Trans* Folks, Where do You Get Your Fashion Cues From?

While talking to my boyfriend, Mal, the other day, we got on the topic of masculine fashion and our personal styles.  I feel like my style borrows somewhat from my high school days, but also from my take on working class casual.  I like t-shirts under plaid button-downs (long and short sleeve, depending on the weather).  I wear button fly Levis and favor tennis shoes or boots.  Socially, I hang around guys who are 30s-40s more than guys my age, and I know some of them have influenced my fashion tastes.

For example, I know for certain I won’t be wearing a fedora or trilby any time soon.  And sometimes I find myself lost in a sea of short sleeved plaid shirted guys when I’m out and about.

I’m curious what other trans* and gender non-conforming people have to say on the topic.  As you began to dress according to your true gender, where did you look for fashion advice?  Can you link your current style to a family member, or influential friend or maybe a celebrity?  Or maybe you’ve carved out your very own fashion niche.

I’d love to hear from you.


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Date Night with My Boyfriend

We were in a saltwater town on the peninsula, holding hands and kissing every chance we got.  Sitting in one of the many pizza joints with a lot of other Seahawks fans watching the game, I looked across the table at my boyfriend, Mal.  I reached out for his hand and had an interesting realization.

I leaned over the table and whispered, “Do you think the folks here see us as two gay guys?”

He said, “Probably not, my voice is a little high.”

I wasn’t so sure, with his sharp new hair cut and the compression top and packy I loaned him, he was looking like a handsome gay boy to me.  And I don’t think that’s all just rose-colored glasses either.

Either way, it gave me some brain food to chew on.  I am used to being seen as a butch dyke with my girlfriend, I am getting accustomed to being seen as a straight dude with his girlfriend.  What I have is zero experience being seen as a gay man with his boyfriend.

I liked it.  I liked it a lot. It gave me giddy happy bubbles in my belly, as a matter of fact.

It also flashed through my mind, as we walked out of the pizza joint and down the sidewalk, that gay men experience a lot of homophobic harassment and violence. Being in a small out-of-the-way town in a largely conservative area meant I *should* be mindful of that danger.  I gave it a thought or two, but it didn’t stop me from slipping my hand onto his arm and letting him lead me down the sidewalk.  And that particular act was meaningful for both of us.  I felt the way his shoulders went back and I felt myself blush.  I had been the ‘arm’ for so many of my dates over the years but had never been on the arm of someone else before.  I felt really cared for and special.  That’s how we make each other feel, cared for and cherished and lusted after and special.

This courtliness lasted a few blocks until I saw a dark alley that needed to be exploited. I pushed him against the wall and we kissed hard.  Our hands were all over each other, my hand between his legs, right where I’d wanted it for a couple of hours already.  I squeezed and stroked his packy and pressed it against his clit, making him gasp.  Then I reached under, to where his jeans were wet with desire.  We paused for a moment as some innocent bystanders went by on the sidewalk.  Giggling we moved further into the alley to where it opened up in a small courtyard.

An empty and fully lighted parking garage beckoned from under the building ahead of us.  Mal led the way and we peeked out at the sidewalk through the iron bars separating us from the street.  I pressed up against his sweet ass, letting him feel my bulge.  He groaned and my hips started working.  I was imagining my cock inside him, and and rubbed out a quick orgasm, muffling my cries against his shoulder.  Damn, he’s hot.  All that kissing and groping had me pretty worked up.

From there we continued our tour of “dark places to have public sex in Port Townsend’, giggling and slapping ass.  Next stop was a dark alcove just off a sidewalk near a Thai restaurant.  I pushed him back against the wall, and reached between his legs again.  That wet spot beckoned.  I pressed my fingers against his front hole, kissing and biting his lips, neck and shoulder. Sliding my hand inside his pants, finding his little cock, my sexy Mal came for me, crying out as quietly as he could, eyes wild, breathing hard.  I kissed him softly and he flipped me around, slamming me against the wall with a thud.  That’s when I realized the restaurant was open and we were easily visible if anyone had bothered to look.

He smiled the wicked smile I’ve grown to love, “Pretty hot, huh?”

I watched over his shoulder as one couple exited the restaurant and went the opposite way down the sidewalk.  His fingers found my hot spot and I came watching the waiter walk through the place, walking in our direction but not looking up to see him grinding against me.

Pretty hot?  Yes, lover, very hot.  Hot that you will stand me up against a wall and make me come, more than once.  Hot that you love being sexy and dangerous as much as I do.  Hot that you are just as willing to fuck me as you are to be fucked.  Seriously, incandescently hot.  Hot in a way that has seared the experience with you into my mind and heart.

Eventually, we continued on our way, holding hands, kissing when we felt the urge, goofing around down by the water.  Being with him brings out a whole different side of me, a boyish side, a playful, excitable, physical side.  I feel in turns aggressive and shy, sometimes within moments.  He is handsome, funny, sexyhot, smart and … well.. he knows just how to turn my crank.  I’ve been interested in being in a relationship with another guy for quite a while, but it just hasn’t worked out until now.  This guy, this handsome sweet, sexy guy, he’s got the stuff I’ve been looking for.  He is the combination of masculine and feminine that fits into the other side of my equation.  His kinks fit my kinks really well.  With him I feel safe to let my faggot side come out to play.  No, not just safe – I feel wanted, desired, craved.  I know I am the man he wants, and he’s the man for me.

It was an amazing weekend.  I am so lucky.  The luckiest.  I have a lot more to say about Mal and that weekend, and more… but that’s another post.

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Aggression, Anger and Topping: Finding the Way Through My Inner Maze

If I visualize my inner landscape as a maze, which isn’t hard to do, I can see my whole life as a journey toward the center of the maze.  What do I expect to find there?  I’m not sure, really, but that doesn’t stop me from working really hard to get there.

I can remember when I first started exploring BDSM, especially D/s, I confused topping with anger and violence and confused subbing with weakness.  I’ve learned a lot and grown a lot since then, on both sides of that dynamic equation.

When I was with Roxy, I mostly subbed to her.  I was her boy, her warrior, her challenge and her joy.  At times we switched, I topped her a few memorable times.  I wanted more of that and so did she, but I kept running up against internal barriers.  At the time, I couldn’t see how to access the aggressive dominant side of me without going through anger and violence.  It seemed to me I needed to step through those doors in order to get to a place where I could strike my lover, to cause pain.  That the pain was being asked for and was informed and consensual wasn’t enough to break down that wall.

Since then, I’ve been topped by others and continued to grow and understand myself better through those experiences.  I have also had more and more opportunities to explore my dominant side.  The first path I took in working through my internal blockage was through Daddy/girl scenarios.  I had willing lovers, I had a way to visualize my dominance that did not depend on violence and anger.  It worked for me, and them.  I could explore my desire to cause consensual pain, mixed it with sex and fetish.  Plus it was hot, really fucking hot.  Being able to meet my lover’s needs and have my needs met feels so good.  And it felt authentic, dominance settled comfortably into my role as Daddy, I didn’t feel that I was playing a role after a while, but rather that I was expressing another side of my self.

Daddy/girl became easier with practice, and my fertile imagination was eager to come up with new scenarios I could share with my lover.  I had gotten through some of the internal blockage keeping me from exploring my dominant side.  I felt like I’d hit my stride.

However, Daddy/girl wasn’t the center of that particular maze, not the endpoint but rather one of the cul-de-sacs I could explore more fully over time.  I have been feeling pulled to explore further, and fortunately, I have found an excellent fellow explorer.  I am currently involved with someone who is firing my D/s imagination along several lines of fetish.  I feel comfortable enough, trust her enough, to submit to her. I love being her boy.  I know I have new ground to gain in my exploration of submission with her.

I also have new territory to explore as a Dom.  Sometimes I am Papa to her boy, a relationship dynamic I have been fantasizing about for quite a while.  I now have a delicious, wonderful, sexy, strong boy who craves physical attention from his Papa.  It is through my boy that I was able to break through another internal barrier last weekend.   She has been asking me to be more physical, to hit her harder, to use my fists and belt and teeth and cock to cause the pain that brings her pleasure.  She’s done her best to provoke me — biting teeth, pinching fingers, punching fists, using her words — but my reaction has been to stifle my anger, to increase the control I have over my emotions as I attempt to control her.  And … let me tell you, she’s not easy to control. She’s strong.  She’s strong enough that it takes all my effort to keep her from flipping me. So why do I hold back hitting her as hard as she wants?  Why can’t I give her the reaction she’s asking for? Am I holding back out because of sexism, don’t I think she can take it as well as I can?  These are the questions I’ve been chasing around my head and I would not be surprised if she has been as well.

This past weekend, she eventually found a way to get me to hit her, or rather he did.  Sitting in her car after spending most of the weekend together, we kissed hard, not wanting to let go. I reached between her legs to stoke her fire.  Then my boy asked me to get rough with him, “Papa, don’t you think I’m tough enough?”  To say his words lit my fire is an understatement.

I pulled back and hit him in the chest, he gasped and I could see the heat in his eyes.  My boy, yes, he is tough.  I hit him again on the other side.  The world outside the car fell away, it was just the two of us, Papa and his handsome, sexy boy.

“Show me how strong and tough you are boy… I want you to beat off while I hit you.” My voice was a dark, husky whisper.  My cock was so hard for him.  Loosening his belt and fly, watching his hand slide between his legs… his moan was almost enough to make me come.

I hit him over and over.  Chest, shoulders, arms, inner thighs.  All the while he stroked his slick little cock, face growing flushed, eyes at half mast.  I looked intently at his face.

“Do you want to come, boy?”

He moaned and nodded his head frantically, “Please, Papa, please…”

I started pounding him again, “Yes, boy, yes, come for your Papa.  Come for me, my good boy!”

Afterward, I kissed his sweet face, tasted the come on his fingers.  ”Good boy” I purred, “My good, sweet boy, such a good strong boy for Papa.  I love you so much, my sweet strong boy.”

He positively glowed.  I was proud of him, and proud of myself.  I’d gotten through another barrier, with his help.

I held her and kissed her and didn’t want to let go. My home was beckoning, and my life and responsibilities.  I knew I had to go, we both had to go, but neither of us wanted to let go of that moment.

“You know, your girl is tough, too.”  She said quietly, “I’m strong enough to take all of that and more.  He has the same body I do, we can both take everything you give us.”

I know she’s strong, I know this is what we both want — to have the full range of our desires available within the beautiful, fiery amazing love we are building together.  I told her that she had done the right thing, going to Papa this time.  She had accessed that part of me in a way I could relate to and be enthusiastic about and which sidestepped the issues I have about using anger and violence to top.  She would love to see me to be less controlled, she wants me to react, to hit her in reaction to what she’s doing to provoke me, but I don’t know that I can do it as an anger reaction.  Even with her asking me to.

And why is that?  What is that barrier about?  Well, first, I don’t know that I want to get to a point where losing control is the way I top.  But I do want to make use of my power, my strength in a way that my lover finds sexy and which serves both of our kinks.  I can do that without losing control, the Papa/boy scene in the car gave me some insight into a path I can take to make that happen.

In examining my internal barrier and my need to control violent aggressive impulses, I followed another familiar path.  The one that leads back to my childhood and examples of violence and aggression that I did not want to emulate.  My mom didn’t manage her anger well, neither did my brother.  My dad, in contrast, got more calm in a crisis, quieter, more patient.  I’ve always been a lot like my dad and he’s been my role model in a lot of things.  And that childhood experience in different ways to deal with anger is the foundation of the way I deal with it now.  I am very afraid of the potential for hurting people non-consensually out of anger.  So I clamp down on it, I breathe through it, walk it off, talk it off until I can speak and act calmly.

And that is why when she was biting the back of my arm, and pinching me until I howled, I got more controlled rather than less.  This is how I’ve dealt with flares of anger since I was a kid.  There’s a story about anger and violence I’ve been telling myself since I was very young and that story has a lot of power over me.  Not a bad thing, my pattern for dealing with anger, it’s certainly kept me out of trouble over the years, however, now I find myself wanting to tell a new story in some circumstances.

I think another obstacle that I need to overcome is rooted in sexism, sadly.  I think I’ve  internalized the message that I wasn’t to hit girls, that I was to hold back from delivering the full measure of my strength when playing with girls and women.  Which is interesting considering that on the soccer field or the basketball court, I had no such self-enforced limitations.  Maybe I need to see my D/s partners as fellow athletes, maybe that is something I can use to turn my attitude around.  So apparently the script I’ve been following splits physical activities into sexual and non-sexual.  When engaging in non-sexual activities, I am ‘allowed’ the full expression of my strength and competitiveness, but sex is another category.  I know I’m rambling a bit here, but let me finish this train of thought.  What is it about sex that causes me to hold back my strength?  Is it my old way of connecting sex with romanticism?  Can’t hit someone I’m in love with?  Can’t be aggressive and dominate my romantic partner?  Hmmm…much to crunch on.

What I do know is she and I will continue to explore our edges together, and so will he and I.  There are so many fabulous ways for us to connect, the possibilities are nearly infinite.




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Trans*date 01-10-2015: the Evolution of my Singing Voice

I recorded myself singing a couple of days ago, singing a song that I’ve been learning over the last month, Ball and Chain by Max Gomez.  After I posted that recording to YouTube, I listened to the recording I did before my voice started changing due to testosterone… oh yeah, my voice has dropped a lot.. check it out



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Trans*date 01.07.2015: Noticeable

{left a voice message inviting Neighbor Femme to a pie date, we haven’t seen each other in a few months}
{she texted back} Omg, your voice!
{me} Did you have to do a double-take?
{she} I didn’t believe it was you until you said pie date
{me} I should have said, ‘this is Kyle’
{she} my phone said it was, I am amazed!

I am grinning so big today, I love reconnecting with people like that, people who aren’t seeing me everyday.  The people who see me all the time have that same sense of changes blurring together that parents do watching their kids grow.  It’s not noticeable until we see that their pants have inexplicably gotten too short.

Other things happening related to transition… I’m using men’s rooms in public now, where ever possible.  The other night, at a bar in town, I used the men’s room with it’s non flushing toilet once, and used the women’s both times after that.  On my way to Portland last weekend, I stopped at a rest area and after some internal debate, decided to use the women’s.  Getting stared at as I walked to a stall had me second guessing the decision.  It was full daylight, I should have just used the men’s.  So with few exceptions, I’ve switched.  I haven’t gotten any grief in men’s rooms so far.  I still get a little anxious but it’s getting less stressful with practice.

Hair on my chest and belly.  The chest hairs increase little by little and my belly hairs are getting denser and darker.  Also, my belly shape has changed.  It’s not spread across my middle like it used to be, it’s concentrated in the front more now.  It’s really noticeable when I bind (which is most of the time when I leave the house) because my belly is more visible to me when I look down.

I am at 6 months and now taking what will likely be the dose I will stay with.  I am super happy I decided to do this.

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Suburban Butch Dad Report: Hug With Caution

I returned home from an overnight date with WitchyWoman yesterday and received a lovely and enthusiastic greeting from my Spawn2.  Now, I love an enthusiastic hug, and my children are very good at delivering them, the only complaint I had was .. OUCH!

My sweet loving date had bit me all up and I have some bruises developing.. all in the hugging area, apparently.  My daughter didn’t just hug me that evening, she climbed all over me and managed… though some wee witchy magic powers .. to directly connect with each and every bruise.

On the one hand, OUCH!  On the other… constant reminders of a really good date.


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Keep the Receipts

It’s easy to focus on the big events in the life of a relationship – the shows, the trips out of town, the parties and dates in fancy restaurants.  Those are the places you took selfies with her and checked in on Facebook.  Those are the events where you had witnesses to your love affair.

Once the relationship is over, you’ll see those pictures and statuses as you’re scrolling down the screen.  Maybe you’ll wince, maybe you’ll smile or cry or feel whatever it is you are feeling that day about a relationship that filled all your senses at one time but is no longer a current event.  When we write about the love stories we’ve experienced, those events will certainly play a large part.

But, it’s those little things that always get to me.  The moment you glanced over at her to find that she’s been looking at you, eyes big with love and adoration.  The times you were walking down the sidewalk and reached back and her hand slipped into yours with a pause.  The way you could sit together without talking and be perfectly happy.  The way a glance from her could set your insides on fire. The way you could raise your eyebrow without a word and she’d know everything you meant to say. The way it felt to have her inhabit your heart and soul and how good it felt.  It’s saying goodmorning every day and goodnight every night and knowing  you can connect with her most every day… about anything or nothing because it’s not what you’re talking about, it’s that you are talking.

Songs … gods, the songs.  How many times have I been on an even keel only to keel over because THAT song came on the radio.  Sometimes I’d only need to see the title of it on my song list.  Songs have always been a direct portal to experiences and when I’m in love, songs get tagged with emotions, events, sing along sessions in the car, the dedications we made to each other.

Today it was receipts.  No, really.  I was catching up on entering receipts into quicken and kept coming along clumps of them from trips to the river, date nights and shopping trips and postal service receipts.  I entered them into Quicken and added them to the stack of things to be shredded.  And then I pulled them back out and put them in my keepsake box.  The one for her.

Like a song, those receipts took me right back to those times with her.  Walking around Safeway, gathering supplies for a weekend away.  Sitting at a restaurant having breakfast.  Going to the show for what was arguably the best date night either of us had ever had.

Little things.  That’s what relationships are truly made of.  The selfless acts of kindness and generosity, the sincerity of feelings felt in all the actions that lead you deeper and deeper in love.  And it’s the little things I miss the most.  The way she let me brush the hair out of her face.  Her dimples and her laugh.  Countless little things.

Word of advice, if you are inclined to take advice on relationships from a guy who’s had his heart broken a lot in the last 7 years:  pay attention to the little things.  Write them down, take pictures, write down the pet names and the inside jokes, somehow record those little moments – in your journal, in your heart.

Keep the receipts.

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Top 100 Sex Bloggers of 2014

The list is out and I am proud to see this blog on the list.  Also, thrilled for fellow butch sexblogger BD Swain to score in the top 10.  BD consistently writes hot hot stories that make me squirm and this honor is very well deserved.

I am down in the lower 90, which is still a great honor. I appreciate the recognition from my fellow dirty minds.

  1. Girl on the Net
  2. JoEllen Notte, The Redhead Bedhead
  3. Erika Moen and Matthew Nolan, Oh Joy Sex Toy
  4. Nikki & Heather, Vagina Antics
  5. BD Swain, learning how to tell you
  6. Jillian Boyd, Lady Laid Bare
  7. Cheeky Minx, Love Hate Sex Cake
  8. Lilly, Dangerous Lilly
  9. Dr. NerdLove, Paging Dr. NerdLove
  10. Hyacinth Jones, A Dissolute Life Means

As always, my list actually only has 99 bloggers on it, because the final spot belongs to you! Comment on Rori’s post here with a link to your own blog so we can all check it out. :)

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I Know What You Been Doin’

You’re looking through the curtains at the parking lot.  I come up behind you, one arm around your waist, my other hand at the base of your throat, and I’m pressing my cock against your ass.

I breathe into your ear, you shudder against me and inhale sharply, about to say something.  I slide my hand up against your throat to stop you.

“Shhhhhhh… I know what you been doin’, girl.”  I put some country into my voice.  I want you to think about rural places and small towns and dark dirty secrets.

Your chest is heaving, I can imagine your mind is racing to catch up to the scene I’m prompting.

“What did I do?  I’m sorry, what did I…?” Your voice a hoarse whisper.

“I found your magazines, girl.  Found your nasty magazines with their sticky pages.  I know what you do with those magazines.” My hips are pressing a little harder against your ass.  The hand around your waist has dropped a bit lower, my hand now resting on your thigh.  My other hand is tightening slightly across your throat.  You squirm against me with a groan.  ”You like lookin’ at those men with their cocks hangin’ out, don’t you? You look at those dirty pictures and rub your naughty cunt, don’t you?”

“Daddy… I’m sorry… what… what are you going to do to me?” The mixture of anticipation and fear in your voice makes my clit pulse.

My hand slides over until my fingertips are resting on your pussy.  I’m breathing heavily into your ear, my mouth moist against it, “Well, seems you’re pretty interested in fucking, from what I can see of those nasty magazines you love so much.”  More heavy breathing, pulling your hips back against my cock and pressing my fingers against your pussy slit.  I’m wondering how wet you are, I’ll find out soon enough.

“Daddy.. what.. what are you doing.. Daddy…” You moan and lurch back against me.

“You like it, don’t you, nasty girl.  You like how it feels to have a hard cock against your ass.  I know your kind, slutty girls who want to fuck anything that moves.  Even your Daddy.” I’m stroking you up and down now and you’re responding, lifting your hips to follow my fingers.  Your hands gripping the window sill show white knuckles.

“You been lookin’ at them pictures so much, wishin’ you could touch them, wishin’ those men would put their dicks in your little hole.. that’s what you been thinkin’, isn’t it?”  My voice is soft and insistent against your ear.

“Ohhhh.. Daddy.. nooooo…” My hand is no longer against your throat, it’s slid down so my fingers can pinch your nipples.

I make my voice hard again, “Don’t you lie to me, girl.  Do not lie to your Daddy.”

You take a deep breath, a catch in your throat as you answer, “Daddy… yes.. yes, that’s what I want.  I’m so sorry, Daddy.  I can’t help it.”

“Ahhhh, baby… I understand.” Soft and sweet as honey.  ”No, you can’t help it, you’re a slutty girl and that’s just fine.  You are what you are”  I’m nuzzling your neck, hands playing across the front of your body.  ”Luckily, you have a Daddy who knows what you need and is willing to give it to you.”

“Daddy… what are you saying?  I don’t know, it wouldn’t be right… would it?” The breathy catch in your voice turns me on so much, something unnamed rises up in me and makes me want to throw you on the bed and tear your clothes off.  But I also want to continue the scene, so I stifle that impulse.  For now.

“Some people would say it ain’t right for me to do what I’m gonna do to you, girl.  But my way of thinkin’ is that if you are gonna learn about fuckin’ you should learn from someone who loves you, not just some boy who’s gonna poke his dick into you and be done.”

You give a half sob, half moan and brace yourself against the windowsill, pressing back against my hard cock.  I chuckle darkly.

“Yeah, you want it, don’t you, slut?  You want your Daddy to fuck you, don’t you.” I lean my chest against your back and lick your ear, whispering, “Tell me you want it.”

Your biting your lip, breathing hard, “OhgodDaddy, yes.. please, I need it.. please fuck me Daddy, show me how to do it.”

I pull away abruptly, you gasp and turn your head, a wild look in your eyes.  I take a few backward steps until I can sit on the bed.  I crook my finger, “Come over here, girl.”

You walk to me, eyes down, peeking at me through your eyelashes.  I reach out, grabbing your hand and pulling you roughly to me until you’re standing between my legs.  ”You wanna touch it, dirty girl? Go ahead, reach down and feel it.”

You reach out partway and then pull your hand back, biting your lip.  I grab your hand and place it over my bulge.  ”There, you like that? Go ahead, I know you want to squeeze it.” You do, tentatively at first, then more.  ”Yeah, slutty girl, you like it don’t you.”  You nod in agreement.  ”You made your Daddy’s cock hard.”  I lean back.  ”You want it in you, don’t you?”

You’re stroking me, licking your lips, “Daddy… can I see it, please?”

“This is way better than magazines, isn’t it?”  I unbuckle my belt and pull my buttons apart, then lean back again. “You go ahead and pull it out… pull out your Daddy’s cock, dirty girl.”

You look up and catch my eye.  The look in yours is wild, feral, full of heat.  It’s the look of my lover, enjoying the game and letting me know it. I give you a little smile and a wink.

You reach into my briefs and pull my hard pack out and begin stroking it.

“Huh, girl, you seem to know what you’re doing there. You been getting naughty with the boys at school?” I’m so hot already, the pressure of your strokes against my clit feels so good.

You give me a coy smile, “No, Daddy, this is the first time, I promise.  It’s just that it feels good… do you like what I’m doing Daddy? Should I keep doing it?”  This is one of those moments where if I let you, you’ll flip the scene and it won’t be ‘dirty Daddy taking advantage of his blossoming daughter’, it will be ‘slutty girl seduces Daddy’.  Not that it would be a bad thing, just not what I have in mind.

“Yeah, I like it fine, but I got something else in mind.”

I stand up and push you up onto the bed. “Time to pop your cherry, girl. Get your clothes off and spread your legs for Daddy.”

Again you flash me a look and I can feel it all the way to the root of my little cock.  You love the dirty talk, so do I. I strip down quickly, getting up on the bed between your legs.  You look so good, your gorgeous curves and soft skin waiting for me to appreciate them.  For a moment, I waver, a sudden rush of love hits me and threatens to push the dirty old man out of my mind.  I shake my head a little, you look at me quizzically and I smile to reassure you.  I begin to massage your thighs and run my fingers across your glistening sex.

“Look at you, girl, wet and ready for my cock.  You want it don’t you baby?  Tell Daddy how much you want him to fuck you.”

I start rubbing my cock head against you, rolling it around the rim of your hole.

“Ohgod, Daddy, yes, please.. please fuck me, Daddy, I need it!” You’re already moaning as if I’m inside you.  As I plunge into you hard and fast, your moan goes up in volume until it’s a shout.

“Girl, you need to hush.  I don’t need anybody knowin’ what we’re doin’ in here.”  You don’t quiet down and I kept fucking you, harder because I know that’s what you want and harder because I know you’ll get louder.

You’re holding your knees, giving me greater access to both your pussy and your ass.  I spank you and you yelp.  ”If you ain’t gonna quiet down, I’ll have to do something to get you quiet”  I warn.

You look me in the eye – a challenge – and get even louder.  In response, I reach over to where my packy and briefs sit in a heap on the bed.  Wadding the cloth up into the desired shape, I stop pumping you with my cock and lean toward your face.  You open your mouth as if to ask me to continue and I stuff my come-soaked briefs into your mouth.

Your eyes get big and then roll back a bit as you start working at your gag with your tongue.  ”Mmmmmm” you say.

“Nasty girl likes Daddy’s nasty underwear doesn’t she?”  You nod and I can hear that you are sucking on them.  Sucking the come out of them.  Gods, that’s dirtyhot.  I start slamming my hips into your hips, you’re lifting up to meet me, my forehead is dripping sweat onto your chest and face.  I lower my head to your shoulder while I grind deep.  You rake your fingernails across my shoulders and downward, I shout when you hit the soft skin around my waist and I bite hard into your flesh.  You cry out as best you can through the gag and writhe against me, pulling my cock even more deeply into you.  I’m no longer your Dirty Daddy, I’m your lover, the guy who knows what you need and gives it to you as hard as I can because that’s how you want it.

We’ve come several times apiece and I’m finally lying across your body, legs tangled with yours, both of us out of breath. I lift up to look at your face, shining with sweat and bliss.  My soaked briefs are somewhere on the floor, where I threw them so I could kiss you.

“How you feelin’ baby?  You get what you need from Daddy?” I’ve still got a soft country twang in my voice and I’m feeling loose and spent.  ”Next time you start touching yourself, you come find me and I’ll help you out.”

You loop your arms around my neck and grin happily, I return the smile and start giggling.  Very unDaddylike.  ”Oh, Daddy, I love you, you are the best Daddy.”

I lean down to kiss you, deeply, savoring your sweet mouth.  ”I love you, too, baby.  You are the best dirty girl.”

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Posted in Dirty December, erotica | Tagged , , | 3 Comments

Last Kiss

What is it about last kisses? Is it better to know what they are when they happen? Or to not know at the time? What do you think?

The two times I’ve known I was having last kisses with someone I loved, the feeling was like a ice cream swirl cone… a mixture of the passion you’ve always felt for that person and the impending sadness of parting. It’s kissing through tears.  It’s that familiar warmth and the oncoming chill absence. It’s a rich blend, like dark chocolate and hot peppers – the combination of which is something entirely it’s own, containing but exceeding the individual ingredients.

Kissing through the tears, knowing it’s the last time, it’s hard to know when to stop, when to seal her lips one last time with the love I feel for her.  But eventually, you do stop and you pull away and look her in the eyes and feel the love and the loss in every cell of your body.

Love and loss

Kissing through tears

Loving to the end

Walking away

Resisting the urge to turn around and run back for one more kiss


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Posted in my love, relationships | Tagged , , , | 2 Comments