to appreciate that you can and probably will – gay or straight – jump around a spectrum of sexual taste throughout your entire adult life.  (My own tastes, for instance, change from month to month.  Sometimes I’ll be into women, then Asian women specifically, then ripped men, then androgynous men.  Then just Scarlet Johansson) Therefore “Oh fuck, I think I’m gay” becomes an all-powerful and all-pervasive thought, and a defining thought.   In a less controlling world that thought could just as easily have been “oh fuck, at the moment I am feeling same-sex attraction.”  See how the latter, whilst still distressing, doesn’t hole you up in a box for life?  It’s the difference between “ I am gay” and “I like gay sex”.  Of course, I’m categorically not stating that there’s anything wrong with identifying as homosexual, I’m simply pointing out that we’re all in an awful hurry to label ourselves up, and we feel as a society that puberty is the time to do it; and I think we are in such a hurry because we desperately want and need an identity for ourselves.  We want to know who our friends will be and what box to check on the census forms.
 
The problem is  the way that the rhetoric we use likes to divide things up into simple binaries and throw them into simple boxes so that we can make simple sense of them.  If, for instance, it’s not the case that I discovered my sexuality by waking up one morning and thinking “I think I’ll try out  gay sex today” then it seems to be argued that being gay “cannot be a choice”.  Being gay comes with a lot of negative societal consequences and so for a lot of LGBT supporters being gay “cannot be a choice.”  If gay is not a choice, then therefore it must be genetic – And there we have it, the battle-lines have been drawn from which no-body will budge.  It’s a WWI trench warfare of words between the LGBT and Religious homophobes.
 
I don’t really see how there can be a bisexual gene that allows desires to shift and change over the course of a lifetime.  Desire may not express itself as a simple choice like picking a movie or a flavour of ice-cream, but it does involve agency on the part of the desirer, and the will to actively entertain and pursue the multiple desires that s/he is capable of feeling.  Desires grow within as we contemplate them, entertain their possibilities within our brains and consider the different pleasures that different scenarios might bring us. 
 
I’d describe it as something of an existential choice.  It’s a choice that society is eager to deny because society is afraid and doesn’t want to understand it, just as I was an afraid teenager who wanted to feel that sexuality controlled us and that we could never harness our desires or enjoy expressing them in a free and liberated way.  I’ve talked about how men and women are strongly defined by a patriarchal society elsewhere, and this seems to be another consequence of patriarchal power politics.  Men have to be one way, women another or the power systems in place will, it seems, crumble right around us.  It’s my own assertion that to break the restrictions that society constantly tries to place upon us through media, advertising – efforts to box us up and sell us dreams that mostly won’t ever come true – we need to embrace existential choice and take a greater ownership of our passions.  The huge problem that I have with “Born This Way” rhetoric is that it’s an apology, a defense for being gay as if a gay lifestyle somehow needs to be apologised for.  “I’m sorry, I don’t fit in with the structure of your society properly, but please accept me as I am and I promise faithfully not to cause any trouble.”
 
It’s ethically dangerous to deprive people of their choices and unfortunately a lot of people seem to feel that it’s more dangerous to give people the opportunity to make their own free choices about how they want to live their lives.  I for one am happy to state that I wasn’t born this way.  I wasn’t this way until I reached my early twenties.  But why on earth would you judge me for my sexual choices?  It needs to stop.

The Pleasure in Death

Vampires
I quickly wrote this quickie.  I’m going to write some erotic vampire fiction later, so this is just me putting down some initial thoughts for you to read. 

I stood alone, transfixed by Carmilla’s haunting gaze – or possibly it was the thick blood red wine freshly drunk – an uncontainable fit of lust coursing through my body.  I hadn’t desired this, yet as I looked into her cold dank eyes an unknown passion built inside of me telling me what I must do, so I obeyed.  It told me to slip my dress off onto the floor and remove my brassiere and panties, and I did so unquestioningly.  The cool air on my naked skin excited me; her lascivious eye, now fixed on my small breasts, both thrilled and scared me.  The wine glass I held slipped from my hand in fear, crashed to the floor and shattered, thick red liquid covering my bare legs.  Dark red wine mingled with deep thick blood as the shards of glass rent open my flesh.
 
“Renfield, tidy that mess up,” she ordered the meek servant who had been watching on in awe and amazement.  He scurried over, and like a rabid animal he began to lick the juice from off of me, slowly sucking the blood-wine from my toes and feet, slowly licking the blood-wine that had gathered in dropsand congealed on my leg.  His tongue slowly, but eagerly, embarked on its cleansing journey further upwards until instead of sticky wine I was drenched in his hot sticky saliva.  As his tongue caressed my inner thigh, creeping upwards to a place that had begun to drip a different kind of liquid, Carmilla ordered him to stop. “You have had your fun.  Your place is to watch, and perhaps if you behave like a good servant, as you should we shall have sport of you later.”
 
“I will do as you bid good lady,” he muttered deferentially and scurried back into the corner and continued to watch.
 
“Now my love, Clara; my lovely Clara,” her hand caressed my cheek as she whispered enticing promises of many pleasures in my gullible ear.  “Lay down darling, Clara lay down.  Close your eyes and lay back and I shall take you to places you never dreamed possible.  Lay down and feel Clara; feel me and die.  Die erotic death for me, Clara, and be reborn to my world of endless pleasure.”  I moaned softly as her delicate hands gently brushed over my naked tingling skin, taking in the feel of my neck, the soft round shape of my breasts, the curve on my hips and the moistness and depth of my willing pussy.  I was told to lay back, so I lay back, and I moaned gently as her finger slipped inside of me; my breath quickened, my pulse raced and my mind spun lightly round and round; round and round I span as her fingers worked round and round my hole, and with the spinning came pleasure and with pleasure came the light release of death.  And more pleasure, forever.  I was held fast in this world of blood-red pleasure and could not move to save myself from the end.  But I wanted the release her fingers were giving to me as they soaked up the juices from inside of my dripping cunt.  I wanted the release she would give me as she moved in close, sighed, whispered “I love you, Clara, I want you,” in my ear.  I wanted her too; I wanted the release found from the taste of the bloody wine on her feminine lips, the hot slime of her tongue and her cloudy breath on my neck.  I wanted the release from the prick of her teeth in my neck, the caress of her tongue as she eagerly sucked in the blood that spilled from the tiny gashes she created, the release from the intense orgasm  only pleasure mingled with sharp deathly pain can bestow.
 
I slid my hands over my naked dying body and moaned aloud in ecstasy.  Sticky blood-red spilled from the hole in my neck as sticky wet fingers slipped from the hole in my cunt and into my waiting mouth.  I sucked blood and pussy juice and I came.   I came, and I died; died to be reborn into a new pleasure.   

Clara’s Dream

Clara's Dream

Clara’s Dream

“How did I get here? I don’t know where I am.”

Clara closed her eyes and gently floated away into an uncertain alcoholic euphoria. She could just hear the gentle ticking of a windup clock marking out every single beat of time; marked out as every gentle beat of her heart marked out a beat of her pleasure; marked out every bead of sweat that gently formed and then trickled down her delicate naked back, down over her soft pleasant round buttocks and slowly dripped cool wet patches, unnoticed onto the floor.

Smells of Clara’s perfume and stale, long forgotten vodka hung in the air, mingling together eccentrically in Clara’s dark place, a sensuous chanel tinged opium. The hot, sweet sweat of sex consumed her, leading her ever onwards into heavier indulgence.

Clara closed her eyes; in the dark she could not see, just feel and drink and taste. Her tiny nude body, on its knees, straddled face down across a hard bed, held roughly round the hips by strong masculine hands, was dripping with thick honeyed oils. The man’s thick tool thrust violently inside of her in time to the gentle ticking of the clock and the warm, pulsating beat of her heart. Ankles bound tight, hands cuffed firmly behind her back Clara could not move but for the sharp thud of her body smacking into the firm bed, and the thrusting of her tight oily glistening ass backwards and upwards into the air.

Clara felt helpless, and her thoughts, thoughts of how she got there, thoughts of where she was going to, drifted ever upwards into a cloudy, constricted helpless dream.

As Clara closed her eyes and drifted into that helpless dark she opened up her mouth and licked the cherry lips covered in vodka and lipstick. Alcohol tinged her breath, sugar sweetened her lips. She opened up her mouth wide and invited them to enter into her, even though bound and taken there was no other choice. Two impressive members belonging to two succulent young men were playing together and kissing one another in all imaginable places, taking lustful pleasure in one another’s erections, readying themselves for Clara’s taking. They lightly rubbed their cocks across one another’s and together they slid them into Clara’s beckoning hole.

Clara’s body trembled as her heart pounded faster and faster; and faster it beat as the thickness swelled and throbbed in her mouth, the thrusting in her dripping pussy about to erupt into thick sticky pleasures. The clock ticked faster, beads of sweat multiplied and flooded in cavalcades down her back, the rhythmic ache in her cunt intensified into a blistering heat. Clara’s petite frame tightened, clenched, and her alcoholic haze lifted her towards the heavens. The clock chimed the hour and two throbbing cocks together burst, releasing their heady substances into her waiting mouth. Clara clenched, choked, plunged forward; her heart stopped beating. Thick, sticky ooze formed inside of her two hot warm places. Drops of cum dripped slowly, unnoticed, out of her cunt and formed cool wet patches on the floor. Streams of liquid gushed down her throat, remaining there, the rest thickly coating the dual cocks that still slipped in and out of her mouth, searching for one last taste of Clara’s sweet sugar.

Cries and moans drowned out the sound of the clock. Clara’s faint heart beat again, slowly and irregularly, no longer marking the time as Clara’s sudden orgasms rushed her to another pleasureworld. Vodka, oil, sweat and sperm mingled together with Clara and her Chanel No.5. She moaned and lost her other senses.

“I don’t know where I am. I don’t know how I got here,” she muttered inaudibly, still sucking excitedly on the cum drenched cocks. “But I don’t think that I ever want to leave.” She closed her eyes again.

Vampyros Lesbos

Although the movie does have a “fear of the female” theme going on and its lesbian themes are less a celebration and more an evil enchantment, this movie is still quite far out for a sexploitation softcore pic.  More importantly the imagery is beautiful, as is Miranda Soledad.

Being Bisexual is Fucking Awesome

Being Bisexual is AWESOME.

This morning I wanted to drop the negativity and the pseudo-intellect for a while and take a moment to reflect on something I feel about living a life as a bisexual person. That is: Being bisexual is fucking awesome. I wanted to share something about my coming out that I never have before and that’s how amazing I felt when I understood certain things about myself and sexuality.

I grew up firmly heterosexual.  That might sound strange to a lot of people, but during my teenage years I had no doubts about myself, no angst, no feeling of not-fitting-in.  I was lucky for not feeling any anxiety about my sexuality: I was less lucky because I was a little homophobic.  It’s good now to feel that I have an understanding of how teenage homophobia works but looking back and putting myself in the shoes of someone who thought gay sex was a little weird and wrong, it’s also a little creepy.

Anyway, I grew up heterosexual, and then I grew up.  I got a boyfriend, went to university, read a lot of books and realised that women were also hot.  I don’t want to dwell too much on the reasons for my change of heart here but it was a gradual change and I eventually opened of my eyes about attitudes, gender and the ways that one could be attracted to another.  To say that this realisation was anything less than amazing would be a massive understatement.  Finally I was throwing off the shackles of my shady childhood homophobia and embracing something completely new and undiscovered.  I was getting off to girls and I loved it! I was apprehensive about telling my boyfriend, though.  We were both still young and had things to learn about one another – what would he think?  Would he embrace the stereotypes?  Would he think me unfaithful, a dirty slut or just plain stupid and confused?  Would he instantly assume that I’d leave him?  Yet he needed to be told, because I’m me and I wanted him to know all about me, and so told he was; though I’m not entirely sure that picking a bout of intense lovemaking was the moment to do it; I absolutely do not recommend trying that one at home, if you’re gonna come out to someone, do them a favour and make them a cup of coffee and sit them down beforehand. “So, I’ve got something to tell you, I think I’m bisexual, I kinda fancy girls.  I know it’s a bit weird..”

“Awesome.  I’m bi too.  I’m glad we got that out in the open.  It makes sense really, doesn’t it?”

It’d be fair to say that the rest of the lovemaking went well.  Strangely enough we didn’t even feel the need to sit down and talk about it, we both knew why the other thought that way and how it felt and what it meant.  The relationship evolved organically around our newly discovered sexuality.  I’ve since told friends and family and no-one really cares.  Maybe that’s just London/UK culture?  I’m not saying there isn’t negativity or phobia in my life, of course, but if we look to the people closest to ourselves then generally I’ve found that there’s more positivity than otherwise. So, I wanted to write this post as a positive note to highlight that challenging your own sexual assumptions can be an incredibly positive and liberating thing and that if you’re with the right people, accepting it is not going to be the awful thing you might initially think.  We hear so many terrible stories about the hell and confusion that people have been through because society creates myths and fears around being gay or bisexual and I wish there were more that could be done to make everyone’s experiences as rewarding as mine have been.  I write fiction these days and I do it because we need a voice; I do my best to make sure the fiction I write challenges both gender assumptions and sexual assumptions, showing sex and women and bisexuality in a positive light, showing that being bisexual is liberating.

Because the truth is, being bisexual is fucking cool.

And it’s cool because: You don’t have to feel that you need to live a certain and way and in accordance with a certain type.  You can be who you want, fancy who you want, sleep with who you want and be the person that you want.

When the world tries so hard to put us in a stereotyped, gendered, sexually predictable boxes, isn’t that the most liberating thought?  I think so.  So, whether you’re openly bi or not, whether you sleep around promiscuously, or fancy others from afar, whether you’re in a committed monogamous relationship or love the single life, take a moment to think that you’re awesome because you’re bi.  And if you’re reading this and you aren’t bi… stop to think that maybe bi people are a little bit awesome for being brave enough to recognise who they are. So, does anyone else have any positive coming out stories to tell? Does anyone else feel liberated through the realisation of their bisexuality?