feel your feelings

I wore my black Feel Your Feelings tank top to the sex party along with my black kilt.  The words of the shirt are all caps in neon colors and white, standing out boldly on the black.  The Feel Your Feelings shirt is a ringer, so there are thin white lines at the neckline and sleeve-holes. That gives it a sporty look.

When I looked in the mirror at myself, with my super short haircut, light mustache, and spring tan, I was shocked that I looked boyish.  Also I looked fuckin’ hot.  Wow!  I never wanted to be a boy.  It was almost disturbing, how I suddenly looked like a certain sporty boy type.

The transformation is not going quite as planned.  Actually it’s not very planned.  It was my first time wearing that shirt since my haircut.

Looking like a boy, a dyke, a butch, or whatever you’d call that is wild.  Not sure if I can go masc of center–my large breasts complicate the situation.  I love my body as it is, and I’m committed to fucking with gender on a daily basis.  But what’s gender fuckery like at the sex party?

I’m not there to play with strangers or make friends, but to feel my feelings.  I enjoy a space where social rules are different to have fun with my spouse.  It’s refreshing to feel the energy of the sex-centered space, learn, and see others engaged in play.  Whatever I’m doing gender-wise is a mystery I’m happy to leave unsolved.

kink people

A large part of my mission as I attend play parties, if I choose to accept it, is to figure out if the kink people around here are my people.  Is this a community I even want to be part of?

I don’t want to make a snap judgment.  But I notice mostly entitled middle class and working class cis white people who are doing the naughty thing in a standard way.  Some pretty queers attend too, but I haven’t talked to any.

When I was a teenager, I was very fortunate to imprint on some bi pagan poets who were sex radicals.  That was before the word polyamory existed.  They were the best thing in the world for me.  I was ecstatic to have found these wild, free people so different from anyone else I’d met outside of books.  They showed me that a queer future is possible.  They gave me a reason to keep living through the abuse and suffering I endured in my family of origin.

The kink people I meet these days are mostly liberals who think the system works.  They do the costuming and sneer in standard ways.  They have full time jobs or might be disabled like me.  Many who come to this party I frequent are fat and middle aged.

I’m fat and middle aged–nothing wrong with fat or any age of person.  But I wish there was more diversity, and more people like me when it comes to values: anarchists, radicals, very creative people who see a better way and use kink as a path to liberation.  Maybe more are like me than I think, but I haven’t found out yet.

supportive org

The whole point of transgression is to feel new pleasure and expand my mind by doing something fun and different.  I dream of starting an org that supports local kinksters in meaningful ways, maybe like the Center for Sex and Culture in San Francisco did.  We could do mutual aid, love one another, and strengthen skills together.

But then I’m like– why should I, if I don’t really like the folx who I’d be supporting?  It’s an old question for me, a natural hermit who loves community–outlier introvert who needs people.

Like with any group, if I’m creative and I stay, I can fly my freak flag and attract other freaks.  If I leave, then the group is left more boring.  The square people model squareness to one another, and that’s reinforced.  If I stay, then the next freaks who come to check it out notice me and recognize that they might belong.

I like to freakify any group by being unabashedly myself, which is a great pleasure.  But my values aren’t necessarily evident by looking at me.  It takes a conversation, which I’m not at a sex party for.  I’m autistic and crazy–regular parties are sort of hell for me.

Play parties are great since besides consent, I’m not there to talk.  So that’s where I am these days–my spouse and I attend the play parties with a specific agenda.  But my desire to feel out the community is a bigger question.

this time’s agenda

This time’s agenda was to make out in a way that others could see.  My spouse and I planned to kiss a lot, and my spouse could slip is hands under my shirt to touch my breasts.  It would be nice to feel aroused in the space but probably not cum.

I wanted this as a baby step toward more vulnerability and explicit play at subsequent sex parties.  I don’t want to rush a big thing and freak myself out–I need to work my way toward more emotional / spiritual risks.

For example, I would like to try being on a cross, but I don’t want to jump into that and have a bad experience.  I’m still working out how it feels to be perceived by many strangers.  Also how it would feel if someone significant in my life showed up at the barn and saw me having kink sex with my spouse.  I’ve come a long way from living with agoraphobia and wishing to be invisible.  But I still have work to do, being seen.

Gender and fatness are part of that: the ways I’ve been harmed by strangers, family, schoolmates, institutions, and systems around my body.  Healing takes a long time.  I’m grateful to nourish myself and be nurtured by my spouse and others, into the person I want to be.


Yes, we achieved that goal.  We thought about making out on one of the couches.  But we couldn’t find a comfortable spot; the barn was crowded.

We ended up taking one of the rooms and leaving the curtain open so we’d be visible.  We made the bed, had good consent, took off our kilts, and made out in an intense way with the energy of the sex party fueling us.  It felt amazing to kiss and kiss.  I loved knowing my spouse would reach under my shirt and we would progress in a classic making out fashion.


What I was totally unprepared for was the lady in the room next to ours doing a 20 minute sales pitch.  She had a device for treating erectile dysfunction and suckered a random dude into a free treatment.  My spouse doesn’t hear quite well, but I could hear the entire conversation in excruciating detail.

It’s funny because when my spouse and I first arrived at the sex party, right after showing our IDs and doing the release form, a lady who was not dressed in a kink way commented on my Feel Your Feelings shirt.

“I love your shirt!  That’s my favorite shirt!” she said to me.

“Thank you!” I said.

“Yeah, I wish everyone would wear that shirt!” she said.

Yes, I wish everyone would take the advice.  To feel your feelings is a radical act in a culture of violence where we’re punished for difference. Where misogyny is the norm, feelings are associated with femme-ness, weakness, and being exploited.  It’s hard work to be real about emotions when most people stay hard and closed off.


Anyway, it turns out the lady who liked my Feel Your Feelings shirt was the lady with the machine, polluting my mind with her nasty sales pitch.  I didn’t know until later that it was her.  Wild!

So I was with my spouse, making out on the bed with the curtain open.  We ended up doing more than planned.  I was murmuring with pleasure as we made out, and I asked him to briefly touch my cunt outside my clothes.  He gave me some nice pats there.  It felt good to do.  So I asked if he would slip his hand under my chonies and rub my clit, which he did.

I was very aroused and neared orgasm as my spouse rubbed me.  I considered how an orgasm in that space would feel.  I’ve never cum at a sex party, so it would be a new thing.  Orgasm means I need more aftercare, and I thought it would be fine for me to cum there.

However, the music was horrible.  I started laughing when “Can’t Touch This” began to play.  I was like– wait, this is a sex party.  Isn’t the whole point that we can touch this?  It felt like a sad throwback to the youths of the Gen X people present like myself, something I heard in high school that has no relevance to my life except MC Hammer pants are epic.

Also people were yelling, wailing, and screaming in other parts of the barn because of impact and other intense stimulation they were receiving at the various stations.  The light was weird in our little curtain room.  The sale pitch next door was worst of all.  I had trouble holding it all in my head.


Yes, it doesn’t take long for me to get overstimulated in an autistic way.  I asked my spouse to stop rubbing me and we held each other on the bed.

“Do you want me to go down on you?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said.

We had been checking in about how we were doing emotionally, chronic pain levels, arousal.  We had an idea that if we made out then got a room, I might go down on him, if it felt right to both of us.

“Ok, what position would we be in?” I asked.  “Would you kneel on the bed, or would we be on our sides, or would you lie on your back?”

I was thinking about my neck which I have perpetual problems with, and what would feel more and less vulnerable as we were being glimpsed by people passing by.

“On my back,” he said.

“Ok,” I said, considering.

“But I should pee first,” he said.

“Oh ok.  So you’re going to pee and be back soon, if there’s not a line?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said.


Then besides the shock of looking in the mirror and seeing an apparent boy looking back at me for the first time, my spouse did the most shocking thing of the evening.

“You’re not going to put your kilt back on?” I asked.

“No,” he said.

“Wow,” I said.

Somehow totally naked screaming people being hit over and over again for all to see were very tame.  The most edgy thing there was my spouse walking to the bathroom in his underwear.

I’m still kind of tripped out that he was ok doing that.  I would have been less shocked by him going naked than the sweet tenderness of walking through the play space in his gray knit boxer briefs.  What a pretty ass he has.

more to tell

There’s more I could tell, like about the conversation I had about sheets and room norms with a person I assume might own the place.  I could tell you about the food, the coat rack area, or how the blood play station was unlabeled, which made me uncomfortable.  At past parties it’s been clearly labeled, but I think someone forgot to put the sign.

But this post is so long, and I need to do other things this morning.  Love to you and your sexual adventures.  Much respect to your pleasure, learning, and doing what you need to do.  May your culture support you and be kind to you.

questions for discussion

What do you like to do at play parties?

What was it like, if you’ve been on a cross?

Do you feel embarrassed of people seeing you in your underwear?

Have you ever felt shocked by your own gender presentation?

What’s the weirdest place you’ve ever had an orgasm?

Would you have been annoyed by the erectile dysfunction treatment sales pitch?

Do you strive to feel your feelings?  If not, what are you on earth to do?

By Nest

Curious, disabled Earth Goddess, telling the truth.

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