Wednesday, April 9, 2014

Truth, Justice, & The Oral Pleasure Way



I know the moral of the story usually comes at the end, but in the current spirit of instant gratification, I won’t make you wait.

Always be open to honest and frank conversations with loved ones.  If you’re not, you’ll never fully realize potential for what you could experience and share. 

It was a Saturday on a cold weekend in January.  I was sharing time with my lover and we were talking about relationships: hopes, past disappointments, random thoughts, and other related topics.  When he muses, “You know, you’re really good...” 

I cock my head to the left quizzically and reply, “At what?” 

He smiles and says, “Oral sex.  Deep throat.  Did you ever talk to anyone about that? You’re really amazing.”

Fellatio and irrumatio* has always been a major part of our sex life; I love giving him that pleasure, and he loves it.  It’s a rare occasion when he lies back to only receive gracefully.  More often than not, he’s moaning, occasionally cursing, spitting in my mouth, fucking my face, and exploring new ways and positions to experience every bit of my mouth and throat. 

And, I love it. 

My dominant nature has not magically changed overnight; I’m still me in all the ways you have experienced.  This is perhaps an aspect you just didn’t consider.

The conversation continued.  Our mutual affirmation of shared pleasure of his cock in my mouth was the catalyst for explorations we couldn’t have imagined.  

This past December, I asked him if he would be open to recording me going down on him.  I wanted to see what we looked like from a different perspective.  It was only the second time I had been captured in moments of sexual intimacy on film, and it was hyper erotic to experience the sights and sounds from his perspective.  We viewed it after our encounter had concluded, both aroused at watching.

Fast forward to January, it’s after midnight.  The Saturday referred to earlier has become Super Bowl Sunday.  We’re cuddled up on the couch finishing a horror movie.  My eyes are heavy lidded, I’ve become tired and ready for sweet slumber.  I can’t remember exactly how the chain of events happened, but suddenly we’re no longer sleepy and he’s seeking out his digital camera.  We recorded one episode of heated oral sex, then another, and another.  He and I both knew what we loved, but we had not realized we both wanted this savagery.  We would film, and then watch it, and become aroused again.  You get the picture.  We decided at 4:00 AM we should probably rehydrate and get some sleep.
 
He and I awoke, about noon when his big black cat decided food and attention was much more important than our slumber.  Even before coffee, we began plotting the potential course of oral adventures for the day. 

Starting at 1:00PM, we recorded a multitude of oral sex exploits taking two small breaks to shower and eat.  We began doing the things we do often as parts of our regular sex life.  We’d play hard orally, watch what he had recorded; I’d end up dripping, him still rock hard and both ready to fuck.  As the time passed, our explorations went to a deep and very new place after he dipped into his toy drawer to pull out a large ring gag.  It’s hard to imagine becoming even more aroused, but we were.  It was the best Super Bowl Sunday ever.  At 10:00PM, desires were still high, but we stopped to cuddle on the couch and surf Netflix for another horror movie.  We missed the game entirely.

If new explorations, experiencing each other and kinky toys in a new ways, and the sheer carnal depravity of what we were doing wasn’t thrilling enough, what put this over the top for me was the major level of intimacy, which came from so many levels of trust.

While we’re both kinky, I’m more dominant and he’s more submissive, our relationship is not one based in D/s.  But as our play continued on into the weeks ahead, I was in the ring gag, then the ring gag and handcuffs, progressing all the way to major bondage.  One fine night, I found myself helpless in a leather posture collar and fish hook gag, secured to the basement support pole with my hands cuffed behind my back and a heavy length of chain wound twice around my neck.  



(I’ll give you a moment to clean up the cup of coffee you just now dropped or to bring your jaw back to its normal position.  Yes, uber domly me, bound, cuffed, and being brutally throat fucked, at times my oxygen supply cut off to the point of darkness rapidly encroaching on my vision.  And, I loved every second of it.)

We’ve been exploring this way since that time, at times we capture the encounter on digital, other times not.  Sometimes, we enjoy the moment and let it live in memory alone.  I often joke and tell him he gives multitasking filmmaker Robert Rodriguez a run for his money.  I’m not sure if I could simultaneously be slam fucking someone, while I screw their throat with a dildo, and film it all for pleasure.  He’s talented, that’s all I can say.

During play and between periods of gasping for breath before his cock was shoved deeper into my open throat, I, at times, have brief moments of cognitive thought. 

“I’m dominant.  What does this mean?”

“How will this effect our relationship?”

“I don’t like putting people in elaborate bondage.  Isn’t it strange I’m enjoying being in it?”

“I’m dominant, but I’m glad I’m sitting on concrete or the carpet would be soaked.”

“What would people think of me if they knew?  I don’t care.  Fuck.  I can’t breathe.  I might lose consciousness soon, but I don’t really care.  But I’m craving his thick cock back in my throat, right now.”

We’ve been with each other in many new ways since then, and up until now, our exploits had been primarily kept within the family.  When Micheal watched them he said, “Those are fucking hot.  I’d say they’re better than most of the porn I’ve seen.  I think you could sell them; they are that damn hot.”

The next time my lover and I were together I shared with him Michael had viewed the movies and told him what he said.  And, another conversation was launched.

We discussed all the things, good and bad, which could come from opening up these recordings to the public.  We both recognized the implications, and agreed what was most important was doing this for our mutual pleasure.  We agreed that if either of us wanted to remove the clips from a hosting site, we would, with no hard feelings to the other.  

So we set about the process of determining what we might want to share.  Then editing, which took longer than initially expected; as we’d edit, then watch, and get excited, then…

During that time we investigated a host and began filing the appropriate paperwork and being granted approval to upload some of our most private moments to Clips 4 Sale.  It was a Saturday night, late in the evening, when we double checked how we each felt and our first videos were uploaded and able to be viewed by people other than us.  I was working the PC; excited and hesitant, blushing visibly, giggling, but highly aroused.  Checking the heat radiating from my cheeks with his hands, he quietly smiled at my reactions.

Our shared look was an unspoken affirmation enough.  We’re officially pornographers now.
 
Sometimes I am still in awe of our bravery, and/or audacity.

I still giggle about it, and wonder how all of this will be received by people who know me. 
A few friends with inquisitive souls helped me gauge potential reactions.  I sent them sent a still from one of the recordings to see how or if their perception of me had changed based on the fairly graphic image.  The intimates, who know me well, know well I am not caged by traditional methods, but I wanted to get a feel to see if people would judge me harshly for being a dominant engaging in what most would view as “submissive” sex acts.
 
Leatherman Randy Carmenaty said, “My perception of you has always been someone secure and confident in herself.  You exert it … instructions aren't required.”  A close friend who has known me for a long time said, “It invokes the thoughts of a woman who is definitely the dominant type. Yes, she is currently sucking cock, but that doesn't mean that she is weak or submissive, to me this just instills the thoughts that the woman has a side of her that knows it's not all about her.”

A Columbus-based kinky man noted, “The photo.. alluring yet classy, and definitely something truly intimate for the imagination!! Made - me- purr! I really love it showing you in, from my perspective, predatory mode!  Another said, “You’re a woman who loves giving and receiving affection; you’re a woman who isn't afraid of anything.”

New England leatherman Boss said, “Between two people that know and care for each other it is one of the most powerful ways to connect ( entering another person) as far as my reaction to you in that picture. I'd have to say I think it's hot and totally fine that Tops get to bottom with the correct person and does not in any way make them less of a top but actually a better top - works for me!”

“I don't think that it changes my perception of you at all. I still think that it shows a wildly erotic and enticing woman who is in charge of what she is doing” is how experienced leatherwoman, Paula Smith commented.  A trusted friend, Chuck from Chicago offered this insight, “For me, this provides a new way of seeing you both as a Dom, and as a giving human creature of delight.”
 
Through much of these deliberations, I have been filled with a feeling somewhere between trepidation and excitement to think of others having a direct view into our sex life.  I wondered if these revelations would negatively affect my reputation as a leatherwoman.  As I mused more internally and we discussed externally, I believed it would be entirely liberating to be so extremely candid sexually. 
 
The majority of the time I exist in a world of gay men, where women’s sexuality can be extremely marginalized.  Comments like, “Just one woman in the group changes the dynamic.” and “A woman’s energy affects everything!!” reiterate the notion women should diminish themselves so they don’t make waves. 
In a community where natural, honest, sexuality is revered, at times I’ve not been my own fullest sexual self, so the crowd around me would not be more “affected”.  Life’s too short to be any less than what we are.

So, this is me. 

I’m sure this is a “me-you-didn’t-know-about”, and neither did I until recently.  But, I’ve always been a bit of an unintentional sexual terrorist and an explorer, and that is one thing which has not changed. 
 
Ansel Adams has been quoted as saying, “In wisdom gathered over time I have found that every experience is a form of exploration.”

Keep exploring, explorers.  Or, by definition alone we cease to exist. 




(*Irrumatio- the act of thrusting of the penis into, in this case, the mouth or throat.)

Thursday, April 3, 2014

Body Image: Beauty In Diversity




Diversity is one of the things which first struck me in my early days of going to leather bars. 

I remember being able to stand in one place and with one sweeping glance gaze upon: old and young, twink and bear, model handsome and average Joe, drag queens and uber macho, and everyone in between.  When I witnessed everyone comfortable in their second skins, to me they were all beautiful, because they were being their truest self.  And, in coming up on sixteen years in leather bars, it’s still one of the things I enjoy the most: diverse beauty. 

As a minority in the leather scene, I’ve never been able to blend.  I’m a nearly six feet tall woman, large, thick, and curvy, chock full of T&A, and overtly feminine.  I own pink leather and I wear open toed heels (with toenails painted, of course) to tantalize those into feet.  I love boots, and they are de rigueur in our scene, but most don’t go with what I enjoy wearing.  Those close to me know I have fantasies about blending and being one of the anonymous guys, but I don’t see that ever happening.  One late night out, long, long ago, a group of leathermen tried to teach me how to walk like a man.  In heels, slightly cocktailed, and with hips like mine it was an amusing but not successful lesson. 

I’ve been the “odd man out” my entire life.  On the first day of kindergarten, I was the freak who could read who was also tallest person in class.  In third grade, I was the size of a small woman (without the breasts, those didn’t start to appear until my junior year) and had a large overbite.  There was no way I could hide and was teased daily.  Even when I was little, I was never little.  I was never at odds with myself; I was just me.  I was teased though daily, for one thing or another, in school until my senior year.

I didn’t experience body Nazis in the leather community until I encountered and became deeply involved with the contest circuit.  When I competed regionally many moons ago, one of the newbie Ms. contestants essentially voiced she had this in the bag because she was a size six. 

She didn’t. (She did flatten the tires on my car though.)

There was a pretty notorious and well discussed example of this which happened in Cleveland a few years back.  A good man, who had shed much of his weight and been in the community for quite sometime, stepped up to compete.  During the contest, he was publically criticized by one of the judges for the appearance of excess skin and that he should “do something about that before he considers competing again.” 

Is this what our community wants to foster?

All of us have different esthetics we find pleasing, and that’s human nature. For me, as a judge, personality, integrity, passion, dedication, and experience trump the cut-out coverboy look anytime.  Most times, I’m in the minority, as the overall voting will go to the hot piece of ass which might or might not have been coached to say all the right things over the man who has served his community and lived and loved in his own leathers.

Years ago, I was angrily confronted by a man in a leather bar who had himself fired up about me from listening to gossip.  The opening gem, and the only thing he could think of was to tell me to “get my fat ass out of the bar.”  Quite ironically, this loud slave was short, bald, not conventionally handsome, and quite round himself.

If he’s reading, I’d like him to know many have worshiped my fat ass.

As an adult and dominant, I’ve enjoyed being a formidable woman, as do my paramours.  I have large frame; shoulders of a line backer, a large hip to waist ratio, and a crazy long inseam, all these qualities can be frustrating to clothe, but still I liked myself and my body.  Those who know me well, know I don’t eat excessively or unhealthy; the statue of people in my bloodline for the most part tend to be large and statuesque.  I am not diabetic and my cholesterol levels are perfect.  A few years ago, the familial high blood pressure trait kicked in almost overnight.  With treatment it’s not high, and has been dropping as I’ve been in the gym. 

Over the past year, I’ve lost over eighty pounds, and have been in the gym on the average of at least four days a week.  My body is changing weekly.

 (Photo taken last IML.  I've changed a bit since then.)

You might think it’s an oxymoron to read I’ve always felt happy with myself but now I’m in the working out.  The gyms I had experienced had been very pretentious.  Many of the women in expensive work out wear, while I was in a baggy t-shirt and well, you get the picture.  One weekend last April, I went to the gym with Michael and really enjoyed myself.  I signed up for a membership that very day.  At that time I was approaching forty, and reasoned, “why not be the best forty I can be?”  Going to the gym for two hours, has become my “me time” where I can listen to my music and focus on being in my body.  I will say there have been incredible changes in both mind and body.

Currently, I’m a woman’s size 16/18, and it’s not my goal to ever become small, only to be more healthy, more powerful, and the best me I can be.

Next time you go out in leather, I’d like for you to do something, if you would.  Instead of just cruising for your type, look around and find one thing you find beautiful in every leatherperson you see: man and woman, old and young, twink and bear, model handsome and average Joe, drag queens and uber macho, and everyone in between. 

Recognize and support beauty in diversity, because it’s one of the gifts of our community we really shouldn’t waste.  The Tom of Finland ideal does not exist, or it would have been photographed, not drawn.  


(Originally published on Leatherati: http://www.leatherati.com/2014/03/beauty-in-diversity/ )