The Wild Queer Kingdom–A Story of Cougars and Cougees

Fuck calendars. There are so many of these little deceptive devices across the globe–Jewish, Chinese, Islamic, Christian, Indian, etc. Dates are thrown around all willy nilly to mark the passage of time, and this has to stop! Why, you may ask? Sex! (…and dating). Is age anything more than a number? Aaliyah fans say “no,” and so do we. The following will be an interview of a cougar and a cougee who share their calendar-challenged encounters from both the sheets and the streets.

Q: Please disclose your socially imposed age as regulated by the Judeo-Christian calendar, as well as the assigned age of the person who you are fucking and/or dating.
A, Gar: I’m told I’ve been a human life-force for 22 years (disregarding my time spent as a fetus, as it is quite a controversial subject). As for my cougee, well…she’s legal in my state of residence. That’s what matters here.
A, Gee: Waiting with her new handbag, the egg that would later become me fused with a feisty sperm bastard 21 years ago. My cougar girlfriend, let’s just say she was old enough to be employed by my college before I was even able to attend.

Q: How would you describe the hunting process that occurs in this wild queer kingdom?
A, Gar: This queer kingdom is a wild one indeed. As for my experience, it only revealed the fictitious nature of society’s assumptions regarding age. One may expect a cougar to be the hunter based solely on socially imposed age assignments; however, I was hunted by my cougee. Thus, this answer is better left to a cougee.
A, Gee: Persistently intrigued by the older wiser femme, I am usually strutting my best baby butch swagger when a cougar sinks her nails into me. From my experience, cougars can strike at any time and are especially agitated by button down shirts and ties. The species has been known to kiss their prey without warning, throw them self against a wall in an attempt to be taken advantage of, and, in desperate times, has grabbed a fistful of the prey’s shirt and dragged the cougee to the desired location for consumption. Predicting a cougar strike is near impossible even for the most experienced of prey.

Q: Seems like you both had quite different experiences as far as power relations are concerned. Could you please explain the power dynamics in everyday life, as well as sexual interactions?
A, Gar: Well, in everyday life, my cougee’s indecisiveness forces me to make decisions. In that regard, I suppose I fit into my assigned age role; however, my cougee becomes much more aggressive during any type of sexual interaction, often telling me what to do. Now, this is not to suggest that I become passive in such interactions, it merely demonstrates the fluidity of power relations.
A, Gee: My experience also demonstrates the fluidity of power dynamics. While my sleep deprived cougar goes off to work for the day like a true professional, I can be found lounging in her bed well into the afternoon hours. This is not to say that I don’t play houseboy sometimes, making the bed or washing a few dishes before she gets home; however, when she’s forced to pry herself away from my sleepy-eyed snuggles, my ability to keep her from getting to work on time seems to indicate that I may have the upper hand. Between the sheets, it would appear our age related subversion continues, as my cougar quickly becomes bottom to my top. Although she is a power bottom and certainly doesn’t hesitate to ask for exactly what she wants, I am still the one who is ultimately enacting control. Appearances can be tricky though. Since our dynamics with each other are very consciously chosen, there really isn’t any power, since power would imply an inequality. There is just fun!

Q: You’ve hinted at an important topic–exhaustion. Who really exhausts whom between those sheets?
A, Gar: I’m not gonna lie, I need sleep at my old age. I’m all about having a good time as much as possible, but when my cougee wakes me at 3am to get it on, I just can’t take it. At her young age, she has not yet learned that napping during the day isn’t a possibility for all. I even make sure to get dressed before falling asleep, strategically putting on my ugliest granny panties so that she will allow me to slumber. It never works. I, however, do not think that any conclusions regarding the correlation between stamina and age can be made from my experience. If anything, I merely think it highlights our different social responsibilities and thus, different sleep patterns.
A, Gee: Exhausted?! Exhausted?! Please. There is no exhaustion in my bed (well, okay her’s, as I’ve yet to acquire my own apartment). Most days I feel like a teenaged boy who has just hit puberty and, since my cougar is rapidly approaching her sexual prime, we’re much like the energizer bunny… we just keep going. Sure, the cougar might require a small power nap here or there while I’m still revving to go, but she recovers quickly. To her credit, she’s also bravely tackled many days of work with only an hour or two of sleep, and that didn’t seem to impede her stamina the next night. I’m not sure I would be able to say the same about myself. Maybe the older you get, the more you realize ideal situations are few and far between and you have to take full advantage of what you have.

Q: Ellen and Portia have brought visibility to the cougar/cougee relationship without arousing much negative attention. What has been your experience bringing home that older lady or young play thing?
A, Gar: I have not received negative attention per se, although I have been subjected to many jokes that make me out to be quite the creeper. I had a friend say that I would soon be driving around a big white van, asking children if they would perhaps like some candy. Another friend of mine just said “no, no you didn’t; tell me you didn’t, please!” Further, I had two of my best friends, both of whom have less-than-ordinary sex lives, tell me to keep it in my pants; however once they found out that sex with my cougee was legal in my state of residence, they told me to “go for it” and “fuck her immediately.” Thus, it seems my reactions have been mixed…which happens to mirror my own feelings about being a cougar. While at first I was negative about it and doubtful that I could possibly get along with someone much younger than myself, I realized that Aaliyah (may she rest in peace) indeed had words of wisdom–age ain’t nothin but a number, baby.
A, Gee: The reactions I have received have been overwhelmingly positive. Most of my friends, after they got over the shock value of our student/staff dynamic, think it is great that I am with a sexy older lady. They are all sly smiles and pats on the back. The rest are of the “good you needed someone to tame your wild ways” variety. They seem to equate older with settling down. Oh, the assumptions that run rampant in this wild jungle! My cougar, however, was a bit hesitant about taking on the older lady role and the reactions she received were mixed. Her dad said, “You know, 5 years isn’t much, but in your 20’s, it’s like an eternity. After your 20’s, fine”. If not for my cougar’s friends assuring her that, even though I was a wee one, I still had the potential to be mature, thoughtful and have my shit together, she most likely would have sunk her teeth into someone else. I’m a lucky boi indeed!

Q: Sounds like you both have everything worked out. Any final thoughts on life in the queer kingdom?
A, Gar: I just think if you click [and it's legal], you click. To all you species out there, live up life in the queer kingdom!
A, Gee: Age has turned out to be quite irrelevant, although the scandal might have brought some titillating excitement to the mix early on. When it comes down to it, you either have what it takes to rumble in the jungle together, or you don’t.

Doctor Sex—Bowchicabowwowwwww

Let’s face it—doctors are effing hot.  They save lives, scrubs come off easily, and we all know they have stamina.  The following entry will be an interview with Queermo 2 about her experience fucking a doctor.  Now we will proceed with a tale of hot, steamy, doctor fuckage.

Q:  How did you meet this doctor?
A:  First of all, she is only a medical student, not a doctor quite yet.  I met her while we were both intoxicated at a well-known lesbian club in Boston.  I don’t remember how I ended up dancing with her, but she bought me a Corona and asked me to come home with her.

Q:  So, you fucked her?
A:  Yes, I fucked her…and then she fucked me.  Then, I fucked her again.

Q:  Did she use her stethoscope on you?
A:  Well, since we ended up at her friend’s place, and her friend was not in the medical profession, she didn’t have a stethoscope handy; however, I wouldn’t have been opposed to using it.  Regardless, I’m sure my heart was beating really fast at the time.  She didn’t need a stethoscope to know that.

Q:  That’s too bad.  So, I guess that means no bondage with medical tape or gauze?
A:  Unfortunately not.  There was no bondage with anything at all.  But I think it would have been really hot if she would have commanded me to stick my tongue out and say “awhhhh” like a dominatrix doctor.

Q:  Hell’s yes.  I can see the tight leather scrubs now.  But don’t you think that this would violate a doctor’s oath to be beneficent? 
A:  Hmm.  Well, if it’s consensual, then I don’t see how it conflicts.  I didn’t ask her to recite the Hippocratic Oath before we fucked.

Q:  Interesting.  So, would you make the same case if a consenting patient, and by consenting we will use the sometimes controversial standard definition (i.e. over 18 years of age, mentally stable, etc.), requested that a doctor ended her life?
A:  Yes, but I want to make clear that in NO WAY am I advocating necrophilia.

Q:  Great.  Sounds hot…well, not necrophilia…but doctor fuckage.  I’m about consent, kthanks.  Is there anything else you would like to add?
A:  Only that I personally believe that this doctor should have gone into dentistry because she had a tooth fetish.  She thought that I had particularly well-aligned incisors; however, we’ll save that for another post.

Gay, Straight, or Stealth–Whatever, I Want to Do You

We all do it.  Well, maybe we all don’t, but we sure as hell do.  The game is called “Gay, Straight, or Stealth.”  Before proceeding, it seems necessary to provide an explanation of the Stealth* category.  Stealth generally refers to a femme who is not visible in her queerness; however, the category could be expanded to include, for instance, a man who appears to be straight but, for some unknown reason, still sets off our gaydar.  In the context of this game, we also must state that the Gay category is the equivalent to non-heterosexual.  Thus, it also includes bisexuality.  We realize that we are making the same mistake that dozens of scientific researchers make with regard to bisexuals, one which clearly erases their identity, but because we are bisexual we feel it is validated in some sick sense.

A typical game of “Gay, Straight, or Stealth” takes place on public transportation, sidewalks, shopping venues, or even in the classroom.  We recognize that this game is more challenging in some settings (i.e. all women’s colleges, queer bars, San Francisco, rugby teams) than in others.  The goal of the game is to accurately predict the sexual orientation of the subject at hand.  We should make clear that we rarely discover the accuracy of our predictions, but we believe the fun lies in the speculation.  Because we are so accustomed to assuming queerness, as we operate in a predominately queer setting, we may be biased.  The game becomes more difficult whenever heterosexuals wear gay signifiers unknowingly, as our first instinct is to guess queerness at the hint of anything outside of heteronormativity…or even an affinity for Tegan and Sara.

Although the game may seem harmless enough, failure to guess the correct answer can have devastating effects.  Who hasn’t been at a queer club or bar and asked someone to dance, upon assuming queerness, and been rejected because they are heterosexual?  We certainly have.  The situation is even further complicated when lips touch.  Queermo 2 had such an experience when she met a woman at a lesbian bar, who was a member of a women’s basketball team nonetheless, and made out with her shamelessly.  Moments later, Queermo 2 discovered that this potential fuck (or date…whatever) is straight.  Needless to say, the night was ruined and Queermo 2 wasn’t getting any.

What is the moral of this post (not that we say this to suggest that we have excellent morals)?  In the words of our dear queermo friend, “Can’t we all just wear a fucking pin or something!?”

*In a later post, we will discuss Galewski’s concept of rhetorical femme, which closely relates to our notion of stealth.  This future post will also include the merits of not being visably gay.

Poly Pocket—A Tale of Polyamory

Everyone wants to have sex with as many people as possible, right?  We know we do.  So, does it not seem logical to assume that engaging in a polyamorous relationship is the best way to get your fuck on?  The following is an interview with a fellow queermo who experienced the poly world. 

Q:  Could you please give us a brief explanation of polyamory, for the sake of the readers? 
A:  Polyamory means that you are guaranteed sex in the same way you would be if you were in a monogamous relationship, except now you get two or three or four times the fun.

Q:  That’s what we thought!  But would you also say that you get two or three or four times the headache?
A:  Oh my god.  Absolutely.  Polyamory actually means that you are juggling multiple intimate relationships, so imagine that drama a few times over.  Then add in the dynamic between you and each of the people, their dynamic with each other, and all the other outside sources.  Talk about overwhelming.

Q:  That certainly sounds intense.  Could you extrapolate and give us an illustrative example?
A:  Well, for example, I was involved with a couple.  The expectation was that I would like them both in the same way, at the same time, and share the exact same connection with both of them to ensure that neither was better or more liked.  But this is basically impossible.  People connected differently, for different reasons, and in different ways.  Neither was more valuable, but they were very different.  That causes drama.  Drama for each of them with me, and drama for the two of them as a couple.  Jealousy burned like wild fire and the whole thing went down in a big inferno… that’s when I beat it the hell outta there and left them with the charred rubble.  Too bad the sex didn’t burn with that kind of passion!

Q:  The sex wasn’t good!?  Isn’t every boi’s fantasy to have sex with two womyn?  Isn’t that situation necessarily hot?
A:  WOMYN.  What a term.  It is constructed to be every boi’s fantasy, and even though I didn’t go into it with that heterosexist wet dream thinking, I did find the whole situation to be really hot and it certainly inflated my ego.  It was hot… A HUGE HOT MESS.  I think a boi and two femmes would be wonderful, but too much testosterone in one room and made things ugly very quickly.  I really can’t make generalizations though, as I’m not a resident expert.  But the two people I was with, in my opinion, were not really ready for a three person relationship! I think any combination of identities could work, but I was not interested in being with anyone masculine.  Then, when soft femme turned into BIG BAD BUTCH, I couldn’t grab my clothes fast enough to get outta there.

Q:  Sounds like you had quite the experience.  Do you think polyamory would be easier for those involved if it was more widely accepted in society?
A:  Well, I’m a total dork so it would have been easier for me, because I was dying for something to read that echoed my experience. But overall, I’m not sure.  We didn’t run into any stigma and we were pretty open with, well, everyone, about our three way like for each other.  This included the people on the buses.

Q:  People on the buses?!?
A:  Hey… sometimes, all that desire just bursts out.  Oh, on a related note though, it was always fun when people would pull me aside, get real close, and in a low voice whisper to me about how my girlfriend was upstairs cheating on me.  I always wondered which one it was.

Q:  Well, I guess it wasn’t all bad then!  So, although commodification by heteropatriarchal capitalism is shitty, how would you react to the marketing of a doll that teaches children how to engage in healthy polyamorous relationships?  Let’s call her Poly Pocket.  What do you think?
A:  I loved Polly Pocket as a small child, so I am all about enhancing the product.  I kind of wish I could fold up the real situation into a pretty little compact and tuck it away for later.  I think any toy that supports alternative lifestyles and expands kids options and minds are great.  If Polly wants two girlfriends, a husband and a boy toy… I say more power to her.  She just better get that three story jewelry box house and have a lot of Excedrin.

Q:  Thanks, Poly.  That was a great answer.  Is there anything else you would like to add?
A:  Hmmm.  Possibly that all the Excedrin might have left a slightly bitter taste in my mouth, so my answers could be a bit… post relationship-leaning.  Also, I must take a serious moment and say that polyamory really is a great thing.  I did enjoy the experience, learned a lot about myself and other people, and how much work people should put into ALL their relationships… romantic, platonic, or otherwise!

Pickles–A Speculative Study

We were worried.  We were worried about–pickles.

One afternoon, a member of our beloved group of queer friends was chowing down on a sandwich.  As she ate, we continued our discussion about genetic origins for various human traits.  This sandwich-eating friend proceeded to claim, although jokingly, that her love for pickles was due to some biological factor.  Now, some people might laugh and continue their discussion.  Not us–we ran with it.  We quickly realized that everyone participating in the discussion enjoys pickles…AND we are all queer.  Coincidence?  Bailey and LeVay say no.  Let’s explore!

Our study shows that, among our group of friends, a preference for dill pickles correlates with bisexuality.  An affinity for bread and butter means you are gay.  If one likes both pickles, they are fluid in both their pickle and sexual preference.   Straight people do not like pickles; however, we do not have many straight friends.  If, on the rare occasion, a straight person does like pickles of either variety, this could point to one of two things.  1) They are in denial.  2) They reject and/or do not fit into the binary system of pickle-liking.  If you question that such a binary exists, ask yourself how pickles are marketed to you at the grocery store.  Do you see containers of both salty AND sweet?  No.  We did not think so.

One may also argue that pickles are socially constructed, which is obviously true, as they are fucking cucumbers.  Further, even cucumbers should not be assumed to be an a priori material given that proceeds its cultural location within the vegetable kingdom.

Whatever.  We still think pickles=queer; however, this is NOT due to biological reasons.  We hold true that the consumption of pickles causes queerness.  One’s sexuality is determined by the types of pickles that are fed to them by their parents.  Take that, heteropatriarchal capitalism!

Please comment with your pickle preference and sexual orientation for future studies.

Please note:  Gherkins fall under the dill pickle category.

Introduction to our Blog

This post will serve as a general introduction to our blog.  We like theory, which means we generally like questions.  Personally, we find our questions to be highly amusing, and think it is necessary to share them with the rest of the blogosphere.  Any contributions–questions, answers, comments, funny stories of your own, etc.–are both welcome and recommended.  Enjoy