Fluidity from Polarization

Recently I walked into a room of beautiful naked people who hadn’t seen me in a few months. Immediately I tore off my clothes, jumped on top of the pile, and while hugging all the bodies I could reach to squeeze, I asked what they were watching on TV…

One person remarked “you look really great, kind of different, what have you been up to?”, and I replied, “I started taking Testosterone!”. This particular foursome didn’t know I had been considering hormone replacement therapy, and they hadn’t seen me since my first shot. They do though (obviously), each know me at least semi intimately, and immediately smiles popped up all around with remarks like “it’s doing you good”, “I didn’t know you were going to do that, but it suits you”, and finally a room wide round of smiles and head nods as one person simply paused, then looked at me and said:

“Well it sounds weird to say, but you look more like yourself than I’ve ever seen you look before.”

What a blessing to have people in every port of my life not bat an eye when I let them know what’s up with my current explorations of self. What a gift of reflection back to me about following my heart and abandoning layers of anxiety. Thank you, Intimates, for celebrating the me outside of you — the one you watch pass through and do not need to define for yourselves to love. It is a gift to belong to you on my terms, and to have you joyfully and knowingly smile when I’ve decimated a box you’ve observed me keep myself within over time.

I also have to thank my little siblings, masters of the generation Millennial, who watched some of us Xers flounder and dissatisfying cluck and balk at the binary, the roles we were supposed to champion, but felt some level of unease around. That discomfort, our in-between-nesses and dissatisfied bitching, you read as a problem to be solved, a theory to work out anew, an upgrade to spitball wildly and freely about during redesign. Today I can more clearly understand my particular discomforts and the pain I felt coming out 20 years ago. There’s new language to articulate that instinctual angst: I have never been the “either” or the “or”, I have always been the “yeses” in between.

Thank you, flitting fluid little siblings, for helping me find comfort in my identity/body/impulse/home — I thought my place might forever be burdened with the sounds of argument and debate about where I was supposed to fit, which side I should relinquish to and take on with hardened pride. You emptied boxes of colorful dress-up clothes and glitter-bomb flash mobs on my floor, you thrust pretty flowered beards, impossibly androgynous crossdressing (if it’s even possible anymore) runway models, and hormone cocktails prescribed without “the script” at my generation’s rebellious “guyliner” beginnings. How beautiful was that day.

I remember you years before, your worry that you weren’t “trans enough” or “queer enough” to belong. In Jr. High and High School you and your friends showed up dressed to the nines made up like little miniature rockstars flocking to my gender bending performance troupe’s “Drag King 101” and “Gender, Orientation, and Identity Round Table Discussion” classes — it’s been a decade at least already. I was shocked way back then. I remembered how threatening and dangerous it was to be perceived as gay or lesbian at all when I had been your age, and there hadn’t even been a LGBT alliance in my school… You and your friends have ushered in an age which pledges allegiance to each queer’s inner flag, and we each, every one, find ourselves more deeply because of it.

Thank you for letting me teach you to tie your first tie — as “Drag King Papa Webb” it was an honor to initiate you into a realm of Queerdom. Thank you for repainting our clubhouse and blowing out a couple walls in the process. We needed fresh air, new inspirations, and a reinjection of Pride which invites a world of Wonderers, not only the recognizable queer archetype conformists inside.

Fluidity from polarization. The water we drink now, instead of the bread that we break. We can try on the clothes of any characters we’d like to play, and change as many times as we want in a day. Sure, we keep some favorite ensembles around, knowing they don’t have to match anything else in the closet also squirreled away… It feels fantastic celebrating the knowledge that what we do and do not wear on our bodies is but the expression of a moment. Art, revelry, and adjustment belong to each of us, dynamically, in our own time.

Play On My Friends,
~ Creature

Please support my work on Patreon. For one time donations click here: Support the Artist 
~Thank you.

Creating the Kinkster’s 25 Hour Day

Need to eat on your lunch break, but also have a friend in need of some attention? Time to make it work!

There are only so many things one can do in a day, so doubling up necessary and fun tasks might be the best way to organize one’s life (what’s that saying about bushes and bird fisting?)… I have to find an apartment for me and my pupboy by the 1st (yes, that’s in remarkably few days). I am also directing a show in its rehearsal stages, just got back from a busy trip South, am currently essentially a teenage boy hormonally with no ability to focus on anything other than sex at times, I’m trying to catch up on this here blog, and am dating a few wonderful people to boot… Headache. I’d nap, but insomnia too.

One of the newer people I’m dating is a service oriented submissive. He needs some regular attention as we learn each other better and build our dynamic up, and the only way that can be achieved is through having some hours together, hours I don’t really have. Along with my lack of an apartment for him to visit, or a place to ask him to come to and tidy up for just reward, we’re at a tiny bit of a disadvantage. Of course, instead of attending to this blossoming relationship I really need to be driving all over the state looking at apartments (and I would prefer not to drive my huge ass van all around to get it done), grrrr… hmmm… I have an idea!

I’ve just decided to take on a service sub chauffeur! Perfect for all one’s errands about town: they’ll get you where you want to go while you can get work done on your trip and enjoy the perk of being turned on by the usefulness of that thing in the corner you just trussed up with clothespins for the ride. Being with the sexy usefulness (useful sexiness?) of a person who is ordered to please you for their own pleasure is very nice. Getting my work and errands done with the support of my kinky friends: why didn’t I find such solutions oh-so-long-ago?! I don’t even have to feel bad about asking for the help I need, in fact that I ask for help activates pleasure centers in my boi. Win/win! Adding a kink to the chores I need to get done stimulates the feeling that everything we’re doing is sparkly and exciting even though we’re just getting time consuming humdrum essential work done.

What’s even better is that my usual stress about all the things on my plate melts away as I realize how much fun we’ll have, and that I’m not just struggling through all the changes I’m navigating these days alone. I’m striking off multiple lines on my checklist and receiving the rewards of connection with someone I desire to connect with, some fun play injected into my busy day, and the satisfaction (cough *turn on*) of doing the entire thing while also being deviously brim-full of an imp’s favorite thing: mischief.

Maybe when I pause to look at the world in just the right way I’ll discover more rainbows — even on these stressful gloomy gotta-work-a-ton kinda days…

Play On My Friends,
~ Creature

Please support my work on Patreon. For one time donations click here: Support the Artist 
~Thank you.

Slut boy

My favorite condoms: non latex and the lube doesn’t irritate me…

Recently there was a week that I needed to do a lot of work on the computer… (not unusual). What was unusual was that I found it impossible to sit and get that work done. For a number of normal and abnormal reasons for me I couldn’t focus on the tasks at hand: I’m traveling a bunch, I keep not having internet access when I have the time to settle in and work where I am… but honestly the biggest reason it took me so long to attend to my work is that my brain just would not concentrate. Well, that’s a lie. It would only concentrate on one thing. It would only consentrate on sex. I felt like an addict. I have never experienced this amount of preoccupation with sex, getting off, and sexuality, as I did that week. I have been walking around in a fog of sexual alertness and everything else seems secondary to that primal need being fulfilled.

Turbo Slutting: I got on a couple popular gay dating apps, and started searching for the sexy human instruments with which I might scratch this itch. One day that week I ended up having sex with 4 different people (in 4 places — I’m not talking your run of the mill one stop shop orgy here). I had sex way more than 4 times that day, which while I know isn’t impressive to everyone, is certainly a far reaching record for me. What’s even more momentous to me about this experience is that at the end of the day I still wasn’t satisfied. No where near it.

It seems never ending, this desire to be turned on and the ability for my clit to jump while my cunt starts to water at even the slightest suggestion of an attractive stranger’s interest in me… It seems insane that I can be this turned on over and over and over again with no end in sight.

My entire experience of hooking up has been different too. After sex and orgasm I’m happy to chat with the person I’ve just worked out with, but I don’t feel particularly emotionally attached to them or interested in much more. Warm and cozy yes, but not amorous. We might exchange numbers, and perhaps we keep in touch again over the next couple days, but there’s a happy stranger out there, connected to me by a moment and I’m happy that in most cases it’s nothing more… Outside of sending me hot pics without comment and rekindling my libedo, I seem relatively disinterested or romantically inclined to try and impress or continue contact with them.

Yes, there have been connections which felt more magnetic, and I do hope I’ll see those people again, but I also accept that maybe it won’t happen and what we had would be quite alright if it never repeated itself again.

Out of the fog one day I was given hope though! At the end of my relentless week of sluttery I had a rendezvous with a very sexy someone who I’d been chatting with for a couple days. He was older, a master at dirty talk, Dominant and mischievous in a way I was compelled to melt around, and after a few hours of perverted revelry together in a room I felt my fever break (accompanied by the biggest orgasm I’ve had in a long long while). Afterwards, for the first time in what felt like forever, I settled in that night. I was clear headed, focused, and I got an entire week’s worth of work cleared off my plate. The following morning I felt good enough to write more before hitting the road for travel again…

Will I see this certain Sir again? I don’t know. I certainly hope I do — if for anything that it’s better for all my current employers sake’s.

Play On My Friends,
And talk about your STI status before you get too hard, wet, and carried away,
And for future fuck’s sake: carry the condoms and lube you like with you,

~ Creature

Please support my work on Patreon. For one time donations click here: Support the Artist 
~Thank you.

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