What Has Been Seen Cannot Be Unseen.

I’m a transsexual and I make absolutely no secret about it.  While my journey towards Sexual Reassignment Surgery has been forever removed thanks to medical discoveries, that doesn’t change who I am.  I spent over two years identifying as a woman, living as a woman and dressing as a woman.  It’s safe to say that I’m fairly comfortable in either male or female clothing.  It’s interchangeable as far as I’m concerned.  When I wake up in the morning, I don’t think “Boy clothes or girl clothes”, I simply grab the first pair of underwear I find in my dresser drawer.  That could be anything from male boxer-briefs or black-lace hip huggers with a red bow on the back that an ex bought me.  But there are some things that “men” just should not wear.  Lingerie rates quite high on that list.

Imagine the teddy, that alluring one-piece that molds itself to the curves of a woman.  I’ve had a few boyfriends and one kinky girlfriend who thought that my wearing one would be such a turn on.  They’d visit the internet and find that perfect ensemble then present it to me with a flourish.  The ribbons and lace would be quite fetching.  I would put it on and come to a realization:

Where do I put my penis?

Let’s face it, men and women are built differently.  Despite my at the time ample chest I still have square shoulders and male genitalia.  Lingerie just isn’t built to handle a male figure.  As a result, it just looks tacky.  You put it on and your wee soldier just peeks out the side while the scrotum bulges around the crotch of the outfit.  It’s disgusting.

 

And the panties.  Men, for the love of god, stop prancing around in non-existent panties.  You have a dick, god granted this gift to you.  It needs to be firmly ensconced and kept safe.  Wearing a micro-thong that displays half of your manhood for all the world to see is not sexy.  If you absolutely have to wear girlie underwear, wear something substantial…preferably something that covers you.

 

Now if you’re a man with good legs, thigh-high stockings can be pulled off without a hitch.  That’s another peculiar little fetish that keeps popping up amongst my ex’s.  A lot of them really like my legs in thigh highs.  Personally I preferred control pantyhose as it provided a measure of hiding my peepee when in girl mode.  Still, there have been a few times when I’ve worn thigh highs and thought “Damn, I look good”.

If you absolutely have to prance about in lingerie, please at least make an effort to make yourself presentable.  Shave your legs, get a full body wax…do something so you don’t look like a yeti in a teddy.

Damn fetish monkeys.

Well hello there.

It would appear this little blog of kink is getting some traffic on Google. Hello you sick, twisted little fuckers.

Today has been one of those days when you just have to beat the hell out of something. Work was brutal and elements of my personal life are working to annoy me. As a result, I am here writing in a blog and restraining my desire to put holes in the wall. It’s not that I’m really angry, I’m just in a very bad mood. Once I’m in such a funk I appear to broadcast some unknown pheromone that inspires people to only fuel my fire. Thus, my submissive nature has been suborned by what I refer to as my “Sergeant mood”.

Yes, even the meekest of submissives can have a bad day.

Of course, shit rolls down hill and I spent a good portion of the work day gleefully torturing my co-workers and employees. I don’t like to think of them as human beings on days like today. Instead they become “Bob’s mental release valve”. Thanks to the emotional scars I left, I left the office feeling better, but I still want to grab the lollipop from the dresser, find an omega submissive and just go to town on their ass.

You might have noticed that I tend to use words such as ‘alpha’, ‘beta’ and ‘omega’ when I refer to myself and other submissives. Aside from the allusion to roving packs of wolves, this is a simple ranking structure that works out well in my mind. I have a very strong desire for applying ranks to anyone that I meet, it’s a side effect from spending the majority of my life amongst the military. Rather then use military terminology, I use the English pronunciation of Greek letters similar to what biologists use with wolves. The ranking structure is thus:

Alpha: This is the point in which I identify myself. I define it as a submissive who exhibits dominant tendencies but does not fully meet the criteria to be a switch and is likely to wilt in the face of a true dominant. As the name implies, this is the top of the submissive food chain. Most “first girls” in a harem and the vast majority of SAMs fall into this category. Many are lifestyle players who have been around the scene for a while.

Beta: Your standard submissive, though it’s usually females who rate as such from my experience. They do not outright exhibit dominant tendencies, but like everyone else they have bad days and that can pop them out of their submissive mindset. These individuals may or may not be lifestylers and have several years of experience under their belt.

Gamma: The stereotypical slave, submissive to the core with very little backbone when in a scene. They are “part-time” BDSM practitioners who delve into the realm o’kink more as a hobby than anything else. When not playing, they’re utterly indistinguishable from the folks you meet on the street. They can range from new to the scene to having been playing for decades.

Omega: The slap and tickle submissives of the BDSM realm. You’ll see them at the parties, dressed in stereotypical BDSM gear and wielding a $10 riding crop ineffectively in order to catch the attention of some cute dominant. They have no idea what they’re doing and are in desperate need of instructions. With training some can advance up the ranks as they experience more of what BDSM is about. Many just quit the scene while others fall down the ladder to…

Fetish Monkey: I added this “rank” not long after I first heard the word. These are not true BDSM players, but instead they are men and women who exhibit one sexual paraphilia or another and have a stylized, fantastical idea about what BDSM truly is. We all have our fetishes, I have a ton myself and no doubt in the minds of some, I to am a fetish monkey.

Goodbye Weekends:

The official determination at work has reached down from on high and laid itself across my shoulder.  My weekends are no more as I have been tapped to work every Saturday and Sunday morning.  On one hand this considered something of a compliment as it’s a shift with absolutely no supervision.  I’m the only person there watching over the entire system.  On the other hand…it takes away from my morning weekend activities.  Quite irritating to be honest, but that’s what I get for being at work.

So, I mentioned a dislocated shoulder in my last post.  How is it that I came across such a wound?  Simple: it was the result of glorious sex.  Miss Lotus decided to add a little something extra to her sex-life.  In her throes of ecstasy, her leg met my shoulder and promptly knocked it out of joint.  The pain was delicious, but it’s a near-instant way to kill an erection.  An even better highlight was when she had to kick my shoulder back in.

Yes, it was damn sexy thank you very much.

Last night a friend asked me if I always discuss my BDSM life in clinical terms or if it was just to protect his modesty.  Despite the raunchiness one may find here, the answer is yes, my BDSM discussions are often quite clinical.  I’m a training submissive, a teacher in the fine art of BDSM, and one of my teaching methods is to disassociate BDSM from sex.  It’s perfectly fine to be aroused by what happens in a dungeon, but while you’re still a new practitioner to some of the rougher elements of BDSM, it’s a good idea to focus on what I’m saying.  You can’t do that if your mind is focused entirely on how hot it makes you to get flogged bloody.  So for the purpose of instruction, I make the process very, very clinical.  Yes, it might be boring at times, but none of the submissives I’ve trained so far have reported having a dangerous scene go bad because they were lapse in their security and negotiation.  Once you know how to negotiate and prep for a scene, feel free to be as horny as you wish.

I’m recovering nicely from the weekend, almost all the pain has died away.  The promising markings on my right leg have faded away to nothing, which is quite depressing.  They had such potential.  I probably should have taken the lollipop to them, see if I could have encouraged development.   It’s fascinating to cultivate bruises, the development and end-results are always so interesting.

Tonight is an impromptu gaming night, one that I plan on indulging in since I’ll be missing my scheduled Saturday game in favor of a kink party.  It’s time to feed my geeky nature.

Damage Control Parties Report to the Aft Deck:

A quick tally of the damage from the weekend:

• Dislocated Shoulder
• Hip Aggravation
• Multiple Bite Marks
• One subdermal on the thigh that has the potential to blossom into one hell of a bruise

I’d call it a good, nay, a fucking phenomenal weekend.  My body is exuding this glow of pure happiness that permeates everything around me.  I even pranced around the house (and I mean pranced) in my underwear just because I was feeling saucy.

Details are forthcoming in a future post, for now I’m heading to bed.

For the purpose of modesty, the part of my penis will be played by a chocolate cake.

Damn, now I’m not only hungry but I also want to listen to old Bill Cosby routines.

In between laundry, writing, budgeting and other such delightful activities, I made the fateful mistake of talking to a few folks online about this and that. During times of boredom I often haunt IRC and the various instant message programs. Like any dutiful nerd I have a collection of folks in my life that I have never, nor will I ever, meet. Keep this in mind.

See that delicious chocolate cake? Looks wonderful doesn’t it? Remember that it’s merely a stand-in, a prop to appease the gods of WordPress and their fickle “Let’s not show adult images”. I had an awesome one of my penis covered by a two dollar bill just waiting for this. Now, let’s assume that the cake is my penis or, dare I say it, my body in general. The sumptuous curves and moist flesh just waiting for someone to sink their teeth in to it. Who can resist something so alluring? Well my friends, and I know some of you are reading this…that cake is not for you. It’s mine and I will do with it as I please. If I want someone else to take a big bite out of it, then I will let them. Right now, one person has fully body privileges and two have any say in what I will or will not do to said body. So when I say I’m getting a tattoo, and you are not one of those two individuals:

What I choose to do with my body is none of your concern. Your suggestions that a barcode tattoo is equivalent to having someone’s name tattooed to me is ridiculous and highly incorrect. For that matter, what makes you think I wouldn’t let someone tattoo me in such a manner? I willingly let individuals mark me with implements more commonly associated with corporal punishment. There are individuals who have set my body on fire. Do you actually think I find the thought of an ownership tattoo a bad thing?

Oooo, an almost emo post.

So, what was with the dramatic tone of the previous post?  Actually, nothing.  I’m feeling motivated and I realized that it’s time to start getting my life kick started.  I’ve lived with the guys here for several months but, for all that, it’s not home.  It’s just not comfortable for me here and through meditation and some self-applied EFT (which rocks, by the way), I managed to open my eyes to a few of the negative elements of my life that are causing some of my emotional issues.

I think I’ve gotten a lot of debris out of my psyche in recent weeks and frankly, I feel excited.  It’s been an eventful month and I’m looking to investigate avenues I’ve never thought of going down before.  The ride will be interesting.

Wear a helmet. :p

Time to move on?

Coming home this afternoon was difficult and I realized that it may be time for me to move on from my home.  I live with friends, basically renting a room, and while I love them dearly, I feel like somewhat trapped.  Too many strong emotions, too much memory and too much baggage.  Every other weekend I can pretty much guarantee having to spend a day or two away so that reports of my existence do not wind their way back to  Dallas.  It’s hard to stay focused when individuals who are clearly my enemies come and go from here on a regular basis.  It’s uncomfortable, regrettable and not worth the effort to avoid the people.

So I’m toying with the idea of moving towards the downtown area of the city, maybe find a little all-bills-paid apartment somewhere.

Oh Fuck Me Raw (No, really, go ahead)

I’m spending the evening recovering from what can only be called a time of wonder. There’s a lot at home that I have let slide and many tasks call out for my attention. The laundry must be done, photographs arranged and developed and a long bath to help soothe the tattered remnants of my penis. It has literally been fucked raw.

Totally worth it.

The work week is over and I must say, it ended with a bang. Things have been hectic at work the past few weeks thanks to a series of server migrations and all the headaches those can bring. Every day I put out one small crisis or another, but today certainly took the cake. An entire series of servers collapsed, with the half-ass repair job doing damage to the others in our mad rush to bring everything back up. The flare up started five minutes after I got to work and continued until fifteen minutes after I was supposed to get off. I don’t mind a brief bit of OT, but it felt like I crammed an entire days worth of work into the last thirty minutes or so. Truly a marathon piece of work.

I think I shall indulge in nerdiness this evening since I’m spending it with myself.

Harems, Stables and the Art of Keeping Submissives.

In my experience within the realm of BDSM, a submissive’s behavior can be determined by simply examining their gender.  A female submissive is more likely to be subservient and to revel in the emotional aspects of the relationship.  The male submissive is, more often than not, their solely to revel in his erection.  Now I understand that this may be unnecessarily harsh and that there are exceptions to the rule, but by and large the male submissive is little more than a child chasing after the mythical erection.  His fetishes drive him, while the female looks for something deeper.

It’s remarkably similar to a normal relationship, it’s just kinkier.

This realization carries over into the realm of the harem, the stable, the collection of living toys that some dominants collect.  A harem that is composed predominately of females seems more likely to evolve into an actual poly-relationship and transcends the simple elements of BDSM.  The stable of men very rarely rises above the level of “Hurrr, I like titties!  I have a cock, hurrrr”.  For them, the thought of committing to a single individual is anathema,  how could they possibly make the necessary emotional investment to a group of people?

That’s not to say that emotionally mature male harems don’t exist.  I’ve seen one and it was something to behold.  An eight person poly-relationship isn’t the easiest thing to manage, one that involves one female dominant and seven male submissives even more so.  If one can arrange a collection of men mature enough to be in such a relationship, then my hearty congratulations.  Now if only we could see more of them.

I Win Internet

I took care of a few chores at home yesterday before heading to South Austin to spend time with Miss Lotus. The weather was too perfect so I stopped on the way to do a quick photo shoot, only to realize that I lacked the necessary filters and lights to truly capture the beauty that is a foggy day. Just something else to add to my wish list.

The evening went very well. Miss had prepared dinner, much to my surprise, and we enjoyed a surprisingly vanilla moment before cuddling in bed. We talked about watching a movie and that idea lasted for all of fifteen minutes before we skipped that idea and just had sex. The sex was phenomenal, we actually managed to break a Hitachi Magic Wand. For a while I was fairly convinced I’d manage to break Miss Lotus as well. Needless to say, I’m on the intertubes as we speak searching for a replacement wand, as that is an essential tool that should be found in every house. The love-making continued into the night until about 1:30 in the morning when I drifted off to sleep.

My cell phone woke my up at 5:30 and it was at that time that I made the decision to call in sick. I wasn’t feeling up to work and my metrics could afford the hit. Instead Miss Lotus and I had sex once again before drifting off to another several hours of sleep.

I think I crawled out of bed at about 2:30 this afternoon.

Miss Lotus is out with a friend taking care of some business, so I’m here at the house cleaning up the truly remarkably aftermath of our sex-fueled romp through the rooms. Already tackled the bedroom and living room, complete with vacuuming. Now I need to grab a shower and tidy up the bathroom. Then finish the dishes and figure out what to do about food this evening.