BrightestYoungThings: Below The Beltway No. 11

In an effort to catalog the mass sexual dysfunction in the District of Columbia, we bring you BYT Below The Beltway: 1 week. 1 person. 1 city. Total Anonymity guaranteed.

Below The Beltway No.11: a 24 year old gender-queer into social justice and public sex.

DAY ONE

7 am - The snooze fest begins, 7:10, 7:20, 7:30. Fine, I'm awake already. I roll over, finger the BlackBerry, what kind of debaucherous emails and/or text messages did I incur while passed out? I'm naked and sweaty, wondering how late it was when my stoned-ass decided it was time to slink into bed.

8 am - After an hour of fighting the hungover haze and exhaustion, I flip onto my belly and pull my laptop into bed. Opening up Penelope, my cleverly named MacBook, I open Safari, instead of Mozilla. Firefox is for work stuff, personal emails, bookmarks, Stumble, Facebook, Google chat. Safari is for porn. Just in case anyone has any mind to check my browsing history, they would never think to check Safari - since "I never use it."

8:30 am - Continue to peruse RedTube, until I've found something workable. I seek out key words, "rough," "threesome," "jenna haze," "slap," "choke." Has internet porn made me kinkier than I would have been otherwise? I am quite the self-righteous, queer identified, gender fucking, rabble-rouser, some might call confrontationally queer, personally, politically, and sexually. I have more queer people in my life than straight, but somehow, when it comes to porn, I get off on the straight stuff, with only a side order of what I'm supposed to jerk off to. If I'm gonna make it, I (usually) want to see big cocks, muscles, ridiculous lingerie, anal, leather, bondage, even forms of rough sex and violence. Somehow, hetero porn has become my taboo. Fancy that.

9:00 am - Shower, get dressed, run out of the house, (don't forget keys this time), get on the bus, get off at my Starbucks, flirt shamelessly with the cute Barista who must think I would have sex with him, walk to work.

10:15 am - Forget I have a life of my own for 8+ hours as I sit at my laptop all day (after I've made sure to delete all incriminating browsing history).

DAY TWO

10 am - Another morning, been asleep since 9 pm last night. My body needs carbs, or maybe just a soy latte. Things on the to do list for today: work email, pack bags, check in for flight, get through 5 hour flight to midwest "big" city for a social justice [insert urgent issue here] conference, get all training materials together, get all sex accouterments compiled.

11 am - Resisting the urge to open Safari, I am once again in bed with the laptop answering work email. Putting finishing touches on my agendas and training curriculum, figuring out strategic ways to "manage up" with my supervisor.

11:25 am - Get an email from trick from last weekend. Subject: About the [Conference] Sex Party. I see that Maria is online, I decide to respond with a g-chat. Me: "so, what kind of toys can I bring to this party?" Maria: " Use your judgment, but it is for play - BDSM and kinky shit are within the rules."

2 pm - Still not finished packing (fuck) as I'm trying to pack in everything I might need. Work stuff, cheesy pamphlets, clip boards - Check. Femme clothes, heels, push up bras, lacey panties - Check. Boy clothes, boots, button downs, skinny jeans, eyeliner - Check. Condoms, dildos, harness, riding crop, lube, and nipple clamps - Check. To take the butt plug or to leave the butt plug? Another pair of heels wins out and into the bag over the smooth but heavy glass, diamond-shaped butt plug. Maybe another time, kid.

3:30 pm - Rushtotheairportwithoutenoughtimetocheckiftheflightsontime. But at least I have everything I need.

9 pm - In a hotel room in some large, midwestern city, [let's call it Kansas City]. Call my trusted lover, partner in crime (PIC), who has fortunately found a way to convince their boss to pay for the trip to said conference. "I'm here, come to my room, we need to make a game plan - did you see that Fernando is here?" Opening the top drawer of the wardrobe, I lay out all the fun toys that I brought for their approval.

DAY THREE

6 AM - PIC wakes me up with a hand on my cunt. "Always horny in the morning, aren't ya?" I pretend to fight it, slap their hand away take deep huffy breaths that say "I wish I was still sleeping." "Shut up," they say, "and take it . . . greedy, bitch." And I give in. PIC knows I'm a sucker for disturbingly dirty talk, I like to be degraded, slapped around, and given demands, but, shhh, don't tell the politically correct and conscious feminist queers downstairs in the conference rooms.

7:30 AM - Although PIC is somehow addicted to rolling my orgasms from one to the next, I need to get into the shower. I place my feet firmly on their chest and push hard enough to slide out of bed and into the marble shower. Legs shaky, I start going over the schedule of the day.

3:30 PM - Standing in front of a room of beautifully sexy queer people, well they all look queer anyway, giving a training on [insert political issue and method to affect change here]. I'm overcome with how turned on I get by folks saying really thoughtful and fiercely radical things. One transguy in the back, talks about identity and social change, another fuck-you-femme calls the latter out for taking up space. I think about which one of them I would rather woo into my bed tonight - hmm, which one would PIC enjoy as a midnight snack?

8 PM- Hit the hotel bar. Shots of tequila. Spy all the pretty queers that I've seen throughout the day. Catch glimpses of folks I was flirting with while doing trainings. Let off steam. Mentally book the line-up, in order of urgency. Fernando, hot transguy; Amelie, punk Femme in short skirts; and DJ, older, andro blogger.

10 PM - Arrive at the premier "Kansas City," leather bar, The Eagle (of course). First drink is free if you check your pants at the door. I insist that PIC drop their pants, but I, unfortunately, must keep mine, since I opted to go sans panties tonight, in anticipation for the public sex scene I had in store for PIC.

11:40 PM - 4 shots deep, wait, 5 shots? I drag PIC's pantless body out onto the ridiculously crowded dance floor, a warehouse-type room with tacky green lasers beating to the stereotypical techno remixes of Lady Gaga and Beyonce. Since I chose a skirt for the night, I rub my ass against PIC's pelvis and guide their hands to the (surprise!) naked ass underneath.

11:45 PM - Fucking in the single stall bathroom of a tacky bar is only fun for 7 minutes. After that it's really just a reminder that I'd rather be doing it in public for real so other people can actually be watching OR I'd rather have enough space to spread my legs and throw my head back.

DAY FOUR

8 AM - Hungover. Shot of Baileys in my Starbucks cup. More trainings. More work talk. More political murmur. Why can't we all just admit that we come to this stuff to find new fuck buddies and/or play partners? Ok, really, is it just me?

2 PM - I've been texting all day with PIC. They have 2 possible people on the burner for sexy time tonight, I am entertaining the idea of one particular person. In my experience it's better to have a menu of options ready to go so that when the moment comes, I'm ready to move in, make the bold statement, and guide someone into my bed in my coy yet firm and demanding way. PIC warns to take it easy on Fernando.

5 PM - Me (to Fernando): Are you going to go to the play party tonight? Fernando: I'm thinking about it, I'm kind of tired, and I don't want to run into the ex. And there it is. The drama card. Me: Well, we can skip the party and go to my room, there's beer. Fernando: I think I have a meeting. . .

6 PM - I will not lose morale. My style is about being forward and I'm not sure I want to share my body and my sex with someone who is painfully shy while clothed anyways. Not bitter, I move on down the list and remember, this is why I built the list in the first place. With my last, not-bitter thoughts at having lost the chance at Fernando, I call PIC for good news. PIC: I just met the most gorgeous, gay man. He's down. I got his number. Maybe we'll see him tonight? I breathe a sigh of relief, I'm back in the game.

10:55 PM - Knocking at the hotel room door, we made it just in time since doors closed at midnight. I've arrived with PIC and a matching red bra and thong combination underneath my little androgynous/pretty boy outfit, eyeliner and hair product. I want to be watched tonight. I want a room full of people to see as PIC tops me into submission, spanks welts into my ass and thighs, and stares into my eyes while pushing most of their hand into me. I come and listen to someone murmur how "hot" that was. Unable to concentrate on fucking anyone else in the room but PIC, we opt to leave. We came, we fucked, we decided to go get wasted.

Midnight - Beautiful, gay man, Horacio, wants to play. PIC and I arrive at the typical gay dance club in "Kansas City." This is the one where twinks and their fag hags go for dancing to hip hop and pop, there's just something so solid about it, so familiar, my home field - nothing is more comfortable for me than gay men. I think I am more a gay man than many of the ones I know in real life. We meet Horacio at the edge of the dance floor. I have strategically gone through a costume change, I am now more femme than most drag queens - corset fuck-me-heels, eyelashes, attitude. Now PIC and I look like a het couple, with a queer edge that is confusing for most people - "Wait - Doesn't she know that he's gay?" I am more than excited that PIC passes in gay man world and brings me along for the ride.

DAY FIVE

1:23 AM - Dancing with Horacio and PIC, I am pinned between the sexual tension. PIC is swooning. Horacio is intrigued. I want to watch. And I want to boss them around while they're doing the dirty later. Somehow I get swooped up with another gay boy and I'm working on dancing my face off. In the hustle, I don't notice that PIC and Horacio are making out 5 steps off the dance floor. Once I realize it, I sneak off for a better place to watch. I get steamed up and wet as I watch PIC's hands inch down and into Horacio's pants. Silly boys.

1:55 AM - Last call in Kansas City. The deal was that any extra sex partners for tonight would be into being into me and PIC. Not one or the other. PIC makes the pitch to Horacio. He seems intrigued and it also seems complicated. He's on the closer side to 30 and makes a case that he can't hang all night with us young folks. After a kiss from Horacio and a little grinding, we let him go. A pretty transboy and a fierce femme were too much to handle for him. But we won't be phased.

4 AM - Stagger home. Morale intact. Pride encouraged. It was another good night. Sleep through workshops, sleep through happy hour. Wake for water, aspirin, and undress.

DAY SIX

Noon - Two hours before I need to grab a midwest "taxi" to make it to the airport at the other end of this suburban sprawl. Receive text - PIC: "Have an extra hour .. . " Me: "Be here in 10 minutes if you want it." I'm serious. I need at least an hour to do what I want to do. I open that top drawer in the hotel room and give Kansas City one thing to remember. I pull out the dildo and the harness. Insert the pocket vibrator into the crotch.

Noon:48 - Me "Beg me for it." PIC "Please, fuck me. . . yes. . . please." Bent over with their face in the pillow, PIC rocks against me. God/Jesus, I love fucking with this cock. Bossing this person around, giving demands that have consequences if not met. So fulfilling. I raise my right arm, wield the last slaps and let them fall. PIC's hands grasp for the pillows, and with an arched back, cums hard against me. Spent, they collapse on the bed.

12:52 - Aftercare. I coo at PIC. "You did a great job." "I pushed you hard and you took it like a good little boy." I rub PIC's body, kiss every angry red spot that endured the wrath of my opened hand. Let my tongue run up the sensitive places from ankles to nape of the neck. A few last minutes to spoon and get PIC settled in to take a nap. "I'll see you later, baby, you're wonderful."

1:15 pm - Showered, dressed, and on the way home. Oh DC, I'll be there soon.

DAY SEVEN

The days are blurring together again. Catching up on work for 10 hours. Catching up on laundry, piles and piles. Trying to stretch and yoga out my sore ass, hips, and abs from the fuck fest that was my long weekend. I smile as my fingers trace the sore muscles. I let my hands wander to the bruises and welts raised on my ass.

Take a deep breath. It was a fuck fest, yes, but, its also exactly what I wanted. Its exactly how I wanted to be loved.

Thank god it’s Sex month on BYT

Previously in Below The Beltway:

2 years ago Michael said

Best and most convincingly honest yet.

Now I'm going to make popcorn and await the "politically correct and conscious feminist queers" to come in and bash the shit out of you for betrayal of ideals.