This blog is a bit of an admission of my sissy side. Only a few friends know about this side of me. To be honest even I didn't know it very well till recently. I still don't really know what it all means and whether it's more of an escape or a real part of myself, if that makes any sense. I'd had Bi thoughts since high school, though they were more vague at the time. More a curiosity that I sometimes felt when masturbating than a driving desire.
It made me think back to when I was a kid and sort of, rediscovered some things about my early sexual play. The first time I recall discovering the hot button between my legs was when I was straddling a tubular fence. I realized that rocking myself against the top of the fence produced some pleasurable feelings. I explored this more in private with, of all things, a piece of hard-sided luggage! I kid you not. Stand it up, put a pillow over the handle area and straddle it. Don't ask me where I got the idea. I was a kid, who knows how I came up with it. The point is that rocking against it felt good. I'm pretty sure that this was how I had my first orgasm. And it was good.
This continued to be my prime manner of 'getting off' for a while. What changed was the addition of fantasy role play. Being a kid, I was familiar with all the cartoons of the day. Again, I can't explain the origins, but I recall that my favorite role to play wasn't Superman or Batman. It was . . . Wonder Woman or Supergirl. I say this now with some embarrassment. Yet the truth is that I distinctly recall little role playing games as Supergirl. I remember pretending to be captured and held hostage by some nameless super villain. By 'captured' I mean that, on occasion, I did tie myself up to a limited degree. Things like using a belt to tie my legs together. It's a very bizarre thing to admit as an adult. Especially when you can't think of any place where the ideas came from.
Years later I struck gold one day while riding my bike home from a friend's house. It was a rural road, so not much traffic. I was passing one of those ubiquitous pull offs where so many morons insisted on dumping trash, being too lazy to actually drop it at the landfill. There it was, a brown paper bag, partially torn and spilling a wealth of adolescent fantasies. I'm talking the motherload: Cheri, Hustler, High Society, Penthouse, Playboy. There must have been a dozen of them. There was also, and it makes me wonder quite a bit now that I think back on it, a women's one piece swimsuit. As I'm sure you can imagine I stuffed this all, including I am forced to admit, the bathing suite into my saddle bags and peddled madly home. Since both my parents worked and my brother wasn't around much, I had the house to myself. I went through every one of those magazines, hands shaking all the while. Following the same inexplicable reasoning that had me keep it in the first place, I tossed the suit in the washer. This stash of naughty magazines was probably the start of my porn 'addiction'.