Thursday, June 14, 2007
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
I scored a lift with seven dykes, and of course whenever five or more dykes are together, they make a film. So I had a wow of a time, thrusting my practically naked body at truckies as we posed as hitchhikers for this movie along the way, with me being a gender-fuck street whore, any my fellow "hitchhikers" being Spiderman, a trailer trash vamp, a Ring Master, and Ivan Milat.
Amazing coincidence: My best friend stayed in Sydney to spend the weekend with another friend, who is a close friend to the guy who was also billeting in the same room as me. So, we both commiserated on missing our friends together, expecting to see them in a crowd like this (of anarchist queers and punks and such), and then sadly realising we were apart from them this weekend.
The theme of Camp Betty was "radical sex and politics", and I thought to myself, I'm guaranteed the radical politics, having been engaged to present on a Troubling Gender workshop, and I figure if I get any sex, that would be radical. After all, I had gotten through the Sex Party at Queepuptions without breaking my drought, so I had low expectations.
Saturday morning, I give a song and talk for the workshop, and meet Ash, an amazing gender-fuck "transguy" (by way of clumsy shorthand.. anyway, he reminded me so much of me as a young man in androgynous make up, similar short styled hair and strong jaw line, and I figure now I know what I'd look like if I'd been "born" (ie labelled at birth as) a girl, cos I figure being me I'd manifest as androgynous one way or the other.)
We are androgyny.
Our existence is the confluence/co-influence of yin and yang.
Oh, sorry, by "we" I meant "me", perhaps in the "royal we" sense, but more likely just a revealing of our multiple personality co-op.
Saturday afternoon, and we are dancing joyfully in a mad post-modern iconoclastic Procession through the suburban streets of Melbourne, painted up and dressed down, dressed up and panty-hosed, waving banners that resembled slogans but with no recognisable letters, in shared anarchist joie de vive.
Saturday night, I was deluged with dykes importuning me on the dance floor, and fled one slightly uncomfortable embrace thrust upon me, only to be buttonholed by a woman who loudly remembered us meeting ("meeting" meaning "meeting where we met as scissor sisters") in the hot-tub at Confest thirteen years ago, thus blowing my chance of getting out the vibe of "I'm a QUEEN, lovey, a QUEEN, i might look like a girl, but I'm a QUEEN, I like BOYS".
I get very flustered by dykes. Not surprising, as some of them really are masters at turning a woman on, and especially when I'm dancing, my body consciousness is so easily swayed, and I'm happy to dance with you darlings, and even be sexy on the dancefloor, and I love you all, but there will be no boomsen darling, I'm post-experimental, darling, I know what I need to take me to that special place, darling, and it's about a lot of things but they include high up in the list: aroused male pheromones, a chest firm and shaped not unlike mine, and a deep hard groinal thrust sesh.
Come to think of it, I could go a trany boy with a strap on, but, I digress.
Anyway, I went home, after a very arduous time getting a cab, and joined the continuing party. Shortly into the long drinking that ensued, I agreed to my host's suggestion that I again sleep on the mattress in the lounge, as my room-mate had scored trade for the weekend, who was also from Sydney, so they needed the room. And I gradually came to terms with the concept of seeing everyone else partnered, everyone else who wanted physical loving got it, but I'm okay with my life, I can't make anyone want to fuck me, not and keep my integrity, and I mean me, not the stock fantasy I portray in high heels on William Street, and if I have to live without fucking happening for me, my life is still worthwhile and rewarding enough to enjoy and want more.
This acceptance was easier as another very friendly friend beckoned me for a group lounge on the mattress, but I knew what I wanted, and didn't want a consolation prize, but I was flattered, and knew that I was choosing the company of my self (or abstinence) over non-sexual (or, perhaps, sexual, but, for me, not very arousing) physical comfort and stroking.
So, I reconciled myself to this at least for the night, and at about 4am everyone still awake went to bed, and I had another joint as I again came to terms with the situation of my sex life, and as I chose to be comfortable with tonight sleeping alone while everyone else around me pairs off, denied not only a bed but the excruciatingly beautiful Asian boy my room-mate had scored, and because of whom I didn't even notice anyone else, and just kept seeing him and mindfully accepting my solitary situation and wishing him happiness with my roommate, because really, when I look at this boy I want him to be happy, and I want him to make his own choices, and I accept those, whether they preclude me or not.
And I turned the light out, and the guy who had been asleep sitting at the table woke up, seeming groggy and disoriented.
My hosts had advised me not to worry about him, "He will stay asleep there", they said as they retired leaving me to deal with potentially not only a "broken heart" but also a strange drunk. He had come out of nowhere (for me), having hooked up with my hosts after the dance party, but he had tried to talk very intensely with me about bible quotes, when I wanted to be part of the group, so I had turned away from him.
Still, I was by now radiating compassion, consciously focussing my thoughts to stay away from self-pity, so I invited him to crash on the mattress next to me.
He seemed to weigh up his mobility, his tiredness, and his inebriation, and collapsed onto the mattress.
I rolled away from him, and he moved next to me, and before his arm touched me, asked if it was okay to share warmth, and I said "Sure, sharing human warmth is okay", but not wanting anything more, thanks, happy to share a bed, happy to sleep with the comfort of another breathing warm gently moving human body, but not up for anything more thanks, as I didn't know him from Adam, and I've had more than my share of drunken furtive half-shags, thanks, and I'd rather have a nothing than have a lousy something, okay?
Anyway, I got comfortable with his arm around my body, his hand on my breast, his body warm and gently breathing against my back, and I don't know what happened first, my vagina started twitching, and his groin started showing signs of life, and our breathing flared, and we twitched, and flexed, and moved together, and flexed a little more, and I aroused my brain from my drugged slumber to check if I was okay with fucking this stranger,
and I was,
and his motions and pelvic thrusting seemed to indicate continued consent and co-initiation, as we together opened his clothes at his waist, and I put a condom on him, followed by myself, and went about the business of being thrust to seventh heaven, and the deepness and intensity of his firmly driven hydraulic action helped take me there on a pumping piston to Paradise.
So THAT'S what sex is! No wonder it's addictive! I felt so good I thought I'd never felt that good before, but I get that every time I get good sex. It's just such a far removed state of ecstacy and bliss! The rather ordinary sex I've had this last decade just does not compare. Oh alright, if good sex is an ecstacy tablet, ordinary sex is a lukewarm cup of only half-decent coffee.
I marvelled at how beautiful he looked, and how more beautiful he became the more I sobered up. I began to worry about his age, for it seemed to be getting younger as I looked, but my hosts later assured me he is over twenty.
After about an hour, I felt sorry for his poor besotten tired body, his virility mercilessly milked by my strongly gripping tight artificial imitation vagina, his stamina sorely tested by my sexual voracity and flexing pumping thrusting body, his eyes barely able to open, and so I decided to release him from my quim's vice-like grip, and the condom.
For the first time since our first cuddle, I spoke, explaining, as I took the condom off him, that "I should let it breathe a little perhaps". "Sorry", he mumbled, and asked "What time is it?"
"6AM" I said.
"That explains it. Sorry, " he said, which I interpreted as an apology for not ejaculating after a marathon drinking and smoking session and long long night. I didn't think an apology was needed, I had had a pretty ecstatic time, and my brain was well flooded with happy chemicals (from the sex, particularly, okay narc-obs?).
We rested awhile, and horniness bobbed, and I finally decided a blowjob was in order, as the appropriate way to get a man off when under the influence of booze/tiredness/stress/whatever, and I had had my happy fix... I might not have actually had an earth-shaking orgasm, but I had peaked enough to figure that he was due some sexual satisfaction. And I'm glad I did, I can still remember the satisfying rush of taste : )
We slumbered awhile, and he got up and left about 9 or 10, and I didn't even know his name, but I'll be smiling for weeks.
And it happened not because of any plan I made, or of any clever thing I done or said, nor anything I made happen or can make make happen again... I just accepted being okay by myself, became whole and happy being only with myself, and let go of all regret about not getting sex, and then, it just happened. He just fell into my bed out of nowhere.
Thanks be to God.
Meanwhile, the drought in NSW broke, with the Hunter region flooded.
This mAy well be my season
Labels: sex anarchy