LARP Boys & Sexuality

I am awash in LARP boys.

I am seriously concerned if I show up for one of the conventions, it’s going to be spontanious bukkake with the amount of attention. Which brings up the same thing I have talked about before, one’s relationship to the voracious desires others have for you.

Wildcard remains with a steady rotation of “kitties” some of them closer to him than others, all hands off to the point he likes, harvested from the local kink scene. Occasionally he bats them away from his penis, like small children being kept away from the breakables. He wants their upturned asses to beat, and maybe to jam a hitachi against them until they come. They are invariably at least a smigen younger (or like a full decade), cute, usually dark brunette- assigned female at birth but respected for their pronouns. To get off with them spoils his control.

He keeps a steady stream of IMs with the favourites, always a little gunshy about me knowing, like he isn’t entirely sure he has my explicit encouragement. This is his sexuality, what he needs to be happy. He’s making them happy too, so where is the harm?

At first I was a bit jealous as the transition to pursuit of kitties came with a natural drift from his obsession with me, but I have seen it is basically water seeking its own level. This is who he is, living geniunely, to have me as a part of his sexuality but not the entirety. That is kind of important and fits what I told him as one of my rules, which is that he should choose what makes him happy.

But me: LARP boys are just as kinky as BDSM scene boys, but more inclined to lead with their vulnerability, not their dicks and kinks. While my fetlife inbox is a trickle of “can you get me off to that complicated itch I need scratched, just so?”, with LARP boys, there’s a sensitive sweetness, a big eyed emotional hopefulness superceding the evident rampent erections.

Wildcard was a LARP boy once. I met him when my character boldly wandered into his troupe. As soon as the whole world I unlocked became evident to him, a wild wonderland of sexual freedom, he jumped and I don’t think he looked back. We still play games together, but to be honest I don’t think he likes mixing sexuality into story the way I do. His characters are asexual or delibrately distanced.

I bring sexuality with me, and flirt and charm and try to be as honest as possible. The attention I get is mostly a challenge for the contextual social situation outside the game. First off, I want story. I need story, and I have learned the hard way that boys prefer me to fantasy. Characters get abandoned when they realize there is a mind behind the mask. I don’t mind them getting to know the real me, but it kind of feels disappointing if it comes at the cost of my creations. Strong did that to me, trading out an interesting story for lurid sexual fantasies and then burning out all together. It kind of hurt.

Secondly, there is the whole slut-ego thing. I am not supposed to acknowledge my participation in attracting people. It is supposed to be an externally applied objectification people feel sorry for. Oh how sad, Pearl gets boys going! Mention “I get a lot of attention” and people treat it like street harassment or cruel manipulation. Victim or femme fatale. Take your pick.

Attention you can control and escape is not the same thing as attention jammed down your throat. I might be the sort of person who responded yesterday to a guy whistling at me and going (literally) “hubba hubba!” with “Seriously?!” (because it was in front of a Tim Hortins at 2PM. I mean jesus fuck, oggle at what I offer to the world but have some fucking decorum), but I also am the sort of person who acknowledges that there is more than  demeaning objectification in the scope of casual interest. But you aren’t supposed to. The princess is always pretty, but she always needs to wait for the hero to tell her how special she is. Tits sell everything from computer software to perfume, but God forbid you add your own to the conversation on your terms.

That is how a lot of the other LARP girls do. They have their turgid bleed-romances like everyone else, but discreetly, carefully, and hidden. We have girl talk and they are guarded about the sexuality in our hobby, scared of the men and pushing the envelope. And they have a point, some of them are rapists, more of them are coup counters who gossip who fucked you, as if your exposure to sex diminishes you a bit at a time. Lord save me from virgin chasers. I cast off mine as soon as possible, and I won’t be bound by guys whose goal is to be the cock with no point of comparison.

And the other trick, outside the coup counters, is that LARP boys, as a rule, don’t like acknowledging that they are not the only guy seriously strategizing getting you into a hotel room at a gaming convention and making the maid service hate them forever for the mess that would result. It’s either itchy fists directed at the other guys, or hurt feelings at you. If you notice the other men, how can they be special? 

Thing is, the 20th time he’s “never met a girl like you before” maybe you aren’t being full of yourself to see a pattern? My brother is furious that people keep messaging him to tell him his sister is hot. Wildcard gets peppered with squeeing “omg Pearl!!!” from the kitties who see us as a package deal. And I notice back. I like men. This isn’t a one sided thing where guys are sexless and icky.

I guess that is the other taboo. I like men. Really. They are fun, with their jaws and their swingy shoulders and their careful socially forced repression and power fantasies. And I think I am missing I guess the uh… misandry? Fear? That is supposed to blot out my ability to acknowledge them as just as much objects of desire.

But, these days when I get praised, I answer with “I know”. I put Wildcard’s presence and my ego into the conversation early, to lay out where I stand, almost like a challenge. Want me? Acknowledge me as I am. Then we can talk.

Being a slut, in that awkward kind of way where I don’t actually get fucked all that much, but I play with desire, is hard. The attention turns me on. The sweetness turns me on too- I like watching them worry if their voice is goofy or react to me discovering something special to them.

I like making them feel good, with sincere compliments. I might have a predatory streak (worship me! worship me!) that goes straight to the core of my dominance, but I actually like LARP boys. These are my people. Fun.

But there isn’t really a space to say that you get turned on by the attention. It doesn’t make me feel like a piece of meat when a LARP boy carefully unpacks himself in front of you. It’s a strip tease.

And I won’t pretend it is not a delight to tease right back.

Profanity from Pain

I’ve got a fetish, and it’s not for men who are super polite in the bedroom. I like it when they swear. There’s something particularly thrilling about a foul mouth when it hurts.

Don’t get me wrong, the whole suppressed grunts and whimpering and carrying on has a special place in my heart too… but give me a man who curses like a sailor when the cruelty starts and you’ll have me following him around glassy eyed, in a lemming like fashion.

It’s even hot when you’re not even doing anything that nasty. It feels like you’ve impressed him. Shocked him out of coherence.

“Oh fuck, Miss!” feels so good the instant it escapes his mouth.

Check this out by Ferns:

I move down your chest to your left nipple. I lick it, suck it into my mouth, nibbling at it, then lapping gently with the flat of my tongue. I close my teeth around your flesh and pull at it, applying some pressure. It’s hard. I grab the peg and pull the skin of your nipple forward, closing the peg on it.

I watch your face register the pain, my stomach flipping over as you bite your lip. You are trying to be stoic. I wait for you to swear.

“…Fucking fuck fuck…”

I grab your head and pull your mouth to mine, wanting to swallow your words, I kiss you aggressively and your angry mouth returns the kiss hard, taking my breath. So fucking hot, I’m making soft inarticulate noises into your mouth.

Pure bloody joy (and the rest of her writing is pretty hot too!).

There’s also a certain delight in bedroom trash talk. The protests of a man defeated: “Oh, you evil bitch.” “You’re fucking cruel, Miss!”

I eat it up like candy and it’s a hundred times better than “Goddess!” or any permutation of the worshiping script. Don’t you dare wax lyrical about my sacred cunt. I’m the bitch, the scourge, and your damnation. I hurt, and scratch and bite. I slap and I strike. I know I’m at my happiest when my sadism is bearing down on you. I want it to be awful and evil and I want your curses because they feel real.