Scintillectually Yours

vi.sualize.us

“Writing about a writer’s block is better than not writing at all”
― Charles Bukowski

Oh darlings, it isn’t nearly as titillating as my title makes it sounds! I have linked to this blog several times in the past few weeks for members of some of my facebook groups. Every time I do, I groan inwardly, knowing full well that it has been over a year since I’ve posted anything new. Last year, I was in the midst of planning my wedding to DPR (henceforth to be known as Hubby), and time just got away from me. Since our fabulous and huge extravaganza, we spent an amazing time in the mountains of Tennessee together (jacuzzi, gas fireplace, horseback riding, and all!), and have finally (just two months ago) moved in together as a family.

So life has been busy, but surely not too busy for a writer to write? Sadly, yes. Or maybe it’s just that in my spare time (of which there is precious little), I prefer to spend quality time with my loved ones. Now that we’re all under one roof and both my boys (yes, DPR and my son) have gone back to school, I’ll have more time to devote to pursuing non-paying pastimes. Also, I loathe to admit that I’m not quite sure what to write about. I thought I’d start with an easy meme like TMI Tuesday, but when I went to pay homage to Blue-Eyed Vixen‘s site, I found that TMI Tuesday hasn’t been functional since the last time I participated–oh, last April or so! Then I thought I’d do a late MicroFantasy Monday post. Sadly, the SwelteringCelt has taken her website offline and there are no more MFM prompts. I’ve been asking hubby for a new assignment but we’d gotten so out of practice (creating new assignments, certainly not in the area of fire in the bedroom, as that just keeps getting better and better!), that even he is having trouble finding a topic for me to write about for a Wicked Wednesday post. (I’m positive he can come up with something creative if I just keep at it!)

And what’s with the new pronoun, oh faithful returning readers? Yes, hubby (formerly known as DPR and writer extraordinaire of the also long-neglected Androgynonamous) has started testosterone shots and is undergoing full gender reaffirmation. He will be he from now on. So likely, some of my writing will have to do with trans issues and since I’ve been hell-bent on political activism, there may be a little of this and a little of that. I apologize in advance to all of you who prefer my lyrical smut. I encourage you to check out the archives in the meantime and I will do my best to come back with a juicy little tidbit forthwith!

although in our case, it seems our 15 minutes may last just a bit longer than that.

A few months ago, I started campaigning in earnest for EqualityNC. Having been a very active member of MTPC (Massachusetts Transgender Political Coalition), I found myself at odds when I moved to North Carolina and needed a political cause. Oh, how to choose? The easiest one to start with, of course, was the one right under my very formidable nose: marriage equality. It wasn’t long before I was asked to submit our story to the Equality NC’s wedding registry and you can find our photo and brief synopsis here: The Marriage of Diana and Li. At the same time, we were asked if we’d be interested in being interviewed for their upcoming documentary “Know + Love.” Of course we gave an enthusiastic thumbs up and eagerly await our turn in the spotlight. When the film comes out, we’ll be sure to give you a heads-up.

In the meantime, I believe we may have found ourselves the North Carolina poster children for gay marriage. I opened a mass e-mail today from EqualityNC. It referred to the 2010 census and the fact there are over 23,000 registered gay and lesbian couples living in this state. Those are just the ones that chose to identify themselves on the census. Or even bothered to fill it out. At the time, Li and I were not living together and I had to list myself as a single mother, head of household. So, hey, there’s actually 23, 001. Anyhoo…I’m scrolling through the e-mail and whoa! There’s our photo! We’re famous folks!

So, I’m busy planning a wedding and trying to figure out just how to walk up to Barack Obama and tell him to get off the schtick and get a bill passed that does away with DOMA once and for all (I mean really…how long is it going to take for us to get the other 44 states in line with the idea that “all men [sic] are created equal” actually DOES include those of us in the GLBT community and trust me, if you LET us get married? The wedding industry could single-handedly revive our economic crisis). Meanwhile, Li is hard at work starting a brave new community outreach project and has already done one public speaking engagement with another only a few weeks away. I’m encouraging her to get to blogging again but both of our lives are chock full of craziness and are sure to be for the next three months at least. Hopefully her non-profit will launch just after our honeymoon and things will either quiet down or liven up in the most wonderful of ways. The best things in life are happening here and I’m feeling very positive. Very positive indeed.

Occasionally, when I can’t find something to watch on any of the 87,490,238,739,829,302 channels I have at my disposal, I’ll fall back on old episodes of “The Real L-Word.” The series began after the REAL “L-Word” ended a couple of years ago. Now, I don’t live in LA, have never been to LA, and after watching both of these series, have no real desire to ever go to LA. When the first series (fictional) began, I was hooked. It was kind of cool to get drawn into the drama and the characters and yeah, I had a real thing for Shane but she’s such a hot bad boi that she fit the mold of every woman I’ve ever been attracted to. Just watching Kate Moenig walk around in a beater and jeans with a studded belt was enough to take my mind off of the fact that no group of lesbians I’ve ever known look, or act, like the bunch from either L-Word.

So now Bette and Shane and Dana and Alice are gone and I had my fun with the fanisode writing contests (hey, I got all the way to number 11 with one of my entries) and we’re left with what are, allegedly, real lesbians in La La Land. Maybe it’s a generational thing. I mean, I am old enough to have parented most of these young girls, but I don’t remember quite that much drama in my life. Wait…maybe there was. Yeah…I’m starting to recall lots of drunken threesomes, one night stands, hooking up with friends’ girlfriends behind their backs, fucking in the downstairs bathroom while I was supposed to be throwing a party at my house, my soon-to-be girlfriend going down on me in the back of a van on our way to a softball tournament…. Wow. It’s all coming back in a hazy blur that makes me rather blush. And wasn’t it just six years ago that I allowed a woman to move in with me the day after I met her in person and less than a week after we met online? Oh. my. god.

Dyke drama. Yeah, it’s alive and well. While I sat there this morning shaking my head at the television and thinking, “you want REAL lesbian life? Come get some of THIS!” Because my real lesbian life? It’s all about carpooling and bill paying and lawn maintenance. It’s about shuttling your kid from football practice to cub scouts. It’s about juggling choir rehearsal at your church with fitting a burger and fries in with your friends who are on their way home from an AA meeting. It’s about full-time jobs and throwing dinner together and trying to find time to exercise and not getting to see your partner until 9 p.m. most nights when you both fall into bed exhausted and can barely muster the energy for a peck on the cheek before you are both snoring loudly and one of you is drooling and the other farts.

Dyke drama. It’s alive and well when you are in your 20s and maybe in your 30s. When you hit your 40s, you’ve pretty much grown out of all of that and all you want is some semblance of normalcy and maybe a night to yourselves when you aren’t too dog tired to actually fuck for an hour or two before your joints give out and you get all freaked by the extra back fat that jiggles when your partner is shoving her cock in your ass. Clearly, no one wants to make a show about two well-past-prime-time middle-aged women with the exact same life issues as every other virtually married couple with a kid and a couple of pets and elderly parents in the mix. We might make a slightly interesting documentary but we’re no match for the dreadlocked Whitney and her silicone-boob-sporting paramour, Sara (pronounced Sahdah, of course). These girls are all gorgeous, all femme (yet another thing that makes me go “huh?”), and all seem to be rocking pretty decent jobs to be driving such nice cars and living in such cutesie houses in the land of Stars and bars.

Do I miss the drama? Hellfuckenno. I love my life, warts and all. Would I do it all over again? No way, baby. My choices got me right where I needed to be. I was a wild child. A hot young thang with the golden pussy. Now I’m a mother, a partner, an activist, a career woman, an active member of my church, and a wedding planning soon-to-be wife…to the woman who was the first dyke I ever had sex with…way back when. Would we have made a hot series back then? Oh, hell ya. We truly were “The REAL L-Word.”

Okay, I told you not to hold your breath, but I’ve missed the TMI Tuesday posts and found a new one had been put up back in…wait for it…April! Only a month ago! So…here you are. Perhaps I’ll send them a list of questions and we can get this little meme going once again.

Which one:

Smelly feet or smelly breath?

Smelly feet. I can always ask someone to put on socks but kissing someone with stank breath is no fun! I try awfully hard to avoid both…but because I often wear Keds without sneakers? Yeah, kinda gross. (Hey, it is TMI Tuesday!)

Overwhelming pleasure or repetitive numbing pain?

Would anyone actually answer repetitive numbing pain? I’m so going for overwhelming pleasure. Bring it on!

Phone calls or text messages?

Phone calls. I am often on the road and can’t text. I much prefer the nuances in someone’s voice over trying to “read” their signals in a text message. That said, there is something to sending naughty text messages to DPR at work and causing inconvenient boners *reaches for cell*
Being spanked or getting spanked?

Is there a difference here? Did we mean spanking or getting spanked? I’m so confused. If it’s the latter then I am definitely the spankee, not the spanker! I keep begging to be put over DPR’s knee but because I want it so much she sees it as a reward rather than a punishment. I’m wondering just how bad do I have to be to get what I want? *grin*

Go blind or become deaf ?

Deaf! Silence is golden and I’m a voyeur…which would YOU pick?

Bonus (optional):What is one choice you’ve made that you would like to change the outcome to?

I can’t change the outcome to any of my choices. I’ve made so many mistakes in my life and I do have one great regret in particular, but every path led me here and I wouldn’t change *here* for the world.

It seems like the only time I come around anymore is to apologize for not coming around anymore.

Scintillectual started out several years ago as FemmeBLT (with Mayo). At the time, it was a great way to elucidate my relationship with former HTB. I had no real outlet to discuss the myriad topics that being with a transman brought up. We had milestones to celebrate and identities to redefine and we also had a lot of issues. He hated that I kept a sex blog. At the time, he accused me of using it to get attention and I scoffed. I qualified it as a creative outlet for a little harmless erotica.

But he was right. I resurrected FemmeBLT as Scintillectual when he packed his things, left one morning, and never came back. I pulled the covers over my head, smoked a lot of cigarettes, wrote very maudlin blog posts on my (other) site, and eventually I packed away my engagement ring, the wedding magazines, and the photos of us, and started taking baby steps into the dating world again. The overwhelming reaction to the writing I did on Scintillectually Yours fed my hunger for attention. I was awash in my loneliness. I thrived on the comments and the accolades and the occasional appearance of one of my submissions as a top pick for one of the sex blogger digests.

Then DPR came back into my life. We had a smoking hot reunion and our week-long trysts once a month were passionate and exciting and my blogging became infectious. DPR started Androgynonamous and we both burned the midnight oil writing some of the best stuff we’d ever put out.

Then life changed.

Life became…life. Moving to the same city, 900 miles from where I’d been, our lives became tangible and interwoven and complex and wonderfully domestic. I found a fabulous job and my part-time hours became full-time hours. I started acting in community theatre–pursuing a lifelong passion that I’d never had either the time or a supportive partner for. We found a church we loved and became members. I started singing in the choir. My son fell into a rhythm of his own. There was no awkward transition, no missing his old friends. He moved easily and gratefully into his new life. He and DPR take scout camping trips together and go “man-shopping” for my birthday and Mother’s Day. I coached his basketball team and sit on the sidelines cheering his flag football games.

Our sex life is no less passionate than it was…but it’s admittedly less frequent. We’re busy. We’re older. We’re parents. And we’re tired. When we get the chance we go for it with gusto but we’re not feeling part of the fetish community. We’re feeling like a couple. A family. Just your average middle-class suburban Southern dykes with a kid, a station wagon, and a couple of pets.

We’re planning our wedding. It’s going to be a big affair. My big fat gay wedding. My days are filled with appointments with caterers and florists and bakeries and phone calls to and from my bridesmaids and oh, did I mention how positively beautiful my dress is?

We’re spending our honeymoon in Sedona. Spiritual. Romantic. Relaxed. Beautiful.

Just. Like. Us.

For those of you that still pop by on occasion…I hope to keep writing. The tone of Scintillectual may change some. It doesn’t need to serve the same purpose it once did. I live with more integrity now. I have all of the attention I could possibly need. I’m in love and I am loved and sex is the icing on the cake of my life. Perhaps I’ll stop by now and then and serve up a slice.

Just don’t hold your breath for too long, now, ya hear?

Whew! *cough, cough* I really need to get in here with a dustbuster and some Pledge. In the meantime, won’t you all go over and take a look at my BFF, Femme Fairy Godmother‘s site and check out her new Femme Fabulosity feature? Today’s fabulous femme is none other than…drumroll please…me! If you are a femme who would like to be included, simply copy the questions and send your answers, photos (if you’d like to include some), and any links you would like to add to femmefairygodmother at gmail dot com (you know you have to turn that into an actual email addy, right?).

I promise I’ll be back around to catch you all up on the crazy busy wonderful wedding planning that is my life right now. But don’t hold your breath. It may take me a few days!

She stumbled through the dense undergrowth, falling. She lay prone in the icy water. Droplets of cold rain soothed her bruises. She was weary. So weary. Unsure as to whether her legs would carry her any further, she brought her hands together in supplication. A prayer to the Gods that he wouldn’t find her.

She knew her jungle homeland and this…this man…was a stranger from a strange land. Intruder.

She tried to pick herself up and move on. She needed the safety of her tribal family. She wanted the warmth of her mother’s arms, the love of her sisters. She was tired. So tired. Just as she felt the surge of strength to carry on, she heard the crack of twigs as he blundered out into the clearing and fell upon her.

She cried out as he grabbed her roughly by the hair.

And begged the swollen river swallow him whole, lest he kill her before the night was done.

I regretted this set-up from the moment I met her in the lodge. One, she was not my type.  Two, she was an utter brat. Our plan to go skiing had turned into a chase through the woods, far from the crowded slopes. Breathless and exhausted, I found her, naked and spread-eagled upon her fur coat. She turned to wink at me, her nipples hard and her adorable ass colored by winter’s kiss.

Ah well, my type or not, I’d take one for the team. This time.

Check out other Flash Fiction Friday participants this week:

Insatiabear: A Panserbjorne’s Musings

A View from the Top

Naughty Lexi

Free Advizor

Rozewolf

Lola

We will open the book. Its pages are blank. We are going to put words on them ourselves.

The book is called Opportunity and its first chapter is New Year’s Day.

~Edith Lovejoy Pierce~

Each year, Osbasso requests that we repost our favorite HNT from the year that is passing. I have had the great fortune to have a wonderful photographer this year. DPR captures so much of me that I don’t see in myself. Where I am highly critical and self-deprecating, she sees only beauty. I am grateful to get the chance to see myself through her eyes at times and am often surprised at the outcome. Out of the many really lovely photos–filled with memories of each day they were taken (often during her monthly visits to me in Massachusetts, prior to my move)–I chose this one. It is simple. The composition is well thought out, and the colors are so beautiful. I believe I called it “Reubenesque.” Thus endeth another year, a new one just beginning. I wish you all a Happy New Year filled with love and lust and joyous laughter. Now, don’t forget to visit Os’ blog to check out more of 2010′s HNT goodness!

He watched her from the doorway, stealthily unwrapping a gift, unable to wait until morning. When he cleared his throat she turned. Blushed. And offered her bountiful breasts as a peace offering for being such a bad, bad girl.

He tried to look stern and reprimanding. There was but one thing to do. He led her by the hand to the sofa (chintz, camelback), aglow in the light from the Christmas tree, and bent her over his knee. She squirmed and moaned under the repeated smack of his hard, black-gloved hand—grinding her pubic mound into his red-clad thigh, his cock pressing hard against her side.

When he felt she’d sufficiently paid for her transgressions, he stood before her and removed his stocking cap and coat. He placed the cap atop her tousled locks and pulled the jacket around her naked curves. And laying a finger aside of his nose, up the chimney he rose. Merry Christmas to all, and to you…you naughty thing…go to bed.

Check out other Flash Fiction Friday participants this week:

Insatiabear: A Panserbjorne’s Musings

A View from the Top

The Oversexed Librarian

Naughty Lexi

Free Advizor

William at The Training of my Lovely Slut