You’ve known her for more than half a year; and you’ve slept with almost everyone who you’ve seen in her immediate vicinity by now. Well, not everyone, but it feels like it. These were people who you weren’t not attracted to, but they didn’t drive you particularly crazy, [...] No related posts. Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.]]> [Press Play]

You’ve known her for more than half a year; and you’ve slept with almost everyone who you’ve seen in her immediate vicinity by now. Well, not everyone, but it feels like it. These were people who you weren’t not attracted to, but they didn’t drive you particularly crazy, either. They were… comfortable. You liked them well enough, but didn’t like them so much that you’d be disappointed if they turned you down.

She was always the one you wanted the most, which was probably why you could never bring yourself to approach her. You remember seeing her dancing at Zeta Mu’s disco party that one time: tall and awkwardly graceful, like a swan who hadn’t quite learned how to cut cleanly through the water. The press of people made the dancehall hot, and her short brown hair was stuck to her pale skin. Sweat dripped in small rivulets down her neck. This picture will be forever burned into you mind: her shaking her bangs out of her face, glistening beads of moisture flying in the strands’ wake.

She’s renders your alcohol-induced uninhibition absolutely useless. You want to kiss her, tell her how gorgeous she is (the words are on the tip of your tongue), you want to do something but, as drunk as you are, you can’t. You know you’d be too hurt if she rejected you.

The steps you took were tiny. You put your hand on her waist and pulled her close, moving and swaying to the music for mere minutes until the heat rushed to your face and you pulled away. She didn’t follow you…

That night you desperately pulled that slightly dumpy, shy butch girl into kiss; daydreaming as she went down on you in your bed; imagining other people in her place; hating yourself for it afterwards.

Maybe, you ask yourself, you’re working your way up the ladder. Screwing up your courage to finally approach her. But you know all that isn’t really true.

—

It’s all the Emperor’s fault, really. At least that’s what you tell yourself. In actual fact, you were the one who finally caved and confessed your feelings to her. Once again, it all started with one too many plastic cups of booze at Zeta Mu.

“By the way, I’m insanely attracted to you.” That’s what you said. And not even to her face – you texted her and then left before anything could happen.

The next day, she still hadn’t replied. This was probably her way of indicating her lack of interest. You’d expected as much. Oddly, you didn’t mind. But you felt immensely relieved, like a large weight at been lifted off your chest. (You realized that your desire had been sitting inside of you for all this time; clamouring so loudly you felt as though you’d burst.) She said nothing about it when she saw you next, and you both acted as normal.

…But it didn’t end there, like you’d thought it would. When the Emperor came to visit, he bombarded you with questions about your “newfound” attraction. (It had been one of the first things she’d mentioned to him upon his arrival.) And then he decided that you and she would be a very good idea, so started attempting to not-so-subtly get the two of you together. (As in: telling her more about you and picking you up, unceremoniously dumping you in front of her, and announcing that the two of you should hurry up and hook up already.)

Nothing happened until two weeks after the Emperor had left. It started with a few emails. Then lunch. Then the inevitable conversations about your views on sex, hooking up, having a “fluid” sexuality, women (and how frustrating they could be). You can usually never tell when someone is interested in you, but once the “sexual & relationship history” conversation happens, that’s a pretty good indicator. You felt like you were being evaluated…

To be continued…

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My summer was the queerest and most sexually mind-boggling than the entire rest of my life put [...] No related posts. Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.]]> What I’m experiencing now, in the West Indies, is very different to what I experienced this summer. Summer was amazing. I drunk-rushed Zeta Mu (an extremely queer co-ed fraternity), and everything was one big roller-coaster ride after that.

My summer was the queerest and most sexually mind-boggling than the entire rest of my life put together.

I first fell in love with a girl when I was fourteen years old. She was one of my best friends. We were high school students at a Catholic all-girls school. (This was before I had come to the US.)

Nothing ever came of that except for a lot of emo heartrending. I thought I was bisexual ever since.

I first kissed a girl last year. She was a drunk friend; the kiss took place in front of my then-boyfriend at a room party. At the time, I wanted him to get jealous, but he was just enjoying it (bastard).

The kiss was alright. It felt weird. I didn’t know the friend all that well. She started it; and I just let it happen because I was curious.

I first had sex with a girl last term. We did it twice. Once with just the two of us, and once in a threesome with a guy. I can’t say it was all that good. F is one of my best friends, who I also think is extremely attractive – but it just didn’t work. Even though I really enjoyed it, she wasn’t into it at all, and that put a damper on everything. It probably didn’t help that she claims she’s straight (but she was the one who came on to me!).

And then I rushed Zeta Mu, and I met K.

I had met him during my freshman year, and we actually lived in the same suite my sophomore year. We never really talked ever. But on the night of Zeta Mu’s formal, we randomly hung out all evening, and talked for hours about everything. Philosophy, life, poetry, music, our sexual/relationship histories, and queerness, inevitably. (To him, being queer isn’t just an orientation, it’s an entire lifestyle.)

I had had a crush on K for a while, and I was ecstatic about how we were getting along so well.

By this time it’s around 1 or 2am. People are starting to leave, and I’m starting to sober up. (It’s highly embarrassing to me that I’ve only managed to sucessfully come on to people when drunk.) We’re still talking. I start holding his hand randomly and he smiles at me…

We end up walking back to his place. He lives off-campus in a cabin. It’s not ‘in the woods’ per se; it’s actually right next to the main road. But for me, it’s far enough off the beaten track that it might as well be in the middle of the woods. It’s surrounded by trees and is next to a river.

It’s a long walk. Even though it’s summer, the North Eastern night is cold. I shiver in my flimsy formal-wear, and he puts an arm around me. I feel jittery, school-girl-like, and awash with anticipation.

We have to walk down a winding driveway to his house. He doesn’t have a flashlight. We make the walk in the pitch blackness. Devoid of any light because there are no streetlamps on such a narrow path. I strain to follow the blurry outlines of his silhouette… It was one of the trippiest experiences I’ve ever had.

Once we’re in his room, and he’s shown me where everything is in the apartment – we look at each other matter-of-factly. And then, still standing, we start making out like both of us knew that it was going to happen all along (well… we did).

It’s insane how easy everything is. We kiss and kiss and then the light is off and my shirt is off too. He kisses light and teasing – choosing to ghost lips over lips and nibble instead of kiss full-on. I nuzzle his neck (I adore peoples’ necks) and he smells good; of the woods and earth and of his hemp necklace.

My hands slide into his shirt. All of a sudden I’m nervous and uncertain. I don’t know what I’m going to find underneath the fabric. What if he’s ashamed of his body? Is he alright with this? Am I alright with this?

He pulls off his shirt. I’m surprised. I was expecting to find a perfectly flat chest, since he looks so flat with clothing on, but it turns out that’s just because of the binder he wears. Instead of a man’s planed chest, I find soft, small breasts.

And it’s amazing. His body is a combination of ‘male’ and ‘female’ gorgeousness. He’s broad and toned; his waist curves; his skin is soft and pliant. I run my hands over him – feeling every inch.

I was mistaken when I thought he would be uncomfortable with his body. He’s more comfortable with his physicality than anyone I’ve ever met. Instead, I’m the one who’s feeling self-concious about how I look – my chubbiness; my too-small breasts.

We migrate to the bed. K goes down on me. He’s soft and gentle and teasing. The Actor had often complained to me about how girls had no idea how to give blowjobs; they just didn’t know how to handle a cock like another gay man did. Same thing with men and cunnilingus. With many straight men, everything is so hard and forceful. They just want to rush everything along so that they can get inside of you… but K takes his time. I can sense him sensing me - my gasps, my hands grabbing his shoulders – trying to figure out what I want. Asking me what I want.

When I come, I’m gasping and moaning and almost immediately flipping us around so I can do the same to him. I kiss him all over and when I reach his breasts he says

[K: You can be rougher. I've been binding so long that it doesn't hurt anymore - it just feels good.

So I bite him. Hard. And he whispers 'yes' over and over again almost joyfully.

K is not a girl. K is - very much - a guy. He acts like a guy. Fully clothed, he looks just like a guy. Has been taking testosterone for a while. But in terms of genitalia, he is very much a girl. His clit is long and almost phallic - but still a clit.

I treat it like what it is: his cock. I blow him. Sucking it into my mouth and letting it slide back out. I lick into his vagina; and it's wet and warm and deep.

I realize that I think vaginas are awesome.

When my fingers are inside of him, I can't wrap my head around how intense it is to penetrate somebody else. How satisfying it is to feel him shudder after each slow thrust. He comes, and I feel him flutter around me. I almost convulse all over again.

We entangle ourselves together and fall into a blissful sleep.

The next day, I'm late for class, and wander in extremely shiftily.

I tell the Actor what happened, and he's very happy for me. For some reason, he tells V, who tells A.Q. I tell F and eventually M. Their responses aren't as positive as the Actor's was:

[V: I'm going to have a heart attack! Let me call A.Q., she'll talk some sense into you.

[A.Q.: ...You know that if you go through with this [pursuing K], people are going to talk, right?

[F: AHHHH! How does that even work? Doesn’t he have a vagina? omg

[M: Cool! I approve. …You guys had sex? That must have been really… bizarre.

This might be kind of narrow of me – but I can’t understand why other people can’t understand. K is a beautiful man – who is charismatic, sunny, strong, deep-voiced and lightly-haired, and has breasts and a vagina… and all of that makes him a beautiful man. None of it subtracts.

And this might be kind of selfish of me – but secretly I didn’t want him to transition to being fully male (I didn’t know if he ever plans to) because then that unique beauty would no longer exist.

And – for me – this is how it all really began.

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