Scintillectually Yours

It has been said (and quite often to me lately) that less-than-perfect relationships can sometimes help you prepare for the one you are meant to be in. This is most certainly the case with me and with the relationship I had with former HTB. If you are a long-time reader (and have not yet abandoned me as I have slighted this site for such a long time) then you might remember that my former fiance was FTM (that’s female-to-male transsexual for anyone not in the know). During his transition, which began about six months after we started dating, there were aspects of his physical form that changed as soon as he started his hormone therapy. Along with the change in bone structure, deepening voice, and receding hairline, his “little man” grew…er…quite large. The physical changes brought about a new level of comfort with his body and eventually those former “no-fly” zones became hands-on and mouth-on again–but necessitated a very different technique than that which I had always been accustomed to when participating in erotic encounters with women.

Now let me digress a moment to my late teen’s when DPR and I first got together. She was what most would refer to as “stone butch.” While she did let me go down on her (because I wasn’t going to take no for an answer after having fantasized about just such a moment for most of my life), she was not used to being on the receiving end and most of our sexual encounters led me into more of a pillow-princess mode along with a fair amount of tribadism. When we reunited 26 years later, I realized that I had come back to her prepared with some new oral skills that I thought she may react more favorably to. You see, DPR identifies as transmasculine (and at this point, referring to DPR as “she” and “her” is not exactly true to her ever-increasing masculine nature…but I find the alternative pronouns cumbersome so bear with me), and has never been keen on having direct clitoral stimulation. While I want, nee NEED it (power, more power!), she finds it downright annoying. So much so that she had long given up on being on the receiving end of any sexual activity. Knowing this, and armed with some knowledge about how to treat a “micropenis” as it were, I set about approaching her nether parts as more masculine. The results…well…let’s just say she’s pleased. Very pleased.

While I am not in the habit of giving up trade secrets, I do think that there are a vast number of folk who are still biologically female-bodied but who don’t relate to their genitals in the same way as those of us who are extremely comfortable with our very girly girl parts. So, I impart this little piece of knowledge on “how to treat the boi-clit.” I don’t mean to imply that I am the only femme on earth who comes equipped with this little skill, but I do believe there are women out there in similar situations who have partners who have given up in frustration or feel, as DPR did, that something must be physically wrong with them because their parts don’t respond in a “typical” fashion. And to that end, DPR would like you to know that her parts are working just fine, thank you. You can try it or not…but if you do and it works as well as it has for us? Consider it my little Christmas gift to you and yours. *wink*

I begin by using my hands and lips. All over. Foreplay is essential for everyone and heightens the senses for the main event. A soft caress here, a trail of nails there. A kiss, a nibble, a bite. If your boi’s chest is a no-fly zone? Run your hand down the middle of hir chest–rest it there and let hir feel the sensation of what it might be like the day zhe won’t have to bind or be hyperaware of hard nipples poking through a beater on a hot summer day. Let your fingers trail downward and trace lazy circles in the manscaping (and please, bois, do tend to the bushes…no matter how you identify, no one should need a machete to reach the promised land). I then focus on the shaft. It’s all about the shaft. Grasp hir boi-clit between your thumb and forefinger (trust me, it should be nice and thick and hard by now, T or no T), and stroke. Stay away from the head of the clitoris, it is likely to be supersensitive to the point of painful. If natural lubrication is not a no-fly zone then that’s a plus, but not necessary, it’s all in the pulling motion.

This, in itself, could lead to orgasm, but I really love my lips wrapped around hir little cock. I come in from the side–always. Either on my knees so zhe can have access to either my breasts or cunt, or lying flat on my belly. Being on my knees tends to give me a greater range of motion and less of a pain in the neck (literally). If you come in from the top or from between hir legs, you will get too much head and you want to pull the length of hir shaft into your mouth and as far down your throat as possible. Unless zhe has had surgery to release the tendon underneath the clitoral hood, you are better off coming in from the side. Trust me.

This is when I use my lips to draw hir boi-clit up into my mouth. Slowly…achingly slowly at first. I suck hir in until my mouth is filled from the base of hir shaft to the head and then I slowly…achingly slowly, let it go again. I tend to repeat this process a few times before I really start sucking. I love the feeling of hir in my mouth, hir fat flesh against the inside of my lips, my tongue caressing the side of hir shaft, my mouth watering and my pussy wet, dripping. If you have ever had any experience giving a blowjob to a cisgendered male then you can truly appreciate the finer points. Treat hir boi-clit as a penis. That same up-and-down motion on hir hard shaft is going to generate the same results. Stop and lick the underside as you would the frenulum. Eventually you will find a rhythm that suits hir. You may also find hands tangled in your hair and pushing your head down while lovely nasty things are said about what zhe is feeling. It may take a while. Don’t give up in frustration. A little stiff neck is worth the reward. Just before zhe cums, you will literally feel hir harden in your mouth. Zhe will swell and when zhe cums I slow down and suck. Hard. I suck every drop of cum I can possibly get out of hir.

And then, sometimes, if I don’t get pushed away, I start all over again.

I get a text at 11:35 a.m.: “horny. coming home for lunch. you know what to do.” accompanied by one of those lascivious little smileys with a hanging tongue and bulging eyes.

I have 25 minutes to prepare. I am still in my pajamas. A really quick shower and super fast clean-up shave is in immediate order. Emerging, steaming, I wrap a short black satin robe around me and head for the bedroom. Not usually the one to handle his selection of cocks, he prefers it heated and with only 20 minutes there won’t be time for him to do it himself. I decide to go for the gold and grab the really big guy. He’s all girth at 2 1/2″ wide, about 6″ in length not counting the sizable balls. I run back to the bathroom and submerge him in scalding water. My only task left is to pull the weight bench over to the door of my office and position it underneath the chin-up bar. The black velcro straps are already secured to the bar so with 5 minutes to spare, I just breathe, wait, and try to keep my wandering hands away from my own wetness, the anticipation building me to a near-frenzy even before he gets home.

His footsteps on the stairs and his grin as he sees me sitting there, facing the front door. “Get ready,” he growls. I hear him in the bathroom, his belt buckle clanking as his pants hit the floor, the snaps and clicks of the leather strap as he adjusts. I open my robe and lie back on the bench, shivering a little from both the cold and the excitement.

He is standing at the foot of the weight bench. “Slide down,” he orders. I comply. He grabs my right ankle and lifts my leg skyward, fastening my ankle tightly to the velcro strap attached to the chin-up bar. With a glint in his eye, he repeats the process with my left leg. My ass is hanging off the edge of the weight bench and, tilted at an angle due to the difference in height from the floors on either side of the door, I am at the perfect height for him. I reach behind my head and grab the sides of the bench. There isn’t much time. There will be no (and no need for) foreplay.

He grabs the bottle of lube that I had set on the floor. My stomach flip-flops with total arousal as I watch him pour the clear liquid into his hand and wrap his hand around his cock, sliding it up and down, over the head and back down the shaft. Ah, if we had all day, I would be satisfied just to watch him jerk off. But we don’t and he knows it. He is ready. I am ready. He slips that giant so easily into my pussy. I am already achingly wet. My breath catches in the back of my throat. The sense of being completely filled up is delicious. My legs quiver in their bonds. Our bodies never touch. Just his cock sliding in and out of my cunt in an increasingly frenzied rhythm. I raise my head to watch him moving in and out of me. His head is bent to the same. Both of us increasingly out of breath, sweat glistening our bodies, watching the cock. the pussy.

He knows the angle is perfect. He knows the size is just right. He knows that if he hits that certain sweet spot inside me exactly what will happen. And it does. My breathing becomes faster, shallower. My eyes close involuntarily. I am nothing but that one swollen place inside my vagina. That one rough patch behind my pubic bone that is being pounded relentlessly. My legs buck and strain against the straps—my feet climbing up the wall and raising my hips ever higher. And then it comes. Clear, hot liquid, shooting, gushing, soaking his shorts and the floor. He pushes again. I can’t hold back. I have no control. I continue to squirt that precious elixir into the air, into the void. I begin to beg him to stop but I know that he knows I don’t mean it. Eventually, though, we both know it has to stop. We have to stop.

As he withdraws, I whimper slightly from the empty place he has left behind. I know he didn’t get off this time. Not enough time. I know I owe him. He carefully releases one leg and then the other. Gently setting them down and lifting me back onto the weight bench where I lie, helpless, legless. I am utterly satiated but hate to hear the sounds of his hurried cleaning up, dressing, the clink of his belt buckle as he puts himself back together.

He leans over and kisses me. “Maybe we can skip the gym today, ” he says as he starts out the door, “looks like we may be able to get in another workout right here.”

Flashes of the weekend past flood my mind at random times during the day. They cause a sharp intake of breath and a sticky sweetness that unleashes itself upon the almost nonexistent and already moist lace between my thighs. I think of you easing your hand, slick – cherry scented – into my wide open and willing cunt. The white hot feeling of pleasure mixed with pain that sends a warm tingle throughout my entire body as I relax around your fist. The most exquisite feeling to have you fill me up and join me in the single most intimate act of lovemaking. You, the one I trust to hold me there, to cherish that feeling, to take me to unbelievable heights of ecstasy as I tighten hard around your wrist and come in wave after wave of deep contracted orgasms.

My mouth upon your cock. My tongue playing with the tip, toying with the head, running up and down the length of your shaft as I lick you clean of my own cum. You watch me as I swallow you, my hand firmly grasping the base of your dick. You tangle your fingers in my hair, pulling, pushing. My pace increases with your breathing as I am now acutely aware of your rhythms and know every gasp and shudder as though they were my own.

Turning away from you. Silently, slowly, descending upon you. You can see every move of your cock in my dripping pussy. Always ready for you. Always wanting more of you. You grab my ass in both hands. Spread me apart. I know how much you can see. Everything about your sense of voyeurism and my own sense of exhibitionism turns me on. I become a literal and verbal whore for you. The need to talk comes of its own accord. “Fuck me” “Fuck me harder” “Cum in me” “Cum with me” “Deeper, faster” “Let me be your dirty little girl”. And you do fuck me harder, faster. Slapping my ass with burning pain that propels my senses into overdrive, covering us both with warm glaze oozing from my cunt. More. More.

Dragging me to the edge of the bed my legs against your body, my feet wrapped around your neck you plunge into me. My nails dig into the sides of the bed and I smile as you fuck me. So much passion. You make me feel beautiful and wanted and sexy and I forget that everything that is open to you is bouncing with every thrust of your cock inside me. My nipples hard, I want to grab my breasts…squeeze them, touch them, but I want the leverage to push against you meeting your pounding rhythm until we cum together again on cue.

Yes. Yes. Yes.

NOW. NOW. NOW.

I love the way our bodies move together. I love that we work so well together – an efficiently oiled machine. The time we took to know what each of us responds to and being so incredibly in sync with who we are and what we want. I yearn to learn more, know more, be more. To grow each day with you and to move you to new levels of pleasure beyond anything you ever dreamed possible.

You are mine as I am forever yours. I love you.

Ang, our dear Sweltering Celt, was right when she said that the past week has been stressful. The coming week looks to be ever-so-much worse without a moment to breathe. In the meantime, it’s 5 a.m. and I’m “game” to offer up a MicroFantasy Monday post. Enjoy!

She began at his neck. Her full lips working their way south. Her hands running the length of his rock-hard biceps. She straddled him, black silicone hard between her legs, inviting further exploration. Her mouth and fingers trailed their way down his chest, carefully avoiding the “no-fly zone.” That place that, while touch would ultimately be welcomed, was now simply a painful reminder of the body that betrayed. She found the trail of curls that led downward, disappearing into the softest black leather harness. Her fingertips grazed the head of his cock lightly, as she positioned her body farther down between his sinewy legs. Her tongue darted out to tease and run the length of his shaft. Her mouth poised to engulf him, eliciting a soft groan and a twitch of his stomach muscles as he watched her. The air, rich with promise, thick with passion, was suddenly rent by a loud buzzing. She popped up and hit the timer.

“My turn!” she grinned and handed him the dice.

I love watching you watching me.

Speeding down 495 I had butterflies in my stomach in anticipation of my plans. I wasn’t sure I could go through with it. I collected my cool while you were in the shower. Sat in your swivel chair, legs crossed, black pencil skirt riding high, white shirt open just enough. I knew you’d like it. And you did. I kept pushing you away your hands kept straying under my skirt. Wanting it now. Impatient. But I had promised to torture you and however silly I felt I wanted to do this slowly.

I love watching you watching me.

Feeling Love by Paula Cole. That song makes me wet whenever I hear it.

“You make me feel like a candy apple
All red and horny
You make me feel like I wanna be a dumb blonde
In a centerfold, the girl next door
And I would open the door and…
I’d be all wet
With my tits soaking through this tiny little t-shirt…
That I’m wearing
And you would open the door and tie…
Me up to the bed…”

I can’t help but move to that music. That rhythm gets under my skin, crawls between my thighs, I’m oblivious to everything but you, your unwavering gaze, your leg twitching from anxiousness to get to me. You make me know I’m sex itself. You bring out the absolute whore in me. I want to be everywhere at once. Everything you’ve ever dreamed of doing you can do to me. With me. I am yours and yours alone.

When I come near you, intending to prolong this prelude, I find I can’t. I need your mouth on my mouth, your hands on my body, my nails down your back. Those arms. Oh God those arms. When we hit the floor and you rip off my heels and my thigh high stockings and that black lace thong my brain goes numb and all I know is you and your touch and your kisses and your tongue on my clit and my fucking hell I’m coming already and I feel like an 18 year old boy who blows his load before he even gets his pants off.

You do that to me. You make me come in wave after wave after wave. Always coming. So fast and so hard and I’ve lost all powers of speech I’m just one moan after another because you feel so fucking good inside me. The way my eyes close instantly and against my will and my back arches involuntarily the minute you put your fingers inside me. Whatever you do you do it well. Two, then three, four and I’m aching for it all. That sting and burn as I breathe my way through the widest part of your hand and the exquisite warmth as you curl inside me and rock against that spot that drives me. Drive me.

And I love watching you watching me.

You kiss me so long and with such passion that my lips are swollen and bruised. I love kissing you. You have these lips that were just made for mine. Like you’ve been waiting for my lips to fit perfectly with yours. Your tongue playing in my mouth. You don’t always know that I watch you when we kiss. I like to see you. And sometimes I just close my eyes and lose myself within those endless kisses. I love that you kiss me constantly. When we make love you keep those lips on mine and it feels that much more intimate. That much more sacred. I want to lose myself inside you. Deep into your mouth, our lips hard against each other. The way we want each other is like a hunger that can’t be sated.

I move down the bed and push you away. Run my hands down my own body over my breasts up and down my thighs across my stomach finally reaching into my pussy you can’t take your eyes off me and your breathing is heavy with frustration.

I love watching you watching me.

I can never last long this way. I want you too badly. I’d like to tease you, taunt you, make you want me more than you’ve ever wanted anyone or anything in your life but it isn’t my hands I want down there. You watch me lick my fingers slick with the wetness that you bring me to in a never ending flow. Always wet. Always hard. Always swollen open ready willing able.

The stamina and flexibility, the tangle we get ourselves into is amazing. The fact that six or seven hours goes by and it feels like mere minutes. It’s never enough. I can’t get enough. I want you all the time. In me on me around me fuck me suck me spank me – yes you hit me hard and leave deliciously burning welts on my ass and you know I’m dripping from the pleasure that mixes so well with the pain. And when I can’t take it any more I need you inside me. Your cock, so hard. You fuck me like no one before and no one again. When I straddle you and lean back, my back arched and my head dropping behind me I know you are watching me and I know how much it turns you on.

And I love watching you watching me.

When we finally have to sleep I curl up in a ball on top of you, my head tucked into your shoulder, your arms, God those arms, underneath me. And when I wake up, the early morning sun streaming into the window. I look over at you…

And I love watching you watching me.

And so it begins again. And again. And again.

I am facing a very difficult task and one in which I am not sure I am up to. For a couple of months my sexual relationship with my ex-HTB has been rekindled. We enjoy each other’s company but we don’t date, we rarely go out in public, and I’ve started to feel like an unpaid call girl. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy the sex. Despite the many, many problems we encountered in our three year relationship, sex was never one of them. We have a passion for each other that is yet to be matched. In truth, I am addicted to him.

Because I fell in love with him in his physically female form, and went through the subsequent stages of his transition with him—attending therapy, accompanying him to doctor’s appointments, getting heavily involved in transgender activism, serving on panels at transgender conferences, and staying overnight with him during his top surgery and nursing him back to health afterward—I have this Goddess-like feeling that I am the ONLY woman in the world who truly understands that facet of his being and feel in some way that leaving him would leave him stranded.

Now mind you, I am the first person in the world who will say that no one else is responsible for your happiness. But I didn’t truly think this way until just recently. I have been in co-dependent relationships with partners who were wrong for me in so many ways but I looked to each of them for my salvation. Now, as my 45th birthday is fast approaching, I know that, at some point, I am going to want to settle down into a committed relationship. I don’t want a polyamorous life. Been there, done that. I lived in a trilationship with two women for two years sharing a king-sized bed and all the difficulties that went along with it. I have met an amazing woman with whom I share so many common interests. Actually, all of our interests are roughly the same. While I cannot trade one for the other, I am never going to be able to leave myself open to any future possibilities until I am able to walk away from my ex with no residual emotional ties and no desire to run to him for a screaming hot orgasm or two.

There is no future for my ex and I, regardless of our past engagement. I wanted the fairy tale. I wanted the big wedding, the validation that came from being a seemingly heterosexual couple although I missed my gay/lesbian community so very much. I wanted my family to finally accept me and I wanted my son to have a father. But all was rather tenuous based on the fact that everyone, literally everyone, knew of his transition. We have nothing in common. We come from two different worlds and aside from enjoying movies together and some outdoor activities, we have no real foundation upon which to build a lifetime commitment. I will not get divorced again. I will not tolerate certain aspects of his personality that he is unwilling/unable to change. I also drive him batshit with my laissez-faire attitude. He is rigid in his schedule and I am free-floating and subject to change like the wind. He is very happy in the town he grew up in and I want to experience the entire world and all of its diverse cultures. I could go on and on and on…but you get the picture.

So. Norway is here for a few weeks. I am spending the day with my ex. This may be the last time we are together. I don’t know. I want to be emotionally and physically free of any ties that bind, but I need to take that step on my own, not because there MAY be an opportunity around the corner. As I said, I cannot trade one for the other.

…and so, with all of the cerebral knowledge that I have, why am I letting my cunt rule my life?

Ahhh…those of you that were loyal followers, welcome back! I missed my erotic writing…but then again…how many times can you write about masturbation? Seriously, I was in danger of becoming chaste (gasp! I know!). I am a writer of many things, and erotica has always been at the top of the list. I recently tried a very public and excruciatingly dull diary of self-discovery (yawn) that lasted less than a week. While I AM on that journey, I’m doing it in private now. However, I have realized that part of the essence of me, is this…self-expression.

I am a passionate, vibrant, sexy, and sex-loving woman. There is no reason to deny that part of me and no reason not to share it with all of the amazing writers and readers that I made connections with back in the not-so-long days ago as FemmeBLT. While D. (formerly known as HTB) intimated (okay, insisted) that I was maintaining a sex blog simply to make him jealous or draw attention to myself, I defend my work and my dedication to writing—in all it’s forms. As a very private person, he does not wish to have his personal business put out into the ether for everyone to see. I will respect that by making sure his identity is protected and not revealing my own (guilt by association, dont’cha know?).

So here I am. Technically single. Back on the dating scene. Having amazing sex with no strings attached and here to tell about it. A tale of lesbian identity, love and lust with a transgendered man, a high femme top turned somewhat submissive, exploration and discovery and a continuing journey with D., my lover, as he moves swiftly along the path to his own true self.

Home. It’s nice to be back.