On Fucking and Being Fucked

I’ve been trying to write something like an Origin post for this blog – who I am, my relevant life experiences, how I discovered my queerness to where I am now, what I hope and want for the future, and some commentary on what happens on that road. This isn’t that. Not completely anyway…

This is the bit where I get fucked with a real cock for the first time.

Continue reading On Fucking and Being Fucked

Kink of the Week – Men in Panties

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I got up at the first buzz of the alarm this morning, rather than snoozing 4, or 5, or 6 times. You’ve done this for me more times than I can remember, and I’ve loved it, every single fucking time, but it’s never felt like a thing I could do for you. My body – men’s bodies – just aren’t made for this kind of sexy play. It feels different today. I can do this for you, and I know you’re going to love it, and I feel a new confidence in myself.

My body is sexy, not because of its youth, or its finely chiselled contours (because it has neither), but because I love you with it, with every inch of it, and you love it. That is the only acceptance I need. The same patriarchy that tells you that you’re not good enough also tells me that I can’t look at myself that way at all. Fuck. That. Shit. Continue reading Kink of the Week – Men in Panties

Seriously? Is this really a good idea?

Hi! I’m Raoul, and I’ve been queer for about 4 weeks.

No, but that’s not really true, though, is it?

Hi, I’m Raoul, and I’ve been on a journey into queerness for about 4 months.

Nope. If I’m going to share with you from behind a veil of anonymity, I might as well be honest, otherwise there’s no real point.

Hi. I’m Raoul*. I’m kinky and queer, which kind of tells you everything and nothing about me in 4 little words. My tastes have always veered to the dark, interesting and weird, generally with a soundtrack in a slightly tingly minor chord, but I’d packed the vast majority of that off in a ‘forget about it, it’s a path not taken’ kind of way a very long time ago. And that was all reasonably fine, and reasonably manageable until about 4 years ago when I separated from my wife, and a female friend I hadn’t seen in 20 years or more messaged me to say “go investigate Fetlife.”

I’m sorry, what? What is it? Why? WTF? (At this point I was surfing and chatting at the same time…). So it seems that the teenage me that she hung out with was a bit of a wrong ‘un, in a kinky way. This is, she reckoned, was bred in the bone.

This is, I reckon now, absolutely true.

And so, I made new friends, tied them up, beat them, and fucked them.

Actually, no. I made new friends, and then I went to a non-kinky party with some kinky people, and fell head over heels in love with an utterly beautiful, insanely sharp, painfully self-deprecating woman who held my hand for my baby steps and now kisses my cheek, slaps my arse and tells me to do the fucking thing.

Then I tied up and beat my new friends.

And so it went for the next couple of years; kink life ebbs and flows in the opposite direction to real life as one waxes, the other wanes.

And then …

And then … I’m not entirely sure how to get to the next bit. It all has kind of gone whoosh a little bit.

We had a couple of child-free 5-day weekends over the summer. We wanted to experiment with a party drug that every other fucking person in our generation seemed to have tried whilst in a field somewhere in 1992. Just a half each. Another half 4 hours later.

Jesus fuck. Even now, looking back at the photos from that weekend, my mind is blown by the difference between how I perceived myself on Thursday evening, and how I saw myself on Saturday morning. From a straight Dom (with 5% switch) to a made-up, camped up, spanker/spankee, dildo sucking, ass-playing, subby/slutty freak, and loving it, and wanting to know MORE.

This wasn’t just a ‘shall we try …?’ ‘Fuck yeah’ grab it all and do it all thing; there was serious talking and serious opening up; and seriously taking all those boxes that I’d buried stuff in since I was about 11, giving them a good shake and seeing what spilled out. It was a lot, and they’re not even half empty yet.

And none of this stuff had been as hidden from her as it had been from me, not really. I remember watching Stardust with her years before and her gently teasing me for being like Captain Shakespeare. And the time I put on a little tartan skirt to serve her breakfast in bed. And when I painted my toenails and sent her a photo ‘just to amuse her’.

Oh. Yeah. I can kind of see that now.

So it grows.

Now? Now, I’m self-defining as queer, because that’s a lot less of a mouthful than ‘Occasionally cross-dressing, pansexual, polyamorous hedonist kinkster 70/30 Dom/sub’. It’s also less likely to be constantly under flipping review.

So this? This is supposed to be a short introduction to my blog, which is going to be my way of working out a lot of this stuff by writing it down. I hope there’ll be some interaction with you along the way, but it might just be *crickets* all the way down. I hope there’ll be reflection, understanding, filthy tales, anecdotes and shared experiences. If anyone else benefits from my experience, even if it’s only to realise that they’re not the only not-quite-50 year old discovering that they’ve had a mask on for most of their lives, it’ll definitely be worth it.

 

*I said honest, not foolhardy! I’m sticking with my nom de plume…

 

If you want a lover
I’ll do anything you ask me to
And if you want another kind of love
I’ll wear a mask for you — Leonard Cohen