I went to MoMA for the first time on Friday. There was art I did not understand, and chocolate gelato. I brought a friend and busily unburdened myself about college-to-come, my broken air conditioner, and my first porn experience as a top.

Later we bought overpriced diner sandwiches. They were well worth it if only to hear him say, “I think of you as a dom who primarily bottoms.”

People (who don’t pay me) think I’m a dom! Look! I have credibility!

I never had much credibility even as a bottom, because a) not submissive and b) kind of a wimpy masochist. Nor as a top because I sell myself, and because I bottom. For a subculture that’s supposedly about empowerment and individuality, we pervs can be pretty critical. I’ll take my legitimacy where I can get it, thanks.

“To heresy?” He raised his coffee cup.

“To heresy!”

After dinner I enticed him to stick needles in me again. Nicely.

Welling up, blood looks succulent, like candy or cherries. It’s so bright you can’t help but stare. On the tongue it’s all metal and salt and a soft tangy undernote that makes me feel vaguely unwell. But when I went to lick my arm, entranced, I got a mouthful of the surgical soap used for disinfectant.  Served me right I suppose.

The marks are so pretty. I do love symmetry.

On Saturday, we went to a nude beach. I had never been to a nude beach. We all had to leave early and rush back so that I could dress up like a nurse and examine a needy patient, but all was well.

While I wasn’t posting, my friend Eileen wrote a fabulously insightful post about strap-on dildos that undercut my entire article-in-the-works about why I dislike “feminization”. In fact, she’s been brilliant all week. Thus, my not posting for days.  (Okay, some was laziness, too.)  If she ever takes on a more widely used sex toy (say, the vibrator), I fear my entire blog will be over, but I could live with that.

Real posts to come.

Posted in marks, anal sex, blood, needles and piercing