Queer Dissociation: My Sixth Birthday Out of the Closet

[NOTE: Hey peeps, just a heads up that this is more of a personal, rambling piece on queerness, dissociation, and birthdays.]  

So, it’s my birthday today and I’ve got pretty messed up feels about it tbh. It’s not that I hate birthdays, or even that I dislike them, It’s more that they’re just a really fucking weird experience for me now because I genuinely feel like I didn’t even actually start living my life until just a few years ago, in 2011.

When I try to think back on my youth, even my early to mid twenties, the vast majority of it is pretty damn hazy. I mean, sure, I got the gist of it all. I know the basics of what cities I lived in, what schools I went to (mostly), and who my closest friends were (well in High School & University) but outside of that rough outline I really, honestly struggle with the rest of it.

It’s like trying to remember the characters, actors, or even the title of a movie that you saw ages ago. You can kind of explain a couple of scenes, maybe a little about the scenery, but the exact details of what was happening, who was doing/saying what, and what the damn thing was called just isn’t coming to you.

So there you are rambling away about this thing, struggling to find the words to describe the fleeting images that you’re putting together in your head, and the person you’re talking to you is looking at you like “are you sure this was a movie?” And you’re POSITIVE it was… maybe. Or was it book? Did you read it or see it? Fuck…

But, I mean, I guess that makes sense. I’m not really close with very many people from before I came out and I definitely do not relate at all to who I was before. Up until a few years ago I was deep in the closet, drinking heavily, pretty self-destructive, and generally on the verge of just kinda not going anywhere at all.

The person I was before coming out was, like, this shambling shell that just sort moved around, vaguely doing the things one would think that a person should be doing. I’d get up, get dressed, go to work (almost always late), then would either go for drinks with my friend and stumble around the neighborhood intoxicated, or go home and play World of Warcraft (WoW) for hours until finally passing out, only to repeat it all the next day.

If I’m completely honest, outside of WoW I mostly zoned out. Even when I was out with friends I was frequently lost in my own thoughts, retreating inward as I just nodded along and responded in generally awkward ways. From my mid teens to mid twenties I was basically just in one enormous depressive episode that I mostly wasn’t fully cognizant of as I drank, smoked, ate, and masturbated my days away.

It’s called “disassociation/dissociation”, folks! And it’s surprisingly common for those of us who spent large portions of our lives living in the closet, or being unaware of our personal and emotional needs, or internalizing homophobia and transphobia, or experiencing trauma.

It’s hard to “be present” when you’re dealing with that.

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While coming out hasn’t been all sunshine and rainbows – there’s been huge rise in street harassment and online abuse, as well as family rejection – I have been FAR more present in my daily life. I feel like now I’m finally living life as my authentic self. I’m mostly happy, I’m by far my healthiest self emotionally and personally, I’m working toward exciting things, I’m married to my best friend, and I’ve found an amazing family of cool, loving, and inspiring queer and trans peeps.

But I’m also turning 31 and it’s like, well, shit… kinda sucks about those first 25 years, though.

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Calling All Queer & Trans Sex Bloggers!

I just want to take a quick minute to signal boost Taylor J. Mace’s recent post over on Feisty Fox Films about building community and strengthening support among sex bloggers. I think it’s so, so important for industry creatives of all kinds to reach out to one another

Nobody likes feeling like they are all alone on the fringes. I don’t. It fucking sucks.

So, regardless of whether you’re new, or you have been creating content in the sex ed/blogging/erotica/entertainment industry for a while, Taylor’s piece is an excellent read that I highly recommend:

This post is written from the perspective of someone who has felt like both an outsider and an insider, and who will probably always feel like both at various points in time. It’s written to every blogger who ever feels like they may not belong (though everyone is welcome to read the post no matter who they are).

Much like Taylor, I get really anxious too in regards to my blog and interactions I have with others. At the best of times I’m fairly certain that absolutely nobody is reading any of my crap and I have no business at all blogging. Period. 

So, I have this genuine fear that I’m going to go to a sex ed conference one year and I’ll walk up to the sex bloggers and be like “hey, friends!” but then one of them will point at me and do the Donald Sutherland alien scream from the end of Invasion of the Body Snatchers and I’ll be seen as the impostor that I am.

If you get those feels too, you aren’t alone!

In general I’m not the most social person. As a foul mouthed, queer, non-monogamous, non-binary, chubby, hairy andro babe living in an extremely conservative region of Canada I receive pretty daily transphobic street harassment and online abuse.

Add in that I have a very unsupportive family who are incredibly antagonistic, demeaning, and abusive toward my queerness, and queer and trans folx in general, and… yeah. So, I keep to myself mostly and often find myself having to weigh the pros and cons of even leaving the house to buy milk.

But one group of folks that I have consistently found immense levels of support and empathy from, and who have made me feel like I was contributing to something greater, has been with the sex blogging community. I’ve even been incredibly fortunate to develop what I feel are some really great friendships with amazing people like Taylor and Sugarcunt, and I’m slowly getting to know many others too.

That’s something that I’d love for more to experience. So, to any sex bloggers, writers, sex workers, artists, illustrators, producers, performers, etc. creating content in this field, no matter where you are, please feel free to toss me a message on Twitter or reach out to me via email at nillinnow@gmail.com, should you want to connect with more peeps.

Specifically, I’d like to encourage any of you who identify as queer, trans, non-binary, genderqueer, gender nonconforming, or questioning, to drop me a line. Same goes for any and all crossdressers, traps, sissies, and femboys out there running their own blogs, clip stores, or Tumblrs, who are looking to connect and chat. Oh, and queer furries!

Unfortunately, not all LGBTQ+ positive spaces, let alone sex toy companies or events, are actually inclusive or welcoming to those who exist too far outside of the binary, socially acceptable levels of queerness. I aim to create those spaces that actively acknowledge and include folks struggling in the fringes.

I hope that some of you will join me in those efforts! Or, just message to tell me about the cool shit that you’re doing. Whatevs.

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Little Queers on the Prairie – Chapter One: Cumming to Hays

[CW: this story is sexually explicit and contains NSFW, nude images]

Max’s mouth feels so good around my girl cock, and the fact that my hands are clinging to the steering wheel just makes it all the more exciting. I quickly glance down just in time to see the playful look in their eyes as they pull my skirt over their head and take me deep.

This was exactly why I didn’t wear any panties today. A promise fulfilled.

I feel their throat open and convulse around me as their lips press firmly into my soft, trimmed pubic mound. Their tongue slides up and down the length of my shaft, then they pull ever so slightly away to grab me with with their hand so that they can jerk me as they firmly suck on head of my girl cock.

My eyes wander to the rear view mirror in time to see a speeding truck quickly gaining ground behind us. I grip the wheel tighter as the driver edges forward, trying to push me to go faster, but I won’t. Not with my girl cock pushed all the way to the back of my partner’s throat. When he realizes I won’t speed up, the driver signals to pass. Just as he pulls up beside us I feel myself getting closer to orgasm. The excitement of another driver, or their passenger, seeing Max’s head bobbing up and down under my skirt causes my legs to shake.

In my peripherals I see the passenger of the passing truck looking out their window. I can’t tell if their eyes are on me or some random point in the flat Saskatchewan scenery but I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t actually really want them to watch me getting my dick sucked. For a moment I even contemplate lifting my skirt so that whoever was in that passing truck could get a really good look at Max stroking and sucking my girl cock. So, I grip my skirt with my left hand, my heart beating faster as I ball the fabric up in my fist.

Before I can make up my mind about moving the skirt Max teases a finger around my ass hole and that does it for me. I arch my back and my body convulses as stream after stream of my thick cum fills their mouth. I hear them moan as they keep their lips firmly around my shaft to make sure they don’t lose a single drop. They then pop out from under my skirt, locking eyes with me, and I know what comes next so I instinctively open my mouth. With their head tilted they swoop in and kiss me, I keep my eyes on the road, watching the red truck get further and further away us, as I feel their wet tongue push all the cum from their mouth into mine.

For a moment I just let my cum sit there, being sure to move my tongue around so that I can really taste it, and then I swallow. It feels so damn good sliding down my throat, I wish I had more. The thought of it sitting in my belly makes my girl cock twitch with delight once again.

I sigh happily and wipe some ejaculate from the corner of my mouth with my finger, then lick it off.

Words can barely describe how much I love eating my own cum, though it was a relatively new thing to me. Before I met Max, I had long fantasized about eating my own cum but save for the few times I would climb my feet up my bedroom wall to jerk off on my own face, or lick some pre-cum off my fingertips while masturbating, there had always been a mental block keeping me from actually swallowing one of my own loads.

Then one warm afternoon last summer Max pushed me onto our bed, lifted my cute green dress up, pulled aside my lace panties, sucked me fast and hard, took a huge load of my cum in their mouth, crawled up me, grabbed me by the back of the head, and spit it all down my throat.

I’ve been hooked ever since. Between me regularly licking my hands clean after I jerk off, and Max feeding me my loads every other blowjob, I’d say I now consume about half of my cumshots in any given month. And it’s not the only thing that Max has got me hooked on since we started dating.

I was a really repressed person before they came along. Bitter, depressed, lonely, filled with internalized sexphobia, homophobia, and biphobia, I would secretly crossdress and fantasize about another life altogether. Feeling the soft satin of a nighty on my bare flesh, the stimulation of lace panties on my cock, I’d get so fucking horny. Orgasming while dressed fem was always way better and stronger then when I wasn’t wearing something fem. But deep shame swept over me every time. I’d take off all the fem, lacy clothes and would degrade and demean myself for wearing it. I genuinely believed that I could never, ever let anyone know about any of it.

All of that changed when I met Max. They empowered me, inspired me, and encouraged me to accept myself fully. Slowly I opened up more, unpacked my emotional baggage and embraced the kinky queer within. Eventually I officially came out, much to the dismay of my side of the family.

Fuck them though. I loved Max, I loved myself, and I loved the kinky, queer, non-monogamous life we were building together. We had no room for unsupportive, demeaning people. We were going to live our lives for us, and not hold back on the things that made us happy.

And right now the thing that made us happy happened to be the decision to drive nearly five hours from our conservative, small-town home in Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan, to a farm just outside Hays, Alberta, where we were most definitely going to fuck our friends all weekend.

“Do you think it’s actually going to happen?” Max asks me as they lean back in the passenger seat and pulls down their top, fully exposing their tits in the afternoon sun.

“I don’t know,” I say. “I guess we’ll just see what happens.”

Max sighs, closes their eyes, then squeezes and pulls on their nipples. I glance over to watch as they unbutton the top of their tight pants and slide a hand down between their thighs.

“I really hope so. I want to fuck them so bad. I want to suck Fynn’s cock with you, then I want you to watch me fuck him while I watch you fuck Rowan.”

I can feel my girl cock getting hard again.

I couldn’t believe that we were doing this. We had both known Rowan and Fynn from back before we even started dating, at a time when all of us were involved in the Roller Derby community in some form or another. Rowan and I were officials, Max was a player, and Fynn was Rowan’s supportive husband and fan in the stands.

I never would have imagined anything remotely sexual would have happened between us all. Then just a couple of months before our wedding, Fynn and Rowan visited us while passing through the area and that’s when the flirting started. Before long, flirting became sexting, sexting became sharing nudes, and sharing nudes became us all interchangeably mutually masturbating together long distance.

But now things were about to get to a whole other level. Max and I were driving over 480 KMs to spend a weekend with them, and they asked us to bring protection and our toys.

Fuck, I couldn’t wait to get there.

I reach down to touch myself but Max grabs my arm and stops me.

“No,” they say. “You already came. It’s my turn now.”

I want to disobey, but I don’t. My hands grip both sides of the steering wheel and I watch the road, glancing over occasionally to see what Max is up to.

Their moans and heavy panting fill the car. They rustle in their seat. I look over in time to see them slowly slide their pants down to their knees.

“Keep your eyes on the road,” they say, and I listen. It’s a struggle. I stare forward and strain to hear what they are doing.

Their voice quivers with pleasure. The familiar sound of their fingers sliding in and out of their wet cunt fill my ears. I glance over to see them practically fisting themself next to me. Their trimmed pubic mound and hand glistening with pussy juice.

“I said keep your eyes on the road,” Max firmly states.

“I’m sorry, Ser” I say, and look forward again.

There’s more shuffling. Max reaches behind my chair and grabs our travel bag. They’re going for their toy. I don’t even have to see it to know what it looks like. A long, thick, pink vibrator with a strong motor and and a built in clit stimulator. My girl cock twitches. I swallow hard as I feel some pre-cum trickle slowly down my shaft.   

Max groans and the oh so familiar muffled whirring of their toy, buried deep inside them, becomes all I can hear. As I watch the road I notice the faint reflection of Max’s gyrating hips in the windshield. There isn’t a lot of detail I can make out, but I see pink and I know it is the toy sticking out from between their legs.

“Oh, fuck,” Max grunts through quivering breaths. “Now look at me, you fucking whore.”

And I obey. As soon as I turn my head I see Max gasp, convulse, and pull their toy out. Then with their other hand they furiously rub their clit and squirt cum everywhere. My girl cock throbs as I watch their juices coat the seat, and the dashboard in front of them. Some drops even make it to the windshield.

Max sits in their mess for a moment, then looks at me and we both laugh.

“Well, that was fun,” they say.

“Fuck yeah, it was,” I respond. And I know it’s only going to get better. As Max wipes the cum off their wet mound with kleenex I swallow hard thinking about all the fun still to come with Fynn and Rowan. We’re so close now.

Only 100 more KMs to Hays.

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