I printed off a zine and Issue 1 now at my local distributor! I'm happy with how it came out and am feeling surprisingly good about sharing my writing with a larger audience. If you'd like to read a digital version you can do it for free, just message me on here and I will give you a link. If you would like a printed copy it's 5AUD + postage. That being said all of the stories have already appeared on this blog. In the zine they're edited and formatted to be a bit prettier, with 80% of the proceeds going into my pocket. The rest goes to the distributor.
Thanks for being a small yet dedicated readership. I appreciate everyone who engages with my writing- I write about what resonates with me and knowing that it resonates with others is valuable to me.
āA hand on the back of my head, the pneumatic drill of hips, and I am suddenly hanging on for the ride, my gag reflex capriciously engaged, my gorge rising, my will pressing it back, my head speaking a silent prayer for quick release, and my pussy liquefying faster than an ice cube on Route 66 in August. Face-fucking is a paradoxical thing, with teeth. Held hard, I hold fast and hope for the best.ā
ā Chelsea G. Summers on the pleasure of face-fucking in āChokeā, appearing in the Force issue of F/lthyGorgeousTh/ngs.
I find I am possessed by gentleness, my movements are heavy with care. I touch her hands delicately, I brush her hair, I kiss her forehead, I tuck the blankets around her just right. I am shocked at how powerful this urge is, it doesnāt feel like a choice. Iāve been hollowed out by love. My care for her seems like clearly the realest thing. All other things in my life I thought I cared about turn into faint shadows in the face of this. It feels like Iām made out of a billion tiny particles that are all pointing in the same direction. Itās here that I am full. Despite my lack of sleep and my grief, I am a white hot light. I have never been so glad to suffer.
Sensuality dominates my existence: dance, food, sex. Which is something I appreciate about MDMA: it makes me more appreciative of physical sensations. My freshly shaved legs, the smell of white peaches, 1000 thread count sheets. I always notice this when I take it.
A few years ago I had a memorable MDMA trip with an ex. We played a simple card game on the threadbare carpeted floor of my bedroom and I won. During my victory speech I realised it was kicking in and my words about sportsmanship and the spirit of the game dissolved into giggles. It was a warm day and we were in our underwear, drinking lots of iced water. I noticed the light playing on our skin through the translucent fabric of the curtains and felt very enamoured with the situation we were in, and by extension him. āI love watching you laugh,ā heād said. āI want to melt into you when I see itā
From the beginning the physical chemistry was very good, although it took a little while to ramp up. Each time he would reach, unhurried, between my legs heād find wetness. When I grew more bold about what I wanted him to do to me my cunt responded in kind. Heād spread my abundant wetness over my thighs and vulva, telling me what a good girl I was, holding me in place, telling me to keep my body still. He did the same when we were on molly. We agreed that even if we were in monogamous relationships in the future weād make sure to find and fuck each other in secret. As it is with most promises made on drugs, it never came to fruition.
āWe canāt let this type of sex ever be just a memory,ā heād said. I was languidly mouthing at his cock, dragging my lips and tongue where I wanted them. He let me lap at and kiss him until I felt I was in a trance. He wrapped my hair around his fist and guided me to where he wanted to feel my lips next. The molly was doing its thing- weād anticipated weād want to be all over each other and we were. I licked and kissed him gently, begging for him to let me swallow his cock. He held my hair firm. āOh, I love you,ā he sighed.
He laid himself on top of me. He smelled clean and sweaty. He rubbed his stubble against the back of my neck. I liked this sensation; both unfamiliar and intimate. I love how chin stubble feels because Iāll never have it. I relish my access to it, and I love it when men have patiently let me run my hands over theirs, rub my face against it. My brain felt like a roll of paper towel hovering over the pool of him. I wanted to absorb every molecule.
āI want you to fuck every hole in my body,ā Iād said, not for the first time. Other times during our sex Iād tell him that I wished he could clone himself so I could have his cock in my mouth and pussy at the same time. I was stretched out on my back with my eyes closed, imagining the fantasy. I always wanted him; my want spurned on by his wanting of me.
āIt takes self control for me not to try,ā he replied. His voice a growl barely above a whisper. I opened my eyes when he said that, smiling at the compliment of it. I thought he would be looking at my pussy as he said this but he was looking at my face.
I went to the party at the invitation of a couple- Angie and Ajay- Iād met at another sex party two weekends before. It was a long drive away and I didnāt have to pay for a ride there, which increased my willingness to go. I didnāt know what- or who- to expect. I rode in the taxi with them and their friend Rachel. Lanky Ajay folded himself into the front and chatted idly to our driver. He was dressed as Nick Wilde and Angie was Judy Hopps. Angie, Rachel and I sat in the back. Rachel was in a short neon yellow dress with lots of circular cutouts that she often tugged towards her knees. The taxi was warm and smelled inoffensively of apple car freshener, which sent me into intermittent naps easily. The theme was Disney, but I hadnāt bothered to organize a costume especially for it. My default ācostumeā when I go to these types of parties is a black cat. Black mesh skirt, mesh top, cat ear headband. I wondered what the Uber driver thought as he pulled up to the curb and spotted us in our get ups. I half napped and passively listened to Rachel in the middle seat talk about her monogam-ish relationship with her boyfriend who lives in another state. She described her sleepwalking episodes: dramatic things said and strange tasks completed while sheās completely unconscious by her account. She showed us pictures of her two young children: pale, smiley and redheaded. Very cute. She told us stories about their shenanigans. She talked about growing up with two brothers and playing a lot of AFL. She described their rule about her attendance at sex parties. She could go, only with friends, but not fool around with anyone else. The arrangement made sense to me- it can feel good to get dressed up and flirt with men without it necessarily leading to anything physical. They seemed to have carved out a space for her to get dressed up and go out on a weekend for very little/no money while remaining faithful by their own definitions.
We entered the venue. I had no idea who would be there but I was told there would be pool tables so I let myself get excited about that. I could feel the slight guardedness that comes on inside me when Iām in new situations Iām curious about- I want to observe from a distance, and only then participate when I can be sure of what moves I wish to make.
The first thing I noticed was how young Rachel, Ajay, Angie and I were compared to most of the other attendees. I spent a few seconds scanning the crowd. Itās rare for me to feel that Iām being visually appraised by multiple people in a room at once but I felt it then. One couple, mid-forties perhaps, openly gestured toward us. The male gave me what I can only describe as a thorough looking over. I felt a sudden, cold disdain, not for the appraisal, but for their sloppy execution of it. Did they think I couldn't see them? You invite the gaze by attending, but I wasn't there to be inventory. Very few people walk around with the idea in their head that theyāre an object of desire. Seeing behaviour that indicates as much always feels a little surprising.Ā
Ajay touched my upper arm. āWe can put our stuff upstairs, letās do that before we party,ā heād said. I liked him for his focus on Angie, for how much she seemed to enjoy him. I knew why theyād invited me, why women got in free and why Ajay had offered to cover the taxi; I also knew I wasnāt interested in that. I walked carefully up the stairs in my heels. There were lockers and a few bathrooms. I unzipped my puffer and crammed it away. Upstairs Ajay recognized a woman he knew. They kissed hello, I introduced myself and we chatted about different sex parties weād been to for a few minutes. She offered us some cocaine. Coke runs a bulldozer over my most basic inhibitions and I end up finding it more humiliating than fun; I declined her offer.
I played a game of pool with a quiet man with long hair who told me it was his first time ever going to a sex party. We talked about Finnish death metal, Suzuki scooters and dating- I was single at the time and doing a lot of it, going to adult parties on the weekends when I wanted to meet men in a way that felt more organic. The way he approached the game gave me clues as to what he did for work. I watched him carefully line up a well aimed shot. āAre you an engineer of some sort?ā I asked.
āI am,ā he said, looking mildly surprised. āHow could you tell?ā
āThe way you played that last shot,ā I told him, then paused. ā...Iām good at watching people,ā I confessed. People will tell you so much about themselves if you just devote some of your attention to listening, watching, remembering. It just takes a bit of focussed attention.
I noticed Reid: tall, beardy, handsome, smiley, handsy, arrogant. I introduced myself to him after noticing him observing a different game of pool, one in which the competitors were betting on sexual favours. He suggested we play a game and flirted boldly with me the whole time. āWhat are we playing for?ā I asked shyly.
He met my eyes and I blushed. āWhat do you want to play me for?ā
āā¦ Iāll buy you a drink if you win. And vice versa,ā Iām all talk when it comes to new people Iām drawn to.
He beat me, although it was a close game. He gathered me to him for a kiss as soon as he sunk the winning shot. We went to the bar and he paid for both of our vodka sodas anyway. He showered me with compliments (āI thought I would end up coming just to see friends and I wouldnāt play with anyone, but then you started talking to me and I thought Hm, maybe I will tonightā) and gave me a firm much needed shoulder massage. While working on some knots he told me that sometimes people told him he should write a book about seducing women. Even with how good the massage felt, I had to suppress an eye roll. He called me cute a lot. He sometimes started sentences with I know this will sound arrogant, butā¦ then heād say something arrogant. But I basked under his touch. He was confident in the environment we were in and seemed to know a number of people at the party we were at. I felt like a rookie by comparison, a toddler hiding behind her mothers skirts, so his confidence was a relief. We sat next to each other, knees touching. Hands on each other. He asked me to tell him the story of my first time with more than one man and stroked my shoulders, chest, waist and neck as I spoke. I started on the story then faltered under the contact. He laughed a little at that, not unkindly.
I like watching you melt as I touch you, he said in a low voice. He watched my voice trail off under his distracting touch: leisurely, firm. We took a break from kissing and a woman near us playing pool briefly sat on his lap, her back facing to him, grinding gently. I was in an environment that warranted casual sexual touching and it probably made him feel good, so I liked that for him. I thought about the times when multiple men have flirted with me concurrently: along with the excitement is always the worry that Iām making one of them feel unwanted.
We moved to the closed off play area where we kept kissing and touching with our underwear on. When I finally asked him to finger me I was slick with wetness, built up from all that came before. These days it takes a lot of leisurely touching, talking, to get me there. My arousal is slow moving molasses as opposed to the fuel drenched match of my twenties- I still want to fuck but Iām more analytical about it and find pleasure more broadly. I didnāt want him to fuck me at this sex party- I rarely ever want to be fucked at any sex party- but I did want to be fingered. His fingers sunk easily into me. I always get a little embarrassed when Iām that wet with someone new. Like: Look at how much of an effect you have on me already. He told me to touch myself so I did. He brought his face close to mine when I started trembling. His beard smelled faintly of Old Spice; my face was pressed into his neck as I came. Other people were around us and I was faintly embarrassed by the noises Iād made. I could feel myself blush. āYou are so damn cute,ā he said again, softly, as I laughed. He stroked my hair. He told me I owed him an orgasm. We chatted about work and he talked a little about his family, his daughter who is currently obsessed with Wreck-It Ralph. He took my number as I left with my group, telling me to not be a stranger.
We sparsely texted over several months. I originally tried to arrange a time to see him but gave up when I realised he didnāt seem that interested in doing so. He told me he started seeing someone seriously and didnāt have time for many other people. I took it as a hint and pursued others with more vigour.
But a few weeks after his last text he contacted me again about another slightly swanky adult party in the city. We bought tickets to it; it had a fancy dress themed around the colour pink. At the party I took some MDMA with me, swallowing one before I hit the dance floor and selling the rest while I was there. Fishing them out of my bra as I needed them and palming them off to people so they could sneak away to the bathroom. The music was decent as was the dancefloor so I spent most of it bouncing around in my Converse, twirling my pink feather boa that I got from Shein and making temporary dancefloor friends. Reid found me and we kissed under the pulsating lights, feeling me up as people chatted and moved around us. The sensation of his hands on me felt better than normal, like his palms were full of good intention. I was smiling as we parted despite what he had shown me about himself, that he was more interested in the chase of it. Sober me knows better but she isnāt always present. We parted ways.
I danced some more and found strangers to talk to until the party wound down at 2. Reid and the others I arrived with decided to get hot chips; I wasnāt hungry and called an Uber instead. I was staying with my mother at the time. The Uber pulled up, I waved a quick goodbye and crossed the street to the car. As soon as my seatbelt was on I fell gently nodded off. The driver dropped me off and I, holding my puffer around me, moved as quietly as I could as I entered their house. I peeled off my costume- the feather boa was miraculously intact, the decorative stickers I had put on my face and neckline were long gone thanks to all the sweat. I took a brief rinse and sent myself to bed. The next day was my motherās birthday; I dragged myself out of bed at 9am to buy her flowers and a croissant.
I still smile when I think about it. It happened more than a year ago now, maybe two years ago.
It was the holidays we so had time to spend together. We were intimately familiar enough with the other at this point that joking around, being goofy and affectionate, wasn't a source of anxiety or vulnerability for us. It had been perhaps a year of knowing the other, maybe a year and a half. We had decided to watch a movie at my place- I was living in S______ at the time with two cats and two dogs and an anxious housemate who loved each of them as if they were human children birthed from her womb. She was away for work, as she sometimes was, so I took advantage of this and invited him over.
We cuddled on the couch. I browsed through whatever streaming channel I had at the time. He got up to use the bathroom. As he returned I stretched myself out across the couch. āSorry, this seat is all taken,ā I joked. I was being my bratty self.
He didn't hesitate. āLike Hell it's taken!ā. He grabbed my ankles and pulled me across the couch towards the other end. I was laughing with surprise. He moved himself in the new gap behind me, gruffly drawing me into his chest. I curled into him. I couldn't help the small happy sigh escape me. It always felt good to be affectionate with him, to be pulled into and grabbed by him. Even if things were tense or unhappy between us, and they so rarely were. I long for that kind of playfulness in my intimate relationships. You forget the trust and familiarity that requires.
On the last week he was in town Cal came to visit the house I was cat sitting in at the time. It was a modest mansion owned by a very sweet lawyer couple I know through friends. My charge was an affectionate ginger girl who gently bit our hands in request for pets. I was being treated as if doing this was an imposition but I was having a blast swanning around pretending I owned the place. I spent evenings in their garden looking at the sky smoking a joint Iād taken with me to last the ten days. I had taken a long bath with a book in their luxurious tub. Things were not difficult for me.
When I saw him last we were gushing to each other about the merits of Indian savoury snacks over snacks from other cultures, so I bought some for our at home movie night- masala peas, kerala mix. Heād kept telling me he needed to show me The Rehearsal so we watched the first episode and to his prediction I became obsessed. It was getting late but it wasnāt too late. We spoke about salsa music. I cautiously gushed about my new job.
āWeāve been sitting on our bums for ages. We need a dance break. But something chill,ā I said.
He got up without hesitation and went to find an appropriate song on his phone. His knowledge of salsa music is broadly better than mine. I liked him at that moment for his willingness to join in at my idea. He put something on and we danced. The quiet environment made it feel more intimate and I got a little self conscious. When I first ran into him I thought he was a very good lead; I still think this. That hasnāt changed. But with him Iāve stopped mistaking the chemistry we have in dancing for sexual chemistry. And Iām learning to appreciate attraction for itself instead of it being an avenue for sex. I have to tell myself sometimes: Itās fine to be attracted to a man and not try to find some way to fool around with him. You donāt have to fuck everyone you fancy. When we cuddled on the couch I wriggled my toes in my socks at the feel of his arm, shoulder, chest. Itās nice to take time to appreciate that too.Ā
After seeing The Rehearsal Ā I insisted we watch Synecdoche, New York. Iād forgotten how long it was and immediately fell asleep on him. He was still awake by the end. He gently stirred me when the credits rolled. āI can see why you wanted me to see that,ā he told me. We were smiling.
I requested another dance break. By then it was about 1am. We laughed sleepily as we moved. We did a lot of small close steps. I bumped into the wall in the dark which made us both laugh in surprise. The song ended. We hugged in thanks to the other, a custom when social dancing. High five with a stranger, a hug with someone you know well.
We slowly made our way to the door. I pointed out beautiful things in the house- an arched doorway, crown moulding, the kitchen countertop. He was talking about the moving truck, how packing was going, realising how much stuff he has. He said he was going to start in a share then find his own place. When we were sleeping together the date of his move loomed. But now I just felt happy for him, excited that he was getting to do something he wanted to do so much. We shared a long hug at the door. He told me heād let me know when he was in his new place. I kissed his cheek as he left. It felt good to leave it at that.
try calling it hibernation.
Imagine the darkness is a cave
in which you will be nurtured
by doing absolutely nothing.
Hibernating animals donāt even dream.
Itās okay if you canāt imagine
Spring. Sleep through the alarm
of the world. Name your hopelessness
a quiet hollow, a place you go
to heal, a den you dug,
Sweetheart, instead
of a grave.
Kind of forgot about the connection I have with L because it's been a while. We keep finding things to talk about despite the ostensible mostly sexual reasons I show up at his apartment. This always happens when I sleep with someone who also reads. I bought some special brownies I made and we ate them, feeling them set in during Ghost in the Shell. We kept pausing the film and talking about different parts of it. This was perhaps my third time watching it.
After the film he realised the brownie was hitting him too hard. He's less seasoned with weed than I am. Any wild experimental bracket in his twenties was truncated by having children at a young age and now he was giddy to the point of being unable to move for a while, so I had him lay on his back and I played with his cock. Even while stoned out of his mind he was good at talking to me and holding my face and hair, praising me when I did something he liked with my mouth/throat/hands. The next morning he fucked me hard on his couch. He has a thick cock, fun to fit my mouth around and rock against at my leisure. I tilted my hips to feel him deeper inside and he noticed immediately when he went too deep and my face changed. "Sorry. You've just got such a nice pussy..." he said. It wasn't painful, it was just a surprise. And in a sense I treasure all the moments I'm truly surprised during sex. He trailed off as he slid his bare cock against me. He's sweet. I don't know what else to say about him.
Andrea Gibson has left Earth so I listened to an interview with them recorded just months before they passed away. They talked about their cancer diagnoses, finding joy, how grief is necessesary for joys existence: At the seed of my joy is my mortality Andrea said, conviction ringing through their voice. I was crying while driving by that point.
WIldly horny these days in a way that feels uncharacteristic to me. Sensuality usually isnāt on my mind at all when Iām at work- I imagine a well built dam, never the twain shall meet- but I couldnāt stop thinking about sucking on the fingers of a tall wide presenter of the mandated talk we attended. He, in a surprising moment, shared some vulnerable stories about himself then blushed as he did this. Seeing that made me want to run up to him and kiss him on the cheek.
Making out with J, his hand drifted toward the pouch he kept at left hip. He kissed with lots of tongue. In the pouch was a vibrating dildo that heād shown me earlier. It tickled me that he came this prepared to a sex party. It seemed considerate of his partner's pleasure and made me like him more (Do you wash it in between uses? Iād giggled, already knowing the answer). I already liked him because of the talking, because of how he responded when I spotted him in his pink disco costume on the dancefloor. āWhatāre you looking for?ā I asked. I murmured it against his mouth, then I saw. āOh!ā I laughed. āI donāt think Iām interested in that just right nowā¦ā I said. Our hands were on each other. āYou can touch me between my legs. But please donāt penetrate meā I whispered. Setting a boundary explicitly like that made me tremble a little, like I was doing something wrong. I felt myself physically shiver as I said. I was trying to keep my body calm but there was adrenaline whizzing all around. In the same room other couples were entirely naked and others were fucking. I felt like the odd one out in my boundary. Iām not used to stating it so clearly.
I revealed to him earlier that something that made gave me pause about sex parties is that while I like meeting new people and flirting with them, I usually donāt want to be fucked in those environments. I find the noise distracting, but the exhibitionism can be fun if it's quiet enough. In the past Iāve had sex at parties that I mostly didnāt care to have because I didnāt want to disappoint people or feel like Iāve wasted their time by not putting out enough. But doing that made me dislike myself a lot so I stopped when it became unbearable. There's only so much of your own comfort you can put aside for the perceived enjoyment of near strangers.
J felt between my legs, over my knickers. His fingertips brushed against my vulva through the lace, gently. For some reason the makeout stopped soon after we started, but I canāt remember why now. We never saw each other after that.
He said something like "What walked you through that door?". I thought he was cute and I was feeling flirty, thankful for feeling that way when I was in a setting that permitted it. I let my eyes rest on his face for a bit. "I wanted to meet men I'm attracted to and be touched by them" I said, which truly does feel like the deepest meaning of my life sometimes.
That response surprised him and caused him to give me a look over his drink that made me understand exactly what would happen with him tonight, if I wanted to. I could feel myself smiling. I like connecting with other people so much. In this universe that means I like to fuck, I guess.
At the physiotherapist session he had had me lie on my front. The therapist firmly massaged my tense calf. Tense from my current inability to straighten my right leg. I canāt straighten it so some muscle has to constantly hold it at a slight bend. The pain was there but it was the pain of proper movement, so instead of telling him to stop I took long ragged breaths through my nose. I puffed through the face hole of the massage table. āI know, I knowā he said above me. āDonāt push yourself too hard. Thatās how you got here, right?ā We both laughed. It was just his hand but it felt like he was pressing a stone with a flat smooth edge against my calf, hard. Then running the stone from near my ankle towards my thigh. He showed me some stretches to do: against a wall, using a towel for extra pull. He was happy with how much mobility Iād gained back in between appointments. I told him that with little to do Iād been stretching endlessly at home. Iām anxious to get back to being active. Itās only when you lose mobility you realise how much you value bodily movement; Iām deeply impatient with all things and most of all myself.
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