Tuesday, May 31, 2016

Groove

We met on the street, sitting on a curb, drinking cans of beer that were sweating as much as we were.  It was Seoul Pride 2013, and we were both waiting for friends to group up post-parade (back when the parade went on as scheduled without a bunch of dickwad protestors either lying down in the streets in front of the floats or trying to block it on permit regulations); she was cracking jokes about the lesbian organization in my city, and I was giving her shit about where she lived.  Soon after we started talking, my friends hollered at me that they were headed to dinner; I said goodbye, smiling at her, never expecting to see her again.    

I was surprised and delighted later that night when, rum and coke in hand, she strode up to me on the dance floor in a Hongdae gay bar, her tall, lean figure bathed in strobe lights.  She had swagger.  She looked down at me, smiled a broad smile, and said, “It’s good to see you here.”  Likewise, I told her.  As we danced, the floor began teeming with undulating bodies, strangers holding each other by the waist, grinding against each other.  I put my drink aside so I could place my hand on the small of her back, eventually sliding it down onto her ass; she had the same idea, but her hand found its way into my back pockets, then into my pants.  She crouched a bit and I stood on my tiptoes to kiss her – a strong kiss, fueled by alcohol-induced confidence.  I snaked my fingers into her dreads and held onto her head, kissing her deeply, wanting more.  She moved her hands up the front of my shirt, cupping my breasts; we moved our bodies in sync to DJ-spun electronic music while exploring each other. 

Forgetting that we were in the middle of a crowd, she slid her right hand down the front of my jeans now, into my silky boy-cut panties, over the soft mound of hair that I’ve come to love and into the folds of my labia, gently moving her fingers forward and backward, dragging my fluids up and over my clit before finally pushing two fingers into me, pressing upward and inward.  I moved my whole body against her hand, begging her not to stop, continuing to move with the music.  She fucked me harder with her fingers, making me gasp and moan into her ear; no one else could hear me.  Perhaps no one else noticed what was going on; even if they had, I wouldn’t have cared.  After I’d come onto her fingers and my body was quivering, she slid out of me, dragging her fingers up my cunt, out of my panties, and around my waist, then kissed me again. 

We went outside for a smoke; I finally asked what her name was (“Excuse me – now that you’ve had your hand inside of me, perhaps you could tell me your name?”), and we had the Standard Korea Expat Introduction Conversation.  She came with me and my friends as we went onto the next bar, and we continued to dance for hours.  She walked home with us when we finally stumbled out of the Pink Hole (yes, that’s the actual name of the bar) at dawn and asked to come in, but as I was staying in a dorm, I said no; we left it there and said goodbye, kissing outside of my hostel.

I don’t remember her name, and I doubt she remembers mine... but I remember her hands.

Happy Pride Month, everyone!  Go out and have sex on a dance floor. 



Saturday, May 28, 2016

Shadow, Shadow, on the Wall

Part two of the projector series!



Is it weird to want to fuck your own shadow?

To see who else is participating this week, click on the lips!


Sinful Sunday

Tuesday, May 24, 2016

You Know

It’s something when you read his words and know in your core that you have to meet him now.  You feel like there’s a force compelling you that you can’t understand. 
It’s urgent.
You masturbate three times the first day you do meet.
When you shake his hand, you feel alive like
            lightning leapt from his fingertips into your palm.
On your first date, he holds your hand across the table before you ever kiss.
Every time you go to send him a flirty text, you see he’s already sent you one –

            It’s waiting there to reach in and hold you.

He tells you things you’ve been longing to hear for years and
You feel loved.
Really, truly loved in a way you have been aching for but ashamed to tell anyone you wanted.
You feel seen. 
After years of feeling inadequate, invisible –
You feel seen.

You feel like your body is burning when he so much as crosses your mind.
You feel carried by the wind and immersed in light.
You feel weightless, in orbit, going far too fast for gravity to catch you. 

You laugh together like children with a shared secret language
You love each other with abandon
You explore each other’s bodies with a sacred fever and
You hold each other so hard you start to melt.

When it’s something, you know and
You want to shout it like gospel.

You know

It’s over when months have gone by and he hasn’t said I love you.
You send racy photos, and he never acknowledges them.
The only question he asks is a cursory and disinterested, “So, how was your weekend?”
You send him a birthday present
A housewarming gift
A Christmas present
All of which are used but unappreciated by word or deed.
He starts using euphemisms when talking about going on dates: “I have a meeting.”

The only time he misses you is when he needs your unfaltering emotional support.
When a shoulder isn’t enough big enough.
Then he calls you crying and drunk twelve times in a row while you’re working, saying,
“I wish you were here.”
Only then.

You make him a video on the one-year anniversary of the day you met – the day you felt alive and couldn’t stop touching yourself thinking of the possibilities between you – sending it to him with flutters of excitement and joy, and
he
says
nothing.

So you feel like nothing.

The days go by and you start losing your colors, like a rare and brilliant maple leaf withering from a branch.

When it’s over, you know. 
It’s just that sometimes don’t want to say it aloud,
            or even whisper it,
Even when you know it will release you.
Even when you know that leaves grow back.

Sunday, May 22, 2016

Shine (NSFR)

Inspired by the photography of Dani Oliver.  Desperately wish I had a black room and a photographer (or a model)!  I couldn't choose just one...







I have so many more... this will be a two-parter!

For more colorful photos, click on the lips below!


Sinful Sunday

Tuesday, May 17, 2016

Dance, Dance

One of my former students invited me to a dance performance at her university last week; she’s a member of an auditioned dance troupe that performs choreographed songs once a semester.  I sat down next to her parents when I got there, excited to see them and catch up.  As I looked around the auditorium, I realized there weren’t other parents or family members there – the audience was completely comprised of other students.  And as the students started dancing, I understood why. 

When the lights dimmed, twelve young women came out onto the stage wearing denim cutoffs and midriff-baring white tank tops and started popping and dropping to a recent K-pop hit, and the audience went wild.*  My student’s mom laughed nervously next to me and gripped the arms of her chair.  And I have to admit, I was a bit uncomfortable.  I was uncomfortable that these students – that these young women – were moving so sexually on stage.  And then I was unnerved by my own discomfort; these students were really good dancers, obviously cared a lot about what they were doing, and put a lot of effort into it.  They danced with power and attitude, and they nailed it.

There is a longstanding and ongoing debate about societal expectation and oppression vs. personal empowerment and expression when it comes to women and sexuality; I have a lot of mixed feelings about expectations put on women to perform sexual roles for men and women taking control of their own bodies and lives through embracing and voicing their own desires.  I just started reading Peggy Orenstein’s Girls and Sex; she has a lot to say about the subject, and there’s a review forthcoming.  For me, claiming my own desire is empowering – but it wasn’t until recently that I started being the sexual person I wanted to be and not the sexual person I thought other people wanted me to be, and most of that has to do with the ways in which women are socialized to please men and ignore their own needs and pleasure.  I’ve had a lifelong struggle with loving being that woman who talks about sex all the time versus wanting to be seen as a whole human being whose entire identity – whose entire value – isn’t wrapped up in her sexuality.    

Talking about sex and being sexual was a big part of becoming an adult for me. Watching my student dance, I thought about how my parents reacted (or, rather, didn’t react) to my very open candor about sexuality when I was a teenager.  I distinctly remember singing along to songs like “Freak Me” and “Anytime, Anyplace” with my friends in middle school and making sexual innuendos in all of our letters to each other.  Popping on the basketball court in a stepping group at thirteen.  Teaching other students in my school how to use a condom as part of an HIV 101 lesson.  Inviting my mom and uncle to come to Rocky Horror with me at seventeen and shouting out dozens of audience participation lines that I can only assume were horrifying for my mother to hear come out of my mouth.  My folks didn’t try to suppress my overtly sexual words and world; they let me be who I was.  They let me figure my shit out, and they were there to support me if and when I needed them to.  And I am forever grateful for that.  They also never talked to me about pleasure, desire, safety, consent, respect, or communication… and I desperately wish they had.  Or that someone had. 

Now that she’s an adult, I’m having conversations with this young woman about sex and relationships because she’s not having them with other adults in her life (talking about sex isn't common in Korea, even among friends).  Being a part of her life means telling her things I wish someone had said to me while also letting her be who she is and supporting her.  I want her to think critically about the world she lives in while also experiencing joy and beauty and yes, pleasure.  If dancing brings her pleasure and fills her with joy, then I want her to dance the fuck out of those dances. 



*Videos produced by the multi-billion dollar K-pop industry have become much more sexualized in the past couple of years; this video is pretty tame, and perhaps it’s just shocking because of the move from aegyo(acting cute in order to be attractive)-based videos into videos that have more sexualized choreography and clothing.  There's definitely something in my reaction to this that's rooted in structural / institutionalized racism and cultural perceptions of the intersection of race and sexuality.  Speaking of - I’d love to comment here on the blatant cultural appropriation / token black guy in this video, but that’s covered by a LOT of other blogs.


Saturday, May 14, 2016

Morning Glory

Taken on the balcony of the top floor of my building at 6:00 am.


Hope CCTV enjoyed this!

For more lovely pictures, click on the lips below!

Sinful Sunday

Tuesday, May 10, 2016

Hormonal Drift

Warning: If you can’t deal with the fact that half the population bleeds for ¼ of their lives, you probably shouldn’t read this post.

A year ago, I went to my gynecologist to attempt to get an IUD put in.  While doing an exam beforehand, she looks around my giant skirt at me and asks, “How long have you been on birth control?”  “Twenty years,” I reply.  “You need to get off it.  Now.” she says.  “But –” I start to protest, and she cuts me off: “Now.”  She told me that I had the uterus of a seventeen year-old – whatever that means. 

I finally took her advice last December when The Texan moved back to the US and went off hormonal birth control for the first time in two decades.  I was freaked out about what might happen to my body; here’s what did happen:

  • My face broke out like a fifteen year-old.  The acne was gone in a couple of months, but it was really bad for a while.  Now when I get my period, I get acne in places I’ve never had any before, so that’s weird.  It goes away, but still.  Weird.
  • I finally stopped spotting and my mood swings stabilized.  Yea on both accounts!
  • My periods last longer and there’s a significantly heavier flow, but nothing too bad.  I’ve also been experiencing cramps for the first time since I was fifteen.
  • MY BOOBS GOT SMALLER!  This is a huge victory.  I’ve always had giant knockers; since I exercise a lot, this is a pain in the ass.  Having smaller breasts feels wonderful – it’s something I’ve wanted my whole life.
  • My libido has skyrocketed.

I thought that I already had a much higher libido than most people – I’ve had more than one boyfriend complain about the frequency with which I want to get down.  Now it feels a little out of control.  In addition to no longer putting extra estrogen and progesterone in my body, I also do weight lifting, which increases my testosterone level.  I am ridiculously horny ALL THE TIME.

I’ve started hitting on people I normally wouldn’t hit on, have said yes to sex with someone I’ve never considered sleeping with before (and it’s been great!), have done some pretty stupid and hurtful things in the past month because of my sex drive (sorry, Emily Nagoski), and have had some horrifyingly sexually aggressive thoughts that I never had before.

I’m feeling great about having more sex with more partners (this is going to be a renaissance year for my sex life, no doubt), but I’m not okay with being in a place where I’m not fully thinking through my actions before doing them. What I’m saying is, I need to check myself before I wreck myself, as it were.    

Saturday, May 7, 2016

Short Cuts (NSFR)

Once in a while I walk around my apartment with a dildo in; the way it presses against my G-spot (or whatever you want to call it; I know there's a lot of controversy about this) while I'm walking is pretty awesome.  For me, the idea of doing domestic tasks with a dildo inserted is both hilarious and erotic, and it builds waves of arousal before masturbating.


Happy Masturbation May!!!

Click on the lips below for more sexy photos!

Sinful Sunday