Seriously Proud Queer

For a long time I was uncomfortable with the term ‘queer’ – at least when it came to applying it to myself. Despite knowing that many people regard it as an umbrella term for those of diverse sexual orientations and gender identities, it didn’t feel like it was a label that was right for me.

I’m quite particular about my labels. I really like to have them, with the proviso that I have chosen them myself – and I write them on removable stickers, in pencil! So sure, I’ve plastered myself with pansexual and polyamorous – either of which is enough for various friends to tell me that the label suited me. But I needed to work it through for myself, to see if it was a term I could come to terms with, reconcile to my sense of identity.

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Palming My Purple Cock

I do love having my own cock. Not that touching someone else’s isn’t wonderful! But having own own, tucked between my legs; hanging out in my pants; jutting proudly and claiming attention? That’s utterly exciting.

This beauty is the Fun Factory Share. Now we all know that I love my Share XL – but the ridges are a challenge when it comes to that nicely paced in-and-out movement in arse-fucking. So when Hylas suggested we get the Share … hell yes!

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Attractiveness

Guest post by Tethys, reprinted here with m’Lady’s permission. Original post, with comments, can be read here.

Earlier today i had a Twitter conversation about the looks of trans people in porn; and i felt it raised some issues i feel are better discussed in a blog post than within the confines of the Twitter 140-character limit.

My initial tweets were:

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Refuelling

See the Flash Fiction Friday challenge and image here!

Refuelling

“What do you think you’re doing?”

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Slow Dance

I wrote this as an entry to Wilhelmina‘s ‘First‘ competition, now closed. It’s a true story, and one I’ve not shared on this blog before. Let me know what you think!

We had been doing the slow dance of flirtation for months. She was unconventionally attractive – her slim legs ending in Doc Marten boots beneath her skirts, a laughing mouth and teasing eyes – but it was quite some time before I realised I was attracted to her. A girl. Another woman. Not a man, in other words. That was a first for me, and it was some weeks of heavy pondering in the early hours, before I came to accept that I was attracted to whomever I was attracted to – in this case, her.

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