…sometimes almost magic…

A well-phrased excerpt from BJ (emphases mine):

“One crucial thing was over looked in this race to elevate women to bossiness. To escape the oppressive tyranny of PIV sex and let women be in charge. They failed to notice that it wasn’t being penetrated itself that was submissive. It was just that all femininity was equated with submission - that everything a woman did in sex had been made to look as if it was a priori submissive.

But there is no way that such simple basics – being the hole or the plug – are on their own submissive or dominant. It only has further meaning in context.

Sometimes it feels like femdom is a big mirror. You hold it up to the world and you see all kinds of yukky beliefs reflected by and clear. Like that bit in the Snow Queen or something.
But that’s the fact. Way back in the past when they invented misogyny they decided that women were lower status and thus had the low status role in sex. He had the mighty phallus – she had the dirty needy hole. You can see how femdom later thought, hey, lets flip this shit. Let’s make the guy be called slut for wanting and be filled. But those things aren’t really submissive. Having something pushed into your body that feels amazing is only submissive because someone decided that the female role in sex was a submissive one.

You don’t need to put the guy on the bottom because he is the bottom. It misses the fucking point. Fucking. Which is the point. Which feels good. Which doesn’t have an innate power exchange embedded in it.

Really. It just doesn’t.”

My aunt forwards emails to me all the time. Most of the time they’re jokes, but once a month or so she sends political forwards, mostly “patriotic,” sentimental drivel about kicking Middle Eastern ass or how brave and noble the military troops are, or how we should all be proud to be Americans.

I love AuntN, but Christ that stuff pisses me off. The latest one was a sentimental story accompanied by a thing telling “red-blooded Americans” to wear a red shirt every Friday to show “solidarity and support for our troops.” “The reason? Americans who support our troops used to be called the ‘silent majority.’ We are no longer silent, and we are voicing our love for God, country and home in record-breaking numbers. We are not organized, boisterous or overbearing.”

“If every one of us who loves this country will share this with acquaintances, co-workers, friends, and family, it will not be long before the USA is covered in red and it will let our troops know that the once ’silent’ majority is on their side more than ever — certainly more than the media lets on.”

I hate the phrase “support our troops.” It’s so ambiguous - what the hell does it even mean? Too often, like in that email, it seems to be used as a euphemism for saying “support the war.” Like if we don’t support the war, it’s equivalent to saying we hate the people fighting it and we are bad Americans. I “support” the troops. I feel for them and I think it’s terrible that they’re going through awful things and getting killed in an essentially purposeless, unnecessary war that’s doing no one any good.

I support the troops, I just don’t support the war or the tragic decisions that our government has made and continues to make.

There can’t possibly be a “silent majority” of people who give a crap about the troops. Most people I’ve met are pretty open about the fact that they feel for the poor saps getting killed in Iraq. It’s people who support Bush and the neverending war that seem to be the silent ones, at least around here. And I hope they stay that way.

Went out with that guy from earlier in the month again on Friday night. I hadn’t heard from him since our first date, but then he called me on Halloween to invite me out. Go figure.

We went to a bar to watch a performance, which was pretty disappointing, and very smoky and loud. After the bar though, we ate a late dinner at Paper Moon. I love that place, though I’ve only been twice now. It’s just so funky and weird, and the food is great. And it’s open 24/7.

Overall, it was a good time. He’s nice and refreshingly queer and pretty easy to talk to. And he’s got all those piercings and tattoos and hotness, though I feel a bit like a giant next to him. And did I mention he’s a bottom? We’ll probably meet up, or at least happen upon each other, at a kink party near the end of the month. Good times.

For a while, Derek has been asking me to penetrate him. He’s all about the oh-so-vulnerable, reversal of traditional roles, make-me-yours kind of ass fucking. One of the many reasons I like him.

So, the last time he was here, Tuesday I believe, I took the first steps in the direction of taking his anal virginity, so to speak. I had him in the bedroom, and got to use the eyebolts in the ceiling again. So, his arms were bound above his head, his ass pink and very welted from a rather heavy beating, and then I made up for the pain by sliding my fingers inside that sensitive, taboo little orifice that so many men are so afraid to have touched. It was amazing. He moaned, and loved it, couldn’t get enough of having me inside him. I pressed the slick tip of my finger against the ring of muscle until it relaxed and let me in, drew me into him. Felt the smooth skin inside his body, felt him shudder in a very intimate way.

How amazing must it be to have a penis and be able to do that with such a sensitive piece of your body, a piece that can shoot your come inside your partner, all planting your seed and claiming their body kind of shit?

Maybe I’ll work him up to fisting…