#just embrace the bi label man it's not that hard

[telltalebatman]

i think the bi lesbian shit annoys me (a bisexual) so much bc it did take me quite some time to fully embrace the bi label instead of the pan bs, but after doing some research and talking and thinking i did come to a conclusion that it's a wonderful, inclusive term that doesn't need anything else - so why, pray tell, are other people so hellbent on slapping some bullshit modifiers on it!!!!!!!!!!!!

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐒

pairing: joel miller x webcam model!f!reader

genre: no outbreak AU, explicit smut (like very explicit), minors dni

word count: 7k

summary: you and joel continue to see one another, no matter the distance. And finally, you two breach the subject of "what are we".

warnings: joel is still bi in this, minor angst in the beginning, live stream sex, piv, messy titjob, dirty talk, possesive!joel, squirting, a hint of jealous joel, good girl/sir, praise kink

a/n: this work was commissioned by the lovely @trauma-dol 💜 thank you so much for commissioning me, I appreciate it lots!

part two of ravish

There are a lot of things you don’t like. The smell of roasted chickpeas, for instance. While others might find it inviting, it's just an odd scent that doesn't sit right with you. Then there's that annoying feeling of needing to pee right after you've gotten all cozy in bed. The list just goes on. You can think of a million things that annoy the heck out of you. 

However, waiting for someone that you’ve been eager to see for months to arrive at your doorstep might be the thing you hate the most. 

Worry bubbles up within you, and you can't help but sigh as you reach for the phone. Joel was supposed to arrive a good thirty minutes ago. 

Excited to see him, you had spent time chopping up an assortment of fresh vegetables – plump tomatoes, vibrant bell peppers sliced into perfect rings, and red onions thinly shaved and ready to caramelize into sweet perfection.

Besides the cutting board, a bowl of freshly shredded mozzarella cheese sits in fluffy mounds, ready to meld and melt into gooey goodness. Fragrant basil leaves are waiting to be scattered over the final creation. The pizza dough had been carefully prepped and now resting. 

But alas, there’s still no sign of him. 

“Dammit Joel, where are you?” 

You knew you should’ve just picked him up from the airport. You should’ve just ignored his protests and gone. New York is a big city; he could’ve gotten himself lost. Or worse, someone might’ve tried to kidnap him, rob him—sure, he’s a big man, but this is New York City.

It had been a hectic month. After you moved back from your family home, the issue of whether or not the relationship should continue had been a hot topic of sorts. For a while, you both decided to embrace the idea of "not putting a label" and simply being together during your visits. However, that proved to be too complicated. Losing yourselves in each other during every visit didn’t really allow for anyone else to come in between.

Not that you were complaining. You really liked Joel and didn’t really have any desire to date anyone else. Joel had enamored you completely. It was hard to keep it casual when all you wanted was him. But clearly, Joel didn’t want anything serious. He was content with how things were. 

The thought made your heart sink painfully in your chest. 

You tried to visit each other once a month, although most of the time it ended up being once every two months. He still joined your live streams. And when your viewers realized you were more than happy to indulge in JMiller’s requests, they started to get suspicious, commenting and teasing relentlessly. That meant you had to ignore him for a bit, which you hated doing. 

You did enjoy the punishments that followed though. 

A sudden buzz pulls you away from memory lane. Looking down you see a text from Joel, prompting your smile. 

Almost there, honey. You weren’t kidding about the traffic. 

“Dork,” you grin. Your head falls back against the back of the couch. You’ve missed him and now that he’ll be here soon makes you all giddy. Dormant butterflies erupt in your chest. Just the thought of him is enough to excite you. For an entire week, Joel Miller is yours. You had planned out everything. Not a minute will be wasted. Not on your watch. 

Twenty minutes later, there’s a knock on the door. You practically jump off the couch and run toward the sound. When you open it, you’re breathless, the tiny hairs at the back of your neck standing with attention. 

It’s him. 

He’s here. 

His eyes are tired, the crinkles you love to kiss deepening with his wide smile, “Hey there, sweetheart,” he says. “Miss me?” 

You jump towards him and wrap your arms around his neck. You hear the “oomf” that vibrates from his chest as you tug him impossibly close, forcing him to lean over you. Joel’s hands find the dip of your waist, squeezing tenderly, his nose bumps affectionally into the crook of your neck, and heat gathers under your skin. 

“God I missed you,” you say, voice trembling. Desperately you hold his face and bring him to your lips. His tongue traces the seam of your mouth, the movement dripping with a need for authority and control. You happily give it to him, opening wide. He sucks the air from your lungs and swallows your moans. Slick gathers between your legs, the fabric of your underwear clinging to your cunt and asking for the stretch of his cock. 

Joel guides the roll of your hips, chuckling darkly into your mouth when you desperately rub yourself against the denim. A shudder rolls up your spine. His cock firming under his jeans, “Honey,” he rasps. “Maybe we should close the door first?” 

“Why?” you say with a hitch of your breath. You drag your lips down his neck, nip at his racing pulse. “I know the neighbor wouldn’t mind. He watches my streams.” 

You’d said it without a second thought, which might’ve been a mistake on your part. His muscles grow rigid under your palms, the heat melting quickly like ice under the hot summer sun. “Is everything okay?” you ask, cupping his cheeks and forcing his gaze up. 

His gaze stays on you only for a moment before he drops his eyes to your lips. Your brows furrow at the reaction. His eyes are clear like a sky before a storm. Obviously, he has the question he wants to ask already locked and loaded but refusing to pull the trigger. He lifts his hands, the width of them blanketing yours as he pulls them down. 

“Just tired,” he sighs. He’s saved by the loud grumble of his stomach, the tension breaking. “And hungry,” he adds with a crooked smile. You force a smile and ignore the trembling of your bottom lip. Joel’s tone might be playful but it does little in calming your nerves. Moving away, the chill you feel on your skin is instant. 

“I prepared most of the ingredients,” you say. “I thought pizza and wine?” 

“We’re in the birthplace of the dollar pizza and you made it homemade?” 

You giggle at how comically wide his eyes are. “Well forgive me for not wanting to feed you the cheapest thing available,” Joel’s lips touch your temple, warmth blossoming where his mouth brushes against. “And I thought it would be fun.” 

“It will,” he murmurs. “I’m not used to bein’ pampered I guess. Only Sarah cares about what goes down my gullet.” 

“Hmm I don’t recall saying it was due to the consideration of your health,” you tease, fingers tiptoeing from his arm to his shoulder. He shivers at the touch. “Maybe, I just want to see what these strong hands can do with some dough.” 

His mere grin manages to send ripples of pleasure down your spine. Something dark and wicked crosses his face and you let out a shaky sigh. “Brat,” he teases. 

With a cat-like grin of your own, you close the door. 

Joel stands before the kitchen counter, the soft glow of the overhead light accentuating the contours of his figure. His sleeves are rolled up, revealing sinewy forearms that glisten with a slight sheen of flour. The muscles beneath his sun-kissed skin ripple as he reaches for the dough, his biceps forming a subtle bulge with each purposeful movement.

With a focused expression, he takes the smooth, slightly elastic dough in his hands. The material yields to his touch, supple yet resilient. As his strong fingers sink into the dough's yielding embrace, you can't help but admire the way he handles it. His touch is both firm and gentle, his hands a testament to years of construction work that have endowed him with strength and dexterity.

The dough stretches and folds, responding to his guidance with grace. His hands move with an almost mesmerizing rhythm, kneading and pressing, coaxing the dough into a state of perfection. The occasional wisp of flour dances in the air as he works.

You watch, entranced, as Joel's fingers work their magic. The concentration etched on his face, the way his lips quirk up in a faint smile as he loses himself while doing so makes your heart race.

As he works, you find your own fingers involuntarily tracing the outline of your wine glass.

"Enjoyin' the view, honey?" Joel's voice rumbles, breaking through the silence. You quickly set the wine glass down and begin to babble something in response, your words stumbling over each other. But before you can complete your sentence, Joel grips your wrist, pulling you toward him. Your back is flush against his solid chest.

His scent of pine and undeniable masculinity, surrounds you, intoxicating your senses as effectively as the wine you had been sipping. The shift in the atmosphere is palpable, charged with an electricity that sends shivers down your spine.

Joel's hands find yours, and he guides them to rest above the dough, his touch sending a jolt of awareness through you. “I’m the guest why the hell am I doin’ all the work?” His fingers intertwine with yours, his calloused skin brushing against your more delicate touch. Your heart beats in sync with the rhythm of his kneading.

Kneading the dough together, you feel a growing pressure against your lower back. It takes a moment for you to realize – his erection, firm and unmistakable, pressing against you. The realization sends a rush of heat to your cheeks, and your breath catches in your throat.

His hand drops to your waist, guiding the grind of your hips. You feel him as the dress you’re wearing dips between your asscheeks, clothed cock parting the two gently. A soft growl rumbles in his chest, the tremble of it felt against your back. Your focus has shifted. The dough forgotten entirely. 

“You’re makin’ cookin’ really hard, sweetheart.” 

You manage a breathless chuckle, "Oh, and whose fault might that be, Mr. Master Dough Kneader?"

He snarls into your ear, hot breath causing goosebumps. “You really are bein’ a brat today. Is there a special occasion for that?” 

Honestly, being a brat really wasn’t your objective. It just. . . sorta came out. You reveled when Joel took control, be it face-to-face or during streams. There’s always something primal lingering under his touches, his words. You roll your hips, cutting his breath short, you feel the length of him being dragged down between the plump flesh of your ass. 

“I just want to make you happy,” you say surprisingly soft. When you attempt to rub against him once more, he stops you, both hands now on your waist, squeezing you in warning. 

“You do make me happy,” he breathes out. His voice is deep, slivering down your back. Heat pools between your legs and you lean into his warmth. “Why would you say that?” 

“Forget it,” You hadn’t expected him to take it so seriously. Worry begins to inflate your chest, heat rising to the tips of your ears and making you short of sight. You attempt to reach for the tomato sauce, making sure to drag the plumpness of your behind against the heft of his cock in order to eradicate the moment. You don’t want him to think too much about it. Or decide that what you have—whatever it is—isn’t worth it. 

The pads of your fingers brush against the smooth surface of the bowl but you can’t reach it. Not quite. Joel turns you over, hands between your waist and the sharp edge of the counter. Frustrated, you fill your cheeks with air and shoot him a glare. “Seriously, it’s nothing, Joel.” 

“No it ain’t,” he snaps silently. “Why would you stress about makin’ me happy?” 

He scoffs at your silence, “What? You think I’m just passin’ the time by comin’ here? That if it’s not worth my time I’ll just leave?” he asks, baffled. Your gaze drops to the granite floor, bottom lip sucked between your teeth. Joel’s eyes go wide, bushy eyebrows almost touching his hairline. “Wait you actually think that?” 

You remain silent. 

“Sweetheart. . .” he shakes his head and pinches your chin, pulling your gaze back up. He looks concerned. Remorseful. You try not to think about your pulse skyrocketing under your skin, try to ignore the skip of your heart. “You really think I’m that shallow?” 

“No,” you answer suddenly, the need to defend him to himself burrowing in your chest. “It’s not that. I just. . . I don’t know. I’m confused I guess.” 

“‘bout what?” 

His thumb draws slow circles on your cheek, you close your eyes, heart and chest suddenly light as air. You could float if you had the capability. You nuzzle his hand like a hurt animal, begging for more of his touch. 

“I really really like you, you know.” 

“I really like you too, honey,” you ignore the way his words and smile make your skin prickle with delight. “But that doesn’t really answer my question.” 

You sigh, you’re stuck between the constant worry and the comfort he’s providing. Despite being known as a chatterbox, you’re having trouble finding the words. 

“I know that me streaming isn’t. . . conventional but I’m not seeing anyone else. I don’t even do private streams anymore,” your eyes flit between his eyes, trying to get a read of whiskey-colored eyes. Fear coats your tongue upon noticing his lips are a thin line—definitely not a good sign. “And well. . . I don’t plan on seeing anyone else either because. . .” 

You melt in relief when his lips finally crack into a small smile, “Because you really really like me?” 

“Precisely,” you say a bit loud and excited. “And of course, I don’t want you to feel pressure but. . . are you seeing anyone?” you clear your throat. “B—Besides me, that is.” 

“Well. .  . sometimes I watch CammingBravo when he’s streamin’.” 

“Joel!” you huff out a laugh and playfully smack his chest. “You know that’s not what I meant.” 

Adoration dots over his face, the corner of his eyes wrinkling with his smile. You love it when he teases you. Love it even more when he just stares at you with blatant amusement. The expression doesn’t linger long though. Like a small flame under rain, it sizzles out, his demeanor changing suddenly. 

His brows furrow, a crease you so desperately want to kiss away forming between them. Joel’s jaw ticks, the muscle above it twitching. He inches closer until your foreheads are pressed together, snug. Your heart is beating with rapid thumps, your breath caught in your throat.  

“I’m not seein’ anyone else either,” he says, voice thick with emotion. “And I’m not planin’ on seein’ anyone else either.” 

“R-Really?” 

He nods, “I want you, sweetheart. Completely. I don’t care what you do on your streams as long as you’re mine when the camera shuts off.” 

Your smile is instantaneous. It’s not like you planned on streaming for the rest of your life, arrangements could be made to make him more comfortable. And you had stopped collabing with Dieter ever since Joel came into the picture—though, now that you knew Joel watched the fallen-from-grace actor’s streams. . . you were getting ideas. 

Joel nudges you with the tip of his nose, smiling, yet still hesitant, “Say somethin’ will you?” 

“So, we both want to be exclusive?” you grin. “That’s what you’re saying?” 

“Reckon, I am,” he answers with a snort. He parts his lips to say more but you beat him to it, covering his mouth with your own. The kiss is long and sweet. It feels like a first kiss in a way, even though you have kissed Joel many many times before.

“Come on now, let’s get these ready and pop them into the oven,” his grin is wide as he pinches your ass, you jump with a yelp and he laughs. When you fix him a half-hearted glare, he only winks. The simple action makes your insides clench. “I’m starvin’.” 

The next day, you take Joel to your favorite coffee shop. They make the best bagel sandwiches and you’re eager for him to try them out. He gets the classic bacon, egg, and cheese, and you order the avocado BLT. You offer to pay, but Joel being Joel, he quickly distracts you by dragging his lips from your temple to your cheek, swiftly taking out his wallet.

You give him a look of pure betrayal. If you were wearing pearls, you’d be clutching them by now. “Joel Miller,” you say, aghast. “How dare you use your charm for evil?” 

His laughter fills the air as he hands his credit card to the barista, his broad chest rising and falling with each boisterous sound. Your lips twitch into a smile as he cups your waist, pulling you close. His lips touch your ear and heat warms your cheeks. “Sorry, honey. I can’t always use my powers for good.” 

All you can manage is a short nod. Your senses narrow on the way his breath ghosts your skin, warm and soft like a summer breeze. For a second you forget about the bagels and the coffee shop, all you can think of is him; his body, his voice, his scent—arousal pulses between your legs. If you were positive the two of you wouldn’t get arrested for public indecency, you’d let him take you against this very counter for everyone to see. 

“Come on now,” he teases, reading your expression easily. “I got the goods, let’s find ourselves a good table.” 

Alas, he really was holding a tray in his hands. You have no idea when the barista finished making your order. Either you’d been fantasizing for too long or you had one hell of a barista. 

The two of you stand awkwardly in the middle of the coffee shop and look around. You notice a couple of people staring you down, their gazes fixed on you, some of them even being bold enough to do the old-fashioned up-and-down. You quickly divert your gaze and point toward a table right next to the large windows. Frankly, you’re used to the staring. They rarely came up to you since no one wanted to be the one known for enjoying porn. Especially in public. Most of the time they’re harmless. 

Walking towards your table, you cheat a glance at Joel. If he did notice the looks, he didn't say anything. He made no indication of discomfort or anything of the sort. Relief sprinkles over you, maybe the looks weren’t as obvious as you initially had thought. 

Joel took a seat and you sat across from him, he shot you a look before reaching for his black coffee, “Everythin’ alright?” 

“Yeah,” you clear your throat, trying to keep your nerves in check. “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

Just as he opens his mouth, you notice someone approaching in your peripheral. You hold your breath, eyes dropping to the bagels. The person, whoever it was, just stands at the end of the table. You feel the stranger’s eyes eating you up. Fuck, of all the times why now? 

“May we help you?” you hear Joel say, his tone the complete opposite of his words. When you look up at him from between your lashes, he’s staring at the stranger, the look dancing on the line of being a full-on glare. You take a slow breath and turn. 

It’s a young-ish man with blonde hair and brown eyes. Your first expression of him is that he seems kind. He doesn’t acknowledge Joel’s presence at all which you find impressive. Even across from him, you can feel the heat of his stare. 

“Hi,” the man says kindly. “S-Sorry to bother you but are you Honeysuckle? On Ravish?” 

Joel visibly bristles at that. And, despite your better judgment, it turns you on. 

“Yup, that’s me,” you let out an awkward chuckle. He extends a hand and you quickly take it, wanting this to be done as soon as possible. 

“I love your streams!” 

“Thank you,” you smile with tight lips. “I appreciate your support.” 

“Can I get a picture?” 

Briefly, your gaze flits to Joel, a shadow crosses his face, eyes dark in warning. Your breath hitches a bit, skin prickling, some part of you wishes the hardened gaze was directed at you instead. 

You turn back to the man, “Sorry I don’t do pictures,” he seems visibly heartbroken by that so you quickly add. “But I can give you an autograph if it’s all the same to you.” 

Oh god, you hate when you have to put it like that. It makes you sound so full of yourself. You’re not a movie star. 

His eyes sparkle, “Thank you!” he pulls out a small notebook and hands it to you. “Can you make it out for Alex?” 

“Sure.” you quickly sign your name—well, not your name name but your stream name; Honeysuckle. You add a little heart next to the name and return the notebook. 

“Thank you!” he repeats, his genuine glee spreading in the air and caressing your skin. Your stomach does a small somersault as he walks away, clutching the notebook close to his chest. 

“Well, at least he was nice about it,” Joel grunts, finally taking a sip of his coffee. You’re not sure what to take from his response, or expression for that matter. Is he mad? You don’t think he is. You nearly jump out of your skin when his focused gaze suddenly snaps to you. “You alright?” 

“U-Uh, yeah,” you wave your hand in dismissal. “This kinda stuff happens. Most of the time they don’t say hi though.”

“So they just stare at you like a piece of meat?” 

“Pretty much, yeah.” your voice is uncaring. Honestly, you’re used to it by now. It’s not like you had the most respectable job, at least, not according to most people. You can only imagine the comments you would get if you had Instagram, or if Ravish didn’t have a tight-proof system that allowed you to ban people on sight. You reach for your sandwich and take a bite, you chew slowly. 

Joel snarls, “Assholes.” 

“I was hoping you didn’t notice,” you smile around your second bite. He seems almost offended by what you said, crossing his arms over the expanse of his chest. 

“Of course I did,” he huffed. “And why wouldn’t you want me to notice?” 

“I don’t know,” you truly didn’t. “I guess I didn’t want any hiccups to happen right after we decided to be. . . exclusive.” 

“Honey. . .” he gives you the tiniest smile, eyes full of care. “Don’t worry, people starin’ ain’t gonna get me packin’. Don’t you. . . don’t you know my feelings run deeper than that?” 

Joel's words hang in the air, his gaze searching your eyes for any sign of reassurance. The last thing you ever wanted was to make him feel like he was the source of your worry, the reason for your unease. Yet, here he was, looking like he believed he was to blame for your discomfort.

You lower your gaze to your sandwich, suddenly feeling a weight on your chest that has nothing to do with the bagel. It's not that you doubt his feelings for you, but you've carried the weight of your own insecurities for years, and it's hard to let go of them all at once.

Tears threaten to well up, and you quickly blink them away, not wanting to appear vulnerable in the middle of the coffee shop. You take another bite of your sandwich, chewing mechanically as you try to compose yourself. The flavors of avocado and bacon mix on your tongue, but they seem tasteless compared to the swirl of emotions within you.

Joel's hand finds yours on the table, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over your knuckles. When you finally muster the courage to meet his gaze, you're met with eyes that hold a storm of emotions. Concern, understanding, and a vulnerability that mirrors your own.

"You're not alone in this, you know?" he murmurs. 

You let out a shaky breath. You're not used to showing this side of yourself, not after so many years of self-preservation and guarding your heart and yourself.

"I guess I’m still not used to this yet" you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. "It’s not your fault at all, it’s just been so long since I’ve been with anyone. . . emotionally. I'm sorry if I made you feel responsible."

He leans across the table, his warm hand cradling your cheek. His touch is gentle, his thumb caressing your skin. "I get it, sweetheart. And you don’t need to apologize. We’re the same in that aspect, I haven’t been with anyone for a long time either. Just. . .  know that I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. We'll figure this out together."

You lean into his hand, you’re feeling lighter already. 

Joel's lips curve into a tender smile, and he leans in to press a soft kiss to your forehead. "Besides," he mutters, sitting back. “I don’t run away from what’s mine.” 

Mine. 

One simple word. A noun of all things, is what makes you melt in your seat. It’s sobering. Waking you in a way that no amount of coffee ever could. Mine. He said that. You heard the possessive lilt laced with the word, almost daring you to object. You nearly do if you’re honest, shadows dance in his eyes, draw you in like a bunny rabbit sniffing a tempting trap. You want to take the bate. Sink your teeth into that carrot to see how he’ll react, the things he’ll do to prove just how true his words were. 

Instead, you clench your thighs together and propose something else instead. 

“Let me prove to you that I’m yours then,” you say. Eagerness caused Joel's eyes to widen, his jaw betraying his emotions with a subtle twitch. “In fact, let’s show the world.” 

No matter how vivid your imagination was, no matter how long you prepared and checked the equipment over and over again, nothing—absolutely nothing—could have prepared you for Joel walking through your bedroom door.

You had picked out a form-fitting black button-up shirt for him to wear. The fabric hugged his biceps, the seams barely holding on. The shirt stretched over the expanse of his chest, the buttons doing a better job compared to the seams in holding everything together. However, you were certain if he stretched even a little, the shirt would rip with a satisfying pop. 

That isn't all, though. Your eyes move up from the shirt, your gaze tracing the lines of his body until they land on the striking green mask he's wearing.

The mask is a deep shade of forest green, with intricate gold detailing that seems to dance in the light. Swirls and patterns weave across the surface, accentuating the gilded flakes in his eyes. 

His brown eyes peer out from behind the mask, a slight awkwardness to his gaze that seems to lessen with the hunger of your stare. The contrast between the vibrant green and the warmth of his gaze draws you in like a moth to a flame. The mask frames his face perfectly,  showcasing his strong jawline and the facial hair that clings to his skin.

"I feel dumb," he mutters, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down your spine. “Isn’t there a way you can just make it so that my face is out of frame?” 

The mask had been his idea, he didn’t want to be recognized—rightfully so— and since he still wanted to stream. . . he bought himself a mask. 

Too bad he doesn’t realize the effect it has on you. Only if he could feel how wet you were for him, that’ll surely put him in a better mood. 

“Not really, we are going to be moving after all,” you answer. His gaze drops. “Joel, you look devastatingly hot right now.” 

His ears perk at that, eyes lifting to meet yours instantly. “Really?” 

"Come here," you manage to murmur, your voice laced with a mix of playfulness and longing. He obeys without hesitation, closing the distance between you in a matter of heartbeats. His hand reaches out, fingers curling beneath your chin as he tilts your head up. His eyes, those deep pools of honey, lock onto yours with an intensity that steals your breath away.

"Tell me," he whispers, his thumb brushing lightly over your lower lip. "What's on your mind?"

You swallow, your words catching in your throat for a moment before you manage to answer, your voice barely more than a breath. "You... the mask... everything. I can’t wait to feel you deep inside. Can’t wait for you to ruin me for everyone to see."

His lips curve into a smile, and he leans in, his breath mingling with yours as he murmurs against your lips, "Oh, don’t worry. I don’t plan on leavin’ an inch of you not clingin’ with my come, darlin’.” 

Oh, fuck. 

Fuck fuck fuck. 

Your lips part with a soft gasp and he slips his thumb into your mouth. Your tongue eagerly laps at his thumb, drawing circles, begging for him to press deeper. Heat radiates off of him, suffocating you in the best way possible. Your eyes drop to his crotch, the outline of his cock visible despite the dark blue denim.

Joel grins and shifts his hips closer, teasing you with a promise of more. You close your lips around his thumb and swallow. You’re in a trance. Body and soul bewitched by his presence. Your breasts feel full and heavy, nipples tingling. 

“Go and start the stream, honey.” 

Tingles. All you feel are tingles as you get up and desperately head toward your setup. Your legs are shaking. His eyes burning holes into your bare back. A second later his palm is on your ass, stroking the plump flesh and teasing the elastic of your panties. You sigh, the fabric sticking to your folds. 

With practiced efficiency, you start up the stream, the familiar hum of your equipment filling the room. Almost immediately, comments begin flooding in, your "hive" eagerly joining the live broadcast. The chat scrolls rapidly, filled with excited greetings and bee-themed emojis, a testament to the unique community you've cultivated.

"Hey there, my busy bees!" you greet, your voice filled with enthusiasm. "I hope you're all buzzing with excitement, because tonight we've got a special guest joining us."

You let a mischievous smile tug at the corner of your lips as your eyes flicker to the monitor. There he is, Joel, standing just behind you, his presence towering and captivating even though his head isn't visible on screen. The comments explode with excitement, the chat inundated with messages about how good he looks, how lucky you are, and playful exclamations about your "hunk of a guest” and how they can’t wait for him to “pump you full of his come”. A bit crass, but you can’t say you disagree. 

You continue, "But first, let's give a warm welcome to our newbies! Welcome to the hive, where we celebrate all things sweet and sticky." you wink at the camera and bend slightly over, wiggling your ass. Joel doesn’t waste any time moving directly behind you, hands on your waist as he pushes forward, making you feel the heft of his cock between your cheeks. A small moan escapes you, breasts swaying with his shallow grinds. 

“And now, without further ado,” you say breathless. “Let’s start the show. Our guest is an impatient one,” you hear Joel scoff behind you, the voice making your pussy bottom out. “Am I wrong, sir?” 

His nails bite into your flesh, showing you just how much he enjoys being called that. You smile as you stand up, giving one last look to the monitor to check everything is in place, you face Joel. You lean closer for a kiss, hoping that it’ll soothe his nerves. He must be nervous. 

But before you can close the distance, he grabs your chin and pushes you back, just proving how wrong you are. Your eyes widen, the pressure he applies to hallow your cheeks emptying the oxygen in your lungs. “Not so fast,” he grunts. “On your knees, honey. Only good girls get kisses.” 

Your insides pulse with a vicious throb. His voice takes on a tone you've never quite heard before. It's deep, a resonant rumble that seems to vibrate through the very core of your being. His voice, deep and resonant, like thunder during a storm and wraps around you like a velvet cloak, warming you. As you slowly sink to your knees, your pulse quickens in response. 

A desperate, hushed rustling fills the room as a zipper is lowered and briefly, you steal a quick glance at the streaming setup, ensuring that everything continues to run smoothly. Joel’s head is still out of view, which you regret because you want everyone to see how good he looks in his mask—

His touch is a sudden and deliberate pull, “Eyes on me,” he growls, the bulbous head of his cock pressing against your lips. His fingers are wrapped around his impressive length, and instead of notching the head between your lips, he smacks your parted lips with it. A drop of precome stains your bottom lip, a string of it following the tip as he holds it above your face. Your eyes are glued to the masked figure above you. Despite the tone and the roughness, they’re just pools of soft honey, internally searching your face for any discomfort. 

Joel begins to stroke himself and with a heavy gaze, you part your lips wider and stick your tongue out for him to use you however he pleases. 

His dark chuckle makes your skin prickle with need. You come closer, dragging your tongue between his balls, nuzzling him sweetly. Joel curses above you and grips your shoulder, holding you back. 

“Sir, please,” you gasp, attempting to get close but his hand keeps you at a small distance. 

He doesn’t acknowledge your pleas, “Push those pretty tits together, sweetheart.” 

Desperate and dripping, you press them together with your arms. His cock comes from under, the head piercing your tits as it pushes from between them. Joel hooks his thumb in your mouth and you obediently suck around the digit as he begins to thrust. Neither of you breaks eye contact. 

Joel pushes himself further into you, driving his hips forward. His cock slides between your tits, filling your already open mouth with vigor as he rocks in and out of your ample cleavage. You moan around his thumb, the warmth of his precum dripping over your tongue. 

Your body rocks with each stroke, the pleasure radiating through your chest with each thrust. Your nipples throb with arousal, hard like diamonds, as he slams his rigid cock into your tits. Sweat beads on his forehead and he grits his teeth, “Keep them together,” he grunts as he pulls out, with the head, he smears drops of himself over your heated skin. 

Your eyes roll back at how possessive it is, the fact that everyone is watching already forgotten. “Good,” he says, pleased. He pulls away his thumb and drags it over your bottom lip. “You’re already so dumb for my cock, aren’t you. Eager to show your viewers how badly you want to be good for me hmm?” 

God, the tremors in his voice, that southern drawl. He’s going to be the death of you. 

“Y-Yeah,” you pant, chest heaving. Ignoring the ache it causes in the back of your neck, you lean forward and manage to taste him on your skin. You moan as your eyes flutter closed, your own breath warm against you. “Want to be your good girl again, sir.” 

He pulls away from you completely, heading towards the bed. You stare at him blearily as he takes a seat, only coming to your senses when he hits his thigh, gesturing you to come over.  

Just as you’re about to sit, he stops you, clicking his tongue while lifting a hand. “First strip, darlin’. Turn to the camera,” you don’t miss the way he smiles as you turn on shaky legs, staring directly into the lens. “Have you already forgotten how to stream? My poor sweet dumb girl.” 

His words send you into a haze of submission. Needles stinging your back, you peel off your panties and bra, dropping them to the floor. “Good,” he hums. “Now sit on my lap, spread those legs so they can see how wet you got just from gettin’ her tits fucked.” 

Joel scoots further back and gives you space on the bed to place your feet. With heavy lids, you spread yourself for him—and the people who’re watching at home. Your front facing the camera. To expose yourself in such a way, it’s different compared to what you normally do. You have fun with Dieter but it’s never like this, never as intense. A shaky breath escapes you when Joel places a hand on the inside of your thigh, pushing your legs further apart. He’s staring at you through the monitor, jaw slack. Meanwhile, you’re just happy people can see his mask, those brown eyes. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he mutters, his role forgotten. “Look at you. Fuck,” his lips touch your ear, whispering the rest of the words so it’s only you that can hear. “You never stopped bein’ my good girl. Just sayin’.” 

Your vision blurs with tears and you nod, his lips now on your cheek. He drags his mouth to your forehead and lays another kiss. “Now let’s give them a show.” 

Joel cups your ass as he helps you lift yourself, aligning himself against your sopping core, he slowly lowers you, filling you inch by inch. Your head falls back, mouth agape, you’ve forgotten how big he is, how satisfying it is to take him so slowly. His breath is hot on your nape. “That’s it,” he purrs. “Just like that, show them how good you take cock, honey.” 

 “‘S big,” you slur. “S–So big, sir.” 

He shushes you, lips moving over your cheek. “I know, honey I know,” he licks the salt off your skin. “But you’re my good girl, aren’t you? You can take it.” 

Joel rears up, slowly pushing himself into you. His hands guide your hips to the right angle to let him slide deeper, your soft cries echoing through the air. 

“I am,” you gasp, delirious, his cock completely sheathed inside. “I am. I–I’m your good girl.” 

You twist around, straddling Joel as he takes both your hands and draws you close. His lips crash against yours, and you moan into his mouth as you grind your hips against him. Heaven help you, how can you take him like this with an audience? Images of all the people watching on your live stream dance in your mind, but it makes it all the hotter.

Your body rocks up and down as you ride him, your inner walls clenching around him. You’re panting and moaning, your body shaking as you pump harder.  You feel Joel shift beneath you, his grip tightening as you take him even deeper, arching your back and pushing your breasts out. You can feel his eyes on you, as well as the eyes of the viewers watching you live stream. His cock glistens with your slick, every time you lift yourself, the light catches against it, everyone watching seeing how worked up Joel gets you. 

You can feel Joel's warmth radiating throughout your body as he slides back and forth, gaining momentum as he thrusts harder. You stifle a moan, your eyes fluttering as pleasure overcomes you, your head humming with pleasure. Your body starts to slow, your muscles aching and trembling. 

Suddenly Joel grips your waist, fingertips leaving dents in your flesh. He growls in your ear, drops of spit hitting your neck. “Who told you to slow down?” he pulls your body against him, forcing himself deeper into you. Every inch of you is shaking as Joel's hips slam against yours. His fingers find your clit, drawing gentle, quick circles around the sensitive nub. You cry out, clenching around him. “Look into the camera,” he groans. “Want them to see your fucked out gaze when I make you squirt.” 

Your hands find purchase above his knees, the coil in your stomach tight, it’s too much. Too fucking much. Your head is swimming in a lavender haze, and before you know it, your cunt is pulsing around him, gushing and slowing his thrusts. You hear the faint pitter patters of a rain-like sound. 

You barely register the liquid spraying from you, your body hot and burning while Joel’s fingers continue to move. Your drip down his length and down the inside of his thighs, and he rips another, albeit calmer, orgasm from you.  

“Shiiiiiit,” he drawls. “Shit shit, honey, fuck, don’t move—” he makes a choked-out sound and spears you down flush on his cock. The sounds you make are completely debauched. A series of sir’s dropping from your lips, tongue aching to moan his name. You feel him spilling inside, so much, you think, so much of it filling you up. He’s still throbbing when he pulls out, gripping himself and ringing the last of it over your glistening cunt, drowning it in come. 

“Oh fuck,” you murmur as he pushes it back in with the head of his length, you shudder around him. “So full,” you say, eyes dropping where you two connect through the reflection in the monitor. 

“Not done,” he mutters and helps you lift yourself over him, cock slowly softening. “Push it out darlin’. Show them how much there is to keep you satisfied.” 

“F-Fuck,” you let out a whimper, eyelids fluttering as his seed trickles out of you and drips over his length. You feel faint of heart, this probably being one of the filthiest things you’ve done on camera. 

“Good girl,” he says, eyes glued to the camera. “My good girl,” he repeats, cupping your mound and slipping one finger inside with ease. 

Joel gently lays you down on the bed, your body too weak to do anything. He walks up to the stream set up, his eyes flashing toward the camera one last time. “See y’all next time.” he taunts before shutting the entire thing off. 

He throws the mask to the ground near your discarded clothes. 

You don’t know what to think when he climbs onto the bed, mattress dipping with his weight before he pulls you to his chest. He kisses you slowly, taking his time as he tastes you. “Sorry,” he whispers into your mouth. “I think I might’ve gone overboard.” 

“No,” you sigh dreamily, still in a haze. “That was perfect. I—I don’t think I can walk for a while.” 

You let out a low chuckle and he smiles, pressing his lips into your forehead. 

“Well, good thing I’m here then.”  

[cowboyjen68]

Hi. Hope your day is well. I’m unsure what you’ll think about this but I think I just need to get this off my chest to an older butch. I feel an incredibly deep core-of-my-being connection to butchness and butch culture but I’m not a lesbian at all, I’m a gay masc guy. It’s so hard to make sense of this feeling. I feel cripplingly insecure in calling myself butch since I am not a woman nor am I attracted to women, but it’s the only descriptor I’ve found that truly feels like home to me, and that’s a feeling I’m reluctant to rescind. Butch feels honest and warm and *right* in my soul, moreso than any other term I’ve tried on. The first time I considered using it as a term for myself it instantly, permanently clicked something inside me and I felt so much unexpected relief that I cried. I’ve done a lot of experimentation and soul searching, so I know it’s not gender dysphoria or a case of mistaken sexuality that drives this connection I have with butchness, but god do I wish it was. Every day I wish I was a lesbian so I could have something in common with the people I feel the deepest kinship with, so my adoption of this label could feel legitimate, so I would not be rejected from butchness. I feel completely alone, like I’m caught between separated worlds with no community to relate my experiences back to. It’s lonely.

My day is moving along. I am at my office job today but we are allowed to be on line and today is particularly quiet. Thank you for asking.

What I think is you sound like a person doing a lot of searching to find where you fit in life. I can make all kinds of assumptions about you but with Tumblr anons I might never know details and sometimes the depth of the answer is in those details.

You say you are a gay masc guy. So there you go. You know you aren't attracted to women and I believe you. Butch is a lesbian term used to describe lesbians who encounter certain biases and experiences due to how we are perceived in the world. As a masc guy attracted to only men you could not understand that. If you are consistently and reliably perceived as a man, or at least not a woman, you don't have the same social consequences as butches who are seen as "being a woman wrong" or "like a man" which we are neither.

Since you are not attracted to woman you have no claim to butch. As a masc guy you have your own experiences and I, with no doubts, believe you suffer from suppressions and limitations placed on you by society. But they are not the same as for butches. You don't have the same type of assumptions aimed at you.

I know some will see this as gatekeeping or word policing. I am okay with that. I am not going to lash out at people who feel they have the right to words that I think they don't. I can't change the actions of others but you asked my opinion and I am sharing with an honest answer.

You can't be rejected from butch because it was never for you to begin with. What you can do is find others like you to relate to. Find other masc guys or other men to befriend and share your experiences with. It also does not mean you can't be friends with butches. I have lots of friends who are masc, trans guys, straight guys and bi guys and every other kind of guy. One need not be a butch to befriend and respect butches. Just as I feel a kinship with my gay men friends, you can share a kinship with butch women. I think you will find using butch might cause some butches to feel less trusting of you.

Not being a lesbian is not a punishment. Each of us has the right to love who we are and embrace our sexuality. Please don't feel bad for being attracted to only men. It is normal and healthy.

My best advice would be to meet and befriend butch women in real life. This might help you understand the differences you have and also discover the similarities that draw you to the word and maybe give you some clarity about yourself.

[lonniemachin]

lonnie for the character ask thing :)

always. always.

Sexuality Headcanon: i bounce back and forth between whether i think lonnie wouldn’t label his sexuality or whether the act of labeling his sexuality (+ gender for that matter) would be something that feels good for him, but i’d say what either describes it best or IS it is bi. im also fond of aromantic lonnie and both at the same time.

Gender Headcanon: transfem + genderfluid (i tend to use she/he interchangeably for her). and i read it into her narrative too. the way that she always felt a disconnect from her peers that tied into her apologizing to her parents that they weren’t able to bring up the “all-american boy” and the way that her parents emphasize that she’s different from other boys, how the anarky costume has a mask that reflects the faces of the people that look into it back outward + how i feel that through giving so much of her life to being anarky she’d get used to being this entity that’s referred to by terms other than just he and him and man and boy etc. until she unmasks and it defaults back. i think after a while there’d be a disconnect and it wouldn’t really hit until after red robin when she has to deal with just Being Lonnie (and Moneyspider) for longer than she’s ever had to after taking up her mission. and i think that gender fluidity of anarky, despite if she sticks with the identity or not, would be something she decides to embrace for herself as a person. i’ll stop there. but basically its real.

A ship I have with said character: i’ve already been over timlonnie on my tim post so i’ll make my stance clear right here, right now: i like stephlonnie but in my own “their characterizations align with how they were pre-flashpoint and rebirth never happened” way. i think the base concept of lonnie falling for steph is soooo cute and having it be her of all other gothamites would be very fitting. i think he and steph could also bond over quite a lot from the way they approach vigilantism to their complicated relationship with the bats and the joker paternity debacle vs. having the cluemaster as a chromosome donor.

A BROTP I have with said character: lonnie does not have many friends and that is a purposeful thing. i already mentioned tim on my tim post so instead of saying he + mia dearden, which is entirely made up in my own mind but nonetheless has me in a chokehold, i’ll say he and oliver queen, which is one of my favorite out of the… 3 big dynamics he has with other vigilantes. oliver is the one older person who, despite distrusting him at first, came to approach lonnie’s way of doing things with an open mind and actually teamed up with her twice. partnering with lonnie reminded ollie of the ideals he holds dear and of his younger self in a way that prompted good introspection. i think having someone like ollie around, who is an experienced leftist vigilante willing to see things her way while also providing a bit of natural guidance and even potentially a community would be good for lonnie… and i forever mourn the team-up comic that was proposed but never got made. hard traveling heroes 2 forever.

A NOTP I have with said character: ummmm. rebirth stephlonnie? born of horrid characterization. there are not many people he’s interacted with enough to ship him with. i guess i’ve seen people ship he and bruce in the far dark corners of earlier bat fandom which should go without saying but fucking sucks ❤️

A random headcanon: aside from her 12-year-old self’s job as a paperboy, she likes biking. being active in general too but she should probably slow down because there is no way 9+ hours of exercise a day is healthy

General Opinion over said character: my favorite comic book character and i can’t see that changing soon. lonnie means the absolute world to me and more. getting a little personal, i’ve met some of my best friends through liking and talking about anarky, and for that i’m forever thankful. digging into the history behind his creation and his use in the bat narrative revealed just how much passion was put into him as a character which makes him even better and more meaningful to me even if he went in a direction i wasn’t the biggest fan of. despite less than 100 appearances, she’s a complex character with some of my favorite comics under her belt and an unforgettable debut appearance. what she means when put up against bruce and the potential that held is something i never tire of discussing. i wish every single day that dc would stop marketing her as a batman villain. i think she should’ve been disabled and had what happened to her during Red Robin centered around her because i think it would’ve been an excellent way to both give her more prominence and develop her along more after such a period of being so isolated + putting her whole identity into her mission. i never get bored of reading through her comics over again, it makes me genuinely so happy to do so. machin nation forever and im serious.

[hosticaaa]

𝒜𝔩𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯 ; Cannibalism and allegories.

Al's sexuality is very funny to me because yeah I'm a horror writer of course its impossible for me not to use cannibalism as a twisted allegory for love / desire so we're here with this "I Love Women. I Eat Men. I Fuck Nothing." Shit and I've mentioned before that as far as sexuality goes, people have a very hard time figuring Alastor out and the man really doesn't help anyone, not one little bit ! He has no concept of the ace spectrum so he wouldn't know to relate himself to anything on it which means HE largely thinks he's straight because he defiantly "preforms" romance with women, but still keeps people confused because they stay hanging as regardless most things beyond the courtship stage develop to friendship with him rather than an actual relationship. Read; Queer-platonic relationships but the problem here being Alastor nor anyone he's in such a relationship with have the ability to actually identify it as that so they sit in this weird really good friends, maybe lovers, but suck on the will we/wont we "go further" stage. So Alastor has a ton of "girlfriends" but I'm pretty sure none of them really know what they are to him or how to categorize him, because he's certainly not a 'gay bestie', but then there feels to be more there (mutually) than "straight guy friend", but then you have the fact he has no desire to eat women and according to him only eats men and thats the only kind of lust Alastor claims he feels and he's really happy, if not over-eager to embrace this.

As far as men go its not really uncommon for them to mistake him as gay, bro is out here prancing around and limp wristing it like its no ones business and apparently Alastor's self aware enough to make unsettling jokes that allude to him being bisexual or gay but are actually wholly in reference to his horrible habit of eating dudes (And by preference, only dudes) but again, he'd consider himself "straight" if he had to label himself. Because, also mentioned in an older post, he does have this concept of the fact he just hasn't found the right girl yet and being in hell has kinda removed this idea he had in life that this was something important but obviously rather than giving him freedom in the sense of sexual liberty, he just doesn't feel like he needs to have serious intentions with women anymore, romancing them is something he can easily do with no obligation for anything serious or to even take the relationship to a sexual level, like he's truly just playing all the time. Like I imagine Al has a lot of broken and confused hearts behind him because of this but no one is particularly scorned because he's also always treated everyone so "well" and again the idea of "what even are we" in the first place. And again back to the lust being for men only but uh also being inseparable to the cannibalism which leads one to wonder is Al a very deeply closted gay/bi man ? Did the attitudes of his time period and thus possible social/emotional/mental trauma cause things to be so twisted for him ? The answer is likely yes as I have concepts that younger/human Alastor prrrobably had an idea he might not be "straight" in the usual way everyone else around him seemed to be, and maaybe tried to find out only to perhaps have a bad experience that compounded his existing issues along the lines of his existing contempt for men and his very neurotic need to project a constant aura of power/dominance/superiority ( Something he really doesn't feel near as much of a need to project around women ) and again, ties hard to the cannibalism in a whole different way. Plus we have the concept of Alastor being kind of vain and just finding that no one really measures up to his level of expectation - I just don't know if he really knows what the expectation is because of all this convoluted neurotic shit - if he found someone who met his standard what would he even do ? Embrace it and get normal or, more likely, just move the goal post, so yeah, hes a dandy aspec feminist that's so much easier to say than unpacking any of that.

[nimuetheseawitch]

for character headcanons: klinger and margaret

Klinger

1: sexuality headcanon 

Flexible. Hard to label because his gender is hard to label/he doesn't canonically seem to claim anything other than cishet. But I 100% see him as someone who says he's a straight man and then enjoys being a woman and will also totally have relationships/sex with men. He doesn't care about coloring in the lines of any chosen label.

2: otp 

I can't help it, I love canon for this. Soon Lee is perfect for him and I just died when she said she wanted to see him in a dress sometime. I also love to imagine that he and Henry hooked up before the war.

3: brotp 

Mulcahy. They gamble together, they both have black market connections, and they care about a lot of the same things in some really sweet ways. I love it when we see them team up on things, and I love their interactions in church and gambling in backrooms. They deeply respect each other and their differences and I love that.

4: notp 

Winchester. My apologies to those who love this, but Charles has often done wrong by Klinger, and it's just a no for me.

5: first headcanon that pops into my head 

Post-war tailor shop that secretly serves the queer community. Who else in Toledo knows how to tailor women's clothes to masculine bodies?

6: one way in which I relate to this character

I would also trade away my favorite salami for an incredibly personal gift for a friend and then take zero credit for it (it would embarrass me to be acknowledged).

7: thing that gives me secondhand embarrassment about this character

I don't think anything Klinger does embarrasses me. I'm furious about some things on his behalf, like how everyone treats him when he decorates, but I can't think of any embarrassment.

8: cinnamon roll or problematic fave?

Cinnamon roll all the way through.

Margaret

1: sexuality headcanon 

This is fun because I recently changed my mind. I now hc her as aromantic. I always thought of her as bi/queer, but I've been thinking a lot recently about the possibility of her being aromantic and how that intersects with her perception of her gender and related expectations. The happiest liaison she has is the carefree one night stand after her divorce where she really embraces her freedom to not worry about all the trappings of romance. She tries so hard to fit into this box of the woman who needs a man and marriage, and we see her fumble with this idealistic romance after sleeping with Hawkeye and with Scully. We also see her really happy when eschewing traditional gender roles with Frank, and although she keeps asking him for romance, it either goes horribly wrong or seems to really be about sex and not much more. I don't know, I got rambly, but I like my new headcanon.

2: otp 

Herself. I know this is kind of cheating, but I kinda want Margaret to be single and become part of the 60s free love thing. Eschewing marriage and boxes and embracing bodily autonomy seems right up her alley, and I want her to find happiness without being tied to any one person. I want her to love herself.

3: brotp 

Hawkeye. They are the best besties and should be best friends forever. I want Margaret and Hawkeye to get together and gossip about their various sexual escapades and scheme together to set up an illegal abortion clinic.

4: notp 

Power imbalances in either direction. This isn't one specific person but more about her characterization of someone who sleeps with generals. I am incredibly creeped out by the implication that some of them are her father's friends. I also think she wouldn't sleep with someone who she commands because she'd be uncomfortable with the power imbalance (she makes a comment at some point about how she's dating Frank because he's a Major) - she already struggles to even be friends with those she commands.

5: first headcanon that pops into my head 

She has 100% explored her sexuality with both Lorraine and Helen.

6: one way in which I relate to this character

All of those feelings about expectations - from the expectations of her parents to behaving professionally to gender.

7: thing that gives me secondhand embarrassment about this character

The shrieking over Radar waking her up and other similar things. She's so quick to assume he's a creep and doesn't give him the benefit of the doubt (tbf, he does peek in the nurses' shower, but he pretty much always treats her with respect).

8: cinnamon roll or problematic fave?

*sigh* I want her to be a cinnamon roll (and by the end she's pretty much there), but she definitely starts out as problematic. She has so much character growth, and I love her.

[annoyedmothf4iry]

The point is I hate labels

I've been dealing with my sexuality/gender identity since I was preteen and it hasn't been pretty. I didn't know if the crushes I had on boys over the years were my true feelings or just a mask to hide how I truly felt for the same sex. I saw the beauty in all of the girls in my classes, most of them were mean and hetero so I stayed hetero as well. I didn't know how people would take it, I didn't know how my parents would take it! I was so scared for myself and for others, the way I was looking at them with hearts in my eyes... During high school, I learned more about the LGBT community and found out I was more than just bi-curious.. but that didn't stop me from still pretending that I was straight and forcing myself to reciprocate the feelings of my guy best friend who, I'll admit, was quite pushy and anxious at times. I thought if I ended up in a relationship with a boy that I'd be normal finally. But my feelings still haven't changed and the guy best friend that I was dragging along didn't understand what I was dealing with... He would hold my hand during class and I would feel nothing but his clammy palms against mine. He knew I was uncomfortable with this "relationship" and he knew I wasn't the type to speak my mind. I was a loner before I met him so I'm used to keeping to myself but he never asked if I was okay with anything.. I still hate him for that and I still hate myself for not speaking up and breaking it off with him earlier but I felt that would hurt his feelings more... We never even went out on a date! It also felt like a sham to me so I finally told him how I felt, a little ashamed for liking girls the same way I'm supposed to like boys and in return he broke it off with the words "Im sorry I confused you but I really hope I didn't make you gay.." :(

It took me 3 years to finally come out as bisexual. My mom embraced me and told me that she already knew for a while now. That she was proud of me... My dad died before I could tell him.

Now I'm 21 years old, genderfluid and trying my hardest to stay bisexual. I know that sounds bad but let me explain... I love being bi! Everything about it is so freeing yet confusing. lol Lately, though, I've been having withdrawals when it came to liking men/male figures. I just like seeing myself as bi and yet if I ever date a guy in the future, i'll still be seen as straight in his eyes or the eyes around me. I know I have a choice not to listen to people and I love that choice... it's just hard seeing myself with a man. With a woman; it's like finding a key to hidden locked door in a long hallway. I find it easier if I just stayed to only like women. But does that just make me lesbian?? if so, I would be more than happy to embrace that. it's just ive been so used to being bisexual. Everything has been so goddamned confusing, everything I know is now unorganized in my mind. I have no idea on what to do with this information. I just need insight but i'm not good at asking these types of questions with someone with experience... I just know for sure that labels are really starting to confine me of what I love most about myself. I'm starting to feel like I don't know who I truly am anymore.

[billthedrake]

BIG DADDY (PART ONE)

(This is a story is a little departure from my normal, with bisexual content. It's inspired by @pagespermer and his writing - thanks, man.)

I almost couldn't bring myself to admit to Cheryl, and I had a hunch it could mean us breaking up. But we'd had an amazing date night. Dinner. Hot sex. Some cuddling afterward. Staying up late, just talking, sharing more of ourselves. We'd been doing a lot of that lately.

The topic had drifted to a kind of "I never" where we described our fantasies and turn offs. "If I'm honest," I said. "I'm bi probably. I mean, I don't embrace that label, but I've had sex with guys a few times."

I thought my girlfriend might be shocked. Cheryl Bryant came from a conservative Texas background and still was very much that sweet, pretty, very traditionally feminine Southern girl. Always wearing make up and having her hair perfect and wearing clothes that flattered her figure and big boobs. It was kind of opposites attract, I suppose, but I had to admit I liked a woman who put in that extra effort to be attractive.

"I thought you might be one of those boys with secrets," she giggled playfully. I guess she wasn't freaked out. Her painted nails drifted closer to my soft cock. It might take a little while before I was ready for round two, but she loved teasing me. "Leave it to a big strong lacrosse jock to be open to play with other men."

I felt relieved. I turned onto my side and faced her. That bobbed hair was still perfect, and her tits were better than any porn star's. I ran my hands along her smooth stomach, caressing her soft skin. "I'm not open to it," I asserted. "Not now. I'm dating you," I reminded her.

"Good answer," she replied.

"What about you?" I teased. "What secrets does a pretty Southern girl like you have?"

She gave me a Mona Lisa smile. "I guess you'll have to find out sometime." Seeing my annoyed look she added, "I do enjoy watching gay porn."

Color me surprised. I had no idea Cheryl even had any interest in porn. Honestly I hadn't met a girl who wasn't somewhere on the spectrum between indifference and total disgust when it came to pornography.

"Yeah?" I asked.

She nodded. "It's wild to see what those guys get up to. They're just so INTO it, you know?" The fact it was her iced tea-sweet Texas drawl saying it just made her admission seem crazier.

Then reaching down she cupped my dick, massaging it softly in her hand. "I'll let you know this... I want my lacrosse player boyfriend to fuck me hard."

I was firming up, quickly. We kissed and slowly felt each other's bodies. But it was clear we were moving from the cuddling to the fucking again phase of the evening. Finally I got between her spread legs and mounted her, doing my best to give her the hard fuck she'd asked for.

***

I knew things were getting serious between us. I invited Cheryl to Jersey to meet my folks. And the following month, I was going down to Texas.

I liked her family. I didn't think I would that first day. I mean, her mother was on the meek side and seemed to be overly subservient to her husband, Cheryl's dad. Mark Bryant was a typical small-town patriarch. Owned his own business, a pool supply company that was the biggest employer in the town. The Bryants weren't full-on rich by North Jersey standards, but they clearly had wealth - a big house that was on the verge between McMansion and actual Mansion - a huge yard, big pool, the whole works.

Anywhere we'd go out, people would address come up to Mr. Bryant, like he was royalty holding court. Or the town mayor. Lots of yes sir, no sir, Mr. Bryant. The man was a big guy, too, 6'5" almost stocky, ex-football jock, and he carried himself in a way that said he expected others to be deferential. As a North Jersey suburban kid, it seemed funny, yet kind of rubbed me the wrong way.

Thing is, though, by the second day, Mr. Bryant and I got along great. He took me aside, and told me how thrilled he was that Cheryl met a good boy with a real head on his shoulders. We talked business and my plans after graduation. We joked about my lack of interest in Big 12 football.

When we left after three days and went back to Durham, I knew that if I married Cheryl, I was marrying into the Bryants. So it wasn't a surprise when three weeks before graduation, when Cheryl and I were having a conversation about our future, she asked if I'd consider moving down to Texas.

"You serious?" I blurted out.

"What's wrong with Texas?" she asked defensively.

I mean, plenty, but I wasn't going to say that. "Nothing, babe. It's just I guess I hadn't thought of it."

She nodded with an understanding look on her face. She knew I was a Yankee and might need convincing. "I've thought it out... Round Rock is only thirty minutes from my parents. We could get a job in Austin, or there's plenty there too... And I'm sure Daddy could help find something. He's got connections."

*I bet he does* I thought snarkily.

But truth was, I didn't have any other plans and had felt in a holding pattern trying to figure out what to do after graduation. I had a business degree and part of me itched to move to NYC and make a go of it. But I knew Cheryl would never go for that plan, and I knew I wasn't ready to break up with the nicest, hottest, sexiest girlfriend I'd ever had.

"I'll think about it," I conceded. "Serious."

"Thanks, honey," she smiled as she kissed me. Then I watched as she got an impish smile on her pretty girlish face and started undoing my belt.

I laughed nervously. "What are you doing?"

She seemed to enjoy the element of surprise. "When have you ever turned down a blowjob, Nick?"

She had me there. Cheryl was the best at giving them, better than any girl I'd ever dated. I leaned back and watched her fish out my hardening cock, then take me into her mouth.

I should have been more concerned that she was using sex to get her way. There were a lot of red flags, to be honest. But I guess you don't think about them when you're getting head.

***

The first three months were great. Like a honeymoon. We'd waited until Fall to move, and I was glad to have avoided the summer. As a Northern boy, the mild October and November was something I decided I could get used to.

Cheryl and I got our place together and enjoyed settling in. Her folks came over to visit every other weekend, and sometimes we'd hang out with her older brother Dan and his wife. I liked them, too. Dan was a few years older than me. He'd played football in college and had moved back to enter the family business. But whereas Mark Bryant could throw his weight around with other people, Dan was just a nice guy, affable and a bit of a jokester. His wife Courtney was just as sweet, and they both had that younger-person energy that made it fun to hang out with them.

Courtney was pregnant with their first child, and it was cool to see how Cheryl got into talking about it. We'd discussed our values and our future, and while we didn't want a lot of children, we knew that a family was in our future.

Cheryl was much closer to her family than I was to mine. But it was all good. I enjoyed the company and having a connection to this place we'd moved. And I basked in the clear approval Mr. Byrant, Mark, had for me. I was the outsider, but the family had made me one of theirs, already.

"I'm glad you didn't take me up on my offer to set you up with a job," he admitted when it was just us on the patio enjoying beers while the women cleaned up after dinner. I'd told Cheryl I didn't expect that kind of relationship, but she just gave me a giggle of a smile. "It's no trouble, hon. I'm happy to help Mom out."

"I appreciate the offer, sir," I now said to her dad.

"Mark," he corrected.

"I appreciate the offer, Mark... I just wanted to make it on my own, you know."

He gave me a knowing grin and clinked his long neck against mine. "You're a real man, that's why," he said. "But the offer still stands if you ever need it. I don't want my baby girl to ever go without."

"She won't, Mark," I said proudly. "She's pretty driven, too." I didn't want to be passive aggressive, but I wanted to remind Cheryl's dad that Cheryl was no longer a "baby girl."

"Just wait till the first baby comes," he said. The words shocked me but just then, Cheryl came bounding out, a dish towel on her shoulder. "The men ready for dessert?"

I was starting to wonder if the patriarchal thing ran deep in the Bryant family.

****

At least I got majorly laid that night. We went at it twice. We were still in the honeymoon phase in the bedroom, too. Cheryl had a way of keeping me on my toes, asking for sex when I least expected or being more adventurous in bed.

She even let me fuck her ass, which was incredible.

If it had been any other woman, I might have thought she was acting, you know, slutty, but my girlfriend had this sincerity and innocence about her. It was having the best of both worlds, a sex vixen and a girl next door.

I knew it was soon, but I started shopping for rings. And I took a moment alone with Mr. Bryant to broach the subject.

"I'm thinking of asking Cheryl to marry me," I said.

He looked me over sternly. "And you want my blessing."

Well no, you controlling sexist, I thought for a second. But then, maybe I did. "It would mean a lot to me," I admitted.

He looked at me with a look that I thought was derision. Like I was unworthy for his Special Princess. Then he broke into a big smile and clapped my shoulders. "You son of a gun. I can't think of a better husband. Welcome to the Bryant family."

"She hasn't said yes," I laughed nervously. I was happy though that Mark was on board.

"She'll say yes," the man said confidently.

***

She did say yes. It was a dream proposal. Fancy restaurant in Austin. Me sweating bullets until I finally got the nerve to get down on a knee and pull out the box. An excited yes and clapping from the whole place.

I was on cloud nine. And Cheryl was too. Thankfully she wasn't a bridezilla but she seemed to enjoy thinking about and planning the wedding. I was happy to give her that pleasure.

And we were fucking like bunnies. Seriously, Cheryl's sex drive inspired me to be the best man possible. I worked out extra, I read books on sexual technique, I doubled down on the foreplay. We were two 24 year olds in the prime of our sexual lives. Life was good.

That's why I was blindsided by the turn of events. Her parents were spending more time with us - us at their place or them coming to Round Rock. They had a big engagement party where seemingly half the town came. I didn't like the idea of the way Mark seemed to be parading Cheryl as a kind of trophy, but she was in her element. Like a debutante. Glowing, happy. I decided, like I often did these days, to get past my uptight Jersey instincts.

It was the following Saturday when Mr. Bryant came over for dinner. No Mrs. Bryant. Just Mark. It was normal conversation otherwise, lots of business talk, lots of small talk. Without her mom there, we laid low on the wedding planning discussions. I was relieved to have a break, actually.

We sat in the living room after. Cheryl offered to get us another beer. I wasn't crazy about the way she'd all of a sudden turn into some 50s housewife the second her Daddy came around, but if I was honest, I enjoyed the service and attention.

I was surprised to see Cheryl hand me my beer then go sit by her father in the opposite loveseat. I mean, RIGHT by her father, kind of snuggling up next to him, her soft hair on his meaty chest and shoulder. He put his arm around her affectionately.

"So glad my baby girl's here to stay," he said. That kind of syrupy Southern drawl that used to seem laughable to me. Now it was just Big Daddy's voice.

Cheryl nodded softly then lifted up her head just a little to look over at me. An almost dreamy expression on her face. "You need to know, Nick," she said softly.

"Know what?" I asked.

With a determined look, she reached down and gripped her father's crotch. Holy hell. What the fuck?!

I expected some shocked reaction from Mr. Bryan but instead he looked down to where Cheryl's manicured hands massaged the lump in his jeans into a full, meaty erection, his hand softly caressing her shoulder.

My fiancee's fingers were now undoing her dad's jeans and pulling down the zipper.

"Babe, you're not going to..." I started.

She was. Her fingers reached in and pulled out her father's dick. It was long and thick and I shuddered as I realized Mark Bryant was hung like a fucking stallion. And that it turned me on.

This was nasty and wild. It was incest, my girl's fingers openly stroking her dad's dick. The two of them almost in a trance. A ritual. They'd done this before. That idea made my heart pound even harder.

I got confirmation of that when Cheryl leaned down and started taking her father into her mouth.

"Oh that's it, Princess. Suck Daddy's cock. My good little girl." He leaned back, tossing head back in pleasure with a soft grunt of "oh fuck!" then looked back down at his daughter fellating him. Lovingly he stroked her hair while she sucked him off. He was getting real worked up, but still he let her do the work.

Finally his head raised and his eyes locked on mine. A challenge. A warning that I didn't need to interpret. This was going to go on. With me in the picture as Cheryl's husband, or without.

"Oh baby, Daddy's coming... oh fuck!"

And like that Cheryl started moaning around his cock and doing her best to swallow a heavy load. She almost succeeded but coughed up a bit of his sperm at the end.

"What the hell is going on?" I asked, exasperated and more than a little mad that I had a raging hardon from watching the taboo act.

Mark's face was flush red from the orgasm as he stuffed his spent dick back and redid his jeans. "You need to know where you stand if you marry my girl," Mr. Bryant said matter of factly.

Why the hell couldn't Cheryl answer for herself? Instead, she just nodded gamely. I could see the sweep of contrite guilt in her face, battling with the clear resolve she had to continue her incestuous affair.

"Sorry, Nick, that's just how it is. Daddy comes first."

Mr. Bryant had a grin that made me want to punch him. Hoisting his big frame up, he stood tall in our living room as he casually rearranged his sated genitals. "You two have a lot to talk about, so I'll let you at it," he said. Turning to his daughter, he said, "See you next week, Princess?"

"Yes, Daddy," Cheryl practically giggled then met him for a kiss.

The blow job was crazy enough before to see a real French kiss between father and daughter was mind blowing. I was hurt and confused, but I was turned on, too. This was like porn, times hundred.

I wish I could say I had the balls to walk out that night. I wish I could say we talked things over like rational adults. Instead, we fought. Our first real fight. Emotion bubbling up. The more we yelled the more I realized it ran deep. Cheryl was in love, actually in love, with her asshole of an old man.

I slept on the couch that night, still stewing in anger. I thought over options. Movers wouldn't cost that much, and most of the stuff we had was shit Mr. and Mrs. Bryant bought for us anyway. It would mean breaking off the engagement, but I was lucky I'd found out before the wedding.

I drifted off and awoke in the middle of the night to Cheryl riding me. My mesh shorts gone and Cheryl wearing nothing under her nightie. Just riding me up and down, cowgirl style, using her hips to work my cock. It felt amazing and as if on autopilot, my hands found her soft thighs to hold and caress.

"Fuck me, Nick," she hissed. Maybe she was trying to show me the affair with her dad wouldn't get in the way of our sex life. Maybe she was just a nympho beneath that Southern Belle exterior. I didn't care, she was leading me around by my dick as always.

"Fuck, babe," I hissed, now pumping up into her. Not rough, but a rigorous fuck thrust.

"Daddy's a good man," she said, feeling my cock punch in more quickly.

What the fuck? Why did she have to bring him up? "Fuck," I grunted in annoyance.

"He'll let you suck him, too," she said.

Those words shocked me to my core. Shocked me and did something to my nuts. Supercharged them. Made me want to cum. "God," I grunted, picturing my lips wrapped around Mark Bryant's huge cock.

"You want that, hun? Want Daddy's big cock? He'll fuck you with it too."

That did it. I rolled Cheryl over and just started ramming my prick in and out of her cunt.

"Yes!... yes!... yes!" she purred, like a frickin porn slut. It just egged me on. I went harder, trying to expel every fantasy of Mark Bryant out of my head. Until I came.

Her nails dug into my back softly when I collapsed onto her sweaty body.

And for the first time that evening, I kissed her lips, the very lips that had sucked her dad earlier.

****

I wouldn't say I was OK with it, but the next time we went over for dinner, I volunteered to help Cheryl's mom with the dishes. I was curious if they'd be so brazen to take the opportunity, but Mark didn't miss a beat.

"I got something to show you in my study, Princess. Got a minute?"

"You know I do, Daddy," she replied. And like that, they were walking off to fuck.

I knew from the flushed look on their faces when they returned they'd done the deed, but I didn't know what exactly had happened. I took a look at Mrs. Bryant's face, her kind middle-aged married Southern woman face, which was oblivious to everything. Until I noticed a slight turn of her lip that gave it away. Fuck, she knew. She knew her husband was fucking the daylights out of their daughter, in their house, under their nose.

Well, I had no idea about how hard Mark Bryant fucked, but jesus.

I was seething inside, but also turned on. And Cheryl was in a great mood, coming over to me, being extra affectionate, almost thanking me for letting her get away with this.

And Mr. Bryant was all business, talking over investments, like he wanted my advise even though I knew he had a guy for that and would probably do his own damn thing anyway. He had the content happiness of a man who'd just fucked, cheeks flushed, his thick muscular body visibly relaxed.

"Why don't I come over Saturday and help you with that gutter?" he offered. Our house had a gutter that needed fixing. Probably not a two-man job but some help would be nice.

"That'd be great, Mark," I said, trying to hide my own blush as I realized what was going to go on when he came.

Cheryl kind of rubbed my strong bicep in a flirty manner. "I'm getting a little tired... and you have work tomorrow..."

I laughed. "Guess that's my cue," I joked. "We should be heading back. Thanks again Helen," I said to Mrs. Bryant. "Dinner was great as always."

"Anytime," Mark answered for her, but I could tell his wife appreciated the compliment.

"Let's talk tomorrow, Cheryl, about the florist arrangements," she said to my fiancee.

We bid each other good night, and despite the weirdness of the circumstances I found myself in an OK mood. I guess if I'd been really upset I would have left that first night, or the morning after. Something made me stick around. For all it's fucked-up-ness, watching a daughter suck her father off was crazy hot. If it hadn't been my fiancee, I would have found the scenario a crazy hot, real-life porn show.

Since Cheryl was my fiancee, it was a hell of a lot more complicated than that. Particularly when we got ready for bed. Me in my normal boxer briefs, lazily checking my phone in bed while Cheryl got ready. One drawback of having an overly pretty Southern girlfriend is the amount of time she takes getting ready, not only in the morning, but each night for bed.

But damn, she was beautiful when she walked out. Hair perfect, still had some of her make up on. But the big surprise then was seeing her in a lacy lingerie piece she'd bought herself as a birthday present to me last year. Lace bra that pushed up her big tits, garters and stockings on her creamy legs. And no panties to hide her trimmed bush and sex mound.

My cock was hard instantly. "Damn babe," I hissed, a smile appearing on my face as I watched her saunter toward me on the bed and crawl on, her cleavage showing off for me.

The thing was, Cheryl took a while to warm to anything kinky or playful in the bedroom. Striptease, verbal sex, and roleplay wasn't her thing. At first. But she gradually warmed up to it, saying I made her feel comfortable pushing the envelope.

She was pushing it now, sliding her warm, soft body up above mine. "You been a good boy?" she purred like a porn actress, only with more conviction. He manicured hand reached down and grabbed my hard dick through my briefs. "Is my good boy gonna fuck me hard tonight?"

"God yeah," I growled, reaching up to run my hands along her soft trim waist. I could smell her perfume. Before Cheryl I didn't think I liked women who wore a lot of perfume. Now it was an aphrodisiac. The thought occurred to me that she was doing this as some messed-up thanks for me putting up with the incest. I didn't fucking care, though. I was turned on to see my sex kitten in full heat.

Now her fingers traveled up my ripped abs. "You've been hitting the gym extra hard haven't you, babe?" she grinned. "My big strong sex machine." This was one area I had over Big Daddy. A trim, fit, young Men's Health-worthy body. I put a lot of work into it and was proud of it.

My egotism was interrupted by the feel of Cheryl pulling my waistband down, over and above my rigid cock. Just watching her do this simple act, wearing her sexy-slutty lingerie, gave me a surge of excitement and adrenaline.

With a surprise move, I lifted her up off my body and playfully tossed her down on the bed beside me, quickly getting into a mounting position on top of her as she giggled in surprise. I pretended like I was gonna pounce on her but slowed my movement to kiss her softly. I could feel the sexual excitement in her body beneath me. Her legs parted and I humped my cock against her mound as we made out.

Finally, I pulled off and went to her tits, motorboating them a little for show, but mostly because I loved being buried in those soft pillowy mounds. Then I continued down, planting kisses along her bare stomach. I loved that Cheryl wasn't stick thin like a lot of girls I knew. She was in shape but she had a normal woman's curves, and the belly had a gentle swell to it as I made my way down.

She knew where I was going. "Eat my pussy, Nick," she gasped, seconds before my tongue touched her labia, circling around before dipping in further.

I loved eating out a woman, and I had to credit my love of oral for my success with Cheryl. I loved it as the main event, loved it as foreplay to a nice fuck. It was going to be the latter now, but I went wild at her spread cunt, licking and munching.

Until I tasted it. I smelt it first, actually, that telltale bleachy-floral scent, but a second later, there was the salty-sweet flavor of a man's cum. Mark Bryant's.

Fuck, that drove me wild. I started drilling my tongue in further, trying to get every drop I could. It was nasty and obscene. The semen of the man who would be my father-in-law if I could keep from freaking out from the situation. If I could put up with the fact that Big Daddy had first dibs on his baby girl's cunt.

Mr. Bryant had deposited a heavy load and I had plenty to suck, taste, and swallow. Cheryl was going wild now, clawing at my face, neck and shoulders and she had a big orgasm. I don't know if it was just my oral treatment getting her there or if she got off on the nastiness of me eating her father's seed.

It was my turn now. I quickly slid up on top of Cheryl and mounted her. I wasn't rough or brutal but I didn't take my time shoving my cock into her. She was worked up, and I was WAY worked up. I began thrusting with hard jackrabbit thrusts.

"YES!" she cried, wrapping her legs around my waist as I nailed her.

I knew this was one thing I had on Mr. Bryant, too. My sheer athleticism. He was a strong man, but I was in my prime. I used my well-honed body the best I could. Rocking rhythmically, using my abdominal strength, really going at it.

I could sense, or maybe just imagine, remnants of her dad's cum still inside that pussy. Lubing my cock. The idea made me cum.

"Oh fuck!" I grunted as I entered a deep orgasm. Cheryl's hands were clutching at me, urging me on while I flooded her pussy. I think somewhere along the way she had a second orgasm herself.

I was a little embarrassed as I came too, but I was also grateful for the hot sex. I kissed her appreciatively and slowly pulled out. I needed my head examined, for sure, getting off on my dad-in-law like that.

Maybe Cheryl sensed I wasn't in a talkative mood just then. Or maybe she was tired herself.

"Good night, babe," she whispered as she gave me a kiss before I reached over to turn off the light.

****

We had to talk. It was Saturday and Mr. Bryant was coming over soon to help with the gutters. Maybe not an ideal time for a heart-to-heart with my fiancee. But we'd been walking on eggshells all week. Scratch that. I'd been walking on eggshells all week, Cheryl seemed her normal chipper self.

But we'd just finished lunch and I noticed Cheryl get up and start clearing our plates, acting like a housewife. We'd have to talk about that, too. But for now, I had something needed to talk about more.

"So...," I started. "How long have you and your dad been having sex?"

Cheryl gave me a pitying look. Like she was sorry to hurt me. A "do you really want to know" look.

I did want to know. "Cheryl," I prodded. "I have been pretty patient with this all."

She grinned. "That's just cause you want Daddy's cock," she almost laughed.

Fuck, that hit me. Non in a hurtful way, exactly but it surprised me in how horny the idea made me. "Maybe," I admitted. Hoping my confession would break the ice between us. I still didn't know if I could have a real relationship with a woman in an incestuous affair with her father. But my dick was leading me around, for sure.

"Daddy has a nice cock," she smiled. Then finally getting back to my question. "Daddy took my virginity." She paused as if deciding whether to give me the full story. "He was always kind of strict with curfew when I was in high school. And real protective when I was dating anyone. He made me come home early from prom, so I wouldn't get into any trouble, you know." She described it was if Mark Bryant was just being a good parent instead of a creep of a controlling father. "I was still in my dress and Daddy came into my room and told me I was beautiful."

Jesus, this was messed up, but I was hard as she recounted it.

She looked at me and could tell I was turned on. "He gave me our first kiss and then on my bed, he deflowered me. Slowly, patiently. Like Daddy always is."

Fuck.

"I didn't really enjoy the sex that first time, but I knew I'd do anything to make Daddy happy like that. I had my first orgasm with him the next night. I knew I was in love with him then."

"Where does that leave us?" I asked. It was a tough question to ask, because I wasn't sure I'd like the answer.

"I love you, Nick," Cheryl said sincerely. "And I want you as my husband. But Daddy comes first and he always will. You'd have to accept that."

"Not sure I can," I said truthfully.

She nodded, as if expecting that. "So. We calling it off? The engagement? Us?"

I shook my head. "I didn't say I wouldn't accept it," I replied, shocking her, I think. "I just gotta think about it."

"I can give you a month to decide," she said. "But at some point we need to know if this going to work."

"Fair," I said.

We hugged, comforting one another after the heavy conversation. "I love you, babe," I said, patting her back as he held one another, her head resting on my shoulder.

I enjoyed that intimate moment, but after a few seconds, I heard the door knock.

"Guess I know who that is," I joked and stepped back

"He's early," Cheryl said. "Sorry, hon." She seemed to sense that I was a little flustered to have our private talk interrupted.

"It's OK," I said. "I'll answer."

I opened the door and sure enough it was Mr. Bryant, dressed in a beat-up T-shirt and cargo shorts instead of his normal preppy businessman attire. "Hi Mark," I greeted, trying not to switch to the more formal "Mr. Bryant" with him. "Come in."

The man may be middle-aged and have the start of a beer belly, I realized, but there was definitely an animal magnetism to him. The contrast between his blue eyes and gruffly handsome, sun-beaten face, and the tall, bulky build he carried around like a charging bulldozer, even when he was in a jovial mood. I didn't want to be attracted to him, but fuck, I was.

"Ready to fix those gutters?" he bellowed as he walked past me into our living room. Mr. Bryant had two volumes. Loud and louder.

"Yep," I replied.

"Pleasure before business, though," he said as he stepped up to Cheryl and wrapped his strong arm around her waist and practically tugging her more petite frame toward his masculine bulk. Their mouths connected. Their kiss was somewhere between romantic and lusty. It was obscenely hot to watch.

Particularly as Mark bent his knees some to angle his hand down into Cheryl's loose shorts.

"Aw FUCK, Daddy!" she let out in a surprised yelp as her father's fingers started playing with her genitals.

"You like that Baby Doll?" he growled, seemingly oblivious I was there watching.

The two of them were entranced with each other, in fact. Cheryl just nodded with a girlish "um hm," for yes and I could see her push her privates into her father's molesting hand.

"MMmm, my baby's pussy is wet..." he hissed in his Texas drawl. "Getting all wet for your Big Daddy are ya?"

Cheryl let out another gasp, seemingly unable to answer as Mr. Bryant fingered with a lewd expression on his face.

"Let's get that hungry pussy stuffed, baby," he now whispered. Maybe he did have a different volume.

I watched, transfixed, as Mark walked Cheryl back to the master bedroom - our bedroom - as he put one paw on her slim shoulder and licked my fiancees pussy juices off his thick fingers.

I took a seat. I was hard as a rock, but feeling a million complicated emotions. A month, I thought. One month to decide if I could deal with this. If I could spend my married life witnessing Mark Bryant fuck my wife. His daughter. My head throbbed and I felt red from the heat of my blood.

The sounds traveled down the hall. A lot of giggling, Mark's low sex talk in an indistinguishable growl, wet kisses. The fuckers didn't even shut the door.

I should go outside, I realized, and I started to get up and walk toward the door. But I had to watch. My heart pounding, I made my way back toward the bedroom. The door wasn't cracked, it was wide open. And I could see them fucking plain as day. Missionary. Cheryl clenching at her father like she had with me the other night. Needy, urgent.

And Mark was really laying it into her. He was just magnificent to watch. All that daddy beef in full rut. I had never noticed before but Mr. Bryant had one hell of an ass. Big round globes of muscle that looked almost fatty but which clenched into firm hard muscle with each fuck thrust.

"Oh Daddy, you're so big," Cheryl gasped. "It feels like prom night each time you fuck me."

Mark's voice was surprisingly out of control, like he could barely talk. "You make me feel so good, Princess." A few more thrusts and I watched his back and gluteal muscle get firmer in its flexing. Then, "I'm gonna cum in ya, baby. Daddy's gonna cum."

"Yes!" Cheryl urged excitedly, but most of what I heard was Mr. Bryant's lion roar of an orgasm.

"FUCK YES!" finally came the words after a long deep growl. "Oh baby, oh honey," he gasped as he rode out his nut, his body in almost a push up position over his daughter.

Slowly, he relaxed and collapsed his weight down into an embrace. I don't know how my fiancee supported that bulk, but she held him and they kissed like lovers.

Yeah, I should have stepped away. I should have had some self respect. But I watched, even as that thick, heavy phallus slid out of my wife-to-be and that father cum oozed out of Cheryl's fucked pussy.

I was so caught up in the nasty display I didn't realize Mr. Bryant now stood beside the bed and was watching me.

"Cheryl said you were a perv," he said simply. God his dong was softening but swung long and heavy between his hairy thighs, still slick with sex. "Enjoy the show?" His words stung, and Mark meant them to.

Still, I couldn't lie. I nodded. "Yes," I said.

Mark chuckled. Like he wasn't pissed off, which was a good sign. He nodded to his daughter, style naked on the bed, her legs still spread, her pussy on display. "Your turn to fuck her, Nick," he offered. But he caught my eye. The flench of hesitation in my face. "Unless... there's something you want more."

Oh fuck. Mark had a leer on his face. The fucker knew. He took a slow step around the bed and another one toward me. God, that cock was beautiful. And everything about Mr. Bryant seemed hot to me. When I'd fooled around with guys in college, before Cheryl, it had been low-key sex with buddies. Normal college guys, guys my age.

But this man was different. Powerful. Cocky. Purely sexual. As he got closer his dick firmed up. Not a full-fledged hardon but closer.

"Go on," he urged, almost impatient.

I gulped then crouched down. That was the right thing to do, in Mark's eyes, because almost immediately I felt his meaty paw on the back of my neck as his other hand lined his dick up to my lips.

I licked the tip. Still sticky, still oozing cum. I hoped Mr. Bryant was recharging, though I felt ashamed for that wish. I licked more, around the plump head and just beyond. It tasted of man, but I could also taste my fiancee on him. I was getting out of control but I need more, opening up, I took him into my mouth.

"Looks like we got a cocksucker on our hands, honey," he laughed cruelly. Already he was holding my head steady and pushing that thick tool into my gullet. Nudging right against my gag reflex but somehow knowing when to stop just short.

"Told you, Daddy," Cheryl giggled.

Fuck.

It wasn't right to say I sucked Mr. Bryant's cock. Not that time at least. The man just held my skull and pumped me. Heavy strokes that challenged me. I was out of practice and had never blown a man this size. Particularly when his face fucking grew more urgent.

"Take it you fucking cum dump," he growled, and I got fed that Bryant cum first hand. Salt and sweet in the same proportion. Spurting against the back of my tongue as the man rode out his second orgasm in the span of ten minutes.

Somehow, somewhere in the process, I came.

Mark was quiet when he withdrew, even as I gave that magnificent soft penis one last kiss. "Who's slutty now," I shuddered when I thought of how I'd judged Cheryl lately. The big man stepped back, hands on his waist now and let his genitals be on full display for me.

It was then that I knew I'd go through with it all. The marriage. Putting up with Cheryl's incest and affair. Sucking Mark Bryant whenever he let me. Embracing the whole situation.

The man just looked down on me. Not the contemptuous smirk I was expecting, but a smile. Like he'd gotten his way.

Then he turned and went to the bathroom to piss and clean off.

[filmnoirsbian]

G*d that comphet list,,, I’ve noticed a lot of comphet lists actually aren’t very useful for questioning people. I do want to ask tho as a bi woman who is questioning how did u realize ur a lesbian and not bisexual??

I have my own issues with the way comphet is discussed and described but lists like that are actively demoralizing and degrading to all non-gold star lesbians even if they aren't questioning. I identified as bisexual at first because of my history with men, because I was convinced that not being gold star meant I could never identify as a lesbian, even though every relationship I had with men felt strange and wrong and relatively numb on my end, because I was just going through the motions expected of me. When I finally allowed myself to acknowledge and embrace my attraction to women, I came out as bisexual and was very content with that label for some time. But eventually I realized that, for all I had really found a place of support and comfort with my local bi community, my "attraction to men" was a hypothetical only. I identified as bi both because I had dated men in the past (though I'd felt no actual attraction to them), and because I thought I might find The Exceptional Man that I could be attracted to in the future. Because never say never, right? I realized I had never felt any real interest in men, and couldn't even conjure up an idea of a man I might feel interest in. Even "celebrity crushes" were superficial "that person is pretty" affairs. I never felt anything close to attraction towards them. But when my only basis of comparison for so long were half-baked relationships I mostly went along with to fit in, it was hard for me to define what real attraction felt like. I had buried my interest in women since I was a kid, occasionally playing it up for laughs at parties because that was the only environment where my kissing a girl was "acceptable." I simply assumed all girls wanted to kiss their girl friends more than their actual boyfriends lol. I actively dreaded being alone with the men I dated. I just thought that was normal. It was a messy, confusing, and long road, is what I'm saying! And it isn't the same for all of us.

[ghostdrew22]

Coming Out (Bisexuality) || Draco Malfoy Headcanon

I wrote this because well, first of all, no one and I mean NO BLOODY ONE can convince me that Draco Malfoy is straight. He is either bi, pan or omnisexual but in no way, shape or form is he a heterosexual man and I’ve settled on that, so I wanted to write how he’d come out to you. Then second of all, because I was thinking about how I figured out I was bisexual just under a year ago and how when I came out to my boyfriend he basically said, “Oh, I know.” And just fucking kissed me??? (A lot more happened before and after but that’s the gist of it) And I think Draco would have a similar reaction to finding out his girlfriend is bisexual.

Anyway, this ended up being a super long head canon and I’m starting to think I do them wrong??? Either way, let me know what you all think

jean <3

<~>

Him Coming Out To You

Draco is shitting himself about coming out to you

Not because he thinks you won’t accept him but because you’re the first person he’s coming out to

And he doesn’t know how this stuff goes

He’s known that he’s bi since way before Hogwarts

But with the nature of his parents, he figured that it was best to sweep that little fact beneath the rug for a while

Maybe he even thought that he could completely forget about it, pretend that he’s straight and just live life like that

But one night at a party he accidentally kisses a really cute Gryffindor boy (who swears not to tell because he’s also deep within the closet)

And after that he knows that even if he doesn’t come out to everybody else, he needs to come out to himself and accept that this is who he is

So he does just that

He does a bunch of research, comes across a bunch of labels and finally settles on ‘Bisexual.’

He even secretly buys himself a little pin that he wears inside his robe, every single day

So fastforward to you dating

You’re maybe 6 months in when he realises that he’s utterly and hopelessly in love with you

And that if there’s anyone in the world he wants to see all of him, it’s you

So he starts planning it out- the perfect date so that he can tell you perfectly- and settles on a nice picnic in the middle of the night outside(planning to sneak you both out so you can eat under the stars), the night of your seven month anniversary

But as luck would have it

IT FUCKING RAINS.

And he is SEETHING

it’s a bit hot if you’re being honest

But you’re so confused about why he’s angry

“What’s wrong love? We can do it another night when the weather’s cleared up.”

“No, it had to be tonight.” He paces around his dorm room in frustration and you sit on the edge of his bed while watching him

“Why?” You ask with a small laugh, “Why did it have to be tonight?”

He stops pacing, sighs, and mumbles something you don’t catch

“Sorry?”

He sighs again and turns to face you, “Because if I wait any longer then I’m scared I won’t be able to do it.”

“Do what?”

“Tell you something important.”

“So tell me now then.” You smile up at him and he shakes his head with a groan

“I can’t, this wasn’t how it was meant to go, it was meant to be perfect.”

You furrow your eyebrows and get off the bed to meet him in the middle of the room, taking his hands in your own and making him look into your eyes

“Isn’t it already perfect if we’re together?”

He melts at your words, literally just softening in your hands, and before he knows it the words are out

“I’m bisexual.”

oh

You should’ve seen it coming to be honest, no straight man would obsess that hard about Harry Potter

“Say something?” He asks- his eyes soft and scared as he watches your features for any indication of anger or disgust- “I hope you don’t hate me.” His voice cracks a little and suddenly you’re sucked back into reality

You cup his face in your hands and smile at him, “Why would I hate you?”

“I don’t know, because I’m-“

“Finish that sentence with anything other than, perfect, and I’ll kick you.” You say sternly but there’s smiles on both of your lips. “I love you, I love you so much and nothing in the world would change that, especially not something that makes you the incredible person that you are.”

You give him a quick kiss before pulling him toward you for a hug

He just melts into your embrace- feeling safe and loved and happy

And when you two eventually pull away and walk toward the bed to have your picnic on it instead, you finally decide to start asking questions

“So when did you figure it out?” You smile at him and his eyes light up at the opportunity to finally talk about his sexuality with someone

He tells you everything, including the fact that he puts on a little pin with the bi flag on the inside of his robe every morning- so that he can feel proud of who he is, even if he’s not ready for everyone else to know who that is just yet.

“Is that what you put in your robe every morning?”

“You noticed that?”

“Draco, you’re quite the sight to behold in the morning, of course I fucking noticed.”

You Coming Out To Him

You’re very nervous about it and don’t mention it first- unsure about how he’d take it.

A few summers before you’d had a cute summer fling with a girl that lived nearby but that was the first and last time you’d been with a girl because your parents were not happy when they found out.

“You have to end up with a nice pureblood boy.”

“What will people think when they find out our daughter is gay?”

And you’d try explaining that you’re not gay, you’re bi.

But they wouldn’t care and would dismiss you completely.

So after that you sunk further into the closet, only coming out to tell your previous boyfriend.

Who was horrified and even broke up with you over it because, “I don’t want you to cheat on me.”

So after your first two, horrid, coming out experiences you decided to give it a rest.

But then three months into dating Draco you realise that you have genuine and very serious feelings for him

And that you can’t hide such a big part of yourself from him

Especially because you’re not ashamed of being bisexual, you’re just scared to lose more people you love over it

And you decide that if he can’t love all of you then he doesn’t love you at all

So you break up

Jk jk

One night in the common room as you two sit on one of the couches by the fire you finally decide that the moment has come

You figure that you’ll never have the perfect moment, that once you’re ready you’ll do it

And you’re ready.

So you clear your throat to drag Draco’s attention away from the novel in his hands as you put your own down on a nearby table

He raises his eyebrows at you but follows suit- noticing that your exterior is suddenly very serious

And somehow you just drum up the courage to say it- looking into those kind and inviting eyes that he reserves only for you

“I’m, um, bisexual.”

He nods slowly and you can see the gears in his head turning, he knows the general meaning but wants you to expand, “Meaning, what exactly?”

“I… I’m attracted to more than one gender.” You say nervously, your voice shaking just a bit

He nods again and sighs before reaching over and pecking your lips. “Cool.”

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion at the blonde- having expected more of a reaction- “That’s it?”

He gives you a sheepish smile and scratches the back of his neck awkwardly

“I kind of already knew.”

Your eyes widen in a mix of shock, horror and amusement, “What?”

“I’ve known for a few weeks, I just wanted to let you tell me yourself.”

An exclamation of shock leaves your lips and you stare at him stunned

“I’m sorry I ruined your moment babe.” He chuckles then smirks at you, “Want me to pretend to be shocked?”

You grumble out some obscenities but nod regardless

And obviously his acting is atrocious

“Whaaaaaat? No bloody way? You? Bisexual? I would’ve never guessed it. You’ve shocked me toda-“

“Okay, that was horrible, thank you.”

“Anything for you love.” He pecks you and you roll your eyes with a smile.

A moment of silence until-

“Did you really think I didn’t know though?”

“Yes!”

“Love, you said, and I quote, ‘Pansy sure does have some nice legs.’”

You smack his arm as he chuckles at your embarrassment

“I could’ve been jealous.”

“You licked your lips!”

“Did not!”

His chuckles just get louder and you feel all of your earlier fear and tension melt away, “Okay, you didn’t, but you might as well have.”

“Asshole.”

He pulls you into his arms for cuddles and kisses your forehead, “Your asshole.”

“Yes.”

“I love you so much Y/N, thank you for trusting me enough to tell me.”

You smile and get comfortable in his arms as a silence encapsulates you both.

“Say it back! The fuck?”

[strangestcase]

Okay so transgender Two-face headcanons cause I’m obsessed

Both Harvey and Harv are genderfluid. They identify as such mostly for convenience, as their gender is very heavily influenced by their DID and they often have a hard time discerning who they are let alone their gender.

Their gender changes very subtly and gradually over time. They might spend weeks in a nebulous none gender with left boy estate and then wake up and its a girl kinda day.

They use he/they pronouns (and use plural pronouns like we/us when talking about themselves) most of the time, but if they’re feeling more feminine, they request to also be called she/her. Unless they specify something, just mix them up— they like he/him better, again, for the sake of convenience.

Call themselves “a man/men” in general, but you shouldn’t be surprised if you hear them calling themselves a person/a woman, that’s just a little less common. That being said if someone insists of only using masculine terms around them at all times, they’ll get pissed, and rightfully so.

Harvey is a bit more reserved and usually presents in male/neutral ways to avoid getting weird looks, but in private, and regardless of what his gender is at the moment, he also likes to present in subtly feminine ways. Harv thinks subtlety is for idiots and he’ll either go full butch or flamboyant femme, almost no inbetween.

Their genders aren’t exactly “synchronized”. Again, their DID makes them have a hard time actually telling what gender they are and as a result they prefer to not think about it too hard and just let their presentation speak for itself, but because they have very different ways of expressing their gender (clothes aside) they have a tendency to feel a little social dysphoria when they’re conscious and the other is fronting.

While Harv had always been somewhat aware/vocal about not having a set gender, Harvey took a lot of time to finally accept he was trans. Partly because he thought it was just a neurodivergent thing, partly because his internalized transphobia made him refuse to admit he didn’t always feel 100% like a boy, partly because he felt no physical dysphoria, and partly because he felt he didn’t fit the idea of a non-binary person. I mean, he’s masc, AMAB, and built like a linebacker. Eventually he came to understand there is no wrong way to be non-binary and embraced being genderfluid.

Definitely he first started to suspect he was non-binary when he caught himself thinking “being a girl would be nice because I could wear a dress”. That, and because every time watching TV a gender-ambiguous character would come onscreen, they’d go “cool”.

They also experiment a little with more obscure MOGAI labels to better come to understand/properly describe their experiences with gender. They like presentation and aesthetic-based identities, because they do fit the blurry, abstract feelings of gender they -and the other members of their system- have. Specifically Harvey identifies as causalic (gender based on a casual gender presentation) and Harv as flamboric (gender based on a flamboyant gender presentation).

Harvey came out as trans to his friends family much after they had come out as bi. He was expecting rejection, but they didn’t budge, and supported him through thick and thin. Though, they haven’t made their labels public (but they’re obviously queer tho, queer coded villains fuck immensely).

When they came out, Bruce was very happy for them— and also very excited, because now he wasn’t the only trans person in their friend group!

[dissonantdreamer]

Would you call yourself sapphic?

Guess I’ll strip myself bare and do a little soul exploration under the cut.

Uhhh? I’m not a woman (nor a man) so that kinda takes half of the equation out right there. I do love being with women, most of my partners have been women, but I don’t think I fit the definition of sapphic.

I’ll be honest. It’s always hard for me to align myself with a label or an identity. It’s something I’ve wrestled with many times in my life as I’ve only ever felt like myself. The problem is that I exist in a world where we don’t allow individuals to live within their own perimeters. The need to label and categorize as a way of accepting and understanding has always confused me. I’ve always felt that if Jane likes women, Jane likes women, if later on she likes men and women, that’s cool too. If John is a woman, she is a woman. I understand that I accept that information about someone. As long as there is consent and no one is being harmed I am content to let people just be.

As the language to understand each other grows and changes, I find myself lost. When I was younger I leapt at the chance to label myself to be apart of something, to belong. The more I tried, the more I felt disconnected. I’ve used lesbian, pan, and bi in the past. Ultimately, none of them felt right. I struggle trying to just explain that I am who I am and I like what I like because without a label people don’t accept that answer.  

In casual conversation “I am me.” is always met with “Well what are you?”

I also respect people who use labels and are proud. That’s important too.

I do find sapphic love to be alluring, there is a beauty that isn’t present in other stories of love. And I can relate to Sappho, I too look at a women and wonder why a poem hasn’t been written about her yet. Sometimes I’m struck speechless. In the end though I’m not a woman.

I’m sure someone will pipe up like they always do in my life and say that i totally am this thing I’m just refusing to “embrace” it. Whatever that’s supposed to mean. It feel’s weird for me to claim it, to call myself something that makes me feel like a puzzle piece out of place.

What I am is everyone else’s problem.

So I guess no. But I can’t deny women are attractive, I’m a fool but I have two brain cells working overtime in that dept.

I dunno if this makes any sense, anon. You literally asked this during the peak of my brownie hitting so I think it set off some existential therapy session with in myself and, like the fool I am I committed to writing it down where everyone can read it instead of giving a simple answer like a normal person would.

Also at the beginning of this I said soul exploration, but I meant soul searching. I forgot the word searching and needed a word to fill the space. I didn’t mean it. I could go up and delete that real quick, but that’s effort and I’m all the way down here still typing sooooo ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[gettin-bi-bi-bi]

Hello, Butch Anon here. Thank you for replying so quickly! I realise of course that not being bi would not be the end of the world, but I feel like I would be losing something important and lovely to me if I wasn’t, if that makes sense. I used to think I was straight. I had been attracted to women’s bodies, before men’s, but when puberty hit, I thought about men a lot and thought I was straight. Then I started looking at women more out of curiosity. (1/2)

And I thought about how great it would be to be in love with a girl. I remember praying for a woman to be my soulmate, because I thought it would be lovely. Before I ever thought of being bisexual, I thought sounded good. I think that’s why I worry, because that sounds superficial. I’m definitely attracted to men, I do think about them a lot. I just feel uncomfortable. It’s hard to explain. Like, if I was a man, being with a man would be easier. But I don’t think I’m a transman, either. (2/3)

As for letting a girl down, I mean that as much as I often wish a girl loved me, what if one did and I felt nothing for her. I hate the idea of being sexually attracted to women, without loving them. Admittedly, I have very little contact with anyone outside of work and I don’t date. I doubt I ever will date. But I don’t want to fall for a man, not because I don’t like men, but because I feel alienated from them, like I’m in a role I don’t feel good in. Back to wondering if I’m using girls.(3/3)

I understand that the thought of changing one's label comes with the feeling of "losing" something that was important. But it doesn't mean you couldn't hold those memories dear and also think of the joy of embracing something new, the things that a new-found identity would add to your life.

But of course you may very well just be bi and don't have to worry about all the label-change thing anyway^^ Maybe the issue you have about potentially dating men is a fear of not feeling "queer enough" if you were with one. Are you afraid that a relationship with a (possibly cishet) man would push you towards heteronormativity = both invalidating your queer sexuality AND making you feel like you need to fulfill cis woman gender expectations? I guess this would make sense that this might be something you worry about, however there are plenty of men (even cishet men!) who love and cherrish queer women, butch women, or butch ~whatever your gender may be~.

Maybe it takes some more time for you to find confidence in your gender (and the way you express it) and then you will also feel more secure in the thought of being with a man.

Regarding "what if a girl loves me and I don't love her back": sweetie, you do not owe anyone to reciprocate their feelings. It is, unfortunately, a thing that happens to the most of us at least once - both being the one who is unlucky in love and being the one who doesn't reciprocate the feelings. You cannot EVER put this expectation onto yourself, that you HAVE TO fall for every girl who likes you. That's a) unhealthy and b) not sustainable. You either fall for someone or you don't, and they either fall for you or they don't. Sometimes it'll match up and sometimes it doesn't. And when it doesn't there's some heartache but you (or her) will get over that. That's just part of life for most people.

Also, you say you hate the idea of sexual attraction without love (I assume you mean romantic love here) and again that isn't anything to be worried or ashamed of. Sexual attraction can exist without romantic attraction. It is perfectly fine to wanna bang someone without any desire for a long-term committment. As long as you are honest about your intentions that's all good. Then the other person can decide if that fits their own needs or if they were looking for something else than what you can offer. It's all about knowing what you want and communicating that. You don't owe romantic attraction to girls that you find hot. You are allowed to just find someone sexually attractive. Sex and sexual attraction aren't inherently bad things that need to be "made good" by adding romance to it.

And being attracted to someone (an individual person or a whole gender) isn't "using them". For what? You keep saying you like women, you find them attractive, you literally prayed for your soulmate to be a woman, you wanna be in love with a girl.... what about that is "using girls"? All those desires are just a normal aspect of ~being very much attracted to women~ and there really isn't anything morally questionable about it.

Maddie

[cowboyjen68]

Hi Jen. I figured out I was a lesbian when I was 11 and started describing myself as butch when I was 13 or so. Being a lesbian was very important to me, and I loved all the history, the unique experiences, everything. My sexuality was an important part of who I was. I had occasionally found men aesthetically attractive but nothing beyond that. Until 2 years ago, as a young adult, when I met my future boyfriend, and my heart stopped. He was so handsome and funny and sweet. He asked me on a date and I accepted. He's the kindest, most patient, most selfless person I've ever met. I love him and am attracted to him romantically, emotionally, sexually. And I never thought I would ever have those feelings for a man. I remember being so excited to kiss him for the first time but thinking on it a week later being almost disappointed my first kiss was with a man. I don't feel disappointed at all anymore, I haven't since the very beginning. I'm very glad my first kiss was with him. And for the first 2 months, I was confused if I actually had these romantic feelings or maybe it was compulsory heterosexuality. Less than a month later, I realized I was in love with him but in denial. Things are going very well now and I'm very satisfied and happy and in love. I know in my heart he's the only man I could ever love. And naturally once I started dating him, I dropped the lesbian label. I was pretty saddened by this since initially since I was very ingrained in my previous identity and occasionally feel wistful when I read posts about the lesbian experience. I miss that part of myself occasionally but I know that's not me anymore. My boyfriend is cishet and a very good ally and knows about my past and is comfortable with it. Once in a while thinking about my old identity pains me, but I know that's not really who I am anymore. I still feel the connections to the lesbian community in my heart, like there's a house party and I can hear the music from outside, and the song is familiar but I don't quite want to go in because I would feel like an outsider among strangers, and I like where I'm heading anyways. I have absolutely no regrets and wouldn't trade my boyfriend or our relationship for anything. I know labels aren't important but I still desperately want to call myself something, but nothing feels right.

At 13 or even 15 not everyone is able to know where their orientation is going to land. Even puberty does not give us firm answers. Youth is a good excuse for not being sure, or being sure and not being right about your sexuality. At that age we are bombarded with lots of messages from media, places like Tumblr and on-line forums about how sexual orientation works and not all of it is honest or helpful.

 I grew up knowing I was different but convinced I would “turn straight” as I matured. I had really no in life role models who were out and willing to “there for me”.  With no lesbians or bi women actively showing me how things can be  so I had no way to even know I could be a lesbian. 

Bisexual women are given the mixed single that they can be bi but also that they need to “pick one” and those that are GNC are definitely encouraged chose “lesbian”. 

Labels are important because they help us to identify our community. Who we most connect with. It helps us narrow our history, who came before us and laid the foundation for our culture. There is no shame in loving a man. Being bisexual is a lovely and healthy way to be.  The ability to see the beauty in both men and women is a bit of a super power in my opinion. Bisexuals have a rich and living culture that is worth your time and exploration. Find other women who share your experience. I assure you they are out there, and many stay quiet because they don’t want to be seen as liar or fakers for using “lesbian”. 

I say this a lot but our sexual orientation does not change, only our understanding of it. Sometimes it takes experience, not even in dating but just in time to get to know ourselves. 

I understand you felt a connection with lesbian culture, that part of you that is attracted to women embraced it and it likely helped you know you were not alone and gave you a sense of community. It is hard to let that go, but I think you will find that the bisexual community will give you the same feeling as you find others with whom you share many commonalities. I wish you happiness and passion in your relationship. Your boyfriend makes you happy and you feel loved. that is what you deserve in life. 

[skullvins]

random fuckin gender ramble scroll if ur not interested in my gender bs

aaarrrggg i hate that radfem bs has caused me to still associate butch and femme with being lesbian only terms (even though i KNOW they’re not) and thus making me associate both of them with being women, even though i KNOW theyre historically not. its so hard to unlearn???

like, the overlapping lesbian/butch/transmasc history is so hard to navigate as a funky lil enby/genderqueer because a lot of terms are either too masc or too fem for me to be comfortable with, and now that im TRYING to explore exactly how my masculinity and femininity work its so weird!!!

I’m in solidarity with queer men and queer women, both trans and cis or gnc or whatever and figuring out my personal relationships with those communities is hard!!! I relate to my cis female peers as someone who’s only started socially transitioning in recent years, I relate to their issues as someone who doesn’t pass well, I relate to transmascs in terms of wanting to be seen as more masculine, in wanting to physically transition, i relate to trans mlm in terms of sexuality, i relate to lesbians/wlw in terms of sexuality too! some of the best comfort and solidarity ive found is in amab enbies and even some transfems when it comes to comfort and gender expression. the two amab demiguys i know make me feel comfortable exploring masculinity because i feel safe around them BECAUSE they’re not cis, and like, i can be ‘one of the guys’ with them without having to be A GUY, and i relate so so so hard to gnc guys or amab enbies when it comes to presentation. i almost want to transition JUST so i can reembrace femininity in a masculine way.

i dunno, i feel this insane pressure outside of the queer community to either be as masc as possible to pass and be taken seriously, and that’s gotta be at least partially due to the way radfem bs has spread, especially here in the uk.

i wanna be read as masc, i wanna be read as fem, i wanna be incomprehensible! I wanna wear men’s shirts and t shirts and polo shirts with a skirt because i can!! because skirts are fun and cute and i enjoy wearing them. i really do wish i was amab because it would be so much easier to present the way i want to, I think, but then again, i don’t have bottom dysphoria, not really.

all this changes though, really i might just be genderfluid, but i hate the binary connotations of that too. so many enby words are stolen or defined in terms of binary gender: being bigender to most means being male or female, being genderfluid means being fluid between them, being nonbinary is being not male or female, when people equate being nonbinary to being genderless it kills me because I am not binary! but i am not genderless! my gender is here and present and part of me and part of my relation with the world around me and with other people and part of my sexuality and orientation

i dunno, this is turning into a big queer rant. this isn’t me trying to shove labels onto myself, I’m fine with rejecting them if that’s what’s needed - i don’t define my sexuality any further than queer even though hypothetically i could probably id as bi or pan or any mspec label, but I choose not to because being QUEER is my orientation. perhaps my gender as well (i do id as genderqueer as well as enby) but i want to really truly understand my gender AS queer, rather than just brush it off as queer because I cannot define it to myself or understand it. i want to understand my relation to the world around me and to other queer people.

so am I butch? am I femme? maybe it changes? is that allowed to change from day to day? my gender doesn’t FEEL like it changes but that presentation does, maybe! maybe I need to try new pronouns, but using she/her like i want to is hard when i associate it with misgendering and failing to prove myself as trans enough to cis people.

i wanna be masc with women and fem with men, but the latter is hard due to fears that come from experiences with misogyny. a lot of cis men ARE scary to me - I’m an 18 year old afab for fucks sake. i wish i could have that re-embraced femininity, but I’m not flat when i bind or build masc or tall or fuckin. anything! and hormones aren’t an option yet because a lot of my mental health is too unstable, the nhs is in shambles, and I don’t have money. i can’t embrace that yet unless im in the right circles, with the right people, and i can’t be that in society, I don’t trust it. I don’t know if I wanna dress fem and have people see me as masc or fem, i don’t know what pronouns i want them to use, i dunno man!!!

i wanna reach out to older queer people but again its hard, we’re in lockdown, i don’t live somewhere with a big queer community, i’m not a fan of bars and such and there’s not any in my town so i’d have to travel a bit, i wish i could just feel at home!!! i wanna be feminine without being female but also without being male, at least not fully male! I’m not male, i have this connection to femininity and it doesn’t feel male to me, I don’t want to be included in explicitly male or explicitly female spaces, I wanna be with everyone or no one, i dunno

again, i wish butch and femme didnt feel so gendered to me personally, and that’s not just this site but also what ive grown up with, my mum used to always say i was a wannabe ‘butch lezza’ whenever i was trying to get her to take my NONBINARY identity seriously and I’m not that! not because it’s bad to be, but because that’s just not me. I’m not a wlw, I’m not even sure on my attraction to women, or to men, or to anyone, I’m just attracted to queerness, and i dunno it’s hard. being ‘butch’ to me, somewhat, still means wlw, even though it’s not true, and i hate how radfem bs has ruined the word for me. i wish i could understand my identity in terms of being butch or femme, or whatever i am, and i wish those words weren’t tainted for me in the first place. i guess all of us are just ‘failed women’ in the eyes of society, huh.

characters who are feminine, but still explicitly male, or have some relation with masculinity, or are fluid between it, or who return to masculinity as a default give me so much euphoria just to witness. I’m in desperate need of a haircut and i don’t know whether to grow it out properly again or cut it short

either way, I’m gonna dye it purple

[mxmorganmorph]

Task 6: Pride

Describe your character’s orientation, and/or gender identity.

Non-binary genderfluid queer (they/them, she/her)

How did they come to the realization?

It took Morgan a very long time to grow into themselves. They started to like boys in middle school, (and due to intense bullying) they thought they were a gay boy. As they got into college and began experimenting with gender presentation and studying Queer Theory, they went through a period of time where they identified as a transgender woman.

After college, there was a span of time where their gender and sexuality was heavily scrutinized and they did their best to act “normal”, suffering massive dysphoria. It was only once they were able to be free to be themselves did they really allow themselves to explore in a way that didn’t conform to a binary. They discovered that they found themselves most comfortable settled outside the binary, where they could choose to participate their fluidity through drag. After having experimented with labels for so long, queer was what they settled with for their sexuality. Although they are happier with these labels than they have been in their entire life, they recognize that they can change in the future and are open to continue exploring.

What is your character’s relationship like with their sexuality and gender? Are they in or out?

For many years, Morgan had a fraught relationship with their gender and sexuality. As stated above, it took them a long time to find what works for them and they were struggling against a society that didn’t accept them. It was hard to remain “closeted”, just by the nature of their personality, so there was a lot that was projected onto them before they had the chance to figure anything out for themselves.

At this point in their life, however, they are fully open and embracing about who they are. They no longer feel the pressure to conform one way or another, having settled into their non-binary identity. They express this through living their life in default androgyny, wearing baggy and unassuming clothes in their day to day. Their genderfluidity comes out through their drag, where they can choose how to present themselves in a way that feels comfortable for them while expressing themselves artistically. Even then, there’s not a strict line that separates Morgan from Molly. There’s crossover, flexibility, and one blending into the other constantly. That’s why they took on the label of genderfluid on top of being non-binary.

As for their sexuality, they’ve finally found something that works for them. For a long time, they believed themselves to be strictly into men, but when they started to explore their own gender and participate in the drag scene, they discovered that there was a whole lot more than just “men” and “women” to admire. They settled on the label queer as a way to encapsulate the fact that they could like all kinds of people. Some would argue that is just being bi/pansexual, but Morgan prefers queer because of the history behind it, its academic use, and they prefer the umbrella nature to it.

What do they think about Pride and the community as a whole?

Needless to say, Morgan is heavily invested in the queer community. As a Queer Studies professor and the resident drag queen, they are forcing gay shit down the throats of everyone in Redwood Hollow whether they like it or not. Luckily, this small town has been a lot more accepting than some of the other places they’ve lived and they are happy that they can make a living here being themselves.

Morgan wants to do everything they can to educate people on queer issues, expand peoples ways of thinking, while also supporting the community as a whole. They participate in Pride every year, usually being apart of the parade as a way to show that drag queens exist, then manning a booth afterwards to answer questions. At night, they perform in shows and encourage others to come up on stage and perform with them. For them though, Pride is all year round and they will do all of this at any time.

They wish they could do more and create more of a community within Redwood Hollow that didn’t just come out once a year. They want to see a gay bar in town but currently does not have the time to open one themselves. If their teaching contract doesn’t get renewed though...