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Awesome, via Fabulon

Now, I completely understand why the comment leaving queens of Fabulon are a leetle more disappointed with this image than I am. It’s lacking in the homo part, definitely.  I concede this point.

However, I consider it off-the-charts hot. For various reasons. Physically, this dude is redolent of the hairless dark haired boy thing who treated me to naked zen time this weekend (yum) but that’s just a part of it. I guess it’s this - how often is a bisexual referred or labeled at all in smutty sexy stuff of the ages?

How often do bisexuals engaged in opposite sex activity (I guess you could pretend that’s no gender girl and it’s hot on other levels, too) get “outed” labeled as such - or depicted? If a guy is fucking a woman of course the assumption is that he’s straight and nothing untoward, queerness wise, could possibly be happening - I LOVE the way the text fucks that up here. It’s downright PoMo textbook in image against text.

But also - there’s this old school randy butch “I just fuck everything” flavor of bisexuality that’s lacking lately in the literature - I guess it’s what people call “straight acting” or “straight and I love men sucking my dick” and I call “bullshit, you are bisexual as a Jean Genet homo, bi as me and the day is long, Closet Clyde.”

And quite frankly, I find the ones who don’t care, agree, and ID as bi, and love to fuck, and are avid and hungry, and nasty tops (better yet, self-professed mostly-tops who crumble at my touch), to be quite attractive. The only kind of Mantop that lights my kindling is one for whom be sucked and periodically suck, (why not?) is all good.

Uh, and that cover is camp fabulous. But that’s without saying.

So I’m back and I’m sunburnt in some odd places. Not target logo red, more like a low grade “duh, I was stupid” red. The evidence of my lameness with the neutrogena stick block is patently there, in large untoasted swaths on one boob, my upper arms. I should have just used the stick to write “I’m an idiot” on myself, really, because its blocking properties were not exploited.

Hairless boy thing is a gorgeous shade of almondy brown now, having been not an idiot and tanned in a booth about, oh, twelve times before exposing it all to God Helios.

Darnit.  Oh well. Shucking ones clothes amidst the pines, hot tubbing and doing a lot of absolutely nothing was great and needed.

A very sexy smooth boy thing has reserved a cabin at the nekkid camping place.

It’s one of a few dirty hippy things I do, while I’m not a dirty hippy. Nor a clean hippy.

Upshot: I ain’t around tonight or tomorrow. Bummer.

http://aarkeybabble.blogspot.com/2008/06/hows-and-whys.html

This is seriously righteous. With pics I find hot.

The same arguments are equally as bum-outful (new word) for me. It’s not bad enough that men are going to proscribe my sexuality, order it, tell me what I can and can’t and should and should not find hot or do with my pussy, but FemDom theoreticians are going to do it too.

You should not fuck in the pussy. You must fuck in the pussy. You must enjoy strap on sex. You must not enjoy strap on sex. If you enjoy teh sehcks in the pussy you are not a FemDom. If you enjoy giving teh buttsehcks, you are in fact a big liar pants on fire, you can’t possibly get pleasure that way, and you’re just catering to male fantasy. You can’t possibly be authentically aroused on your own by (small penis humiliation, pee, fur, pumpkins, wombats, whatever I think is stupid) Miss not a FemDom, we hate you.

Aroo?

Yes, I enjoy using a strap on. I enjoyed it with my girlfriends and my boyfriends, and I enjoy the reactive intense experience my bottom has when I use it if I’m with someone who is into it. I enjoy the sexual reactivity and the feeling of weilding the dick that’s making it happen. I enjoy the fantasies of M/m sex that are playing through my head at that moment when my squishy remarkably average white female body looks in my own head like Tom of Finland and Paul Cadmus drawings. It may not make me orgasm, but there are some other pleasures in life, and Tom of Finland head land is something I like almost as often as a good thigh shaking O. It’s called fantasy, turnon, pretend, and it’s hot. Fuck anyone who is going to tell me what my authentic experience is - you ASK a person that question. I don’t know yours and I have the decency to ask and care and want to know where you just decide to tell me mine.

Here’s a tip for everyone in this scene: no one knows the head of the other. No one knows the intent of the other. The model you want to dismiss in rubber. The frumpy frump with her handmade spoon toys. Everyone (and most of us are everyone else) in between - none of us can wrap up, decide, and dimiss the sexualities of the other person based on sizing them up with a look. How much like the mainstream, no, the worst of the sexual right is that? Women’s pleasure is so utterly fucked in this culture that women are the first in line to control it.

If you can only view doing something you like that also happens to give a bottom pleasure as “catering to their wants” rather than sharing and intimacy, I truly feel sorry for your ass. You have just commodified sex more than I ever could as a (phone) sexworker if I sat up and thought of 900000 ways to sell it cheap. I experience with I don’t dole out. Fuck, is that dismal in one’s personal life.

Crossdressing is even more a hotbutton here. I, in my personal life, and as much as possible in my hot little words in your hot little ear life, am not into the “force me” crossdressing crowd, (although I love humiliating, and if that’s the flavor of humiliation he needs, so it goes, I’ll still get off on it. My pussy knows no PC, sorry Mom,) but I am aroused by sensually well dressed CD’s who are not into the shame, not into the “I’m a girl and girls are weak sluts and bimbos” persona, but really into the way satin feels on their dick and hose on their legs, and corsets feel hugging their man-ribs. Because, fuck, people like things.

As impossible to fathom as that is to some reaches of the angry rigid corseted to the point of no oxygen part of the FemDom world, some people like things and some people are OK with that without abandoning all interest in control.

I like it. Hot panties like it. I am partnered to it. I fuck it. It feels better to me rubbing against my naked body late at night in the sheets than the sweaty hairy man legs you like. News flash: some of us are not THAT heterosexual. What nonplusses you to the point of “women don’t like that” makes me think “wait, what? I’m a woman. I like it.”

“No you don’t.”

That’s not a male voice. It’s a chorus of female disapproval. Nice. Only The Man could have filled my head with any of these desires, because they’re not identical to those of these women.

So when you’re screaming “where are all the masculine msubs” I’m just as bored as when the vanilla het women who have basically set up camp all over mainstream media lite feminism are sighing “where are the REAL men?” It’s hetero privilege amok, it’s fine with you lesbians doing whatever you want over THERE (dismissive of femme lesbians, of course, because they look like “fake lesbians” which hetero women are so qualified to judge) but anyone whose sexuality can’t be boxed neatly, well, we’re always SOL.

I’m not interested in being a mouthpiece. There’s lots of room for you and your buzzcut boys, just stop telling me what I’m supposed to like or not.

…doesn’t mean it has to be mature.

I don’t know if it’s stupid or genius, but my morning coffee hilarity comes from this.

Garfieldminusgarfield

Lets’ face it - this strip was the height of hilarity - when I was ten.

In fact, I don’t hate it for that reason. I credit Jim Davis with a lot of the best belly laughs I and a lot of kids could have had. It’s no less funny than Arlo N’ Janis (which one of my college floormates pointed out, you can make funny again if you just cover or don’t read the last panel - a koan huh kind of funny instead of totally never funny at all.) This panel-less Arlo N’ Janis works on the same principle as this webcomic. Just erase Garfield. You’re left with Jon living la vida loser in more stunning detail than I or a million other NF humiliation dishers could ever paint.

Tell me this isn’t funnier. I know this guy, I think.

I find a lot of phone sluts will often preface our discussion with “I don’t like being called names.”

Fair enough. I don’t think being called names cold and out of nowhere is necessarily that exciting.
I know for some people it is - just like balloons or catwoman or cigars or any number of things I kind of get but don’t necessarily fetishize myself.

Humiliation is an interesting beast, though. The same people who preface things with “I’m not into humiliation, I don’t like being called names or anything like that” are highly aroused at the thought of, oh…

Me telling their wife’s best friend exactly what a freak they are.

Or tugging on their dick for an audience of laughing women.

Or being called “slut” so long as they actually ARE imagining themselves in some extremely slutlike tableau.

There’s something really fun, artful, and wicked about this kind of exposure, versus just calling someone worthless. If it does actually progress naturally to a dialogue about worthlessness, it’s SO much hotter to have the situational reinforcement to back it up, too. No?

To the couple. Yum. That doesn’t happen for me nearly as much as I’d like.

for presents tributes and swag directly. It’s cheese. We know that.

BUT –

someone gonna get me this?

my phone antics have made me decide I really need it and the goodies it comes with. Dildo first, of course.

To sweeten the deal, I’ll make a custom MP3 about this toy, your face, and me for the superstar who gets it for me. Seriously. comment, email me, niteflirt mail me - whatever works. If you want to get an attachment, I’ll send you a little fiction email about the attachment of your choosing. Fun fun!

gc address is phoneindiscretionsatgmaildotcom.