Today, I am the post-St. Patty’s Day stop on Rachel Kramer Bussel’s Virtual Book Tour for Best Sex Writing 2012: The State of Today’s Sexual Culture. I have always been a fan of the books she has edited and I’ve been a devoted fanboy of Susie Bright’s for almost six months now. I encourage you all to take a moment and find this book on Amazon to peruse yourself. Here’s a look at the book’s trailer to get your sexnerd brains firing!
As I float around in this space somewhere slightly above the ground, I wanted to take a moment to reflect about my weekend before my brain forces me down to Earth.
I spent a good amount of my time in service this weekend to a few Coffee Tops and the event itself. It’s definitely something I’ve been wanting to come into as a service bottom. What I enjoyed most was the feeling that I was not only being helpful, but putting others needs ahead of my own. I look forward to broadening my horizons around this.
It also made me cherish my free time even more than I think I would’ve if I had been a “free boi” all weekend. Although I missed a lot of classes during the day, I tried my best to take full advantage of the other times I had. I don’t think I’ll ever stop needing “gentle nudges” to get my needs met, but I do feel myself growing in such a way that I’m better able to articulate them.
Needless to say that one of the highlights of my weekend was being able to take my feet off the ground with the help of so many. I’m taking with me the thought of my circle of friends as being part of my spider web. I took with me the idea that being connected to so many is a way to grow stronger.
There were many discussions about families, owners, bois, grrls, toys.. and though I remained unowned in the D/s sense, I find myself at a sort of crossroads. How will my path look if I continue to explore by myself, meeting new people along the way, but not settling on taking a companion? I’ve always gotten tastes of what the energy of another does to my core, but never as a steady force that drives me forward even when I want to turn back. I wonder how much of myself I can give to such a person without feeling like I’m losing the others who have been so willing to guide and watch me grow. I wonder if all of these things are mutually exclusive, or is it because my world has felt so limiting for such a long time that I cannot imagine that this part of my world does not exist in a tunnel.
So as I look down and see my world coming into focus, I wonder whose hand will be there to great me and lead me from sky into the forest.
While taking a break from figuring out my sexual manifesto, I stumbled upon a new meme sensation floating around the alternative sexuality online community. I find that when I’m introducing myself to people, saying my name is the first step in a long line of self-confession. These are the notes on my gender:
- I identify as male because I can.
- Boi is the most accurate identity I’ve found to describe myself so far.
- When I wear a tie, I call it dress up.
- When I wear sweatpants, I call it comfortable chic.
- I enjoy dressing like a nerd from the 90s.
- If you ask me how my mother feels, I will tell you to go ask her, and then fuck off.
- I answer to my chosen and scene name. It’s rude to ask about anything else.
- I use male pronouns, but also answer to “hey, grrl, hey!”
- I find it hilarious to be read as female while going through the drive thru.
- I feel satisfied when my shirt, underwear, and harness match eachother.
- I keep my hair short because I like when people play with it.
- I have a big dick.
- I don’t deny the parts of my body. I only ask that you respect it.
- I get really turned off when people fantasize about “what I used to look like as a female”. I will run from these people.
- I used to use T, but now I realize that it isn’t required for me to feel like I’m male.
- I have a big butt.
Now, not all of these may seem of gender-importance to you, but for me, they all help define me in some ways. I think any of these points are up for changing sometime in the future. My big butt is the only thing that has stayed with my fluid gender identity no matter how much testosterone and squats I’ve done.
Maybe soon I’ll be able to articulate notes about my sex(uality)…
I never took myself as a scrap booker, but in the past two years,
I’ve taken up quite a collection of community treasures. In my bedroom atop my
vanity there stands a black box with a silver lock. Inside, there are decorated
badge holders, wristbands, and the collection grows as I mature in the scene.
They are moments of my growth as an adult in my quest to find a passion.
My youthful appearance leads people to ask two questions at kinky
events: how old are you and how long have you been in the scene? For some
reason, I continue to feel off put by my answers. At 25, I don’t feel
accomplished that much. With two years of real life experience in the scene, I
feel strange saying that I only play at events or conferences where I feel
drawn away from the outside world for weekends at a time. My identity as a
bottom is not mutually exclusive of my identity as a giver. There are times
where I have a top space, but it depends mostly on the energy of the person I
am partnering with.
This past weekend, I was at The Floating World and collected a few
treasures. The one I adore the most is a length of white rope. As part of the
burlesque show, I was recruited to be a unicorn. I can admit to weaseling my
way out of it until the hour before the show started. Before I knew it, I was
in a tank top and white boxer briefs with a length of white rope tied around my
neck prancing proudly into the performance space. Maybe it was the crazy hood.
Maybe it was the fact that we became our own unicorn herd. Maybe it’s because I
really love rope. Whatever it was, I didn’t take that rope off for the rest of
the weekend except to sleep with. I treated it like something precious. It was
a way for me to stay tied to who my kinky self really is: a supremely playful
ever changing boi that just wants to be captured by those who deserve it.
The more I think about it, the physical treasures that can be
placed in my box are nowhere near as powerful as the mental treasures. When
placed in a space that is open to laughing as a part of the play, I find that
the scene can continue far longer than any physical scars. I was able to try
hook suspension for the first time since my energy pull in the spring time. I
was told that each step I took to prepare my body to leave the ground was an
accomplishment in itself. I began to lose all sense of time as I laid on the
table to prepare for my hooking. I had lost count by the fourth hook. I had to
concentrate on breathing through the pain to experience that white noise. To
feel my rigger’s hand on my back was the safest feeling in the world. We traded
stories of our weekend, our mutual friends, our pasts. I had taken eight hooks
when I had struggled with two months earlier. I was transformed into a
superhero as my world turned to warm goo. Once my cape was off, I knew it was
time to take off. Each tug of the hooks sent me flying in space. I felt my skin
leave my body and traded magical stories with Lady Hilary. She told me I was a
brave boi and that I was flying no matter what my body was telling me. I
remember thinking I was already up even though with the next tug of rope my
toes tried fiercely to hold onto anything. I felt my legs grow tired and
wondered what time it was and how crazy it was that I was doing this. I tried
to fight past this block that was keeping me grounded. My heart was telling me
that one more tug would send me in the air where my legs wouldn’t matter. I
remember Phoenix telling me that I held the power as to when this journey would
end. When I asked to come down, I expected to cry and break down, when really
it felt as if I was still flying in space. My cape was wrapped around me again
and I was held and told again how brave I was and what a good job I did. All I
could do was smile.
That experience cannot fit in any box. It is special because of
the people involved in it, and not just my riggers. During the setup, I was
asked whether I wanted to face the growing crowd or away from it. Seeing all my
friends had stuck around to watch, I knew I’d want to see them. Even though it
was Phoenix, Lady Hilary, and Angel closest to me, the energy coming from my
friends was nothing like my experience in a room of strangers during my first
energy pull. I couldn’t even imagine how different it would be if I had tried
this on the first night. These were people I had laughed with, played with,
cuddled, and explored with. Without them, I don’t think I could’ve been so
brave.
From this experience, I have learned that my path as a young
kinkster may not be centered on how many events I go to or the prestige of
those I choose to play with. I am not in this scene to be kinkier-than-thou.
The greatest treasure I have is the knowledge that growth comes through
experience. This weekend I learned that my body is more capable than I thought
it was yesterday, that the scars may fade, but dreaming lasts forever.
Until we meet again,
k
I can admit that I’m addicted to Zumba. I have been going to classes since winter of last year as something to do when I wasn’t at work to keep myself in dancing shape and stop from going crazy. I did not expect to like it as much as I did. After much thought and savings, I have decided to get my certification in Zumba so that I’m able to teach classes on the side.
I can tell that my friends are excited for me. It’s the main thing I talk about and I go to Zumba classes at least twice a week and practice routines in my garage practically every night. You would think after six months, I would stop being insecure about being one of very few male Zumba students in my class.
On Monday nights, my Zumba class takes over the gym at the Y because we were constantly at capacity and turning people away when we had the half court. The guys playing basketball did not take kindly to it, and some of them decide to stick around to see what Zumba is and why it’s keeping them from playing three on three. Now, being one of three guys isn’t the only thing that makes me stick out. I also wear these fab Glagla shoes that come in multiple colors, my bandana always matches my outfit, and I shake my hips like a black girl. News flash: I used to be one. I have never been comfortable with having male energy directed towards me, even when I went out to the clubs. I’m even less comfortable being read as a guy and having guys stare at me. Most times I just figure they think I’m gay, which is a problem for me. I love women. A lot. When I go to zumba, I’m checking out women the same as the rest of them, but I’m also getting to know them as we sweat out a ten minute tribute to Pitbull.
So when I made the decision to get certified, I know I’m opening myself up to a lot of judgement and a lot of good energy as well. As my future Zumba Education Specialist, Tanya Beardsley, said: “If you don’t have haters, you ain’t doing it right.” Most of my teachers are excited for me to get certified. I basically have a sub job waiting for me at my home Y so long as I don’t suck. I know I’m up for judging, especially since I’ll be the only male Zumba teacher within 25 miles of where I live. Who knows how many other transgender Zumba instructors there are, and really, who cares? As with any job, what should matter is whether I’m good at what I do, not what I have between my legs.
I’m not good at conclusions.
The hardest part of my personality for me to handle on a day-to-day basis is the impulsivity that comes with being an Aries (well, Aries/Taurus). I constantly find myself delving into new projects moving full steam ahead until something shiny catches my eye. I am all about what is new and trendy and put myself into situations where I feel over committed to something that I do not enjoy less than 30 days later.
A few months ago, I told a friend of mine that I would be part of their youtube channel that would feature transmen and genderqueer people discussing their viewpoints on a number of topics including choosing to transition, surgeries, (not) passing, health, etc. I made it through about two episodes before I realized that my passion does not come through in a video the same way it does in my writing or in person. I actually grew tired of looking and hearing myself speak. I could not believe that people were enjoying it in some obscure part of the world and turned my attentions back to my writings.
I am not saying that I expect this blog to change the world, but it is a lot easier for me to translate my thoughts in writing than to spend hours thinking of what I am going to say and have to edit a video on my already-overloaded Macbook. I enjoy making videos when there is another person in the room. It feels more natural instead of talking to my laptop imagining my audience. I also feel less pressured to write because it is how I express myself habitually. I know it would be best to have a new blog entry regularly, but I would rather not force myself into writing. There are always a bajillion things going on in my world, but I can say that every time I don a pair of sweats, I think of this blog. I think of the people who read it, and their motivation behind doing it. Maybe all these thoughts are stirred because of my time at Momentum Con learning about how other bloggers and sex writers work. I am not even sure if I consider this a sex blog yet. I guess it could be considering I have had sexy thoughts in my sweatpants. My promotions of the revolution tend to take place at events that have a sex focus.
I guess all that’s missing is a picture of sweatpants sex.
But since Google fails, I give you the 
Legs of the Revolution.
I currently own seven pairs of sweatpants that each have their own memory attached to them.
Two pairs of sweatpants are from my Alma mater. I was really into branding myself as a student during my first go around in school. Anyone who knows my battle with education will understand why I never bought any from the graduate school I dropped out of. I wore my undergrad sweatpants to classes, lunch, the gym, and everywhere else I could manage so long as they were clean. My favorite of the two zips up from the bottom so that I can slide my feet in and out easily while wearing flip flops. It reminds me of a time when I actually thought I knew what I wanted in life. I was studying to be a social worker and was going to change the world.
I own one pair of fleece sweatpants that keep me extra warm. My dad bought them for me at an Army-Navy store (while they still existed) after a field hockey game because it got super cold and all I had was my game day skirt. They no longer have the elastic band so I end up rolling the top down to keep it secured. It reminds me of a time when I was close to my father. He was always concerned about my appearance and whether I was actually attractive to anyone when I’d don comfy clothing that weren’t always the most fashionable.
But my all-time favorite pair of sweatpants are the ones I bought from the Alvin Ailey center when I took classes there as an adult. I remember always wanting to tap into some creative part of myself as a teen, but my schedule wouldn’t allow it. So when I moved to NYC for two years, I decided to take dance classes twice a week. I studied this form called Horton, a mix of ballet and modern dance that was founded by Alvin Ailey. I love them because they have not lost any comfort over the three years I’ve owned them. They have the school’s name on the side in white and go with just about everything. I wear them to my zumba classes now more than shorts, usually with one pants leg up and knee high black socks so I can still focus on my lines.
I remember bringing this pair to my first kink-centric conference and being afraid of wearing them during sessions or even when I was just walking around. Although the atmosphere screamed “be yourself”, I was worried that with these sweatpants, I wouldn’t be sexy enough to anyone and therefore wouldn’t be able to find play partners over the weekend. They stayed packed away until I met this woman roaming the downstairs area in this pink sweatsuit and a talking panda. From afar, I can admit that I judged her, as a pink sweatsuit was the last thing I expected to see there. When I asked my friend who that was, they told me “Oh, that’s Princess Kali.” Somehow, from what I had heard about her workshops, I’d expected her to be in a PVC one-piece mini-dress with thigh-high boots and a leather crop ready to take on any bottom in her path. At some point, she joined our little group and she introduced me to the Sweatpants Revolution.
It’s about wearing what makes you comfortable, no matter where you are or what you’re doing. So now, whenever I’m at a conference, I wear my sweatpants on Sunday. Not only is it practical (it’s usually a travel day), but it’s what I wear in my personal life when I am in a comfortable head space. I think feeling sexy is more in your head than in your clothes. It’s not about judging someone based on their looks or the current trends of the scene. I personally don’t wear leather or kilts because I don’t think it suits me personally, but I won’t judge you for wearing it either. If you carry yourself confidently, you can pull off most things.
What do you wear when you want to feel comfortable and sexy at the same time? I’d love to hear about it.
Stay awesome,
Kai
I relate to Maggie because in looking back over my love life and comparing it with my sex life, I feel the former has been the unhealthiest. No matter the length of the courtship, I found myself constantly changing or imagining myself changing to accommodate my partner’s needs. It has gone beyond giving them an extra drawer in my bedroom and escalated to pay rent for an apartment that I barely use because I’m spending most of the week at their house. I find out my date is vegan and begin such eating practices at home even though I am an avid omnivore. I imagine what our wedding will be like and what sports our kids will play.
All this will take place within the span of a week after meeting someone.
I realized that it always took me a long time to recover when these relationships fell through. I am sure I baffled my friends by becoming so attached so quickly. Truth is, when I was younger, most of my goals were based on relationships. I wanted to meet my life partner sometime in college and be married by graduation. Our first child would come shortly after graduating with a Master’s degree and it would not take long for my family to grow.
Imagine my surprise to be thirteen days away from my 25th birthday, single, without children, identifying as a different gender than my childhood self, and satisfied with my relationship status.
About two months ago, I decided to be my own primary relationship (with inspiration by Ignacio Rivera), and I fall more and more in love with myself every day. I love that I am able to geek out about the strangest things and that I’m more than alright with expressing my femininity. I found out that I have a shoe fetish and find creative ways to tie my shoes while also having them untied. I have had significant encounters that could never happen without my ability to accept rejection as a pathway to acceptance. No longer am I changing myself to suit someone else’s lifestyle.
By allowing myself permission to be single, I have taken the focus off partnering and shifted it to include finding out more about myself. In the process, I realized that I have so much more to learn and love before I can learn to love another.
