Normal Sex: Fetish

One in a series of David LaChapelle photos that I tagged "Holy Fuck".

1. Desire


"Let me say goodbye to people," I said, trying to gain more time to decide what I really wanted. And I really did wanna talk to Sinclair and Diva and Natt Nightly one more time.

I found Natt on the dance floor peeling of his shirt to show us his new tattoo. He was wearing a wife beater underneath.

Might I mention that Natt and Sinclair are the first two butches I have met in real life?

I totally forgot what I had come there to do and stared. This was how it had always been: me staring bug-eyed, tongueless with the kind of full-body surprise that comes over me at seeing these things, and ashamed of myself because of it. Stop staring! I think, and I can't. After an awkward second I came to myself enough to make my goodbyes and went back to the bar to find that the boy who had wanted to fuck me had disappeared.

I was both really pissed and kinda happy. Mostly embarrassed. But then it dawned on me: He might be waiting outside.

And he was.


He took me to Brooklyn. We cuddled up next to one another on the subway seat and I put my head on his shoulder. We looked at the Sugarbutch Star chapbook, read a few lines of The Diner on the Corner. At some point I started rubbing his thigh and he grinned at me like it was the best thing in the world.

We talked about Littletown, where I live now. I guess that's why I felt safe enough to go home with him, we were both from the same place. He was struggling to pay the rent, doing work for non-profits. I told him I wanted to try and live in NYC, someday. He told me that eventually I would tire of it. I felt a part of myself relaxing, eased after the stress of the party. It was nice just to lean my head on his shoulder...

Brooklyn. We got off, still talking, and I stopped for a moment to look over the railing before going down the stairs to the street. "Why does all of Brooklyn look the same?" I wanted to know. Those "Unisex" hair salons. That awning in the colors of the Italian flag. The outdoor produce...

"You want to get anything?" he asked, winking. He meant to feed him with. I looked at the rainbow array of fruits and vegetables and realized the prospect hadn't even dawned on me, the feeder. But then again, the kinds of things laid out weren't usually what people stuffed with. "We use soda, usually," I had told him, trying to act cool, like this was something I did every day.

"Soda?"

"Yes, or milk." This was all new to him.

"Do you like watermelon?" I asked. He said he did. Watermelon was good, but could he eat half a one...

I looked at him and suddenly I couldn't imagine doing it to him, what I thought of as my fetish. He wasn't a feedee, really. I had known that, when I picked him up, because of his confusion. This wasn't a fantasy of his, he just wanted to get with me.

And I didn't want to force it on him, all that excess and strangeness and physical stress. Forget about it, I told him, we don't have to do that. Let's just do it the usual way....

More to come.

Normal Sex: Desire

DCP_6089, originally uploaded by molly.ren.

Writing about the NYC Sex Bloggers' party gives me the same problem I have writing about any sex: I want to put in everything, and there's no way you can get all of Proust into a single blog post.

It happens every time. Even thought I don't always remember names (who was that chick in the polka dot dress?), I remember a million other things. And I want to describe everything, from each peak and dip of my mood to the drink in my hand to the color of the lights and the color of Diva's corset...and that doesn't even begin to describe all that happened there. There were burlesque dancers and a raffle that was so rigged one woman got a dozen things and awkward conversations with famous sex educators and sudden conversations with people I had never met before but were as easy as if I had known them for days. How did something that lasted only four hours have so many things packed into it?

I might not even write about this at all, except that he wanted me to. He told me so as we walked back to the subway the next morning: "I wanna be Mister Something."

I can't call you Mister X., I told him, there's already an X. on here and people might get confused.

One of the most amazing things about the sex blogger party wasn't the fact that I got to meet lots of people whose words had inspired me...or that people who I'd never heard of knew who I was from the comments I'd left on other people's blogs. (OK, that was at least equally amazing. When Tess asked me if she could introduce me to Diva I got so overwhelmed by all the cyber people suddenly becoming real I had to excuse myself and checked in my coat to gain time to recover from my attack of shyness.)

But in hindsight, the most amazing thing was that I got hit on.

See, outside of the internet, I NEVER get hit on. In the course of a week I probably IM, email, and webcam as many as five feedee boys, but I've pretty much crossed parties and bars off my list as places to meet people. The last time I was in NYC, me and my friends went out to bars for several weeks. I don't think I got hit on once, though I made advances toward maybe five guys. I finally got horny enough to solve the problem with my first and last Craigslist experiment, but still, whenever I get laid, it's usually because I make the advances.

But in the crush of the partygoers, as crowded as in any rave club where I'd danced alone, something was different. I dunno if it was the fact that I was at a party filled with some of the kinkiest people in NYC, but suddenly I could feel eyes on me. As many boys as I had hit on during those few weeks in NYC were looking at me over their drinks as if they were devouring me. They weren't ugly scary guys either. I think they were all in their mid-20s to 30s, which was gratifying, to say the least. But none were quite what I was looking for. Even though I'd been drinking water all night, I felt a kind of haze grow around me. Different boys would dip down towards me, to exchange a few words, but none were caught up in it the same as I was. Who would it be? A boy, a girl, or something I'd never had before, a creature I'd only caught glimpses of in the flickering light of a computer screen?

I came out of the bar for a breath of air. Two boys were looking at magazines, but the minute I showed up shoved them back in their pockets. I laughed and said something like, "Don't hide the porn! It's a sex blogger party!"

They were looking at a Njoy magazine, it turned out. We began talking, and one of the boys excused himself, so I was left alone with the other. I used the line that I had been using on everyone that night with such success, "Do you have a blog?"

"A secret one," he said, lighting a cigarette and grinning at me.

He asked me if I blogged, and I said yes with great pleasure--I belonged to the secret sexy organization of bloggers of smut! He wanted to know what my blog was about, and I cautiously explained feederism to him: "It's like, you think eating is sexy. But it's also extremely rare, so the blog is more about me looking for one. I haven't actually found one!"

He perked up when he heard that. "Where did you go to school?" he asked me.

I knew he was flirting with me. A year ago I wouldn't have been able to figure it out, would have been asking myself Is he/isn't he omg what if he is? But now I was getting the signal loud and clear. With him it was easy, he was like the scruffy philosophy majors I knew from college. And because he was known, I was able to relax and regain my confidence.

"You don't really have a blog!" I said, gleefully piercing though his joke, "you just say that to get girls!"

I decided to go back inside, try again. I was able to do the thing I had always been told to do but hadn't been able to: turn a boy down.

But after that I think nothing happened. I certainly don't remember anything happening. The party had begun to thin out by then, I circled around trying to find the few people I hadn't introduced myself to yet. I drank another glass of water.

I saw him again on one of my circuits of the room, he put himself in my line of sight and said, "Have you found any guys to like, feed yet?"

"No..." I wasn't sure where this was going.

"I'm kind of curious..."

"Ooooh," I said, acting stupid to gain time. He wasn't who I had expected to go home with. I had been expecting someone with feathers or sequins or extra sillicone parts. I suddenly remembered that before leaving my apt. that night I had finally decided I wasn't going to try and hit on anyone at this party, that I had left my "emergency kit" of condoms and lube at home.

But he was so nice I didn't want to say no.

* * *

More to come.

That naked chick clutching a photo of Obama

Photo of Darlinda Just Darlinda.

Here you go, peeps, as promised. More on the party after I recover from 6 hours of bus travel... *zzzzzzzz*

I now have a pic of a hot naked girl clutching a photo of Obama

"Thank god you're alive," my friend told me when I walked in the door at 9am this morning. I had left at 6:30 yesterday evening. I am now laden with a Sugarbutch Star chapbook, a bottle of Sliquid lube, and more stickers and postcards and scribbled notes of blog addresses than I know what to do with. I also have sex hair.

Yes, the NYC Bloggers Calendar release party was made of awesome. Unfortunately you won't be able to see the few photos I took until Monday, for I foolishly packed the wrong cord for my camera (that's the kinda genius I am.) But in the meantime, here's a couple of the highlights:

1. No one looked the way I had imagined them. Actually, this is a good thing, because I usually imagined them as being totally naked all the time with their faces pixilated out.

2. Tess' tits really are that big.

3. Unspeakable Axe, I still think you got laid at least once, even tho I haven't read all your blog yet. And I still think you're cool. :)

4. Avah's corset rocked.

5. I met a charming androgyny named Natt. He says no one ever reads his blog, so you should change that!

I am going to be at the NYC Sex Bloggers Calendar Release Party TONIGHT!

This, by the way, is what I'm talking about. Just in case you've never heard of it. :)

I really should have planned this better.

If I was a good blogger, I would have hinted I was going a week ago. I would have written a post about my hopes, dreams, fears, and topped it off with an nice boob pic. I would have notified every boy that's within driving distance of NYC that I was coming a week in advance and started sorting though answers to my Craigslist ads. I would have bought a corset.

The reason that I didn't do any of these things was that my life wasn't together enough that I felt financially able to come. Then, 72 hours ago, two things happened:

1. I got another part time job.

2. I found out about the Dragon Coach, which can take me to NYC and back for a total of $40.

Now I am sitting in the same friend's apt. where I first read Working Stiff, with a view of the Empire State Building outside the window.

Just like old times.

So, yeah, I'm gonna be at this party in, like...an hour or so. And Sinclair will be there, who I've never so much as emailed, even though I've been reading the Sugarbutch Chronicles for, oh, about six months now. I don't know whether to squeal with fangirl glee or treat it like a sexy business meeting so all the bloggers there will treat me seriously. (I actually had some business cards made but left them at home.) I wanna have a famous blog someday too, ya know, and it's all about the networking!

Instead I'm a little scared. It's the odd feeling that comes from knowing someone only from what they've written over the internet, where you know as much about them as if you've read their minds...and yet they know absolutely nothing about you. Makes for social awkwardness, at the very least.

And then there's another part that feels like I'm finally starting to live the adventures I used to read about in books. I've never known anyone quite like these people whose blogs I've been following all these months, and, fetish or not, their lives seem to happen in a climate as exotic as India. For example, even though I've tried to be active in the local gay groups back home, I've never met anyone as openly genderqueer as Sinclair...and that's why I became so galvanized when I realized there was a small chance I could attend. Because a part of me doesn't quite believe that these people are true, and what I'm actually going to be attending is a party where some of my favorite fantasy characters have inexplicably come to life.