National Coming Out Day

Did you know that today is National Coming Out Day? Whether you're lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender or a straight ally, be proud of who you are and your support for LGBT equality!
www.hrc.org

You already know I'm out as a bisexual.What don't you know?
I'm a professor-phile. It's the confidence, the skill and education. Competence is sexy.
My first two years of College were particularly lovely because I had massive crushes on select teachers.

The first was the epitome of the focused, serious professor. He'd whisper from just behind me as he'd reach over and correct my drawings. I know for a fact that he's unintentionally sexy because after I gathered the courage to joke about it once, he looked mortified and ran off. He's apparently super christian, married and must have a ton of kids. Haha, every girl loved him. I think there's a fanclub dedicated to him in the bowels of algonquin.

The teacher I had the next year was a woman. At first I was bummed not to have the former prof. She was gorgeous. Like an elf, an elf with a temper. She told us stories of how she'd worked as a tattoo artist at a young age.

So you can imagine how shocked I was to see her at a fetish event. I got a high five from her in the washroom because I curb stomped some twit who thought I was going to give him a lap dance on stage for a t-shirt. Also I made out with a succulent blonde on stage and stole the show from the burlesque dancers. Funny how I have no issue with a room of perverts videotaping el lolita and I getting heavy, but the idea of making a move on this prof froze me.

Actually this isn't the first time I've run into a teacher in a hilarious setting. I was once browsing for a vibrator when I bumped into a middle school councillor of mine. We joked around and stuck a suction cup dong to a cupboard. We laughed at at the dwoinging sound it made when we smacked the door.

There was one prof I really had it bad for. I'd seen his work around the city last summer. None of it really moved me, except for one diptych. So unlike the others, it featured dreamscape creatures, dark masses with white grinning teeth. The piece really disturbs and ensnares me.

First day of class I ran in late, and threw myself down in a chair. He prattled on, and I drew him. Young, too young to teach. With a shock of messy hair, and very cute, hip clothes. We joked around, he mentioned that I missed his introduction. so he pulled up his personal art site. Projected at the front of the room he typed in the url. before he was done I shot up and boomed "You're that artist!?" He flushed. I flushed, the entire room felt awkward for us.

I told him that I followed his work. Omitting that I'd gone to a rather bizarre graffiti party the previous summer in hopes of meeting him. Undeterred by the room's silence, I gushed "... is your best work on display. But that's a print isn't it? Where the original, has it been bought?"
His orderly facade had dissipated. His voice dropped low "It's hanging in my bedroom." Dual-ly not-ed

Skipping home that day, I called up Efram, and told him I wanted to seduce my professor. Urged on by Efram I invited him to lunch, which he declined politely. So I walked with him after class. Next time we stopped at a kiosk for coffee. Another student came up and said hi, the prof looked at him, then nervously at my faintly smug face.

Another day we were locked into an intense conversation at the campus observatory. Both leaned over the sketchbook littered table towards each other. I was prying past his professional facade, and he enjoyed resisting. I'd girlishly ask him for advice, then challenge him when he made excuses or held his tongue. He was surprisingly mild mannered. He played it safe, and kept away from creating incendiary work. "But the piece of yours that caught me eye, what is it about?"
"Oh nothing, I was up late and couldn't sleep. It was just a dream."
"That's it? It's aberrant from the rest of your collection. It's not just asymmetrical vector patterns. You're communicating a feeling, a story. Tell me, what did you feel?"

He leaned in even further, his eyes glancing covertly side to side. "Mouths are a universal symbol understood by our subconscious. Mouths represent hunger. The way he said hunger sent shivers down my spine. My curiosity compelling me further "What do you hunger for?" the question drawn out of me. My lips slightly parted, I wanted to kiss him, but so much more then that I wanted to hear his answer. That was the only honest moment we had together. For that moment his job didn't matter, his girlfriend probably didn't either. But moments are fleeting, though no less beautiful for it.

He flushed, and nervously, endearingly looked away towards the room full of students. "Oh nothing, it was a social commentary." He concluded lamely. "We all hunger for something."

The look he'd given me inspired a great many flights of fancy int he following months. I imagined being pressed into the painting hung above his bed and he railed me from behind. Or maybe I'd have to pin him against it with my nails as I forcibly blew him. Maybe if the heaven's shined down on me, I could arrange to have drinks at his place, and bring Efram.

So while he taught the class the plethora of inane techniques for jumping through hoops, I'd try to imagine the look of incredulousness that would cross his face momentarily as he and Efram locked eyes while they speared me like a spit roast. After that I found I couldn't sit through his classes without getting uncomfortably wet. I'd show up late and try to sneak in, but when his eyes found me they betrayed the tiniest bit more then they should have.

Sometimes I wouldn't sleep the night before, I'd work myself up thinking about what I should say. Then I'd try to burn off energy by committing my thoughts to painting.
When I went in to class, I was bleary eyed, and gave off a slightly vulnerable quiet air. But I'd still get wet, no matter how I tried to treat him as I ought to have been. I stopped going to class and nearly failed the course because of it.

For the end of semester test, I showed up on the last day. On the condition that we passed, he'd give us a print of his. I'd practically begged him all semester for a print of the painting I loved. Handing in the exam, an attached a message that read "I'd like to see the original painting."

When he gave me a print, it wasn't of the painting I'd once gazed at so thoughtfully. Instead is was a piece of corporate garbage.
It's up in my room, and I hate looking at it. It's so indicative of the side of himself he gave me.
In retrospect what would have happened if I'd just pushed him a little harder? He wasn't willing to bench his career on an enamoured student. At the time, though not exceptionally subtle, I never made the first move.

Before him I rather loved literary erotica focusing on forbidden s/M professor/student relationships. But now I can't read them without seeing his adorably shy face flicker into sudden seriousness; when his passion breaks through his laissez-faire professionalism. And when the words read "The professor grabbed her and threw her over the desk raining down spanks to punctuate the lesson." I see him and I engaged in debate, he grabs me, and throws me over the desk winds up his arm waits. waits. then lets it drop, apologizes for his impropriety and scuttles off back to his doubtlessly sexually-uninventive girlfriend.

HAHA! We can't win them all. I look back at that story and smile. He's off chasing his dreams as an artist. And that thought deeply warms my heart.

On a semi-related note: Alan Rickman especially turns my crank. He has since I was too young to know what my crank was. It's the posture, and the voice. Rasputin, Snape and Mesmer are fascinating characters, though oddly I love him best as the dead husband in Truly, Madly, Deeply. That one time, when Johnny Depp cut his throat in Sweeny Todd, I got hard. That's right, stiff.
This explains why I loudly drop lewd comments when walking past the charming old gentleman who works as a tour guide for the haunted walk of Ottawa. Look out for him, he's the hottest geriatric you'll ever encounter.

Thanks for giving it

Pausing to sip some wine, while cooking thanksgiving dinner, hands slip around my waist. Drifting past the sweep of hair pulled into a bun, his stubble and hot breath graze my ear. He gropes my breasts through the purple polka dotted 50's frock to slide under a floral apron and press between my thighs.

I'm bent over the mattress, puling the sheets into order, pink panties flashing up at the door way. I hear him enter and flash a startled look. "You always turn around when I walk past, like you're expecting a spank." And I do, and he doesn't let me down, so I continue to expect spanks every time he walks past.

While cross referencing recipes online, the sun beams through the window right on me. He peaks in on me from the hallway, I peak back. "You're such a flirt, you know that?" "Between the sun, and the oven, it's getting hot in here." "You should take off that dress."

I turn away, and slowly pull the apron sash away from my waist. He sees the edge of the buttons being undone. I let the shoulders drop. lower. "You have a gorgeous back" The dress drops from my frame and gets tossed to the side.
The coy facade buckles and I sprint, giggling into to his arms.

"It's too bad we're back on condoms, I'm ready to fuck you right now."
"That's absurd, I can't be ready so quickly."
He laughs "I can get you wet in 17 seconds."
Consequently I retort, "Go ahead."
He confidently appraises me; wasting precious seconds. He deftly scoops me up and when our tongues slide together I become instantly aroused. We lock eyes, mine are defiant.
He reaches up and grabs hold of my neck leaning me into the wall. "That's cheating." I moan. He trails a hand down my chest, stomach and down into my crotch. My panties are damp.

Less then 17 seconds, we both know he's won. He pulls back.
"It's not cheating," he says as he strolls away.
Then smirking over his shoulder at the flushed woman against the wall, and adds "It's knowing your opponent."

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I've been giving a lot of thought to the recent events. Simply regaling you with my sultry tales of seduction wasn't why I started this blog. The hope is to inform, inspire, and reflect on what has been learned.

People who read this blog and then get to know me always have some rather odd misgivings about me. Trust me, you won't hear me wail "I'm so misunderstood!" Self identifying as a slut is, to me, a feminist statement. It shows strength of conviction and a lack of shame. That said I always burn red when someone mentions they've read my blog. I write these thinking no one I meet would ever happen upon the site.

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People assume I'm after hot sex with stunners (sometimes I am, tee hee!). But more then that I'm attracted to someone's ideas, and their capacity to challenge my convictions. When people have seen my site it's is sometimes admitted (which I appreciate), or sometimes coyly concealed. But when someone I have not as of yet confided in, assumes I'm a nympho, it's glaringly obvious they've only heard part of the story.

When I mentioned that I'd had a bad weekend because I broke up with a girlfriend because her emotions seemed to get out of hand. A reader identified himself by replying "That's because you're only in it for the sex right?"
I was taken aback as quite the opposite is true. What I feel for this woman is far more then physical attraction. If anything I was more attracted to her disposition, interests and philosophy, then her body.

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"What do you like about so and so?"
I list our common interests, and what I admire about them.

Very often I answer this question with one or more of the following:
-They are a poet! They therefore must have emotional depth.
-They are a geek/dork/weirdo/of questionable mental stability. Therefore there must be something that makes them special and sets them apart from the mundane drones of this world.
-They carry an obsession for a bizarre hobby. They therefore are passionate.
-They create beautiful music. They therefore are soulful.
-They are a scientist. They therefore posses a superior intelligence.
-They look or act unconventionally. (dreads, suspenders, clashing colours. Have a habit of climbing trees or dancing in public) They therefore are interesting.
-They are philosophers. They therefore are enlightened.
-They are into the Fetish scene. They therefore must be sexually compatible with me.
-They dress or act androgynously. They therefore exist outside of the gender binary and must be accepting and open minded.
-They are polyamorous. They therefore understand how I expect to be treated.

As you can see, liking someone for these reasons is possibly as shallow as liking them purely for their looks. I make assumptions about people's personalities based on their interests. It has been said that I often try to validate my physical attraction to someone by inventing reasons to like them. This argues that I am in fact still shallow. Perhaps it's true, I develop crushes before truly understanding someone. It's embarrassing to be a slave to these girlish whims of mine.

(For the next bit, the "He" is to avoid writing (s)he, they etc.)
"He's an open minded hippie, who challenges the status quo. His poetry brought a tear to my eye." These are pretty shallow thoughts. What I'm really saying is He's hot in the weird semi-unnatractive way that I like.

But we all hold different values. Perhaps I value inane qualities in people just like everyone else. Some people like each other for reasons like; they dress well, own a nice car etc... Only I get fluttery when I hear the words cross-dress, progressive metal, quantum physics and cogito ergo sum.

It's not what we have in common that I like. It's what we disagree on, because therein lies the conversation.

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Shared interests and admirable qualities aside, a truly striking moment is one in which I realize we have so much to learn from each other.

I want to make him laugh and ask him questions. I want to play with him, because of two reasons.

1. He's ugly-sexy. This is the kind of person that isn't immediately attractive. If anything they have odd features. But what makes them sexy is their spark, or spirit (or personality, duh!). I have never once fallen for anyone who was classically beautiful, it's the strange ones I'm drawn to. If someone is beautiful inside, then you associate their features with their personality, and the body becomes beautiful.

2. I perceive him to have depth. The peculiarities of his mind intrigue and enchant. Also he's bizarre enough himself to observe the qualities that truly make me unique and wonderful.

When I am interested in someone what I want out of knowing this person is not sex. Sex is one of many ways of further understanding and pleasuring this person.

To convey how I feel about my lovers (and friends) my outlook on life must be delved into a bit. It seems that we are born into the universe, which is for the most part little more then rocks, heat and empty space. We are not given an evident purpose. So life consists of milling around and doing things to continue living.
What makes life interesting are the lives all around us. Meeting another person is kind of like meeting an alien. To have the chance to get to know another person "very well" seems profound to me.
Discovery is the most logical pursuit, and that one of the more important things worth discovering is other people.

I want to discover fascinating, strange and beautiful people.

For me, polyamory is just another way of saying every person in my life is an adventure and a mystery. Sometimes there is mutual attraction that is acted on. Having sex is an extension of play and discovery. In the best of situations I feel as if I am showing a great deal of trust and emotional receptiveness. I don't delineate friends and lovers nearly as much as anyone would expect.

I don't have sex to get off.
I have sex out of curiosity and benevolence. I want a multifaceted, growing person to surrender to my touch. In their moment of vulnerability, I want to give them pleasure. This is a form of intimacy to me. I want to look into his eyes as he cums and touch the tiniest piece of a beautiful mystery.

I've been very naughty

...and not updated in a while.

This is just to let you know that I will be updating again soon.
There are some tales to be told.
But before sharing these illicit stories, they must be played out in thier entirety.

Things to look forward to:
How I enacted to butter churner.
How a threesome is like riding a bicycle.
How not to bite off a clit.

xxx