Welcome to the first edition of the Suburban Butch Dad Report, dateline Olympia 01/31/2010.

I live in suburbia, on a large lot that backs up to a heavily wooded city park.  Not a bad place to raise kids, all schools within walking distance and lots of other families nearby.  And even though it does sometimes feel like I’m living in a big bowl of vanilla, the people here are pretty cool,  hard working and pretty open minded.

On Friday night, my wife and I walked next door to celebrate our neighbor’s 50th birthday.  She and her husband have two boys, one of whom is our older daughter’s age.  It was an adults only party, our baby being the exception, and so our eldest (10) stayed home to heat up soup for dinner and watch movies until she fell asleep.  She ended up calling us three times, once to ask if it was ok if she watched cartoons.  Keep in mind, we weren’t there so she could have watched anything she had a mind to, but she’s the kind of kid who will ask regardless.

Most of the rest of the party goers were also parents, a lot of them with kids in our daughter’s grade.  While drinking beer and wine, and noshing on very tasty appetizers, we exchanged a high volume of quality intel about our kids.  We talked about some of the kids we’d rather our kids not hang out with, and the ones we thought were cool.  We gossiped about other parents.  We compared notes about our kids’ pre-pubescent physical development, their almost teen-aged attitudes and shared strategies for dealing with all of the above.

At one point in the evening, I was chatting with one of the neighbor dads and he mentioned he’d be available all weekend to take care of the two big limbs in my yard.  See, we had a big windstorm from the north in November that sent two Douglas Fir widow-makers down into my yard not many yards from the house.  Usually our weather comes from the southwest, so north winds cut against the grain and tend to send more trees and branches down.  These were big limbs, the largest was a good 6″ in diameter.  A few weeks prior to the party, I’d seen him at school and asked if I could borrow him and his chainsaw sometime to chop them into manageable pieces.   Even so, I was a bit surprised Saturday morning when I glanced out the bathroom window into the back yard and did not see those enormous branches lyin across my yard.  He’d already been over, ninja-neighbor style, pulling the branches back to the wood pile, chopping them up for me and putting the remainder on my brush heap.  This is the kind of neighborhood I live in.  This is the guy who will start his generator up when the power goes out and then invite the rest of us to bring our frozen goods to put in his chest freezer.  We’ve got kids all around, good responsible parents, we’re pretty fortunate that way.

So yeah, most of the people we socialize with and everyone I work with (that I know of) are vanilla.  Most of the time, that’s no big deal, we have all kinds of other things in common.  I do find myself dressing differently for those folks, and I’m not talking about shirts and shoes.  In prepping for the party on Friday, I pulled out one of my dress shirts, sans tie, cuz it wasn’t that formal a crowd.  When I got myself tucked in, I realized I was riding a bit large and reached into my pants to adjust myself a little lower.  It’s one of those almost unconscious evaluations I make every time I get dressed or adjust myself after going to the bathroom:  how cock proud do I want to be right now?  Just another detail of life for a butch who packs.

But enough about me, you probably want to know how the kids are doing, right?   Our baby is six months old now and very, very active.  Her latest accomplishments are learning to keep food in her mouth and learning how to do raspberries, two not necessarily compatible skills to practice simultaneously, but both utilizing fine motor control of the tongue and lips.  So far she’s sampled carrots, applesauce, sweet potatoes and bananas.  She’s not retaining much yet, and only gets about a tablespoon at a time, but it’s good practice and she enjoys being part of mealtime.  As for raspberries, she works really hard getting her tongue into position, all to produce a faint ‘buzz’ and a ‘thpp’ sound.  That’s it, but I predict she’ll be doing a full ‘thppppppppppppt’ soon enough.  She’s a very good natured baby, very responsive and alert, and I love the enthusiastic greetings I get from her when I come home from work every day.  She’s been a bit fussy lately, with a tooth coming in and a stuffy nose, but over all, she’s still a very easy child.

Which is a good thing, because Spawn1 has most definitely turned into an almost-teenager, with all the bells and whistles.  Oh, my god, how is it that my firstborn, just-barely-10-year-old, sweet-faced daughter suddenly has body hair and is becoming round in the chest?  I guess I have to get used to my wiry, string bean girl getting a bit curvier from here on out.  The other day she asked me how old she had to be before she could drive.  Not long after she declared that she couldn’t wait to be 15 so she could drive.. holy gord in the sky, are you kidding me?  Along with the increased body oils, budding breasts and fuzziness, her attitude is on the rise.  She’s driving my wife  and me crazy with her mouth some days.  All of 10 years on the planet, but she knows it all and will not hesitate to tell us, over and over again, with hand on  hip and a sassy smirk on her face.   She’s gonna see a whole lot of the inside of her room for a few years, I predict.  The boys have been taking more notice of her lately, at this point it seems she’s favored for her willingness to play video games with them.  One little boy got into a tizzy because she also has play dates with another boy.  His mother was quick to remind him that they were all free to have any friends they wanted to.   Inside my head, I was shouting “You’re too young to go steady!!”  Spawn1 maintains that she’s not serious about any single boy, but enjoys having them as friends along with all the girlfriends she has.

In related news, the wife and I have decided we will be installing some sort of alarm on the window screen of Spawn1’s bedroom window.  It’s just way too easy to get in and out of her basement room and she’s already pretty popular.   And, yeah, maybe she won’t be that kind of kid, but the missus and I were ‘that kind of kid’ so we’re not taking any chances.

Day to day, week to week, family and household responsibilities take the lion’s share of my time and energy, but I still make time to read blogs, write my own stuff, fit as much kink into my day as humanly possible and spend a lot of virtual time with Roxy.  Add to that the technical book review I’m doing (making sure all the code samples work), leading a local software developer’s group and getting out when I can for a shot and some beers.  And I’m getting back into my bike commute after three months off due to health, weather and equipment malfunction.   Before I know it, it’s gonna be time to get out and plant in my garden.

So there you have it, my friends, this is what my Suburban Butch Dad’s life is about:  my family, my love relationships, kink, homeowner stuff, networking with other parents, packing, furthering my career through various activities, learning more about D/s, writing-writing-writing and reading-reading-reading.  Every day, I try to stir as much kink into the vanilla as I can, slipping a key word in here and there to see if I can discover others like me in the beige.

Until the next report, enjoy your life, enjoy your peeps and let your freak flags fly (all of them, as often as you can).

Cool light pattern + intertwined fingers = cool picture with warm, fuzzy overtones and hints of smooshiness.

Happy HNT from the land of love-saturated, mushy romantics who also occasionally fuck like bunnies and do perverted things in public places.

In other words, me and Roxy.

To see all the other HNT posts for the day, go to Views from the Back Row, from whence the HNT goodness has come.

photo credit:  another stroke of genius from the lens of Roxy.

[Part two of my recent visit with Roxy]

Saturday morning, and I’m awake before she is.  She always sleeps deeply with me, I help her relax, she says she feels safe and secure.  Unfortunately, I didn’t sleep very well that night, too much still racing through my mind, body restless and foolishly unwilling to succumb to deeper restfulness.  So I spent time listening to her sleep  and I wondered where her dreams were taking her as her body twitched a little, then sighed and fell more deeply asleep.

As the light of dawn began to pry my eyelids open, I woke up and realized I’d finally slept.   I had a moment of confusion, not entirely remembering where I was, which was quickly followed by the realization, “She’s right here!”, and this wonderful, warm joy poured over me.  Waking up next to her is such a wonderful treat, something rare and sweet and not taken for granted.  I rolled over and pulled myself against her, loving the way her body fits against mine.   She didn’t completely wake up, but knew I was there, as her body eased back into mine and she sighed contentedly.

Time together is not a luxury we have very often, so waking up slowly next to her, enjoying leisurely good morning kisses and reintroducing ourselves to each other’s bodies without haste is a great joy, something I daydream about when we’re apart.  As much as I love sex with her, and I really do, no doubt about it, as much as I love that part of our relationship, the moments that really stand out, more and more, are the simple ones.  Reaching across the table to hold her hand.  Putting my arm around her shoulders, her arm reaching around my waist.  Being able to glance over at her and with the smallest smirk, communicate volumes.  As much as we’re limited in physical, sexual, sensual contact, we’re also limited on the mundane, day-to-day moments.

My weekend in San Francisco with her was ripe with hot sex, long deep conversations and simple happy moments.   Saturday morning, we lolled around in bed, bringing each other to orgasm, teasing, tempting, endlessly touching.  And now I want to spend a few moments raving about my lover.

I can remember the first time we got together, how nervous she was, unsure of herself, painfully aware of her sexual inexperience with women.  I did all I could to reassure her, perhaps it was my naivety but I didn’t have any concerns that she’d figure out what to do and how.

And how.  You’ve come a long way, Baby.  Oh yes, she knows what to do, and how and when and how often and how hard and how deeply.  There are places she’s found inside me I didn’t know existed.  She’s opened me up, dug deep and risked injury (apparently I’ve got some seriously bulked-up keigels and then there are my vice-like thighs).  Roxy routinely pulls dozens of orgasms out of me, though I very quickly get beyond the point where I’m able to count.  Or speak full sentences.  Or have coherent thoughts.  Like snowflakes, no two orgasms are alike.  She knows my inner geography like no other lover I’ve ever had, knows with an artist’s sensitivity where each of my buttons is and how to play it to it’s fullest erotic and sonic potential.   She was, for a time, obsessed with the concept of ‘done’ and how to tell when she’d gotten me to that state.   I didn’t know what to tell her because, honestly, I’d rarely in my life been fucked to the point where I couldn’t take anymore.

She knows it all now.  Knows when there are more orgasms to find, knows what I sound like and look like when I’m well and truly ‘done’.  And she is relentless in the pursuit of that outcome, not that I’m complaining, at all.  I wish I could describe the expression on her face when she’s in the pursuit of my multiple happy endings.  There’s something carnivorous, her eyes are alive with power, her mouth slightly open, curled into a light smile.  Like any artist, she’s fully focused on her creation, her work in progress.  The intensity in her face turns me on all the more.  That is, when my eyes aren’t rolled into the back of my head in ecstasy.

And so eventually, I was done, and she was satisfied and we were hungry.  We wanted to take advantage of the free breakfast and kept talking about how we needed to get dressed and go before our time was up.  As it was, we threw on clothes, I ran my fingers through my mussed hair (didn’t really fix it, but what did I care?) and we hustled ourselves to the dining room with minutes to spare.

My breakfast was scrambled eggs, pancakes, sausages, fruit, coffee and smiles from Roxy.   We ate, smiled, laughed, joked, told stories.  As much as we talk every day, as much as we have written and expressed, there’s always something new I learn about her when we’re together.  And it doesn’t matter what we’re talking about, it’s always interesting.  It fascinates me sometimes, looking back along our conversational path and watching as one observation can get us started, our insatiable curiosity about each other leading us from one topic to the next.  It can be a rather windy path, but there are so many interesting things to see along the way, neither of us minds.

After breakfast, back to the room.  She wanted pictures and I love to watch her work, framing shots, working with the light, directing me to arrange myself properly.  She does some pretty amazing things considering she’s often tangled up with me and taking those shots one handed.   And then, because it’s hard to resist the draw of our bodies so near each other, we pursued more orgasms, loving each other beautifully and completely.   And there was lots of kissing.. kissing is something we can never get enough of.   We kissed and loved the rest of the morning away and eventually our rumbling tummies informed us they needed filling again.  We’d blown right by traditional lunch time and into the early afternoon.

As always when we’re together, there are about a million things we’d like to do (a high percentage of which are sexual in nature) but only time to do a fraction of them.   She took me to one of her favorite places, Cafe Crepes in Menlo Park (yes, I pronounce it ‘craype’s .. and she pronounces it correctly).  I had one with caramelized onions, tomatoes, swiss and bacon, she had a swiss with tomato.  We shared a Sidewalk crepe (lemon and sugar).  And coffee, good coffee, with refills.   It was really yummy and I hope we can to there again sometime.  While we ate, she told me about the area, how they do a Christmas train on the nearby railway and how much her kids like it.  We talk about our families a lot, share parenting experiences and talking about our childhoods as well.  We meandered that way until we got onto the topic of my 20s, the druggy times and the concerts, back stage passes and partying with rock stars.  Oh, I remember now, she asked how it was I got to hang out with Heart, and telling her those stories led to numerous others.   It’s just so easy to talk to her, to tell my stories.  Each tale leads into another and we swap back and forth, comparing notes, comparing our lives, finding the similarities and differences.

Eventually, our bellies full and my legs feeling restless, it was time to go.  The weather wasn’t stellar so we decided to put off our trip to the beach, however, I still wanted to go for a walk.  She took me to another of her favorite places, the Baylands.  It was close to dusk when we arrived, but we weren’t the only ones still walking and jogging along the trails.  The Baylands is marshy wetland at the armpit of San Francisco Bay.  The smell of salty mud reminded me of home, when the tide goes out and we laughed at the way some people complain about that smell.

We walked along, hand in hand, me tucking hers into my hoody pocket for warmth.  We were chatting about this and that, when Roxy made a comment about the dirty looks we’d gotten from some passersby.  I looked up in surprise, not having noticed anything of the sort.  I’d been caught up in our easy companionship, the natural beauty of the park and how good it felt to stretch my legs.  Her comment led us to talk about this special blind spot I have, the way I don’t notice other people noticing me.  There are benefits and downsides to this:  I don’t notice dirty looks, but I also don’t notice approving glances either.  I’ve often felt a little silly that she’ll see someone giving me an appraising look but I’ll be clueless.  Some womanizer I am *grin*.  It’s also kind of odd that I can be so observant about so many things but not notice the reactions I get.  That leads me to believe that it’s a behavior I’ve cultivated.  We talked about why that might be, the roots of this interesting mechanism in past social trauma I’ve endured.   I mused outloud about the possibility of training myself to see all these reactions again, to look up, pay attention.  She cautioned me, especially based on the reactions we were getting as two hand-holding women from others on the path that night, that what I open my eyes to might not be an improvement over not seeing.  And, certainly, she’s right.  There are pluses and minuses to being aware.  I have to take the good with the bad, the insulting negative glare with the flirtatious inviting glance.

Somewhere along the path there was a metal pole sticking out of the ground.  I have no idea what it’s for, but I had ideas about how I might make use of it.  I paused on the path, looked pointedly at the pole and then over at Roxy, my eyebrow raised.  She laughed and egged me on.  In moments I had a leg hooked on the pole and posing for her eager camera, laughing at myself the whole way.

We could have walked for miles, hours, days even.  I would never grow tired of being with her, taking, observing, sharing our lives, examining and exclaiming over the amazing fortune we’ve received in finding each other, in the absolute joy of sharing our lives.  We could have kept going and going, but we didn’t.  We had places to go, I had a collar to receive and my first night at a dungeon to experience.

HNT Courtesy of Having My Cake And Eating It Too

Welcome to e[lust] - your source for sexual intelligence and inspirations of lust from the smartest & sexiest bloggers! Whether you’re looking for hot steamy smut, thought-provoking opinions or expert information, you’re going to find it here. Want to be included in e[lust] #7? Start with the rules, check out the schedule in the site’s sidebar and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Week’s Top Three Posts ~

Exposing My Self to Airport Security – I stared right at her until she looked away and called for assistance for a pat-down search. I gaped, chin dropped: holy shit, they’re gonna give me a pat down cuz I’m packing a silicon cock.

Prefect’s Prerogative – When I neglect this duty, or don’t perform it to his satisfaction, he makes me light a fire in his room, and stand in front of it in just my school shirt and white socks.

Attention Women: There is Something Wrong With Your Vagina – Yes, that’s what your vagina needs: a breath mint. Because, just like vagina shouldn’t smell like vagina, it also shouldn’t taste like vagina.

~ e[lust] Editress ~

The Perfect Fat – Why do clothes designers assume that if you’re plus-sized you’re 1. over 5?9? and 2. over the age of 45 or “matronly and modest”? At the age of 32 I am not yet ready to dress like my grandmother.

~ Featured Post (Lilly’s Pick) ~

Zipless- “I have some Scotch in my room—maybe you’d join me? You know, in the interest of not drinking alone…” She smiled. Perhaps she could yet salvage the day’s ending.

See also: Pleasurists #61 for all your sex toy review needs.

Also in recent sex news, check out the coverage of the Adult Entertainment Expo that happened in Las Vegas a couple weeks ago. You’ll see videos and articles from our fellow sex-bloggers on fun things like a rodeo penis and new sex toys not even on the market yet!

Sex News, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Arousal is not consent

Psychosexual: Does the G spot exist? Do I care?

Reputable Help for Haiti

Squicked

That’ll be 151 Nickels

The Case of the Mysteriously Vanishing G-spot

Transtastic: Joking About Being Trans

Vegas – Day One – Diva’s Quick Recap

Vegas – Day One – Tess’s Thoughts

Why Don’t They Just LEAVE?

Kink & Fetish

Anatomy of a Mindfuck

Bad Submissive Claiming: Go Pantiless After Dating Refresher Electric fuck

Fetishes and me

Kinky With Class

Laziness never pays off

Piercing reversal

Resolution

Titty Fuck

The Coffee Date, Part 2

The Job Interview

Without Reason

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

BDSM Relationship Advice for Newbies

Greedy For The Verse

Hang Ups and Hand Jobs

Ivy Madden

If she had just been a better wife…

Insomnia

Swinging

The Sexiness Beneath

Weightlessness

Erotic Writing

42DD

A Different Kind of Fuck

Across the Room

All in a Play Party’s Night

Amazing Night

Bedtime Story

Behind You

Breathe and Let Go

Done by a Clown

Evening Home

Glow

Lick You As Long As You Like

Moments of Clarity

Naughty Neighbor

Saturday Night’s Alright (For Swapping)

Sex and Video Games

Slip sliding away

The Slut Chronicles #11 ~ The Dinner Party

Thursdays

Tyler

Visitors in my Bedroom

Wicked Wednesday: Altitude

When you Talk About Maelee

Last Friday evening, I flew down to San Francisco to visit Roxy, only the second time I’ve been there and the sixth time we’ve been in the same physical space together.  Our last togetherness was in November, the trip to New York City.

I went to work, luggage and laptop in my truck.  As the hours crept by, we flirted, teased and distracted each other.  Roxy was trying to get a lot done in a short amount of time and I was trying to do meaningful work but losing ground as the day went on.  At three 0′clock, I left work and started north, calling Roxy on my cell so she could keep me company.

I had no trouble getting to the airport on time.  In fact, I had enough time to hang out and have a nice Mac N Jack’s Black Jack Porter before getting to my gate.  I had one half of a Meconi’s sub sandwich in my backpack, knowing I’d need something between lunch and the late dinner Roxy and I had planned.  I sat in the gate area and listened for my boarding group and happily chomped on it.

I found my seat and finished my food while the other passengers boarded. I spent most of the flight listening to music and watching TV.  I read a little from Ivan Coyote’s ‘Loose End’.  And I watched the graphic representation of my journey, willing the plane to go faster, eagerly watching as the miles between Roxy and me shrunk down to nothing.

Once at the airport, I made my way quickly to find her.  I could see her through the glass doors and waved but she didn’t see me, too much reflection and other people in the way.  I did see the look on her face:  smiling anticipation.  Then I was finally clear of the doors and crowds and she saw me, breaking into an even wider grin.

I moved in for the kill, er, kiss, and got a quick one in before she pulled me over to where a small, older woman was sitting nearby.  Apparently she’d been talking to the woman about me, her partner who lived far away.  The woman in turn talked about who she was waiting for:  an entire part of the family she’d never met, the Asian branch, started by her Uncle who’d lived in China and married a Korean woman.  The older woman wasted no time in imparting this wisdom, grasping my arm and saying emphatically “You need to move here!”

Apparently, during their conversation, she’d been passing on the wisdom of her long life, to wit, life’s too short, so don’t wait to do what you want to make yourself happy.  As we walked away, arms around each other, we mused that it would be lovely for one of us to be able to move here or there.   But what Roxy’s new friend didn’t know was just how complicated our love affair actually was, if she had, I wonder what her advice would have been.

While waiting for my garishly floral luggage to come along, we did our best to subtly scandalize the other passengers as Roxy pinned me to the wall and worked her fingers as far into my folds as my jeans would allow.   Damn, damn damn.

I wanted to change into a clean shirt before heading out to dinner, so we went back to the restroom and took up residence in one of the handicapped stalls.  We got into some serious groping and more… a happy ending or two later and I was freshened up and ready to get out into the world.  Roxy was just pulling out her phone to text Arron when he came skipping up to us.  Arron and I have been friends for some time now, but this was the first time we’d met in person.

We had dinner at the Elephant Bar.  It was just as Elephant-centric as you’d expect, pretty much anywhere you turned, there was something Elephant-ish.   I ordered crispy teriyaki chicken, Arron and Roxy ordered pad thai.  They teased each other about being copy-cats.  Dinner was excellent and the company and conversation was fun and easy.  Arron was easy to hang out with, fun to get silly with.

We goofed around with “lesbian sign language”, Arron and I fondled my curvy beer glass and the three of us got silly.  It was really easy to hang out with him, and the three of us have a similarly irreverent, smart sense of humor.  We all shared an obscenely large dessert of ice cream mud pie, which was delicious.  As we left, Roxy tried to duplicate the butch swagger, with a very wide stance that looked a bit more like the “I’ve ridden a horse too long” swagger.  I joked to Arron that my butch swagger was decidedly “package-forward” which made him laugh.

After dropping Arron back at SFO so he could catch the BART homeward, we proceeded to the hotel.  Roxy asked me to undo my pants for her. Then she reached over and made me come long and hard and more than once while driving on the freeway.  I was so horny, so ready, I was pushing up from the seat and ended up with the side of my head jammed against the ceiling of the car, coming loud and long.  Which, now that I think about it, meant my pussy and her hand would have been visible to anyone who could see through the darkness, rain and tinted windows. Hmmmm.. heh heh.

We arrived at the hotel, carried our stuff into the room through falling rain.  The room smelled of the narcissus she’d placed there hours earlier.  It was a sweet touch, homey and romantic.  A lot of sex happened, Roxy was very eager to pull several dozen orgasms of me, and she’s damned good at it.  I got fucked and sucked and penetrated and perpetrated in so many wonderful, sexy ways.  The Kylegasm fest wrapped up with me curled in a mindless ball up against the pillows.  She finished me with an ass fucking accompanied by clitoral stimulation that absolutely blew my circuits.  Completely. Gone.  I could not form words in my mind or mouth for a long time after.  She petted me, covered me with blankets and asked if I was ok.  I made some hand motions and made a ’shhzzzz shzzzzz’ noise that was meant to communicate: Wow, honey, that was an exceptionally good fuck and a mind-blowingly good orgasm.  I am beyond words right now because all my synapses are doing a happy dance.  I love you.”

Instead of saying any of those things, I giggled and burbled and made funny sound effect noises and some more hand motions.  There was probably a lot of “ohmygodohmygodohmygod, honey” as well.

The night ended with me curled around her, warm snuggly happiness.   Our bodies were exhausted and she dropped quickly into a heavy sleep.  My mind wouldn’t let me do the same, it was too busy reciting the days activities and thinking ahead to the next day.  Saturday was a big day.  Not only did we have the entire day together, without any other responsibilities, but she was going to collar me.  She was going to make me Hers and take me to a dungeon to celebrate.

The first in a series of pictures from my recent visit to San Francisco to be with Roxy.  As we were sharing a post coital snuggle on the bed, in the morning light (her favorite), she saw this picture and had to collect it for future enjoyment.

I know I’ve said it before, and here it is again:  I love her skin.  The moments as we’re waking up, or winding down after sex, are delightful and slow and my nerves are alive and buzzing at each contact point.

Happy HNT from the morning-light infused memories of my time with Roxy.

To see all the other HNT posts for the day, go to Views from the Back Row, from whence the HNT goodness has come.

[Ed Note:  this story continues to get a high volume of interest, months after being posted. Please take the time to read the whole post as well as the accompanying comments.  There are questions and criticisms in those comments that I've responded to, which helps to provide a more complete picture of what happened, what my actions were and what they were not.  Thank you for your interest.

See also my update to this story.  I've written letters, and been in correspondence with officials from the SF Airport and Homeland Security.]

As if it wasn’t hard enough to say goodbye to Roxy Sunday night, I ended up getting special, unwanted, attention from the TSA personnel (bad touch! bad touch!).  I have enjoyed flying Virgin America because of their excellent customer service and onboard amenities, but I’m beginning to see a downside.  Virgin flies out of the international terminals (at least in Seattle and San Francisco) and the recent bomb scare has caused increased security for international travelers .. even when they’re domestic.

We’d gotten to the airport with plenty of time to check my luggage and get my boarding pass.  We calculated how much time we could spend in a back corner of the foodcourt, getting as many snuggles and laughs in as possible.  We were heading over to security when we saw that my flight, and a bunch of others, was marked ‘Delayed’.  Huh.  A quick consult with the Virgin ticket counter revealed that incoming flights were being delayed because of weather which was having a domino effect on the departing flights.  It now looked like I’d have another hour and a half to hang out at the airport.  We took it as bonus time, but I could feel the tension rising in me.  I hate leaving her, but it was stressful to be ready for goodbyes and then have uncertainty about when I would truly be leaving.

We sat near security, near the flight board, Roxy doing what she could to massage the tension out of my neck and shoulders.  She compared me to a chunk of granite.  About a half hour went by and she got up to check the board again.  Still delayed.  Another 20 minutes and we looked at the board with a shock.  The flight was now scheduled to leave on time and I wasn’t through security yet.  I had about 10 minutes.  We performed a very abbreviated version of our usual goodbye ritual and I began making my way to the checkpoint.  No biggy.. I know my way through security.  I pulled my laptop out and my shoes and put my stuff in the bins and started walking toward the xray machine, looking back at Roxy and blowing her kisses every few minutes.  I didn’t even notice that we weren’t walking through the typical metal detecting archway.

And so it was that I found myself inside a cylindrical booth with my feet on yellow shoe shaped marks and my hands above my head.  The biometric scanner did its thing and I wasn’t thinking much of it.  I didnt’ have any metal on my body, except for two earrings and a couple of surgical screws in my knee.  I travel enough to know to get the change out of my pocket, put my watch in my back pack and pull my metal-studded belt off.    Maybe I was slow on the uptake, distracted by having to leave my Roxy on the other side of security.  At any rate, I couldn’t fathom why they had me stand aside on another set of yellow shoe shaped marks after coming out of the scanner.  Add that to the fact that one of the TSA agents was bitching me out for not putting my laptop in a bin (Seattle doesn’t want you to, SFO does). I was told to stay where I was and watched as my stuff rumbled on down the conveyer belt.  I was pointing out the other bins that belonged to me and the woman was scowling.  Then the agent who was standing with me, keeping me in place got my attention.  She was a tall, young woman and seemed pretty uncomfortable, sheepish even.  She asked me if I had anything else in my pockets or ‘around this area’ as she gestured at my pelvis.  I still hadn’t clued in to what she was on about as I patted down my pockets and felt only my ID and boarding pass.

“No, nothing in my pockets” I looked up at her quizzically and she sighed and said again, with more specific hand gestures directed at the area between my front pockets,”Are you sure there’s nothing here, in *this* area.”

Ohfuck, internal groan, slight shake of the head, and a bit of a frown.  Deep breath, straightening my shoulders, looking straight into her eyes,”Oh, that.  I have a packing cock.  Is that what the problem is?”

I stared right at her until she looked away and called for assistance for a pat-down search.  I gaped, chin dropped: holy shit, they’re gonna give me a pat down cuz I’m packing a silicon cock.  Fuuckkkk.. Not only was it humiliating, I was worried about making my flight.  I was trying not to be agitated, that wasn’t going to help, but I wanted them to hurry it along.  I looked up at the young woman, “Please, whatever you need to do is fine, but can we hurry a bit, I don’t want to miss my flight.”  I looked behind me to see where Roxy was, but there were a lot of people in the way. The older woman who came to her assistance was the same one who had scolded me about my laptop.  The scowl was apparently her only facial expression.  As they led me to a small room to the side of the security area, I looked back to see Roxy with a very concerned look on her face.  I did a big pointing motion at my crotch and then went into the little room with them.  They donned their purple latex gloves.  I did as requested stood with my hands up, feet in a wide stance as the young woman did an almost touchless pat down.  Seriously, she barely touched me but I think that’s cuz she knew there wasn’t anything in my pockets and she didn’t want to touch my cock.  She looked at the older woman, clearly hoping that was sufficient.  Scowling Woman glared at me and scowled at her.

I sighed again, and decided to do what I could to get this over with, “Look, it’s a silicone penis, in my briefs.  Do you need me to take it out and show you?”

The younger woman looked mortified, this was pretty much exactly what she didn’t want to see.  The older woman scowled even more (she had an amazing ability to scowl) and said something like “Well, we have to check.”

“Fine, I’ll show you then,” and I had my buttons open and my cock in my hand before they could say anything more. “See? it’s a silicon penis.  Are we done now?”  It’s possible I brandished it at them, I was pretty angry by then.  It was hard to stay calm, but I managed.  I just wanted these people to let me go so I could finish the miserable process of leaving Roxy.  The older woman nodded to us curtly and was halfway out of the room, leaving the door open, before I had my pants closed up.. thanks for the respectful privacy.. not.  I tucked myself back in and hustled out of the room in time to see The Scowler digging my laptop bag out of a bin.

“This yours?  I need to search.”  Oh, for fucks sake, more?  But this time it was me who’d fucked up.  She went through all the little velcroed pockets pulling out cords and peripherals and then out came a small silver object and my heart dropped.  My new pocket knife, a christmas gift from my wife.  I would have sworn I put that in my checked luggage.  Dammit, of all things to add to this nightmare.  I looked back to where Roxy was struggling to see me through the plexiglass and motioned for her to stay where she was.  ”Look, I meant that for my checked luggage.  I don’t want to lose it, can I give it to my friend? She’s right there” I pointed.  Scowling woman got even more impatient and unhappy with me.  She finished with my bag and asked 5 times which person I was talking about and then took the knife to Roxy.  I have to say, they did a crappy job of communicating to me that they were done with the search.  I had to ask more than once if I could put my belt back on, get my shoes and stuff.  I was trying to expedite the process so I could get to my flight.  I didn’t have my cellphone out or my watch on and didn’t know what time it was but knew I was cutting it close.

Finally, I was fully dressed and had my gear. My body was warm and jacked up on adreanaline.  When I called Roxy to explain what had happened, I’m sure my voice was shaking.  She was wonderful, supportive and indignant at what had happened.  I hustled to my gate, breathlessly giving her details and feeling a warm layer of her love and pride wrap itself around me.

So, my trans and genderqueer brothers and sisters, this is what we’re going to put up with in the new age of biometric airport security scanning.  If you choose to pack while going through security, build in some extra time.  Be ready for this.  You need to be ready because they probably won’t be.  They don’t know what to do with us gender outlaws.  The body language was pretty clear:  this was embarassing and inconvenient to them and they were struggling to deal with their very unprofessional feelings about my physical augmentation.  I was completely caught off guard this time, but I’ll be prepared next time.  And, yes, there will be a next time because I’m not going to put my cock in my luggage.  I’ve put up with a lot of bullshit in my life about being queer, not looking like enough like a woman, I’m not going to start conforming now.  The one exception is when travelling with my family.  My wife made a special request that I not put them through delays on our trips together and I’ll honor that request.  But the rest of my travels, I’ll pack my cock proudly.  I’ll whip it out for security if I need to and I’ll do it with my head up and my eyes squarely on theirs.  They need to be made aware of the human side of these policies.  Yes, I want air travel to be secure.  Yes, I know a guy just snuck bad stuff onto a plane in his underwear.  So, fine, check my briefs for explosives, but be respectful.  The Scowler was dismissive, disapproving and disrespectful.  The younger woman was out of her element but I believe wanted to do the right thing by me, she was just woefully under prepared for the implications of their new security policies.

For more info on Biometric scanners and current airports employing them, see this Imaging Technology article on the TSA sight.  I think it’s interesting that I could have passed on the scanner and asked for a pat down instead.  Clearly even the pat down wasn’t going to do the trick. Doing some research this morning, I found numerous sights discussing the rights and wrongs of this technology, including stories about people having to remove their prosthetic limbs in front of other passengers. Transgender and genderqueer folks like me will have their privacy and identities violated (article on transgendered related security concerns and the ACLU’s response).

[ed. note: Yes, the Scowling One did take my pocket knife to Roxy who is mailing it back to me.  Thanks for asking, JesseJames]

There’s only one more sleep between Roxy and I.  Two more workdays, a drive up I5 and a two hour flight.  Then I’ll walk off the airplane and into her arms.  My teeth have already called dibs on that spot at the base of her neck, and her lips have promised my ears warm breath and hot words.

I started doing some prep work last night, making sure my special gear was ready and accounted for.  Apparently, I like black.  And silver.  It’s hard to see the details of black on black, but the left corner contains what I’m calling my ’sub bag’:  hood, collar, butt plug and a harness including a cock-ring and butt plug holder, and a pair of cuffs.  The hood, harness and cuffs are from Tabu Toys and I’ll be writing reviews for them in the coming weeks.

On the right is my dick bag.  I’ve selected the dicks I’m most likely to use along with my Jaguar harness and a few other dick-related accessories.

And I wouldn’t go without my Belt of Doom, which does much more than just hold up my jeans.  Roxy has promised me it would play a role in our dungeon scene Saturday.  Oh. Yay.  And my signature hat, if I can fit it in amongst all the dicks and restraint gear, I’ll bring it along as well.

Tonight I’ll finish packing and tomorrow afternoon, I’ll leave work and head to the airport.  I’m jangling with excitement and anticipation and somehow have to knuckle down and concentrate on work and my other obligations.

35.5 hours to go…..

.

Happy New Year and Happy HNT everyone  .  May your 2010 be filled with joy, love, sex and satisfaction.

To see all the other HNT posts for the day, go to Views from the Back Row, from whence the HNT goodness has come.

From formspring.me,

I’m curious as to whether this new Sir/boy dynamic is having any effect on your continuing exploration of your masculinity and, specifically, how will that be affected by your “collaring” in public? by Scintillectual

Very good questions, thanks for asking them.

It’s hard to disentangle my exploration of masculinity from everything else I’ve been exploring, but I’ll give it a shot. There is a distinct feeling of multi-personality within me. You should read Roxy’s latest post, ‘Sir’, to get her view on some of that, it’s a pretty good description. My masculinity is physical, mental, emotional and erotic. One thing Roxy and I have discovered is that my masculine side isn’t as mature as my female side, he hasn’t had as much time in the sun up to now. He’s still wrapped up in a lot of aggressive, angry, immature reactions and emotions. He’s showy, cocky and sometimes very insecure about his place in the world and in relationships. He has been making headway along the road to maturity — a stronger, quieter, more confident man — but that side is in development, so to speak. When I’m interacting with Roxy as the boy to her Sir, I struggle to master my more aggressive, insecure reactions. I struggle with the idea that I can be a strong man and still be on my knees, eyes cast down, doing as Sir asks. We’ve been unearthing new aspects of my sexuality as well. Its hard sometimes to honestly describe my sexuality when a part of me is a boy/man who is attracted to men as well as women, but protests being called a fag. And I’m a bio female who loves and is attracted to women, and perhaps men. Queer is the only label that seems to fit.

This new D/s dynamic with Roxy is contributing to my exploration, digging into corners I forgot existed, testing limits, exploring fears and biases. Submitting to her doesn’t detract from my feelings of masculinity, on the contrary, I feel very masculine, very reinforced by Roxy who lavishes all sorts of praise and love on me. I am her boy, her man, her strong beast. I’m not easy to top and she celebrates and embraces that strength. It’s not the only space in our relationship where I can be my masculine self, but it’s a space I treasure and value.

As for public aspects of collaring, there won’t be many. This is but one part of our relationship, not a 24/7 role. I do have a leather wrist band that she made for me and I wear that every day as a symbol of the D/s relationship. The collar is a more formal and outward indication of a relationship Roxy and I already have. That relationship gives me feelings of strength, love, support and respect. As such, the relationship and the collar serve to reinforce my feelings of masculinity and strength, not take away from them.

I’ve said a whole lot in this answer, but if I missed something in your question, or if you want to ask a follow-on question, please do

HNT Courtesy of Sexy Sadie

Welcome to e[lust] - your source for sexual intelligence and inspirations of lust from the smartest & sexiest bloggers! Whether you’re looking for hot steamy smut, thought-provoking opinions or expert information, you’re going to find it here. Want to be included in e[lust] #6? Start with the rules, check out the schedule in the site’s sidebar and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

♦ This Week’s Top Three Posts ♦

Late Arrival: An Airport Encounter - I saw a possible haven ahead: a pilot disappearing into the pilots’ lounge. I could think of nowhere else that would offer us even a modicum of privacy. Time to brazen it out. With her still walking obediently alongside, I pushed my way into the lounge.

The Condom Question. Confession #397 – Luckily, this time I had my wits about me enough to reply with a categorical, Yes a condom is absolutely necessary, darlin, but history has proven that, while I’m naked and horny, I can offer no more justification as to why such protection is paramount.

No more… - “I’m so sorry, I can’t…”. Words, words, so many words… reasons and reasoning and things and stuff and none of it made sense, and through all of it, disbelief, dread, a sickness of heart… I couldn’t quite believe what I was hearing.

◊ e[lust] Editress ◊

Sex as a Panacea - As I begged “faster” “harder” “more!” I felt my orgasm come on, a mere minute or two after we began with this combination. A thunderous orgasm overtook me as he kept up with the dildo and I with the Climax for the first big wave.

♦ Featured Post (Lilly’s Pick) ♦

Bad Girl – I take off my coat and stand proudly before her in my black lace corset, suspenders, stockings and heels. She looks me up and down and smiles at me when she catches my stare. Desire is already zinging through my body.

See also: Pleasurists #59 and #60 for all your sex toy review needs

All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Blowjob Tips!

Companioning

Domestic Violence on MTV’s ‘Teen Mom’

From Helper To Survivor

Good girl, bad girl…

Girlie Toys

If the Peg Fits

Illicit Encounters

Insecurity, You can Kiss My Ass

Nothing is perfect, which is why there is communication

Regaining my Femme

Studying

The Condom Question. Confession #397

Erotic Writing

All Rise For the Queen

Centre of Attention

Crying Uncle

Ending The Decade With Wes

Invading The Boy’s Club – #4

Last Night

Late Arrival: An Airport Encounter

Lorraine’s Coming Out

My reputation precedes me

Party Doll

The Beginning

The Erotic Touch of a Stranger

Kink & Fetish

1st night out as sub

Being my Master’s Shoe Slut

Bondage and Being Ignored

Caning in the snow at New Year

Mind Games and Number Games

Much Ado About Punching

No more…

September 2010: A Slave’s Initiation

The Intimacy of Being Taken

Thievery

The workhouse maid, punished

The Porn Reports, Part 1

Violence and BDSM

Yes, No, and Consent

“You’re a good little fuck toy”

News, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Delegating Gaga

I Hope He Does “Animal” Next

Sometimes I’m Not So Sexy…