Keeping Up Appearances: Walking Between Worlds

September 9, 2010 at 1:41 pm (Walking Between Worlds) (, , , )

Recently, my partner [Scin] reconnected with an old friend she knew here before we all took off for college. Her friend has become a friend of mine as well and I really connect with and like him. The point of interest here is this: prior to actually meeting me in person, and based solely on photos, he asked Scin if I was in transition. I was not at all offended by this. I was, however, and oddly, surprised. Then, I began to wonder…

I found myself wondering if other people just assume that I am transitioning or that I intend to, or if they wonder why I have not, and simply do not ask. I think it is clear that a primary point of this blog is to have a safe place to discuss my experiences—both positive and not so positive—as a highly androgynous lesbian with a lot of male energy. I talk frequently about how it feels, that it is like walking between worlds, having foot in each realm at times, but never really belonging fully in either. I also talk about this way of being in the world as a large part of my spiritual disposition, that I see it as a kind of gift, the purpose of which I am not always clear about, but which I am willing and happy to explore. It has been my lot in life, since I was very young, to confound the gender binary—often without ever intending to or trying very hard. Pretty much all I have to do is be myself and leave the house. It is a condition which has given me much and which has caused me a fair amount of pain, frustration and discomfort. It has also put me in danger at times.

As a result, I have developed a set of instinctive, self-protective skills and traits to cope with my daily condition. My way of being in the world is such a part of me that I have to push a bit to become conscious of the things I do, how I do them, and what they do for me. This whole thing with the question about transitioning set me to examining, again, my perception of myself as well as the behaviors and traits I have adopted. And, I started trying to look more objectively at photos taken by Scin and others. The past few days have been like peeling a personal onion: I know it is an onion and understand it for what it is, but peeling away layers seems to give way to a renewed understanding of the thing—its characteristics, its form and function, its identity. These are the things I have discovered.

How I see myself the past few days:
One thing that hit me squarely is that I am finally looking more my age. A few more character lines and wrinkles have appeared. So, the boyish look is blurred a bit by the signs of age that suggest I am not an 18 year old boy. Yet, I am not so masculine or haggard by my age that I appear to be a 40-something male. I think this confuses people more now than it did when I was so much more baby-faced. Before, people automatically assigned a male gender to me and assumed I was much younger than I was. I have never been deluded into thinking that I look like the average female. But, for years, I thought of myself simply as really butch but obviously female if a person really looked at me. In recent photos viewed with a little more objectivity, I can see that I do look traditionally male more than anything else. I see, lately, how male I really look through the eyes of those who do not know me, looking through the shades of the gender binary.

You know how it is. You see yourself every day. You live with yourself. You do not see what others see. No one does. At least not without a conscious effort. This personal blind spot is enhanced, I fully realize, by the things I do instinctively and as a matter of course to soften my life and get by with minimal discomfort or violence.

Things I do to get along in the world and compensate:
Over the course of my life, I have become very open and accessible. I speak first in new situations. I engage people and am really quite outgoing. [Still clear about boundaries, but open and friendly.] I have also developed a versatile sense of humor and will often poke fun at myself [in healthy ways, not in mean ways] in order to keep things light. I wear small earrings rather than the larger, thicker manly silver things that I tend to like. I make friends, if only for a moment, everywhere I go—even in the grocery store. The main thing I have learned to do, however, is create safe, familiar, and comfortable environments. I eat at the same restaurants. I get gas at the same places in my town and others. I shop at the same stores for groceries, clothes, and whatnots. In a light-hearted way, I make people familiar with me. And, I come to know people enough to endear them—to ask how the day is going, remember names, ask about the family, joke around and be open. I make myself accessible. I am likeable. This, by the way, takes energy. But, I realize, it has given me much to be this way. I have made lasting friends. I have a sense of home pretty much anywhere. And, I am alive. Had I not developed these traits that are, really, who I am, I would not have faired so well in some situations. And, like all of us who need to, I have a well-developed sense of when to fight or flee. I know how to close off and keep vigilant as well. These traits are not false; it is who I am. But, it did require the removal of some walls, some chips off my shoulders, and a fair amount of trust in the universal flow of things that it is OK to be this way. The result of my way of being is that people are put at ease; once I speak, my gender is clear. No one has to guess. And, I come across as warm and non-threatening. [Even though I can be a huge threat when I have to be.] We all survive in ways that work for us.

So, I have discovered on new levels how insulated I have made myself, if only within the blanket of my own personality and by treading lightly on the earth. The upshot is that I have come to see myself as one tends to see oneself—familiar and focused on other things like being too thin, or wishing I were taller. Aware of my less than feminine appearance, but used to it, accepting, and not focused on it until something happens. More significantly, however, is that this relative sense of home everywhere has dulled my awareness of how I am perceived by others who do not know me. And, possibly, some who do. I really do wonder if people want to ask about transitioning and do not in order to be appropriate and not offend me. I don’t know and likely never will. I do know this: I think I see myself a bit more clearly. And, while I like what I see, I am paying a bit more attention to the reactions of those around me. I am trying to strip away some insulation. As the old saying goes: know thyself. Sometimes, that means being willing to try to see what others see. Sometimes, we learn the most about ourselves through the views and input of others. Of late, what is clear to me is that others see me as I am—a butch woman who appears more masculine than feminine on the binary continuum, and who happens to have a fair dose of masculine energy. I can live with that. And, I am hoping that a greater awareness will help me find a clearer understanding of any greater purpose that might be served by my experiences in the worlds I inhabit.

NOTE: This work is published here as proprietary and may not be reproduced, distributed, sold, or otherwise utilized outside the posting on this site without the express permission of the author; these works are the sole property of the author writing as Androgynonamous or DreadPirateRobert.

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Thoughts On Coming to Own My Butch Cock: Part II…Walking Between Worlds

August 24, 2010 at 2:09 am (Walking Between Worlds) (, , , )

In my first installment on this topic, back in March, I wrote about two aspects of the use of a synthetic cock, and my ownership of it as a part of myself, that I believe are essential. Primary of these two concepts is the fact that the activity of penetrating my partner in such a way is not male emulation as it is often viewed by those who frown upon the idea and/or do not understand it. It is, however, an inherent part of and expression of the aspects of my nature [and personhood] that the gender-binary language would label as masculine or male-identified. It is an extension, in a very real way, of my shaft-driven, sexually aggressive, and—for lack of a better description—masculinized clitoris. I have discussed, in other offerings here, the fact that my genitalia have never been responsive in the ways typical to most females, and that, prior to finding a partner who understood me and my body, I thought there was simply something wrong with me because things that so clearly aroused and satisfied other females either annoyed me or served only as arousal stimulus. My clitoris responds more like a dick. And, my cock has become, as I said, a very real extension of the smaller cock-like organ that is my clitoris. This leads to the other aspect of coming to own my cock that I discussed in the first blog on this issue—the fact that, from the beginning, there was a sensation of it being, somehow, part of me physically, mentally, and emotionally. In that piece, I wrote:

… there was only the feel of her legs at my sides, her heels pressing my buttocks, the sight of this life-like cock moving inside her.  There was only this embrace. The feel of the silicone balls against my clitoris. The sound of her responsiveness: her breath at my neck; her breast beneath my tongue.  The explosion of freedom between us.  The wonder of her wrapped in both my arms, tightly. It was as if I began to grow some kind of synthetic nerve endings and became attached to the thing—this appendage both me and not me, part of me and not part of me.  This thing we share is not male emulation…It is simply one of many ways to penetrate her, to join with her, to be in communion together.  It is the loving—and exuberant—expression of a deep desire to please her, to enjoy her, to be as close to her as possible.  And, it is one of many ways to express my very real need to be both inside her and outside of her, to be free to touch her everywhere in every way I can.  It is my butch, baby boi cock.  And, I like it. I like what it does for me and for her. It is mine.  Part of myself.  Part of my identity with her, with us.  It is mine and I own it…and so does she.  It is part of who I am and always have been—finally finding freedom.  It is a deep embrace, indeed.  Not only of her, but of myself as well.  And, it is good.

There has been an evolution of this experience that, several years ago—and even several months ago—I would have scoffed at as even being a physical possibility. In the past in fact, when I heard or read others say it was possible, I had sworn they were full of shit, that it was not neuro-physically possible. For some time now, I have known that is not only possible, but it happens on a regular basis. This evolution is the growing ability to come through my cock, so to speak, without there having to be a particularly direct stimulation against my clitoris. From the start, I was able to come due to the stimulation of my clitoris by the cock itself. And, I was able to do so quite vigorously and satisfactorily.

In fairly short order, however, I found myself coming when the position of my body as I penetrated Scin did not provide a direct stimulation of my smaller, masculinized organ. The first time this happened, I was pleasantly stunned and exceedingly happy about it. Scin was thrilled. We immediately set about seeing if we could make it happen again. It was a long night. And, it did, indeed, happen again. I was, though, surprised…and, I must admit, more than a bit confused. In many ways, it did not make rational sense. In the literal sense, the synthetic cock is not sensual or sentient—it does not feel, does not experience the neurological underpinnings of mentality or emotion, nor is it cellular in its connection to me. Yet, it was.  

Being a friend of the scientific method, I felt we should explore this phenomenon in order that I might get a better sense of exactly what was happening and how it was happening. Scin was happy to help. We tried all sorts of pleasantly stimulating and satisfying positions and activities. We were able to achieve truly enjoyable orgasms, together, in all manner of positions during which there was little stimulation of my actual genitals. Blow jobs were no longer simply arousal foreplay. We found that hand jobs worked as well. My ability to come with my cock has become a regular event and occurs in all manner of sexual activity—as if it is, physically and mentally, a part of me.

What is even more significant is that this ability immediately and effortlessly translated to my soft pack as well. Early in our relationship, the soft pack was a wonderful tool for foreplay. I would pack for fun and Scin would rub my crotch, stoke me,  and play with me in an array of teasing and taunting situations. It was marvelously naughty and exciting. After I began to come when we were fucking with my cock, we discovered—much to our mutual joy—that I could come with the soft pack when she sucked me off or engaged in a vigorous hand job. Because Scin likes, very much, to watch me engage in all kinds of auto-stimulation, we have recently discovered that I can come jerking off with either of them. There are those who would say that it is all in my head, that it is a mental experience only. And, they are wrong. Just as I was wrong before I experienced it. I have a simple way of describing the experience.

It is very much an extension of my own genitalia as well as my overall sensual experience. Sensuality is physical, emotional, mental and—for some of us—in a way, spiritual. It is vibratory. It is excitatory. It is of the physical body, and thus, tactile, visual, auditory and feeling-based. It is organic. The relationship between me and this synthetic organ is a connection that is all things sensual in nature. It is vibratory as the action of my cock inside of Scin moves down the shaft and into me. It is visual as I watch it move in and out of her, and see the effects it produces within her. It is auditory as I hear the sounds we make together—the sounds of our fucking, our sliding and moving into one another, the expressions of arousal and the inspirations and expirations of satisfaction. It is fully tactile as we pull and push into each other, grasp at each other, increase pressure, penetration and contact in an effort to be closer and closer still. It is as physical as physical can be—the sensations, the arousal, the engorgement of blood, make my own woman-dick larger and harder.  It is exciting in the same ways that her hand or her mouth on my boi-clit is exciting. It is all the same. Yet, it is different. It is different in the way that the orgasm I have when she sucks me off on my own clit is different from a hand job. Yet neither is more or less physical or real than the other. Coming with my cock is as real as any other body-oriented way of coming. It is feeling-based. It is emotional. It is mental and physical. It is as I described it from the beginning:

…this appendage both me and not me, part of me and not part of me… her legs at my sides, her heels pressing my buttocks, the sight of this life-like cock moving inside her.  There was only this embrace… It is the loving—and exuberant—expression of a deep desire to please her, to enjoy her, to be as close to her as possible.  It is part of who I am and always have been—finally finding freedom.

NOTE:  This work is published here as proprietary and may not be reproduced, distributed, sold, or otherwise utilized outside the posting on this site without the express permission of the author; these works are the sole property of the author writing as Androgynonamous or DreadPirateRobert.

 

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Hey Daddy: Walking Between Worlds

May 25, 2010 at 12:07 am (Walking Between Worlds) (, , , , )

As relationships grow and evolve, it is fairly normal [and often healthy] for there to be moments of discussion about the relationship—the need arises to reflect, to process, to seek greater understanding and closeness. Recently, Scin and I had one such conversation. It is a discussion we have revisited because it is an important one. The topic reflects significant foundational aspects of the connection between us, the love we share, our respect for and understanding of each other, and some fundamental underpinnings in our sexual interactions. There had been an interaction developing in our sex life in small waves and ripples which became one giant wave in one particular evening. What occurred between us was an exchange that many people would refer to as Daddy–Little Girl role playing.

Except, it isn’t really. This, in fact, was the point of the discussion.  We had observed that what was occurring between us was not the classic Little Girl–Daddy exchange we read about all over the blogsphere. We knew what it was not. We needed a better understanding of what it was. Especially since, for both of us, it was—and is—highly erotic and…well…hot.

And, especially, since we had discussed and were clear about my discomfort with many of the exchanges we read about so often. I have always been uncomfortable with anything that smacks of age play or that even comes near a mimicry of pedophilic power-over and sublimation.  Much of my discomfort comes out of my experiences in the fifteen years I spent as a therapist treating the people no one else wanted to treat—the indigent, broken beyond broken, forgotten of our society. Another factor is the nebulous, not fully formed memories from my own childhood. I do not judge others or judge what works for them; but, I respect my own comfort zones as much as I respect the space and predilections of others. So does Scin. Thus, when things like “you are such a good girl” or, “daddy is so pleased with you…” began to fall out of my mouth and produced the responses both of us experienced, it was something we felt we should talk about and explore.  There are a few dynamics we discovered as we talked.

Firstly, it is important to put the exchange in its proper context: that being, there is no context really. What happens in both our verbal exchange and our sexual posturing is not role playing. There is no creation of a scene. There is no adoption of a particular persona for the sake of sex play. It is an organic expression of our personalities and the intimacies of our relationship that seem to simply occur between us—naturally, without any real forethought or confabulation. The sexual dynamic seems also to be a kind of extension of our natural playfulness—as in: to be full of play; pleasantly humorous or jesting. We play. We jest. She calls me “baby boi.”  I call her “baby girl.” These are terms of endearment that fit our personalities and identities. So, that said, there is a particular factor that has significant impact on our sexual expression. 

The primary factor is that I am finally in a place where my two-spiritedness is not only understood but fully accepted. I have never felt quite like a girl. Never. I was never comfortable around other girls. I understood them not at all. They made me nervous and I never felt like one of them. I understood boys. I felt at home with them. And, once out of sight of my mother, I would take off my shirt, hang it out of my back pocket and run around playing with the guys. I preferred them to girls—except I liked to look at girls. A lot. In some strange way, I always felt as if I was a boy, but that I wasn’t grown up yet. I knew there were differences between myself and boys. I knew I had parts like other girls. But in some place in my mind, it felt like I just had not finished growing yet. I was dismayed and nearly destroyed when I started having periods. I felt as if something were dreadfully wrong—and it was my fault somehow; I had in some way failed to make a proper decision to develop as a boy; I had failed to get it right. As if there were a choice. I am, by traditional social standards, a woman with intense male energy. I greet the world and people in it with a sort of masculine spiritual demeanor. People unconsciously respond to me as if I am male. I confuse straight women. They respond to me as they would a male and it throws them off. Men respond to me as one of the guys. And, yet… 

I am also possessive of traits that are seen as traditionally feminine. I am highly nurturing, gentle in general, fairly compassionate—and passionate, about a lot of things—and capable of a great loving kindness. But, I am prone to be aggressively protective. I am also very practical, linear, rational and mechanically inclined. When I was tested, I was almost equilaterally right-to-left brain oriented. So, what do you get when you put all of this into a very androgynous body packed full of male energy? You get a daddy. 

And, Scin is very much a woman who responds to this kind of male presence. She is, in many ways, a daddy’s girl—a fully grown woman who, beneath all her self-assuredness and independence, wants to be cared for, fawned over a little, and wants to please and be accepted. The girl in her loves to laugh, play, engage in silliness, dance and sing. She is also very much a grown woman. She is filled with a sexuality that is confident, powerful, sensual and unselfconscious. She is mature, competent, professional, and a wonderful mother to her son. She has a strong sense of self and is kind and nurturing. She is also strong-minded, willful at times, and is used to taking care of things—used to having to compensate for not getting the kind of caring, nurturing acceptance and support she needed. And, it is not easy for her to be submissive. It never has been. She is a marvelous blending of aspects. These qualities create the main factor that responds so strongly to the daddy traits she sees in me.

In all of this, she and I both are lesbian to highest degree. We express a butch–femme dynamic not because of some philosophy, but because it is simply who we are. It is the blending of energies in me that she has always responded to—that and the fact that I accept them in myself, embrace them, and have learned to live in and enjoy my female body.  For me, the eroticism does not come from a place of desiring a little girl and wanting to sexualize her. Rather, it is something much more powerful and significant. I do not see her as a girl. I see, all at once, all the aspects of her girl-like self manifested in the personhood of this sexually powerful woman. In many women, the little girl is hard to find; she is long gone, murdered by her experiences. Scin wears both her girlhood and her womanhood as she does all things: out loud and proud. It is hot indeed. And, I say to her: show daddy what a big girl you have become.

And she shows me. It is everything good and pure and naughty and nasty. It is edgy and profoundly intimate. And, it is so largely because there is no assumption of false roles. We are simply being who we actually are. Relating to each other as equals who understand and accept each other.  There is something highly erotic about being fully seen and understood. There is something intensely sensual about being loved. That bareness is stimulating indeed. But, there is more.

There is trust. The trust it requires for her to feel a desire to give herself over to me, to release all control and allow me complete access to her, is indeed a powerful force. That she can be so vulnerable—something she does not do easily—and know she is completely safe is highly erotic for her. And, for me. For me, it is the blending of all these attributes that is so sexually charged—the innocence of trust, the child-like openness to be cared for, to be loved, in perfect balance with a mature, confident sexuality. See, this is a big part of it. The safety in the vulnerability. The act of choosing to be fully open and present with your lover, your mate. She knows I will never harm her, that I will nurture her and lift her up even as I penetrate and explore her. Likewise, I know I am fully safe with her. The old no-fly zones are gone. This mutuality of trust and openness is at the core of the submissiveness and dominance that moves within our sexuality. It is not role playing. It is not contrived. It is fluid. 

We move easily and effortlessly between the relinquishing of control and the expression of it. In either case, it is just that—it is an expression of control rather than a use of it. It is both instinctive and conscious. We do this from a place of deep and abiding love for each other. Yet, the energy, the dynamic itself, does not change. Mine is still a highly masculine energy that submits to her when she calls me “boi” and tells me what she wants. She is still the same woman, girlish in all the best ways, who opens her legs and herself to me when I ask her to do so. What occurs between us is not a role playing of any kind. No matter who is doing what to whom, it is an expression of energies, a fluid and organic movement of trust, desire and love, into sexual acts of endearment. When I call her baby girl, she answers because she knows it is one way I express my love and acceptance of her. And, when she says “hey daddy,” I answer not because it is play time, but because it is part of who I am. 

NOTE:  This work is published here as proprietary and may not be reproduced, distributed, sold, or otherwise utilized outside the posting on this site without the express permission of the author; these works are the sole property of the author writing as Androgynonamous or DreadPirateRobert.

 

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