My partner and I celebrated our 7th anniversary this year. For queer people, that’s like 21. For poly people, it’s closer to eleventy billion.
Because our relationship has lasted “so long,” we’ve become some sort of oracles for others to visit with their relationship woes. Through the many conversations I’ve had with these truth seekers, I’ve determined that there are three primary factors that keep my relationship with my partner Reid so strong.
First, we are transparent and honest with one another, even when it’s hard. We show up and do the work, no matter how confronted or triggered we are, even when it means having to swallow our pride or admit we are wrong.
Second, we support each other in our individual self-expressions, including sexual expression, artistic creation, and entrepreneurship. We celebrate our individual successes and support each other through our challenges.
Third, Reid loves me to fuck him up the ass all the time.
It’s those three things combined that create a strong foundation of love and trust.
I have to emphasize, our relationship was not “saved” by pegging. This isn’t some screwy Dr. Phil bullshit. Our relationship was founded on pegging.
Before I met Reid, I identified fully as a lesbian. I was a card-carrying, velvet blazer-wearing, PBR-drinking, self-haircut-at-home-ing, West Hollywood dyke. Then I met Reid, and I was still a dyke because I really wasn’t sure what to make of him. I believe I used the words “Cheese Dick” to describe him at one point.
During our first hours-long conversation—before our first hours-long make out session—we talked about Burning Man and the theme camp he was creating for that year’s festivities. I had been to Burning Man only once before and didn’t love it. It was hard to meet girls, and it was hard to be a girl out there. Both these concerns were dissolved when he explained that the camp he was creating was for only queer women. He was creating it because his lesbian friend requested it, but he wouldn’t be camping there. While I hadn’t planned on going back to Burning Man after that first year, the idea of twenty-some dusty lesbians in a camp together made me reevaluate my stance.
Reid invited me to join the camp, and I became one of the founding members of Camp Beaverton for Wayward Girls.
My second night at the Burn was the Strap-on-a-thon, a women’s-only play party hosted by the Beavers. I was a caddy at the party. This meant I would offer lube, dust off dildos, and hold back hair should it be necessary. It also meant that by the end of the four hour party, I was really fucking horny. I left the orgy dome to deal with the blue clit situation by seeking out some other Beavers.
On top of a big blue school bus parked next to the dome, I found a new crush, Jacinta, along with Reid and two other women. I explained to them my plight, and they took it upon themselves to help in any way they could. While I was only looking for Jacinta, I’ve never been one to pass up a deal, and four for the price of one is a pretty good deal. On to the pan-gender dome we went.
Inside the dome, the five of us started getting gropey and smoochy and sexy and lovey. Then one of the girls had feelings and needed to leave. So the four of us got gropey and smoochy and sexy and lovey.
I started fingering Jacinta, which was lovely. Then Reid asked if he could go down on me. I hesitated. “I’m a lesbian,” I said, “I’m not sure how I feel about prickly chin hairs all up in my business.” But then I thought about my blue clit and considered, a mouth was a mouth was a mouth. So I said yes.
He ate me out from behind as I finger fucked Jacinta, and, okay, yeah, that was working quite nicely.
Then I started going down on Jacinta. Reid asked, “Allison, can I fuck you?”
Fucking A, I groaned in my head. Of course. A guy can’t have sex with three women without wanting his dick to be the center of fucking attention.
But I was trying to be polite, so I said, “Uh, I dunno.”
“I have some gloves if you’re concerned,” he said.
“What?”
“Gloves.” he repeated. “For safer hand sex.”
“Wait,” I said. “You want to fuck me with your hands?”
“Of course! What else would I use?”
My heart exploded into a joyous lesbian song. “Well, just for that,” I said. “Fuck yeah.”
Reid hand fucked me while I ate out Jacinta, and the third girl made out with all of us. We were having a great time. The sexy continued for a while until Reid said, “Allison, I have a request, but I don’t want to insult or upset you.”
Here it comes, I thought. Poor lonely dick not getting attention, needing to own the space.
“Yeah?” I said.
“Have you ever pegged a guy before?”
If there was a Disney movie about queer sex, my heart would have been singing the heroine’s song right then.
Always one to try a new experience, I lied and said, “Yes! Yes I have.”
Reid harnessed me up and I started fucking him. It was hot and wonderful. It was a lot like fucking a woman with a strap on, but different, and those differences were exciting and fun.
It was, to make another Disney reference, a whole new world.
After all the sex, the four of us cuddled. Oh my God, I thought. I just fucked this guy like a dyke. He fucked me like a dyke. I just had the best lesbian sex at the lesbian camp with the ONE DUDE.
Three months and dozens of erotically-charged cross-country Skype sessions later, Reid visited me in LA. I was nervous. I had heard horror stories about women excommunicated from their lesbian communities when they started dating men, and I didn’t want that to happen to me and my friends.
While Reid and I had a crazy hot connection, I still wasn’t sure I was ready to fall in love with a man. I was a dyke, it was so thoroughly my identity that I didn’t know if I could give it up. I didn’t want to end up a bad dyke.
More than that, even if I could have gotten used to the idea of dating a man, I wasn’t convinced he’d really want to date me. Despite his insistence on liking queer women, I was a dyke with hairy legs and armpits. I liked wearing a strap on and eating pussy. I dressed up for dates by putting on a tie and vest, not heels and a dress. What guy wanted that kind of woman?
My friends and I made plans to go out to Jumbo’s Clown Room, my favorite strip club in Los Angeles. I wore my butchest outfit and packed, wearing my harness and dildo underneath my jeans. I was basically challenging Reid to prove that he really liked real dykes.
At the strip club Reid endeared himself to all of my friends, even the most skeptical among them. I was shocked, but the dude was charming.
He ordered us a round while we watched the hot strippers be hot on stage. I couldn’t help but notice that while all the lesbians’ eyes were on the naked ladies on stage, Reid was spending more time staring at the bulge in my jeans.
After the club, we went home, barely making it to the front door before Reid dropped to his knees, pulled out my cock, and started blowing me. I’m not going to lie: my dick is impressive. But he took it all, throat fucking the hell out of me. He wedged his fingers under the straps of my harness and fingered me as he blew me, syncing the movements of his fingers against my g-spot to the moment the tip of my cock hit the back of his throat. Then he stood up and I pulled out his dick. We gripped our dicks together like one big burrito of hot cock, and jerked each other together like two teenage boys in prep school.
I bent him over the bed, spit in my hand, gave him a reach around, and fucked him.
Then he bent me over the bed, gave me a reach around, and fucked me.
The two of us proceeded to have the queerest sex I’d ever had in my life. For the entire length of his stay. Our little hetero-paired bodies insisted, We’ll make this queer. We’ll figure out a way.
I love pegging, not for the power play, but for the gender and sexual orientation play. I feel so fulfilled when I’m enjoying all the various permutations of my body and sexual identity. This is one of the reasons I don’t trust dudes who don’t take it up the ass; I want to know that my partners can enjoy the range of their own sexualities, too.
For the first time, I wanted a man because he was a man. A queer, self-expressed, sexually self-possessed man. Reid wanted me queer. He wanted me me, fully realized and embracing all the gendered expressions of my heart and body. He loved my hairy armpits, my slouchy style, my shaved head, my penchant for packing. My job, it would turn out, was to offer myself the same love and acceptance of my own gender and identity that he offered me.
Seven years later, Reid and I are still figuring out new ways to queer our sex. Yeah, I’m a bad dyke. But I’m the luckiest bad dyke in the world.