Blog gender...

Not sure what this means.

These results from Gender Analyzer would have made perfect sense until my better half chose to remove her posts.

Now that it is my thoughts alone, trans issues aside it it's interestingly neutral.

We guess http://fullcontactmonogamy.blogspot.com/ is written by a man (54%), however it's quite gender neutral.

Pyromanaical Catharsis.

We live way out in the country. We are used to 2 big barrels for trash, two for recycling plus four green waste bins. We now get one that's smaller than any of the barrels we got in the city, and it costs more. We consider ourselves lucky that we are even in the service area at all.

The kids had me gather dozens of cardboard boxes for an ill-conceived then abandoned Halloween project. Now rain-warped with roles of masking tape peeling off, they had to go.

The previous tenant used to raise fighting cocks, so some chicken wire enclosures were available, and I have a lighter and well a vast understanding of all things involving conflagrations. (Misspent youth.)

I gathered them together, examined the wind direction, velocity and dry fields due east, and decided this was probably a bad idea. Most of my fires, historically have been bad ideas so this deterred me not at all. I judiciously got a hose stretched in range and had the water flowing to insure the shared well pump is actually on.

I could NOT get it to light with the wind. As a purist, I have always eschewed petroleum distillate-based accelerants in my arson activities, except for purely their entertainment value. I sent The Boy (9 ~ yeah I know I'm a horrible parent) into the house for paper.

He came out with a thick sheave. He said,"Mom said you'd enjoy burning these."

I grabbed the stack and as I glanced at the top I realized it was the divorce packet she had recently printed, and painstakingly hand printed in her carefully chosen responses.

My heart sunk a little at the remembrance of her in a moment of finally released, suppressed anger hauling them out of a drawer. I recognized of course the welcome symbolism of burning them however.

I read through them noting with approval her obvious desire to be fair, but still. Hard to imagine how exactly we got from A to X and back to say, B or C. Sobering.

They burned bright. I hope we do too.

Well, I remenbered, 'cause it was hot!

So she said when I sheepishly said that I had "forgot" (read repressed) the detail she mentioned I left out.

What I can't write speaks volumes.

I have always (like nearly any red-blooded American male) enjoyed/encouraged/perved upon my wife's predilections towards the fairer sex. I mean it's just hot.

What's good for the goose, however, is NOT good for the gander.

Some time ago, my wife had a little fantasy involving my femme dressed up side. Ok, still hot. With another crossdresser, umm, well pushing it bit...

Her enthusiasm was infectious though. I-er-well, practiced a bit. I mean its not like I haven't had up close and personal "in depth" lessons on you know..~blush~ fellatio.

Another time she told me she had been awakened (aroused even!) by an erotic dream that compelled her to masturbate. Hot! A homo-erotic dream...er, hot? With me as the centerpiece...rapid hydraulic failure.

Still, there are times when she is thinking about such things. Like when I am fellating her aroused clit for example.

A couple of weeks ago, I stopped during the middle of one such event and reached into the drawer where I keep some crossdressing thing and pulled out the life-like vibe there. No, it wasn't mine and I had questioned her as to why it was there, and she explained she was just putting it up out of the way...

It isn't mine. Not coincidentally looks a lot like mine. She had purchased it years ago at an adult shop by herself while I waited in the car. She had endured the smirks and grins and the "testing it out to make sure it works." I found it quite flattering that she had chosen one with similar shape, coloring and vein-ature as mine. Most politic of her to select a six-incher to let me tower over it. (Ok my extra inch might not have intimidated Mr. Buzzy, but neither was I threatened by him!)

That night went well. Me demonstrating my furtively practiced skills. I, unlike her do have a gag reflex, but still. Both of us tonguing together on it conjured up all sorts of sights and textures and feelings. It was hot, but at the conclusion, spent, sated, I said, "Let's not speak of this again!" only half in jest.

A little aside:

I have to explain the unexplainable here. Why it is that I found from an early age crossdressing fascinating. Why it is that although this had a sexual component when I was pre-pubescent it is difficult to channel that place now.

Short version:

Repressed household, domineering mother, older sister with privilege and pretty things. Panties on were private, but laundry and folding of same were in no way women's work so handling them held no appeal, seeing them on was naughty. So when dressed there is a narcissistic suspension of my maleness in my mind and the ability to model and view and voyeur them as if I were seeing them on a girl..... I think.

As puberty approached I was still small in stature, slender, but my male bits didn't hide well to say the least especially proportionally speaking. Also I had all sorts of societal messages equating queer issues with gay issues, only recently realized as distinct. I mean if something seems gay, it must be. The very phrase "light in the loafers" and that stereotype seemed femme, when really what gay guy wants that? they like 'em butchy and beefy and strong. dunno.

So last night I was going down on my very female partner in a totally not gay way at all. I was slurping a way and took up some flesh in my mouth and saw what I perceived to be a look in her eye. I said something like, "you like me sucking it don't you?" or some such an allusion quickly understood to the other occasion we had agreed "Let's not speak of this again!"

Eventually she had me on my knees in a wig and a shaper slip, her against the wall being directive.

She spun a tale, slowly pushing my boundaries. At some point she had me noticing the bristles on the chin going down on me. Apparently (as I inquired about later) she was monitoring my arousal and "squick-ish-ness" using my flagging erection as a barometer. She quickly shifted gears to have me notice that it was in fact a girl in drab, wearing a fake cock, and we all lived hornily ever after.

Smart girl this one.

Hmmm, there seems to be a disparity here....

I took one of those quizzes. It produced the following button:
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In the text of the results it indicated that I was worth LESS than the average rate of ~merely~ $235/hour for such services. Even still, that is a bit more an hour than my present occupation...hmmm..

Hers though had no such reduction in the text:

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Apparently her button is accurate and mine is meant to protect my male pride.