How I lost my virginity to a broom stick

It’s fucking Pride month and you know what that means? It means there are LGBTQ+ people young and old about to start making themselves visible in ways we don’t do year round. Some of us have the distinct pleasure, if you can call it that, of living our authentic lives. At the same time there are others in the community who don’t have that luxury. Whether you see Pride as a protest, a celebration or a mixture of both, there is one thing we can ALL agree on and it’s about being more visible. That is why this year I am going to commit to writing very deeply personal blogs digging into my own sexuality. My sister Robin will tell you I am kinda repressed in a lot of ways, sexually speaking. So you know this is not easy for me to share. But fuck it, this has to be done, it has to be shared.

When I say I am a virgin that is technically true in the purest sense. Meaning I have never had traditional sexual intercourse with another human being, this includes penetrative and non penetrative forms of genital exposure. But that doesn’t mean I have never experienced an orgasm. Nor does it mean I have never had a sexual experience with another human being.

I won’t share the details but I have had and have given hand jobs. I have given oral sex to a former partner at least once. And yes I have done the nasty all by my lonesome oh so many times. Yes that is all true. I have also had a lot of anal penetration over the years. No, sadly, not with a partner. But that doesn’t completely diminish my experiences.

I won’t divulge the first time I inserted an object into my anus with the intention of seeing how it felt. I will say it was around the same time I started questioning my gender identity so if you know anything about me at all that should give you some clues. I will also not be sharing every, well, thing, I have tried. That is both private and well frankly not something I care to share at this time.

I will describe my first orgasm though, and I will be honest it did not involve my genitals.

I was 12 years old. I hadn’t even discovered my junk could get hard yet let alone learned what comes next. I had already explored my anal cavity with various “toys” and things in an attempt to see what felt good. Spoiler alert it pretty much all did. At 12 years old, before I had my first ejaculatory emission I found myself in a literal closet, in my bedroom door closed, locked, front door to the house locked, radio up, TV on in my bedroom to drown out the noise. I took a screwdriver handle and went to town. It didn’t take long before I found the sweet spot and holy fucking shit that was all it took. I never told anyone this but I basically tried everything from there discovering what I liked, what I didn’t and figuring out what my limits were. That first time was, masturbatory for sure but it was also, well messy so it was short experience.

I spent the next few years, yes years, basically finding anything I could that would fit comfortably in me that I could keep there for a casual reminder I was different than everyone else. I am not going to lie here I kept pencils, pens, markers and other similar items handy just in case. I was always wearing women’s or girls panties so it was just another thing I had to hide.

When I say I “lost my virginity” to a broomstick that is not entirely accurate. The headline is eye catching but it’s not far from the truth. I literally got screwed by a screwdriver on more than one occasion. By the time I was 15 I had already begun the horror that was teenage “male” puberty so I had discovered another form of masturbating that included the use of said genitals. Now by this time I had also done some heavy petting with at least two girls so I was still figuring out what I liked.

It was right after I turned 16. I was staying home from school after I had dropped out. I was running around the house in a swimming suit I “borrowed” and found myself blasting “Work Baby Work” by the Quad City DJ’s. The song certainly turned me on in a weird way no other song had before. I had played with hair brushes, and other similar items plenty of times up to that point, But today was different. This day I took a broom handle into the bathroom, filled the tub with warm water and bubbles, slid things into place and Holy. Fucking. Shit. I know I had an orgasm because I shook violently. I experienced a sensation I had never felt before. After I exhausted myself from the most pleasurable penetration I have ever experienced I grabbed the little guy, finished the deed and drained the tub. I cleaned myself off, put the items I borrowed away, returning the broom to it’s designated place. Then I went to my bedroom and cried. Then prayed. I begged God to forgive me for sinning. I wasn’t sure what I had done that was a sin, I just knew it felt so damn good it had to be a sin. It was only the first, far, far from the last.

I never told anyone this but yes I would make excuses to stay home, alone, as often as I could. Not just to spend as much girl time as I could, ya know as I explored my femininity. But I also couldn’t wait to get under a bed, in a closet or even into a bathtub to try again. I quickly learned I had far more greater sexual experiences when anal was either involved, or the main focus of my explorations.

I write this, now, because Pride Month is all about telling the world people like me exist and our sexual desires might be different from theirs, they are just as valid and just as important to us as theirs are to them. I don’t know if I would enjoy being penetrated by an actual penis attached to a man, but I do know I have at least learned could accommodate one should that situation arise. I also know, from experience, that I can fit an anatomically accurate facsimile too. I share this because I don’t believe I am a pervert or a sinner for having these feelings or enjoying a sexual experience that differs from the hetero norm. I also share this because fuck it, Pride is all about pushing boundaries and what better way to do that then talking about gay sex, even if it’s masturbatory in nature. I say rub, suck, jab or fuck whatever it is that gets you where you need to go. At the end of the day be you. Stay Cool and Happy Pride~

Ghosts of Midlands Past: Chapter one the calm before the storm

The Ghosts of Midlands Past

By Stephanie Bri

Chapter One- The calm before the storm

There was a small farm house on the outskirts of town. It was occupied by a teenager named Jennifer and her mother, Brenda.

Jennifer’s mother bought the house from her uncle after Jennifer’s father passed away. She wanted to spend her days trying to get it into farm shape, although she lacked the funds to pull it off.

It was a small, one story house. The paint had long faded revealing weathered wooden walls. Inside it had a single bedroom, which Jennifer occupied, and a kitchen. There was a small outhouse that had been upgraded with modern plumbing and added as an extension onto the home. Brenda slept on the back porch on a cot she got from her uncle who sold her the house. She was fine giving Jennifer the bedroom as she understood how important it was for a teenage girl to have her space.

Jennifer spent most of her days cooped up in her bedroom. She spent most of her time either reading books or arts and crafts. She was particularly fond of painting and making homemade jewelry. It was how she expressed herself. She also kept a diary at her mother’s request. It was mostly filled with pages jotting down memories of deceased father.

Outside the farm house was a small, rundown barn that was in need of major repairs. Behind the house next to the barn was a windmill. Jennifer would often take a book outside and sit underneath that old windmill. It of course led to a well that had been the farms primary source of water decades ago. Now it was nothing more than a relic of the past.

Jennifer shared her private space with a single cat. Stripes she named the orange and white spotted cat ironically. Jennifer wasn’t very sociable so her mother let her homeschool. It was a compromise they two came up with follower the death of her father whom she was very close. Jennifer wanted to drop out and focus on pursuing a career as a writer. Her mother kept trying to encourage her to consider going to school but Jennifer insisted once she was done with high school there was no way in hell she was going to continue her education.

The farm house had a few trees in the yard that hadn’t been well kept. The large oak tree was mostly dead with a few leaves attempting to sprout out of its sides. The remaining trees were much smaller and in dire need of loving pruning. The weeds over took the yard and the grass was waste tall all around.

The two women had only moved into the house at the end of May once Jennifer’s tenth grade year had come to a close. It was now late August and Jennifer was trying not to think about school as she told her mother she would make an honest effort.

Sitting on her bed she looked around her rom taking note of her surroundings as she often did. I was her way of remaining in control of where she was. It was a mental exercise she performed in order to ensure she was able to identify where she was. Ever since her father passed she had been leaning more on those mental exercises than before.

She noted the old dual bell alarm clock that sat on her night stand. It was an antique she found in the closet and restored over the summer. The nightstand itself had only one other item, unicorn lamp her father gave her for her seventh birthday. It no longer functioned but she kept it close by as it reminded her of her dear dad.

She continued to take mental stock of her room. She noticed the pile of dirty laundry on the floor beside her bed. She often just kicked this under the bed in the morning in a futile attempt to avoid her mother’s ire. Sitting directly across the room beneath the lone window was a rusty old metal desk her grandmother had used as a sewing desk year ago. On the desk sat a typewriter she made her mother get her. Sure she had a tablet  and a functional smart phone like all the other kids her age but she felt a kinship to old things before her time. In a way she felt like she had been born into the wrong era. Next to the typewriter was her diary. That was all she kept on the desk that was far too large for just those two items. To the left of the desk was a closet door. Inside it was where she kept her clothes on hangers. She didn’t have room for a chest or any other furniture. Her bedroom was rather tight. The house as it was originally built had a master bedroom but a tornado destroyed that side of the house and the family boarded it up and pocketed the insurance money so that Uncle Brandon could open a cat fish restaurant. It wasn’t the smartest investment he ever made but it was far more profitable than the old decaying farm house the girl and her mother occupied.

Her cat, Stripes sat at the foot of her bed purring as he often did. She reached down and scratched her faithful companion on the chin eliciting an affectionate response from the feline. Jennifer was growing bored with the idea she would soon be digging back into her studies. She was looking for anything to distract her from this thought.

“Oh Stripes, if only father were here, he’d find some way to liven up this ghost house my mother moved me into,” she said.

Stripes kept purring as a cat does. Suddenly something out of the corner of her eye grabbed her attention. The windmill began to move.

“That’s odd, the wind doesn’t appear to be blowing,” Jennifer said to her cat.

She decided it was worth investigating in order to stave off her boredom. She grabbed her flashlight, backpack and put on her hiking boots. It was still light out but she wanted to see if there might be something in the well causing the movement.  She pushed her way through the brush as she made her way to the old windmill. Stripes stayed in the house.

As she made her way to the windmill she stepped into a mud puddle splashing dirty water all over her dress.

“Oh yuck,” she said.

Despite the minor glitch she moved forward. Once she arrived at the windmill she could see it was still moving ever so slightly. She examined the area around her and saw nothing out of the ordinary. She leaned over the well and shined her flashlight down into the darkness. She could make out nothing that would cause the windmill to turn on its own.

Then she noticed a reflection when she shined her light just so. She pulled out a candle from her backpack, lit it and lowered it down the well in the bucket. Once it was down there she could see the shiny object. It looked like one of those over-sized skeleton key’s she often saw in old horror movies. She decided to climb down the well carefully to fetch the key.

“Here goes nothing,” she said to herself.

She used the bucket and rope to make her way down into the well. Once she was inside she grabbed the key. It was a rusty iron key the size of her fist. The handle was in the shape of a skull. Naturally it gave her goosebumps. She quickly stuck it in her pocket and began to make her way back up the well. Suddenly there was a strong wind that blew a tree branch into the well, knocking the rope loose stranding her in the old well.

“Oh great just what I needed,” she said under her breath. She knew her mom was not in ear shot so chose not to waste her breath yelling upwards to deaf ears. Instead she fumbled through her backpack to see if she had anything that would help her get out. She did have a spare rope but it wasn’t long enough to get her back up nor did she have any idea how to go about it. As she looked around she noticed the bricks the well was made out of had several cracks. She figured she could climb her way up the side of the well.

“It’s worth a shot,” she said to herself.

Jennifer slowly began climbing up the side of the well. It had rained recently so the stone bricks were all wet. It made it difficult for her to get her grip at times. After about fifteen minutes of struggling she found herself halfway up the wall with no more sizable cracks she could rely on to continue her climb. Knowing she came all that way she stopped to see if she could solve her problem on her own. She knew her mother would be getting worried soon a suppertime neared. She just wasn’t sure if her mother would come looking for her. Besides she didn’t have a lot of faith in the woman ever since her dad passed away. Jennifer was very close to her dad. They two did everything together. It wasn’t like she didn’t have a relationship with her mother.

She pushed those thoughts aside.

“Get a grip Jennifer get out of this well before you return to hating on your mom,” she told herself.

She looked over and noticed the rope had gotten stuck on a brick that was sticking out of the wall. The thought if she could reach the rope she might be able to throw it back up towards the top of the well and get herself out of her current predicament.

She leaned over as far as she could but to no avail. It was just beyond her reach. She tried to fling the strap from her backpack towards the rope in an attempt to pull it closer to her.

Finally as she noticed the sunlight fading away she turned to what she figured would be her last resort. She pointed her head towards the sky, cupper her hands over her mouth and began to scream as loud as her lung would allow.

“HELP! Mother,  HELP me I am in the well! Can you hear me?!” she yelled.

As her arms and legs began to tire Jennifer realized her voice was not going to carry as far as it needed. She gulped, looked back down and decided her best bet would be to get to the bottom and see if she could find a dry spot to sleep for the night. It was better than falling to her death once her muscles gave out.

Deciding it was hopeless to climb down she knew what she had to do. She closed her eyes counted to three and leapt towards the rope reaching for it with all her might. She managed to grab it and slide her way back down. She immediately stuck her hands into the cold water in a vain attempt to sooth the rope burn she gave herself.

“Well Jennifer it looks like you’re camping in a well tonight,” she said to herself. “I hope this is better than the boredom of being safely in your own bedroom.”

Is Britney Spears still relevant?

The first time I heard Baby…One More Time I knew I had to have that crazy popular new Britney Spears CD. From that very first moment I put my newly purchased copy into my, now dated, CD player I was mesmerized. I fell instantly in love with Britney and her style. I have always been kind of a fan of pop music to some extent but she really solidified my interest in dancing in my bedroom to her music.

Over the years Spears’s popularity has wavered some but my adoration for her has not tapered off in the slightest. When I first learned of her mental breakdown a few years ago I was genuinely distraught. Not because a celebrity I never knew was hurting but as a person who grew up with her on my TV and radio I wanted her to continue to be there to provide me familiarity and comfort. As an empathetic individual who does try to care about people I realized her pain was real for her and she was in need of help. Fortunately she received the help she needed and continued to produce music.

Last summer I learned about the #FreeBritney movement and although I am a fan of her works, I don’t pry into her personal life. For that reason I wasn’t too thrilled to have people saying if you are a true fan you have to spread the word. I will define my level of fandom thank you very much. I never cared for that word “true fan” of anything, it’s disgusting and often arrogant and always dismissive of alternative points of view. As an outside in so many ways I can assure you I hold to many alternative perspectives.

It got me to thinking recently though with the rise of new acts like Lady Gaga or even Katy Perry rise to prominence it makes me wonder if Britney Spears still holds any weight in the music industry? I have no doubts if Madonna dropped a new album tomorrow it would make some noise and garner attention. Maybe not in the way she once did but I believe Madonna still impacts the music industry and continues to influence artists to this day. I am not so sure if this is the case any more with Britney Spears. It seems like of course I am fairly out of touch with the young people. Yet I know my 14-year-old niece is at least aware of Madonna and can sing some of her songs, at least the chorus, but she said Britney Who when I asked her if Britney Spears was still popular. This kind of worried me ever so slightly. Especially considering my sister, the child’s mother, had also been a fan growing up. It told me either Britney has lost some of her star power with the younger generation, or her the same with her mother who failed to pass on that admiration to her child. I can’t begin to identify the artists my niece listens to, she never talks to me about anything personal to her not even music.

Obviously I can’t use a single anecdotal account as any sort of evidence. Thus I continue to ponder. I know internet searches would be skewed. If I type in how popular is Britney Spears website results will obviously contain references to her name. As such I doubt that would provide an organic reflection of her continued influence. A simple Google search asking top 20 pop artists of all time does bring the name Britney Spears up so I suppose there is that.

One thing I wonder is in such a fragmented world of internet memes, social media, YouTube, Spotify, etc., who does a pop mega star today cut through the noise and find their way into the lives of the youth? I mean in the 90s and before we had radio feeding us our top music hits. Beginning in the 80s and into the early 2000s we had MTV pushing music videos and music related content into our lives. It was easy for a single act to be in front of our eyes and ears constantly. I do wonder how an artist today can achieve that same uniformity? I wonder because I see big names like Jay Z and Beyonce remaining popular and they both found their success before the internet. Do children today even listen to pop stations on the radio or do they go to pop radio stations on Spotify? I suppose it would be easier to find new acts this way but I imagine it would be harder for a single act to saturate our culture yet somehow they manage to do so.

This makes me wonder if Britney Spears herself would even be popular if she came out today. Based on the prominence of Lada Gaga I could imagine a young Madonna finding success in the current pop culture. I am not so sure of a Britney. Part of her appeal was she balanced conservative ideals with modernism and a hip, sexy attitude. She flaunted her sexuality but she also held onto her mostly kid-friendly image. Of course this led to controversies over the years but that is not new in the entertainment industry.

I will never forget the first time I danced with my classmates like fools to Oops…I did it again. The music she has provided for my own enjoyment over the years has been most appreciated. I only wonder if her popularity will be like Cher was to me growing up, this old woman holding onto relevance when the young kids weren’t having it. To that I am most curious which song from her catalog will be the one kids growing up now or in the near future will recognize from Britney Spears or will attach to her identity? For me, Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves is the only Cher song I know by name without looking it up. Will Baby One More Time, Toxic, If U Seek Amy or some other song will be the one future generations remember most? I don’t have a single song that I think of instantly when I think Britney Spears, she has so many I enjoy. This makes it harder. When I asked my niece if she knew Madonna she said yes. When I asked her what songs she liked she said I don’t any just her name. I wonder if Britney Spears will live on even as just a name in the cultural lexicon? Only time will tell. If Doctor Who is to¬† be believed she should be alright.