Coming into Myself as a Sexual Being…

I am realizing with each passing day that I am in lust, if not fully in love with my sex and sexuality. I grow anxious without the touch of another and i can feel the warmth flow through my veins when i do. I like to get touched inappropriately, the kind of touch that makes me wonder if my facial expression might be too disturbing for the public eye. That feeling only gets me hotter. Lust and I have a love affair actually, we drown each other in sweat, penetrating the sheets with our juices, and i wake up each morning with the biggest smile on my face, my lover lays next to me, sometimes, more than one, with my legs and armed entwined between them, fuck it feels good to love the world, to flirt with it, be naughty with it.

Sometimes i wake up, wet. Ingrained in waters of lust, i feel biotic, erotic, and fucking hot. I had been dreaming of wearing my harness and fucking my former husband, now life partner and best friend on the desk in our bedroom. I realize as i awake, “fuck I am wet,” and that it wasn’t a dream. I feel queerer at that moment with him, than I ever have before. I like to top him, make him cum, validate his queerness. I haven’t wanted his penis in a while, but i am turned the fuck on by how queer he likes it, and how queer i am standing there, giving it.

Bell sends me a text sometimes, “Hey girl. Im tired tonight but let’s get beers soon? Excited to see you. Xoxoxo.” She radiates energy from her entire being that runs shivers down my spine and between my legs. She and I make out sometimes, mostly we’re just friends, but the kissing feels good. I have wanted to kiss her for a long time. The fact that my fantasy is coming true entices me to indulge in all of the other dreams i only write about in my journal. Yes, the world is my fucking oyster. Now if only I ate seafood. But really, her lips send shockwaves through my entire being. I want to spoon her more than she could ever know. But mostly, I am in love with the way she listens. She has a way about her that allows me to feel safe, outside the bounds of her kiss. Vulnerability is scary sometimes, but polyamory creates spaces where I can conquer that fear. I wonder if she knows that I love her.

And I am not finished smiling from that overwhelming feeling, slightly hung over from beers and lip locking with her, when the mail arrives. In this mail is a package from Indra. She lives in Denver. I have never felt her kiss, but the touch of her hands, her face against mine, the warmth of her body flowing through me, the love and lust in the words she writes, the theory she produces, the energy that pours from her smile, only makes me want to beg her for more. Sometimes, I want to be her submissive, and we still have so many moons to see rise and fall, so many conversations still to be had. She doesn’t know this yet, but I want her to be my guide, my midwife, that is, when I am ready. I want those hands to touch me, to guide me into giving light to a new being, I want her energy inside me. She heals mind-body splits on levels unrecognizable.

I haven’t felt as sexy before as I do now. Funny how things work, my body weight has fluctuated over the years, battling borderline eating disorders at times, and even when i was a size nine, i didn’t feel as sexy as i do now. I stood in front of a camera the other night, in a tutu and fishnets. I harnessed her in as photos were being taken. Without even hesitation i told her i wanted to suck on her cock. It was purple and delicious. She licked my nipple without asking. The rush felt different, sexy, as if somehow even though boundaries were crossed, i wanted them to be crossed more. Her cock made me wet. Those photos affirmed me, validated how sexy i felt at that moment. I went home that night and had sex for hours with my tranny lover. He fucked me with my purple dildo all night long and then, he let me fuck him. He had never let someone do that to him before. And I don’t know where we will be a month or six from now, but I know that moments like this engrave themselves into my skin, like inked flesh. And he can ink into my flesh all he wants… I hit the pillow hard, into a deep sleep, a slumber of erotic juices dampening the sheets around me. Polly, our jack russell came in and crawled underneath them. I am sure she fell in love with me right then too.

Yes, I am in deep. A deep love affair with my lust, my sex, my sexuality. At times i feel the need to step foot into a catholic church, even though i haven’t known one for fifteen years. I have images of walking into a confessional and sharing my lust, my intimacy, my polyamory, my queerness, my wetness, my desire and want to be touched all over. Then I wonder if I would just make the priest hot in the process. And it makes me want to confess even more. My affair, my lust, or intense love for my sexuality provide the air in which i breath, the grain of sanity that keeps me going in the day, it’s a light i never knew had a light switch before. I have only recently began to acknowledge this relationship I have. I grow weary sometimes of hurting people, or in the process, allowing myself to be hurt. But i grow stronger every day. And fuck it feels good to be touched, really fucking good. And it feels just as sexy to flirt with the world, or at the very least, flirt with those who crack a smile at me. Sometimes, the flirtation in one’s energy can be hotter than anything else. And most of these relationships have a deeper connotation, a sense of vulnerability, of truth, of just being fucking real, and sometimes i wonder if its just that, the ability to rock a conversation with the other person, that turns me on more than their touch. I imagine it’s an equal balance.

I have been toying around with the idea of writing a zine based on my ever so fabulous queertastic journey into sex, sexuality and tranny chasing. I still don’t know how I feel a bout the term “tranny chaser” and i am bothered by the idea that i could be labeled as one. Mainly because I hate to be boxed in. It feels so binding. Because you can’t tame a wild spirit. You can’t box her in or control her in any way. She lives in the now, in the beauty of others, in the waters of lust, she is a wild spirit, riding into sunsets, crossing borders, creating hybrids and soaking in hot springs. She cannot be tamed, boxed, labeled, controlled, regulated, or bound. So, i write, and i continue to write, and i continue to chase after what i believe helps my body-mind-spirit be whole, because i am in lust, if not fully in love with my sex, sexuality and the people who are written into my life. I don’t write many people in, and I have certainly written many out, but those that I have written in, they are the blood that keeps my heart pumping, the wetness between my legs, the sugar on my lips, the curves on my body, the touches i feel daily, the smiles that radiate energy, the ink tattooed into my flesh. Yes, the world is my fucking oyster. And I have officially fallen in love with seafood.

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One Response to “Coming into Myself as a Sexual Being…”

  1. You are so inspiring. Last night watching you read I had a flood of inspiration. Today, reading this post, it gives me energy to continue exploring and pushing every limit. Thank you for being in this city and in my life. You are so hot, this post is so hot, I can just imagine your sheets…

    I’ve been wondering lately about how to move into new metaphors, away from guerrillas and warriors, maybe into something like sorcerers, wizards, shamans and curanderas. Surely we are inhabiting, exploring and growing our own liminal spaces, inbetween spaces, inbetween worlds, creating new ones… Of course, your metaphors are your own, and I totally respect them, I’m just thinking about how we as collectivities think and talk about what we do. You’re not talking about either of these metaphor here, but I feel like you’re describing part of this process of being always inbetween, always traversing, always becoming, and describing it so beautifully… thank you.

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