Changes in Behavior, but not Labels

Really life continues to spin in ways I would have never imagined.

A huge change is that I've been "seeing" a guy, as in a CIS boy. It's been over twenty years since I have had sex with a guy. Seriously. Over the years, in theory I thought, sure, I could do that again. But then I would really start to imagine it and, well frankly I would get turned off. I mean, not having to deal with balls all these years has been awesome. Getting to play with breasts? Fabulous beyond belief. And the loveliness that is the cunt. So, yeah, not into playing with boys except My boy, and there's not that kind of sex, just bdsm play.

But then I met him, or rather got to know him since I had met him a few times here and there. It crept up on me suddenly. I let him set the pace because he is so much younger and this is not the type of power play I'm into. For goddess sake, for all I knew, he was a virgin (thank goddesses without husbands, that was NOT the case).

One thing that has been unusual is that it didn't feel as foreign a landscape; not like going home either. However it did feel like a whole new playground in a way, everything that is quintessentially male about him is amusing, cause for giggles and exploration. For all my tricks, experiences and badassedness, there were, maybe still are, ways that I feel like a beginner all over again. Which is humbling, playful, and a bit compelling. For quite some time I would play with his cock, not during sex and just experience the texture, the flexibility, laugh when it moved on it's own. Silicone dicks just don't do those things. Plus, he's not circumcised; never had one of those, at least not that I can recall. That foreskin adds a whole other layer (as it were) of things to explore and toy with. Kind of a cool thing to finally experience that. There is still a learning curve for me in trying to determine what works on a cock. At this point I know the basic plus some (really quite a bit) when it comes to exploring a cunt, but I feel like I need to do some reading, or take a workshop (me!? in a sex workshop? I used to teach them, I still could, as long as it didn't include much about cocks and prostrates). It doesn't help that my guy is a tad on the quiet side. He's not very vocal during sex, very intense but doesn't say much, nor outside the carnal activities when it comes to talking about what he likes, or would like to try. Some things come easier for him to talk about - but techniques with his cock? He's rather quiet, though clearly states that he's happy with my skill set.

So after using lesbian and more recently queer, I find myself looking straight in a new way to the world. I have never passed for a dyke, except when walking with my sweeties, who have all been on the butch end of the spectrum. But now, I really, really look straight. But I'm not. In fact I don't feel particularly different either. I don't feel bi - despite some "friends" insisting on foisting that label on me. I still feel queer, still desire women, oh hell I miss being sexual with women. Sometimes a lot. Several months ago I had a luscious kiss with this chick I know, one I've been attracted to, and just that little bit of lip action stirred something, woke an urge. Nothing I have to act on right this minute, but it was a reminder of what I didn't have going on. He and I have talked a little about this; he shared his fear that there was something he couldn't offer me, that he was lacking. It was so sweet, no pretense about being male as the ultimate; it felt like truly respecting an elemental part of who I am, about my desire.

Only now is it beginning to chafe a bit, being more invisible than I have been in a very long time. It reminds me of when I first came out and no one saw me; finding women to take me seriously as lesbian was a struggle; having to out myself, hoping I wouldn't be mocked because of my hair, make up, and soft, flowing clothes. Yes, it's a different world in many ways now, and there isn't a lot of surprise when people learn I have spent most of my dating life with women (once in a while there is surprise I'm sleeping with a guy), but I don't want to be seen as a woman who has "dabbled" with other women, I don't want to be labeled straight because it's how things look. At the same time I don't want to feel like I need to explain my history in order for people to see me, well as me. I am still trying to figure that part out. Yes, yes, it doesn't really matter in a way, people will learn about me, as they get to know me, blah blah blah.

But you know what? It does matter. In some way that is hard to define, I want to be seen completely. I want people to know I don't usually sleep with men, that never before have I dated someone younger, that I don't do patterns, that I am not what I look like. I am what I am inside, I am my identity - all that's visible and perhaps even more, what is invisible.

Scents of death and love

It struck on our second time together that her breath smelled like death. I am not sure why, even more I have no idea when it stopped smelling like that to me.

The first time we met in person we both traveled to Vegas to consummate the heated conversations being enjoyed, and sometimes endured, over the ethers of the internet. Somehow I did not notice it then, perhaps the smells of the casinos, the rich food along with the convergence of nerves and passion dulled my senses. That weekend was like nothing I had experienced because I had never fallen in love over electronic media before; in fact I had until then I scoffed at such notions. In the excitement to please me, she had purchased a harness and a dildo or two - things she had never bothered with before. The toys were nice but her being unable to keep her hands off of me was much more compelling than fabric and silicone, though they were nice. The entire weekend there was a hum running through my body, like the buzzing of fluorescent lights - annoying, compelling, and a bit scary. During our time together I had this sense that all was an illusion, that she would disappear after creating all this emotion in me, that somehow I would be left bereft.

Six weeks later she came to California where we caroused around the hotel room like drunken college students who had just discovered they could have sex without sneaking around. And that's where it hit me, every time we kissed (which was frequently and with wild abandon) her mouth tasted like death in mine. I thought perhaps it was because she smoked cigarettes, a flaw I had decided to overlook. But I had kissed other smokers and not had the taste of mortality rolling around my tongue.

As I said I don't know when I stopped smelling it, or if something changed in her. What I do know is that I reflected on that memory our entire relationship and what it could have meant. Given the hells I descended into during our time together, it was hard not to see it as foreshadowing. Being with her ended my other long term relationship because in time I realized that there were irreconcilable issues in it and though I was tempted to end both, I chose to pursue the new relationship. Being with her I drifted into dire poverty which resulted in a move to a red state where I never had any desire to live.

In the end, leaving her was my phoenix moment, rising from the ashes of constriction, isolation, and reuniting with myself. Somewhere that death scent became the pathway of my rebirth.