My life would make an excellent black comedy. I can only laugh at all the stupid things that I've done in the name of love or lust.
The most memorable (and expensive) mistake I made was getting involved with this crazy girl, JS, who was in love with my ex. I knew she was crazy and I knew she was just using me to make my ex jealous, but because I knew this, I thought I was one up on her and that I had the situation locked down.
It started out with a completely random phone call, where she wanted to know my ex's favorite flower. I was at first confused and surprised that JS was even calling me, considering I had never given her my number, but apparently my ex had. Once I gathered my thoughts, I had to tell her that I hadn't dated my ex that long and I honestly had no idea.
After that, she stepped up her game and started flirting with me hard at the bar. This game was completely transparent and I knew exactly what was going on. However, I was really bored in my life and in need of some distraction, so I decided to play with fire, especially since crazy girls seem to be wicked good in bed. I totally thought that, being fully apprised of the situation, I had a handle on things and that I had JS's number.
Well, tragically, she was horrible in bed, like... in my bottom two experiences ever... so it wasn’t even worth it. She had what my ex and I would later commiserate and call "sexual ADD". She'd start out doing one thing, and just as you were starting to get into it, she'd switch and start doing something else. Rinse, repeat, over and over.. very unsatisfying and strange!
She was wonderful sober, but was also totally an alcoholic who turned into Mr. Hyde when she got drunk. I was out at the bar with my best friend and she was there, wasted, celebrating her cousin’s birthday. I barely remember the details, but I think she got snarky with me and my best friend stood up for me, and then they totally got into it. JS left the bar perhaps 10 minutes later. My friend and I left a couple of hours later and when I got in my car, I discovered JS had stolen my ignition. Yeah, you heard me right.
HUGE F-ING, EXPENSIVE HASSLE, let me tell you. I got dicked around by the mechanic, too, for a couple of weeks, until my friend’s husband called pretending to be my husband, then they straightened up.
Anyway… yeah.
I would like to say that I've learned to not play with fire, but knowing myself....
Thursday, January 06, 2011
Friday, December 31, 2010
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Gender
Gender is a topic I find to be endlessly fascinating, so you'll probably hear more about it in the posts to come. Exploring and experimenting with ones masculinity and femininity, with society's gender roles, it's exciting and fun. I love it when people buck the norm.. women doing things that are traditionally male and vice versa, for example.
I present as tomboyish and I consider myself genderqueer, in that I feel a good balance of both male and female exists in me. I'm neither one or the other, I am both. Both sides require expression and sometimes it feels so good to be really girly or really boyish.
JC and I were together for about two and a half years. Our sex life, the hotness level, was off the charts. We were just so bare, intimate, and connected with each other; both of us agreed it was the hottest sex of our lives. She grew up in a devoutly Catholic home and learned to suppress her sexuality. She was also a huge tomboy at heart, but had learned to present with a feminine appearance in order to fit in socially and to hide her emerging sexuality.
When we were together, JC would sometimes let loose and express her boy side. I encouraged this because seeing how it transformed her, how it made her feel, was a huge turn on. She'd sometimes pack without saying anything and then appear at my side and wait for me to notice the considerable bulge in her pants. She loved playing a boy and I found it really hot. Not to mention, she really owned her cock and boy, did she ever know how to use it!
I love a girl who owns her cock. Mmmm.
Her boi persona was on the dominant side. We'd talk dirty as I stroked her. She'd get top-y and push it into my mouth. She loved wearing that cock and she loved watching me worship it, which I found to be immensely hot and arousing. JC liked to focus and imagine what it'd be like to fuck me, were her cock real. Man, she was good with that thing and she knew how to make me feel amazing! I loved imagining she could feel me, wishing she could get off inside of me.
I present as tomboyish and I consider myself genderqueer, in that I feel a good balance of both male and female exists in me. I'm neither one or the other, I am both. Both sides require expression and sometimes it feels so good to be really girly or really boyish.
JC and I were together for about two and a half years. Our sex life, the hotness level, was off the charts. We were just so bare, intimate, and connected with each other; both of us agreed it was the hottest sex of our lives. She grew up in a devoutly Catholic home and learned to suppress her sexuality. She was also a huge tomboy at heart, but had learned to present with a feminine appearance in order to fit in socially and to hide her emerging sexuality.
When we were together, JC would sometimes let loose and express her boy side. I encouraged this because seeing how it transformed her, how it made her feel, was a huge turn on. She'd sometimes pack without saying anything and then appear at my side and wait for me to notice the considerable bulge in her pants. She loved playing a boy and I found it really hot. Not to mention, she really owned her cock and boy, did she ever know how to use it!
I love a girl who owns her cock. Mmmm.
Her boi persona was on the dominant side. We'd talk dirty as I stroked her. She'd get top-y and push it into my mouth. She loved wearing that cock and she loved watching me worship it, which I found to be immensely hot and arousing. JC liked to focus and imagine what it'd be like to fuck me, were her cock real. Man, she was good with that thing and she knew how to make me feel amazing! I loved imagining she could feel me, wishing she could get off inside of me.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Love Hesitates
The one thing I want most in life, my ultimate life's goal, is love. True love, of course, with my soulmate or some other non-sappy equivalent. Love. Alas and alack! Love has been such a cruel mistress; giving me a taste of my heart's desire and then dancing away with it, laughing.
Sex with someone you love is potent. It amazes me sometimes. Everything goes away, is erased from your consciousness, until the only thing that exists is that person. You become hyper aware of their every aspect; the warmth radiating from their body as they come closer, their smell, the subtleties of desire like their breathing coming quicker, their eyes darkening as their pupils dilate.
This kind of sex is religious to me. Or, at the very least, spiritual. There is no other time that I am so completely and totally present in the moment. It feels like the touching of souls. Like the closest humans will ever get to feeling, seeing, or experiencing the Divine.
Sex with someone you love is potent. It amazes me sometimes. Everything goes away, is erased from your consciousness, until the only thing that exists is that person. You become hyper aware of their every aspect; the warmth radiating from their body as they come closer, their smell, the subtleties of desire like their breathing coming quicker, their eyes darkening as their pupils dilate.
This kind of sex is religious to me. Or, at the very least, spiritual. There is no other time that I am so completely and totally present in the moment. It feels like the touching of souls. Like the closest humans will ever get to feeling, seeing, or experiencing the Divine.
Thursday, December 09, 2010
Damn, it's cobwebby in here
As is plainly obvious, I'm a bad blogger. Really, what happened was a relationship, an out-of-state move, and then it all went downhill from there for the next 5 years. What I've learned is that it seems impossible to blog while I'm in a relationship, whether that relationship is good or bad.
I did have one pretty good relationship, JC, who I dated and with whom I cohabitated for over two years. I revealed this blog to JC, but then came to regret it as she made it clear she'd like me to blog about us. I found it too much pressure and choked.
Then life. Focusing on survival. Not having reliable internet. Several moves. One really horrible girlfriend. Blah blah.
Anyway, I was reading over some of my old posts and found myself a bit surprised and pleased with my writing here. So, I will try to post more! I am single again, after all.
I did have one pretty good relationship, JC, who I dated and with whom I cohabitated for over two years. I revealed this blog to JC, but then came to regret it as she made it clear she'd like me to blog about us. I found it too much pressure and choked.
Then life. Focusing on survival. Not having reliable internet. Several moves. One really horrible girlfriend. Blah blah.
Anyway, I was reading over some of my old posts and found myself a bit surprised and pleased with my writing here. So, I will try to post more! I am single again, after all.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
A Fantasy
It's the end of my senior year, just weeks until graduation, and seeing that most of my work is finished, I've been finding it hard to care. I've been rolling into class late a lot, sometimes not bothering to show up at all. I had a feeling it'd catch up to me eventually, so I just roll my eyes and shake my head when I get called into your office.
I stride down the empty hallway toward the office, where your matronly secretary scowls and ushers me directly into your presence, then sharply closes the door behind me. You sit perched behind the 'Principal' sign on your desk and, judging by your cold, appraising stare from across your imposing wood desk, you are not pleased. I sit down in an ancient leather chair and and roll my eyes slightly as you begin to lecture me on my disregard for the rules and the importance of being on time. Irritated, you rise slowly and tell me that I've been warned plenty of times and since it's obvious that the niceties have failed, it is time for more serious punishment.
I raise an eyebrow, at least until you pull a ruler from your desk drawer, and then I blink. I look up at your face to gauge your seriousness as you slightly bend the ruler, showing me that it is rigid, yet somewhat flexible, then slap it quickly against your palm. It dawns on me what you intend and I swallow hard as I realize that that ruler probably is going to hurt quite a bit.
You look at me, eyes narrowed and say, "Naughty girls who flout the rules get their backsides reddened." You smack your palm with the ruler again, this time more forcefully. "Stand up and bend over my desk, this instant."
As I move to obey, my mind begins to race. My cheeks flush with embarrassment, knowing that you are going to spank me. I step in front of the desk and lean forward over it, my ass in the air and my breasts feeling the cool wood through my shirt. I hide my burning face and hear the swish of clothing as you move closer to me. I feel you lift the hem of my skirt over my ass and onto my back. My cheeks burn redder as I envision the now-clear view of my panties and everything underneath.
The intervening seconds feel like an eternity as I wait anxiously for your next move. I'm in the process of wondering, and then you bring the ruler down on my ass. I was right; it really stings and I grit my teeth. You raise your arm and bring it down in the same spot several more times, creating an intensely sensitive and painful spot. I cry out a little, involuntarily.
"Bad behavior does not go unpunished," you lecture, and bring the ruler down again, this time on the other cheek.
I exhale through clenched teeth, fighting a groan. The ruler comes down again and again, varying your ever-stronger strokes so that my entire ass becomes red. "Naughty girls who don't learn have to be spanked," you say.
With each blow of the ruler, you become more forceful and my ass more red and sensitive. It becomes difficult to stay quiet, and I begin to gasp each time the ruler strikes my skin. You pause a moment, place your palm on my ass, and lean forward to speak in my ear. Your hand lightly strokes my tingling ass as I feel your warm breath on my ear and hear you say, "I know this is what you need, because you cannot discipline yourself."
You lean back up and quietly ponder for a moment. I feel your hand on my ass, then up to the waistband of my panties. "Oh, God," I think, but it's too late because you're already sliding them down. You pull them down over my ass and leave them on just below my cheeks. I know my ass is bright red and I'm mortified to know that you can probably see how wet and swollen my pussy is getting. I can hear the lightness in your voice and know you're pleased with your handiwork so far, "Such a bad, disrespectful girl deserves a real, bare-assed spanking."
I whimper softly at the idea that there's more to come. You step back slightly and I brace myself, as you bring that wicked ruler down with a hard, stinging slap. You tan my ass with it, bringing it down over and over, causing me to jump at each blow. My ass is getting so sore and I start to wonder how much I can take. I hope each blow is the last, but you continue on bringing your arm down again and again, lecturing me. I feel each slap of the ruler more intensely and more painfully than the last.
Just when I wonder how much more I can take, you pause again. I hear you set the ruler down and can feel the heat of your body near my inflamed skin. You run your palm over my now bright red skin, which is radiating a lot of heat. The skin of your hand is a pleasing torture, it is both erotic and a painful reminder of your beating. You gently stroke the skin of both ass cheeks and my face burns more as I feel you lower your hand to brush over my wet, swollen lips. I am so tense and turned on that I moan shamelessly; your touching between my legs has sent another rush of wetness. I can't help but move my hips slightly as your fingers slide along my slit to rub my clit briefly, then back up to tease my opening.
I hear you pick up the ruler and I let out a groaned sigh of frustration. I am so wildly turned on and quivering with desire and anticipation that I can't help but cry out with each strike of the ruler. You strike again several times, hard, unbearably in the same spot, just to watch me writhe and beg you to stop with my cries.
*SMACK!*
*SMACK!*
*SMACK!*
Over and over, expertly covering my ass with strikes as you beat me, not a patch of skin spared. You continue to lecture and berate me for my bad character, but I can't focus on your words anymore. Each blow hurts worse than the last and my ass is hot, sore, and stinging. I don't think I can take much more and helpless tears spring to my eyes. Just when I'm about to cry or to beg you to stop, I hear you set down the ruler and come up behind me. I breathe a sigh of relief and sag on the desk, trying to catch my breath.
Your fingertips tease and taunt as they play over my sore, tingling skin. I can feel the wetness beginning to drip down my lips. You run your fingers down between my legs, and lean over me. I can feel the hardness of your cock through your pants, pressing into my hip. Your fingers begin to explore more aggressively, sliding through the slick wetness, feeling how swollen my lips and clit are, and I moan. Your fingers tease my clit, slide down my lips, then I feel one slowly slip inside. I can no longer hold it in and give a long, loud moan as your finger slowly makes its way into my pussy.
I give a groan of disappointment as I feel your finger exit. I hear your zipper slide down, a short rustle of clothing,and then feel the head of your cock pressed against my pussy lips. "Oh, God," I groan, as you take my hips in your hands.
In the next moment, you ram your hard cock all the way inside me. I give a deep-throated moan as I feel your cock parting my tight pussy, opening it up until you're as deep as you can go. You rest there a moment, holding your cock deep inside, enjoying the feel of my pussy and how it pulses around your cock. You comment on how hot to the touch my ass feels against your skin, with a small, sadistic chuckle.
Then, my hips in your hands, you make a point to pound against my sore, red ass, driving home my punishment, reminding me with each thrust. You lean forward and ask in my ear, "How does that spanking feel now?" You drive into me, slapping my ass hard with your hips. "Your pussy is so wet, you really are a dirty, dirty girl..."
All I can do is moan and work my pussy on your cock. I want it so bad and it feels so good to be taken like this. You reach a hand up under my shirt, push my bra up, and squeeze one of my breasts, making the nipple hard. You pinch it, which causes my pussy to squeeze your cock. You give a grunt of pleasure and continue to drive your cock in and out of me. I keep getting wetter and more turned on and I feel like I could take it forever, but soon your thrusts come faster and faster and I know you're going to come.
One hand squeezing my breast, the other on my hip, you drive your cock forcefully into my pussy, working closer to orgasm. Your breathing gets faster, your thrusts faster and harder, and I know you're close. Finally, the hand on my hip flies up, and you get a tight fistful of my hair, pulling my head back and holding it there. You let out a long, throaty groan, thrust a few times shallowly, then plunge your cock deep in me. You hold me tight against you as you ride out your climax in a series of breathy groans.
When you are finished, you slide out of me and give my ass one last hard slap with your hand and tell me to get dressed. You give me a stern look and say that you hope I've learned my lesson.
XOXO
I stride down the empty hallway toward the office, where your matronly secretary scowls and ushers me directly into your presence, then sharply closes the door behind me. You sit perched behind the 'Principal' sign on your desk and, judging by your cold, appraising stare from across your imposing wood desk, you are not pleased. I sit down in an ancient leather chair and and roll my eyes slightly as you begin to lecture me on my disregard for the rules and the importance of being on time. Irritated, you rise slowly and tell me that I've been warned plenty of times and since it's obvious that the niceties have failed, it is time for more serious punishment.
I raise an eyebrow, at least until you pull a ruler from your desk drawer, and then I blink. I look up at your face to gauge your seriousness as you slightly bend the ruler, showing me that it is rigid, yet somewhat flexible, then slap it quickly against your palm. It dawns on me what you intend and I swallow hard as I realize that that ruler probably is going to hurt quite a bit.
You look at me, eyes narrowed and say, "Naughty girls who flout the rules get their backsides reddened." You smack your palm with the ruler again, this time more forcefully. "Stand up and bend over my desk, this instant."
As I move to obey, my mind begins to race. My cheeks flush with embarrassment, knowing that you are going to spank me. I step in front of the desk and lean forward over it, my ass in the air and my breasts feeling the cool wood through my shirt. I hide my burning face and hear the swish of clothing as you move closer to me. I feel you lift the hem of my skirt over my ass and onto my back. My cheeks burn redder as I envision the now-clear view of my panties and everything underneath.
The intervening seconds feel like an eternity as I wait anxiously for your next move. I'm in the process of wondering, and then you bring the ruler down on my ass. I was right; it really stings and I grit my teeth. You raise your arm and bring it down in the same spot several more times, creating an intensely sensitive and painful spot. I cry out a little, involuntarily.
"Bad behavior does not go unpunished," you lecture, and bring the ruler down again, this time on the other cheek.
I exhale through clenched teeth, fighting a groan. The ruler comes down again and again, varying your ever-stronger strokes so that my entire ass becomes red. "Naughty girls who don't learn have to be spanked," you say.
With each blow of the ruler, you become more forceful and my ass more red and sensitive. It becomes difficult to stay quiet, and I begin to gasp each time the ruler strikes my skin. You pause a moment, place your palm on my ass, and lean forward to speak in my ear. Your hand lightly strokes my tingling ass as I feel your warm breath on my ear and hear you say, "I know this is what you need, because you cannot discipline yourself."
You lean back up and quietly ponder for a moment. I feel your hand on my ass, then up to the waistband of my panties. "Oh, God," I think, but it's too late because you're already sliding them down. You pull them down over my ass and leave them on just below my cheeks. I know my ass is bright red and I'm mortified to know that you can probably see how wet and swollen my pussy is getting. I can hear the lightness in your voice and know you're pleased with your handiwork so far, "Such a bad, disrespectful girl deserves a real, bare-assed spanking."
I whimper softly at the idea that there's more to come. You step back slightly and I brace myself, as you bring that wicked ruler down with a hard, stinging slap. You tan my ass with it, bringing it down over and over, causing me to jump at each blow. My ass is getting so sore and I start to wonder how much I can take. I hope each blow is the last, but you continue on bringing your arm down again and again, lecturing me. I feel each slap of the ruler more intensely and more painfully than the last.
Just when I wonder how much more I can take, you pause again. I hear you set the ruler down and can feel the heat of your body near my inflamed skin. You run your palm over my now bright red skin, which is radiating a lot of heat. The skin of your hand is a pleasing torture, it is both erotic and a painful reminder of your beating. You gently stroke the skin of both ass cheeks and my face burns more as I feel you lower your hand to brush over my wet, swollen lips. I am so tense and turned on that I moan shamelessly; your touching between my legs has sent another rush of wetness. I can't help but move my hips slightly as your fingers slide along my slit to rub my clit briefly, then back up to tease my opening.
I hear you pick up the ruler and I let out a groaned sigh of frustration. I am so wildly turned on and quivering with desire and anticipation that I can't help but cry out with each strike of the ruler. You strike again several times, hard, unbearably in the same spot, just to watch me writhe and beg you to stop with my cries.
*SMACK!*
*SMACK!*
*SMACK!*
Over and over, expertly covering my ass with strikes as you beat me, not a patch of skin spared. You continue to lecture and berate me for my bad character, but I can't focus on your words anymore. Each blow hurts worse than the last and my ass is hot, sore, and stinging. I don't think I can take much more and helpless tears spring to my eyes. Just when I'm about to cry or to beg you to stop, I hear you set down the ruler and come up behind me. I breathe a sigh of relief and sag on the desk, trying to catch my breath.
Your fingertips tease and taunt as they play over my sore, tingling skin. I can feel the wetness beginning to drip down my lips. You run your fingers down between my legs, and lean over me. I can feel the hardness of your cock through your pants, pressing into my hip. Your fingers begin to explore more aggressively, sliding through the slick wetness, feeling how swollen my lips and clit are, and I moan. Your fingers tease my clit, slide down my lips, then I feel one slowly slip inside. I can no longer hold it in and give a long, loud moan as your finger slowly makes its way into my pussy.
I give a groan of disappointment as I feel your finger exit. I hear your zipper slide down, a short rustle of clothing,and then feel the head of your cock pressed against my pussy lips. "Oh, God," I groan, as you take my hips in your hands.
In the next moment, you ram your hard cock all the way inside me. I give a deep-throated moan as I feel your cock parting my tight pussy, opening it up until you're as deep as you can go. You rest there a moment, holding your cock deep inside, enjoying the feel of my pussy and how it pulses around your cock. You comment on how hot to the touch my ass feels against your skin, with a small, sadistic chuckle.
Then, my hips in your hands, you make a point to pound against my sore, red ass, driving home my punishment, reminding me with each thrust. You lean forward and ask in my ear, "How does that spanking feel now?" You drive into me, slapping my ass hard with your hips. "Your pussy is so wet, you really are a dirty, dirty girl..."
All I can do is moan and work my pussy on your cock. I want it so bad and it feels so good to be taken like this. You reach a hand up under my shirt, push my bra up, and squeeze one of my breasts, making the nipple hard. You pinch it, which causes my pussy to squeeze your cock. You give a grunt of pleasure and continue to drive your cock in and out of me. I keep getting wetter and more turned on and I feel like I could take it forever, but soon your thrusts come faster and faster and I know you're going to come.
One hand squeezing my breast, the other on my hip, you drive your cock forcefully into my pussy, working closer to orgasm. Your breathing gets faster, your thrusts faster and harder, and I know you're close. Finally, the hand on my hip flies up, and you get a tight fistful of my hair, pulling my head back and holding it there. You let out a long, throaty groan, thrust a few times shallowly, then plunge your cock deep in me. You hold me tight against you as you ride out your climax in a series of breathy groans.
When you are finished, you slide out of me and give my ass one last hard slap with your hand and tell me to get dressed. You give me a stern look and say that you hope I've learned my lesson.
XOXO
Thursday, March 16, 2006
Sex and the City, Part II
I was 18, living on my own for the first time and just beginning to explore the limits of my new-found freedom and adulthood. My social circle almost entirely consisted of 'Netters' and during this time I dated, went to parties, experimented with substances like alcohol and marijuana, and started exploring my sexuality.
The BBS/chat system I used regularly would let members post event announcements. At some point, I took notice of an announcement for a bi-monthly pansexual orgy. All the details were explained: it was being hosted in a play environment with amenities such as a dungeon and a hot tub, it was bisexual, men and women welcome, safe play encouraged. I didn't know what 'pansexual' meant, but the idea of going to a sex party both turned me on and made me intensely curious. I really wanted to go, but there was no way I would go by myself. Unfortunately, I couldn't think of anyone I could ask, so after I fully mulled over the whole thing, the idea got shelved.
There were one or two more announcements as the months went by, and while I still very much was interested in going, I still couldn't fathom attending alone and hadn't yet found someone who would be game for attending with me. I had been platonically hanging out with a Netter named John and not long after another one of the orgy notices had been posted, the subject came up in conversation one night at a coffee shop. Now that I think on it, I believe John was the one posting the announcements and I probably asked him about it. He expressed a desire to go, and I mentioned that I had been interested in going, too. After some discussion, we decided that we would go together and began to excitedly make our plans for the evening.
The night of the party rolled around and I was very nervous. I was still not properly relieved of my virginity and while I didn't entirely rule out the possibility, I was pretty sure I wasn't going to be having sex that night. I was on the precipice my sexual awakening and still quite inexperienced and scared. I mostly wanted to watch. I wasn't entirely sure what to expect, but on the bus ride there, John assured me that the atmosphere was very relaxed and that I wouldn't have to do anything I didn't want. He told me I could simply say "no, thank you" if I wasn't interested in a play proposition, and that no one would be offended.
We got off the bus and as we walked the quiet lamp-lit streets, my heart was pounding. All I could think was, "What am I doing? What am I doing? What am I doing? What am I doing?" I followed him a few blocks to a nice but rather unassuming house in a decent neighborhood. From the normal exterior, you would never guess what was going on inside!
John checked in with me as we ascended the steps and I assured him I was fine, but the truth was, my heart was racing and I was petrified. However, I am an adventurer at heart and I was absolutely determined to go through with this, if simply for the story I could tell later. So he knocked on the door, which opened and a man greeted us. There was a door leading to a side room behind him to the right, and several people milled around the hallway just beyond. The man was very nice and apparently we had chosen the right night to attend because he told us that the evening was 'two for one', and after splitting the cost with John, all I ended up paying was $10.
He ushered us through the door in the foyer into a small room that was crowded with a desk, cubbyholes, coat pegs, and people's clothes and belongings. The woman behind the desk took our money and handed us brown paper grocery bags. I glanced at John and tried to figure out why I needed a paper bag. He started to unbutton his shirt. I must have looked confused because the woman said, "Put your clothes in there and find a spot anywhere in here to leave them."
Immediately, I panicked. "Wait...what?! I have to be naked?!"
I'm a pretty shy person and I have never loved my body, so the thought of a cold-blooded strip-down and subsequent nude parading in front of strangers was enough to flip me out. I was so freaked out, I can't even remember the details of the discussion that followed my question, other than to say I was eventually assured I could wear a towel. Relieved, I calmed down and accepted my towel, then proceeded to self-consciously strip right there while getting as un-naked as possible. John was comfortable being naked and decided to forgo a towel, so by the time I finished, John was standing there in all his glory.
I should mention that, starting not long after we set off, John had been telling me throughout the evening that I was beautiful, something he had never said to me before and which struck me as fairly opportunistic. It seemed to me that he was hoping I might oblige him when we got to the party. As he stood there naked, the way he looked at me confirmed these suspicions. When we were properly undressed, the man that had greeted us gave us a short run-down on the facilities and where everything was located.
I can't pinpoint when exactly I started being turned on by kink, but I figure I must have been exposed to it during high school because at 18, the thought of an orgy was more arousing and intriguing than it was shocking. All I know is that my embarrassment and self-consciousness faded as my curiosity took over and as we stepped out of the room ventured deeper into the rest of the house, my eyes were roaming wildly in order to take everything in.
At the end of the hall, but just before the living room, was a cutaway square hole in the floor with a fireman's pole in the center that lead downstairs. I peered down there in an attempt to get some idea of what I had gotten myself into, while simultaneously trying to figure out the hows and whys of sliding down the pole. I also tried to wrap my head around the idea of sliding down a pole naked. Ha.
We came out of the hallway into the open kitchen and living room. To the left, in the living area, were a few men occupying the couch and chairs and watching a porn video playing on the large-screen TV. They noted our arrival, surveyed the prospects, and gradually returned their attention to the porn. There were assorted refreshments on the kitchen counters, which we passed as we walked closer to the glass sliding doors leading to the backyard. I was busy looking around and taking everything in, so I simply followed John's direction.
John stepped through the glass doors and we went down some wooden stairs. At the bottom of the steps was the hot tub, which a couple of people were enjoying. We turned back toward the house and went down another set of steps to the bottom floor, into 'the dungeon'. The basement was almost entirely open, save for a doorless room on the far street side.
This is the part of the story where my mind started to get blown. We stepped into the basement 'dungeon' and it was truly an orgy for the senses. So much was happening around me! There were probably 20 or 30 people there in total, and most of them were involved in doing dirty things with one another. As we came through the door, directly in front of us was a hip-height padded table upon which a naked man was kneeling on his hands and knees. I can't even remember the gender of his partner because I was so fascinated by what they were doing. I watched as the partner put on latex gloves, lubed up, and slowly began the process of anal fisting. This was the first of many things I had heard about, but never actually seen or tried.
Ahead of us to the left were semi-private partitioned spaces with mattresses on the floor. The partitions were the kind you use for office cubicles, made with enough space for other people to walk through and stand to watch the action. I figured it was for people who didn't want to have sex in front of everyone, but were okay with a few people as an audience. We took a quick tour through these, and John flopped down on a mattress while making some semi-joking suggestions. I was definitely turned on by everything at that point, so I have to admit that I considered fucking John at various times throughout the night. However, I didn't think it was a good idea to sleep with John and standing there in the cubicles, I just couldn't picture myself having sex in front of all those people.
I was eager to explore, so we wandered back out. There was a room I hadn't noticed when we came in, on the same wall and recessed under the stairs we had come down. Party lights lent an orangey-pink glow to the room and when I peeked in, I realized everyone in there was male. It seemed to be pretty happening; there were several men in there, some on a couch, some standing, some on the floor. All naked, all stroking each other's cocks. I felt another pang of desire. I admit I like gay porn, and watching a guy jerk off (or get jerked off) really turns me on. I wanted to stand there and watch them, but I felt kind of weird about it, like it was a boys' club and I was an intruder. They kept looking at me and I took that to mean they wanted to me to go away.
To the right side of the door we entered was an open area that might have had mattresses on the floor because people were fucking there. There was a loose group of people watching and slowly touching themselves. We walked toward the back, past the padded table and cubicle rooms to the room on the far end of the dungeon. On the way, I spied a leather sex sling suspended from the ceiling, so we went over to it and I made John explain to me how it worked. I definitely liked the idea; it turned me on and I made a mental note to try it at some point.
We went into the room on the far end of the dungeon and it was full of kinky bondage equipment. I'm sure there were other things, but I was quite fascinated by the cage and the rack, which apparently captured all of my attention because those are the only things I remember. John and I joked and talked a little bit about everything, and then for fun, he crawled into the cage and I shut it. I began to feel a little weird about playing with him in there, knowing he wanted more and knowing I didn't want to go there with him. When he got out of the cage, then asked me to stretch him on the rack. I agreed somewhat reluctantly and he climbed onto the contraption. I strapped down his wrists and ankles and then began to turn the wheel beside his head.
(To Be Continued..)
The BBS/chat system I used regularly would let members post event announcements. At some point, I took notice of an announcement for a bi-monthly pansexual orgy. All the details were explained: it was being hosted in a play environment with amenities such as a dungeon and a hot tub, it was bisexual, men and women welcome, safe play encouraged. I didn't know what 'pansexual' meant, but the idea of going to a sex party both turned me on and made me intensely curious. I really wanted to go, but there was no way I would go by myself. Unfortunately, I couldn't think of anyone I could ask, so after I fully mulled over the whole thing, the idea got shelved.
There were one or two more announcements as the months went by, and while I still very much was interested in going, I still couldn't fathom attending alone and hadn't yet found someone who would be game for attending with me. I had been platonically hanging out with a Netter named John and not long after another one of the orgy notices had been posted, the subject came up in conversation one night at a coffee shop. Now that I think on it, I believe John was the one posting the announcements and I probably asked him about it. He expressed a desire to go, and I mentioned that I had been interested in going, too. After some discussion, we decided that we would go together and began to excitedly make our plans for the evening.
The night of the party rolled around and I was very nervous. I was still not properly relieved of my virginity and while I didn't entirely rule out the possibility, I was pretty sure I wasn't going to be having sex that night. I was on the precipice my sexual awakening and still quite inexperienced and scared. I mostly wanted to watch. I wasn't entirely sure what to expect, but on the bus ride there, John assured me that the atmosphere was very relaxed and that I wouldn't have to do anything I didn't want. He told me I could simply say "no, thank you" if I wasn't interested in a play proposition, and that no one would be offended.
We got off the bus and as we walked the quiet lamp-lit streets, my heart was pounding. All I could think was, "What am I doing? What am I doing? What am I doing? What am I doing?" I followed him a few blocks to a nice but rather unassuming house in a decent neighborhood. From the normal exterior, you would never guess what was going on inside!
John checked in with me as we ascended the steps and I assured him I was fine, but the truth was, my heart was racing and I was petrified. However, I am an adventurer at heart and I was absolutely determined to go through with this, if simply for the story I could tell later. So he knocked on the door, which opened and a man greeted us. There was a door leading to a side room behind him to the right, and several people milled around the hallway just beyond. The man was very nice and apparently we had chosen the right night to attend because he told us that the evening was 'two for one', and after splitting the cost with John, all I ended up paying was $10.
He ushered us through the door in the foyer into a small room that was crowded with a desk, cubbyholes, coat pegs, and people's clothes and belongings. The woman behind the desk took our money and handed us brown paper grocery bags. I glanced at John and tried to figure out why I needed a paper bag. He started to unbutton his shirt. I must have looked confused because the woman said, "Put your clothes in there and find a spot anywhere in here to leave them."
Immediately, I panicked. "Wait...what?! I have to be naked?!"
I'm a pretty shy person and I have never loved my body, so the thought of a cold-blooded strip-down and subsequent nude parading in front of strangers was enough to flip me out. I was so freaked out, I can't even remember the details of the discussion that followed my question, other than to say I was eventually assured I could wear a towel. Relieved, I calmed down and accepted my towel, then proceeded to self-consciously strip right there while getting as un-naked as possible. John was comfortable being naked and decided to forgo a towel, so by the time I finished, John was standing there in all his glory.
I should mention that, starting not long after we set off, John had been telling me throughout the evening that I was beautiful, something he had never said to me before and which struck me as fairly opportunistic. It seemed to me that he was hoping I might oblige him when we got to the party. As he stood there naked, the way he looked at me confirmed these suspicions. When we were properly undressed, the man that had greeted us gave us a short run-down on the facilities and where everything was located.
I can't pinpoint when exactly I started being turned on by kink, but I figure I must have been exposed to it during high school because at 18, the thought of an orgy was more arousing and intriguing than it was shocking. All I know is that my embarrassment and self-consciousness faded as my curiosity took over and as we stepped out of the room ventured deeper into the rest of the house, my eyes were roaming wildly in order to take everything in.
At the end of the hall, but just before the living room, was a cutaway square hole in the floor with a fireman's pole in the center that lead downstairs. I peered down there in an attempt to get some idea of what I had gotten myself into, while simultaneously trying to figure out the hows and whys of sliding down the pole. I also tried to wrap my head around the idea of sliding down a pole naked. Ha.
We came out of the hallway into the open kitchen and living room. To the left, in the living area, were a few men occupying the couch and chairs and watching a porn video playing on the large-screen TV. They noted our arrival, surveyed the prospects, and gradually returned their attention to the porn. There were assorted refreshments on the kitchen counters, which we passed as we walked closer to the glass sliding doors leading to the backyard. I was busy looking around and taking everything in, so I simply followed John's direction.
John stepped through the glass doors and we went down some wooden stairs. At the bottom of the steps was the hot tub, which a couple of people were enjoying. We turned back toward the house and went down another set of steps to the bottom floor, into 'the dungeon'. The basement was almost entirely open, save for a doorless room on the far street side.
This is the part of the story where my mind started to get blown. We stepped into the basement 'dungeon' and it was truly an orgy for the senses. So much was happening around me! There were probably 20 or 30 people there in total, and most of them were involved in doing dirty things with one another. As we came through the door, directly in front of us was a hip-height padded table upon which a naked man was kneeling on his hands and knees. I can't even remember the gender of his partner because I was so fascinated by what they were doing. I watched as the partner put on latex gloves, lubed up, and slowly began the process of anal fisting. This was the first of many things I had heard about, but never actually seen or tried.
Ahead of us to the left were semi-private partitioned spaces with mattresses on the floor. The partitions were the kind you use for office cubicles, made with enough space for other people to walk through and stand to watch the action. I figured it was for people who didn't want to have sex in front of everyone, but were okay with a few people as an audience. We took a quick tour through these, and John flopped down on a mattress while making some semi-joking suggestions. I was definitely turned on by everything at that point, so I have to admit that I considered fucking John at various times throughout the night. However, I didn't think it was a good idea to sleep with John and standing there in the cubicles, I just couldn't picture myself having sex in front of all those people.
I was eager to explore, so we wandered back out. There was a room I hadn't noticed when we came in, on the same wall and recessed under the stairs we had come down. Party lights lent an orangey-pink glow to the room and when I peeked in, I realized everyone in there was male. It seemed to be pretty happening; there were several men in there, some on a couch, some standing, some on the floor. All naked, all stroking each other's cocks. I felt another pang of desire. I admit I like gay porn, and watching a guy jerk off (or get jerked off) really turns me on. I wanted to stand there and watch them, but I felt kind of weird about it, like it was a boys' club and I was an intruder. They kept looking at me and I took that to mean they wanted to me to go away.
To the right side of the door we entered was an open area that might have had mattresses on the floor because people were fucking there. There was a loose group of people watching and slowly touching themselves. We walked toward the back, past the padded table and cubicle rooms to the room on the far end of the dungeon. On the way, I spied a leather sex sling suspended from the ceiling, so we went over to it and I made John explain to me how it worked. I definitely liked the idea; it turned me on and I made a mental note to try it at some point.
We went into the room on the far end of the dungeon and it was full of kinky bondage equipment. I'm sure there were other things, but I was quite fascinated by the cage and the rack, which apparently captured all of my attention because those are the only things I remember. John and I joked and talked a little bit about everything, and then for fun, he crawled into the cage and I shut it. I began to feel a little weird about playing with him in there, knowing he wanted more and knowing I didn't want to go there with him. When he got out of the cage, then asked me to stretch him on the rack. I agreed somewhat reluctantly and he climbed onto the contraption. I strapped down his wrists and ankles and then began to turn the wheel beside his head.
(To Be Continued..)
Saturday, January 21, 2006
Sex and the City, Part I
I grew up in a pretty big city that embraces diversity of all types. I have since realized that it was probably the best place I could have been raised, considering how different I am from the mainstream in many ways, to have that accepted and encouraged by others. Also, being the distinctly curious sexual being that I am, my city was one of the best places to be, in that there were plenty of opportunities to observe, explore, and to try out new things. One thing I've always liked about my city is that you can find just about anything you're looking for. That and the fact that freakishness is not only accepted, but it's encouraged in a sense. That is my kind of place!
Before the internet became mainstream, before the Web, I discovered a local chat network (XX Net -- 'XX' being the city name) that had terminals in local coffeeshops all over the city. I had read about the internet and thought it was so cool, so when one of the Net machines cropped up in a neighborhood coffee house, I jumped on it. XX Net was a local BBS that focused less on message boards and games, as most of the other BBS's did, and far more on chatting. It connected some of the funniest, most intelligent people in the city and I was enthralled. Soon, I was hooked and scrounging up my allowance to buy a modem so I could log in from home. To give you a time frame, I was 15 and so excited to find a used 14.4k modem because it was top-of-the-line and the fastest speed available. Kind of funny now, right?
I made a ton of friends via XX Net, which rescued me from the social black hole that was my 75-student private school (there were maybe a dozen people in my entire class). Over the next few years, I was a regular. I engaged in a lot of different social activities like hanging out and going to 'Net-Gets', parties, and bonfires. Most of the sexual experiences I had during this time were somehow related to XX Net.
I consider myself as actually having lost my virginity at 18, but the truth is that I had tried to have sex a few times before that. None of the first times worked because the guys could enter me, but only part of the way. It was like they were being physically blocked and it really hurt when, thinking they just needed to break through, they tried to proceed anyway. After a few similar experiences, I saw a doctor because I thought I had a hymen of steel, but it turned out my hymen was fine. I had a psychological condition that caused me to tighten my vaginal muscles like crazy, preventing penetration, because I was so nervous.
In any case, I went through a slew of random sexual encounters at this time. I fooled around with guys I didn't know very well, and because I had no real intention of losing my virginity to them, I gave more head than I care to remember. The first time I tried to have sex was with a man who was married and practically separated from his wife. He was probably in his late 20's and we were both attracted to each other, so we ended up in a somewhat seedy hotel. We had some drinks and made out, but for the reason above, sex ended up being a no go.
The next guy was someone I'd met at a festival and our drunken attempt at coupling in his tent was once more somewhat of a failure for the same reason. Though I will never forget his answer to the problem: to lean back and try to ram it inside me with a great deal of force, but missing, and instead ending up ramming his cock in my ass.. totally unprepared, unlubed, etc.. all I can say is MOTHERFUCKING OW. Aaaaand that was pretty much the end of that.
The next guy was Bryan, a guy I was dating and whom I really liked. He was a sweet guy. He lived about 30-45 minutes away, so after one date that ran late, I invited him to stay over. We ended up making out and as things got more hot and heavy, he told me that he was a virgin. We tried to have sex, same deal.. no go. I was at the peak of dealing with my sexuality and ended up breaking up with him not long after because I was all freaked out.
Later on that year, I ended up successfully having sex with Jeremy. He and I were close friends and I felt very comfortable with him. There was never any pressure to have sex, other than from my end, and though I had a bit of a crush on him, no chance for a relationship. He'd had his heart broken by some bitch that had treated him like shit and he was still healing. It ended up being the perfect situation. Because I was left to boil in my own arousal, I was totally ready to have sex with him. I was relaxed, very turned on, and I trusted him implicitly. Amazingly, this time, things fell into place. He entered me easily, slid past my hymen, and right into fucking me. Even better was that it only hurt a little and for a short time in the very beginning, and right away it all felt so good and enjoyable. I ended up being quite glad that things had worked out this way and that he was the guy that deflowered me.
Anyway, all of this is a bit of backstory leading up to a story I want to retell.. Part II will be the details of the orgy I attended in my city at age 18.
Before the internet became mainstream, before the Web, I discovered a local chat network (XX Net -- 'XX' being the city name) that had terminals in local coffeeshops all over the city. I had read about the internet and thought it was so cool, so when one of the Net machines cropped up in a neighborhood coffee house, I jumped on it. XX Net was a local BBS that focused less on message boards and games, as most of the other BBS's did, and far more on chatting. It connected some of the funniest, most intelligent people in the city and I was enthralled. Soon, I was hooked and scrounging up my allowance to buy a modem so I could log in from home. To give you a time frame, I was 15 and so excited to find a used 14.4k modem because it was top-of-the-line and the fastest speed available. Kind of funny now, right?
I made a ton of friends via XX Net, which rescued me from the social black hole that was my 75-student private school (there were maybe a dozen people in my entire class). Over the next few years, I was a regular. I engaged in a lot of different social activities like hanging out and going to 'Net-Gets', parties, and bonfires. Most of the sexual experiences I had during this time were somehow related to XX Net.
I consider myself as actually having lost my virginity at 18, but the truth is that I had tried to have sex a few times before that. None of the first times worked because the guys could enter me, but only part of the way. It was like they were being physically blocked and it really hurt when, thinking they just needed to break through, they tried to proceed anyway. After a few similar experiences, I saw a doctor because I thought I had a hymen of steel, but it turned out my hymen was fine. I had a psychological condition that caused me to tighten my vaginal muscles like crazy, preventing penetration, because I was so nervous.
In any case, I went through a slew of random sexual encounters at this time. I fooled around with guys I didn't know very well, and because I had no real intention of losing my virginity to them, I gave more head than I care to remember. The first time I tried to have sex was with a man who was married and practically separated from his wife. He was probably in his late 20's and we were both attracted to each other, so we ended up in a somewhat seedy hotel. We had some drinks and made out, but for the reason above, sex ended up being a no go.
The next guy was someone I'd met at a festival and our drunken attempt at coupling in his tent was once more somewhat of a failure for the same reason. Though I will never forget his answer to the problem: to lean back and try to ram it inside me with a great deal of force, but missing, and instead ending up ramming his cock in my ass.. totally unprepared, unlubed, etc.. all I can say is MOTHERFUCKING OW. Aaaaand that was pretty much the end of that.
The next guy was Bryan, a guy I was dating and whom I really liked. He was a sweet guy. He lived about 30-45 minutes away, so after one date that ran late, I invited him to stay over. We ended up making out and as things got more hot and heavy, he told me that he was a virgin. We tried to have sex, same deal.. no go. I was at the peak of dealing with my sexuality and ended up breaking up with him not long after because I was all freaked out.
Later on that year, I ended up successfully having sex with Jeremy. He and I were close friends and I felt very comfortable with him. There was never any pressure to have sex, other than from my end, and though I had a bit of a crush on him, no chance for a relationship. He'd had his heart broken by some bitch that had treated him like shit and he was still healing. It ended up being the perfect situation. Because I was left to boil in my own arousal, I was totally ready to have sex with him. I was relaxed, very turned on, and I trusted him implicitly. Amazingly, this time, things fell into place. He entered me easily, slid past my hymen, and right into fucking me. Even better was that it only hurt a little and for a short time in the very beginning, and right away it all felt so good and enjoyable. I ended up being quite glad that things had worked out this way and that he was the guy that deflowered me.
Anyway, all of this is a bit of backstory leading up to a story I want to retell.. Part II will be the details of the orgy I attended in my city at age 18.
Acceptance
I am the first to admit that letting go and accepting things can be incredibly difficult. My issues in this department are likely hereditary; my mom really takes the cake when it comes to reacting to things that don't fit into her idea of how she wants things to be. You see, my mom lives on her own planet, where the world is carefully crafted to fit her aims and desires. Memories become altered in her mind to satisfy her particular point of view, and often things become far rosier in hindsight. Mom will even go so far as to outright deny events or to occasionally fabricate her own version of things that don't exactly mesh with reality.
My relationship with my mom is interesting and definitely not perfect, but I do love her. While having a mother who lives on another planet can be frustrating and sometimes painful, to be fair, I don't think she intentionally skews reality, she just sort of subconsciously molds it to fit her version of the truth. Perhaps it's a defense mechanism left over from her sad, rough childhood. Whatever the reason, once she grasps on to something, there's no arguing with her... and this is an unbreakable wall that separates us.
What has been very difficult for me in my life is my mother's outrageous expectations of me, expectations that never change despite the fact that I'm an adult now and that it should be fairly obvious: I am who I am at this point. How does one live up to a fervent hope they'll become something that is inherently not them? We're not talking about hoping that I become a doctor and being disappointed that I'm heading down the path of serial killer, we're talking beyond the hope of the best for your child into a place that borders on selfishness. For example, my mom always wanted me to be very girly. When I was little, when my mom was the decorator, my room looked like a Pepto Bismol bottle puked all over it. Seriously. Every thing that could be painted was painted vivid pink. Now, girly is something I am not and never have been, and when I finally had my own say, I quickly changed the color scheme to blue. Yet, after nearly three decades, she is still obviously disappointed that I'm still a tomboy.
I consider it outrageous because it's all about not accepting who I am at my very basic. It's about her not seeing me.. the real me, adult me, not a teenager anymore, hello?.. because she quite plainly seems unable to simply accept me. I don't think it's fair to someone to hope they'll be something else when what they are is pretty damn good. I'm sure my mom loves me unconditionally, considering all of the shit I have put her through, but I wish for once she could just drop the bullshit with me and simply see me.
My mom's version of a daughter included a 'straight' sexual orientation, so needless to say, she had a hard time when I spoke to her about my first girlfriend. I just wanted to gush because I was in love and the girl was so awesome, but it was clear Mom was shocked. I had a rather liberal upbringing, so her reaction both hurt and confused me. I had expected her to be happy for me, but I realized that she wasn't happy about it when she quickly changed the subject.
In fact, the great irony here is that my mother is the ultimate fag hag. (No disrespect with that term, by the way, I love gay boys, too!) I was surrounded constantly with gay men while growing up and a great number of them were like family to me. They attended our family holidays and we spent a lot of time together. Later on, I realized that I didn't know any lesbians growing up, which, if you think about it, is a little strange coming from someone who lived in a city with one of the highest gay populations in the country.
Pieced with the reaction I got from coming out, I came to the conclusion that my mom doesn't like lesbians. I know for a fact that she had at least one bisexual experience since I came out, but that hasn't seemed to alter her perception any. At first, it made me angry that she was in such denial about it. I let it go for the most part, though I checked in a couple of times to see if she'd begun to accept it or not, hoping for progress. Each time, her response simply floored me to the point of speechlessness. She told me all sorts of things, arguing the case against me being gay, things I never expected to come out of my mother's mouth. Just... ignorant stuff I would ordinarily make fun of. I couldn't believe she would tell me that I hadn't dated enough men, that I just hadn't found the right guy yet and she didn't want to see me close myself off to the idea.
She would never tell her gay friends they hadn't met the right woman yet. Denial is one thing, but this counts as lying to yourself.
At one point, while trying to get out of an abusive relationship, I was denied rental of an apartment because I was honest with my potential roommate and told him I was gay. I certainly would rather know if someone is a bigot before moving in with them and finding out the hard way. I mean, they're going to figure out I'm gay eventually.
I told my mom about being turned down and she told me that I shouldn't have said anything. I explained my reasoning and we got into a conversation that sort of blew my mind. My mom told me that if she were a landlord and had a choice of a straight tenant and a gay tenant, she would choose the straight tenant. I asked her why and she couldn't give a clear answer, but finished by saying, "Well, I just have more in common with the straight people." This coming from a woman whose social circle once consisted almost entirely of male homosexuals!
She periodically asks me if I think I'm going to have kids, which doesn't bother me much other than my desire for children is slowly decreasing and if I decide not to have them, how disappointed she would be. She wants to be a grandma and I don't begrudge her that. I'm not all anti-Mom, but her weird, sometimes uncool ideas crop up all the time, even now when I thought she was finally starting to accept it.
I'm not entirely sure what catalyzed the change, but Mom has started to accept my sexuality. She is most comfortable trotting me out to win cool points with gay people, but she does talk about it now and in another, bigger step, she even asks me about my love life and the people I'm dating. This change has only been in the past year, but I have been glad of it.
Which is why I was so surprised by what she said to me recently. I hadn't talked to my first girlfriend in a while and in a catch-up email, I learned that she had gotten married to the guy she started seeing right after we broke up. I told my mom this news and before I could finish, she said, "Ooohhhhh... see?" Her tone of voice implied that there was still a chance for me, too, to have a heterosexual marriage. Don't worry, there's a man out there for you!
Grrr. So frustrating on many levels.
My relationship with my mom is interesting and definitely not perfect, but I do love her. While having a mother who lives on another planet can be frustrating and sometimes painful, to be fair, I don't think she intentionally skews reality, she just sort of subconsciously molds it to fit her version of the truth. Perhaps it's a defense mechanism left over from her sad, rough childhood. Whatever the reason, once she grasps on to something, there's no arguing with her... and this is an unbreakable wall that separates us.
What has been very difficult for me in my life is my mother's outrageous expectations of me, expectations that never change despite the fact that I'm an adult now and that it should be fairly obvious: I am who I am at this point. How does one live up to a fervent hope they'll become something that is inherently not them? We're not talking about hoping that I become a doctor and being disappointed that I'm heading down the path of serial killer, we're talking beyond the hope of the best for your child into a place that borders on selfishness. For example, my mom always wanted me to be very girly. When I was little, when my mom was the decorator, my room looked like a Pepto Bismol bottle puked all over it. Seriously. Every thing that could be painted was painted vivid pink. Now, girly is something I am not and never have been, and when I finally had my own say, I quickly changed the color scheme to blue. Yet, after nearly three decades, she is still obviously disappointed that I'm still a tomboy.
I consider it outrageous because it's all about not accepting who I am at my very basic. It's about her not seeing me.. the real me, adult me, not a teenager anymore, hello?.. because she quite plainly seems unable to simply accept me. I don't think it's fair to someone to hope they'll be something else when what they are is pretty damn good. I'm sure my mom loves me unconditionally, considering all of the shit I have put her through, but I wish for once she could just drop the bullshit with me and simply see me.
My mom's version of a daughter included a 'straight' sexual orientation, so needless to say, she had a hard time when I spoke to her about my first girlfriend. I just wanted to gush because I was in love and the girl was so awesome, but it was clear Mom was shocked. I had a rather liberal upbringing, so her reaction both hurt and confused me. I had expected her to be happy for me, but I realized that she wasn't happy about it when she quickly changed the subject.
In fact, the great irony here is that my mother is the ultimate fag hag. (No disrespect with that term, by the way, I love gay boys, too!) I was surrounded constantly with gay men while growing up and a great number of them were like family to me. They attended our family holidays and we spent a lot of time together. Later on, I realized that I didn't know any lesbians growing up, which, if you think about it, is a little strange coming from someone who lived in a city with one of the highest gay populations in the country.
Pieced with the reaction I got from coming out, I came to the conclusion that my mom doesn't like lesbians. I know for a fact that she had at least one bisexual experience since I came out, but that hasn't seemed to alter her perception any. At first, it made me angry that she was in such denial about it. I let it go for the most part, though I checked in a couple of times to see if she'd begun to accept it or not, hoping for progress. Each time, her response simply floored me to the point of speechlessness. She told me all sorts of things, arguing the case against me being gay, things I never expected to come out of my mother's mouth. Just... ignorant stuff I would ordinarily make fun of. I couldn't believe she would tell me that I hadn't dated enough men, that I just hadn't found the right guy yet and she didn't want to see me close myself off to the idea.
She would never tell her gay friends they hadn't met the right woman yet. Denial is one thing, but this counts as lying to yourself.
At one point, while trying to get out of an abusive relationship, I was denied rental of an apartment because I was honest with my potential roommate and told him I was gay. I certainly would rather know if someone is a bigot before moving in with them and finding out the hard way. I mean, they're going to figure out I'm gay eventually.
I told my mom about being turned down and she told me that I shouldn't have said anything. I explained my reasoning and we got into a conversation that sort of blew my mind. My mom told me that if she were a landlord and had a choice of a straight tenant and a gay tenant, she would choose the straight tenant. I asked her why and she couldn't give a clear answer, but finished by saying, "Well, I just have more in common with the straight people." This coming from a woman whose social circle once consisted almost entirely of male homosexuals!
She periodically asks me if I think I'm going to have kids, which doesn't bother me much other than my desire for children is slowly decreasing and if I decide not to have them, how disappointed she would be. She wants to be a grandma and I don't begrudge her that. I'm not all anti-Mom, but her weird, sometimes uncool ideas crop up all the time, even now when I thought she was finally starting to accept it.
I'm not entirely sure what catalyzed the change, but Mom has started to accept my sexuality. She is most comfortable trotting me out to win cool points with gay people, but she does talk about it now and in another, bigger step, she even asks me about my love life and the people I'm dating. This change has only been in the past year, but I have been glad of it.
Which is why I was so surprised by what she said to me recently. I hadn't talked to my first girlfriend in a while and in a catch-up email, I learned that she had gotten married to the guy she started seeing right after we broke up. I told my mom this news and before I could finish, she said, "Ooohhhhh... see?" Her tone of voice implied that there was still a chance for me, too, to have a heterosexual marriage. Don't worry, there's a man out there for you!
Grrr. So frustrating on many levels.
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
Virginity
I came across the site Almost 40-Year-Old Virgin and was both interested and fascinated by the author's situation. I had never really thought about it before, but I suppose virgins, especially male virgins, face quite a bit of anxiety, shame, and judgment. Especially so as time goes on and they get older; not just the disdain of others, but I think at some point the virgin begins to question themself, what is wrong with them and whether it is ever going to happen at all.
My personal history includes a few virgins, in addition to having been the first female experience for several women. I have a very tolerant and relaxed view of sex and while, to some degree, I am guilty of the same sort of judgment of older virgins that the predicament elicits in most people, I feel less that it's a big deal, or that it reflects badly on them personally, and more concern and empathy for the person's underlying phobias or insecurities. I suppose because sex and physical intimacy have come very naturally to me, I find myself wanting to help someone who is struggling with those things.
One of my ex-girlfriends was 31 and had never had sex with anyone. She had been kissed a few times and got to second base once with a guy, but she confessed that she really did not enjoy any of the experiences. Her personality was such that she had put relationships and sex on the back burner while all her focus was on what she considered to be most important at the time: school and straightening out her life. When I met her, she hadn't even sorted out her sexuality at all, instead using what few experiences she had with men as further proof that being intimately involved with someone was a waste of time and energy. In a way, her virginity was somewhat accidental because opportunities hadn't surfaced for her in the way they have for me. At 31, she was a mixture of terrified, uncomfortable, and grossed out/unexcited by the idea of sex.
We started out as friends, but as we knew each other, our feelings grew. Finally we both admitted we had crushes on each other and after a long talk, we decided to explore things. When I'm excited and/or eager about something, I have a difficult time with patience and not pushing, but I honestly did try to go as slowly as I could. It wasn't easy breaking down the walls she had built up and admittedly, I made some errors with her, but overall, I was definitely a turning point in her life. Even though things didn't work out between us, I'm sincerely glad that despite my mistakes, she has gradually opened up to the world of sex and relationships. She's had several girlfriends since and according to her, some rewarding sexual experiences.
If you watch The Apprentice, you know about Adam, a 22-year-old virgin. Almost 40-Year-Old Virgin's post about the virgin apprentice offers a different perspective. On the show, Adam is sort of scoffed at and made fun of for his virginity and his discomfort with sex, in addition to being very much put on the spot for it on several occasions. My reaction to his virginity and squeamishness was probably not far from the reaction of the others on the show. I was so busy paying attention to how Trump would handle Clay's homosexuality that I failed to realize everyone's judgment of Adam was wrong. What's sort of perplexing to me is that according to Trump, it is better to be gay than a virgin.. this, in a country that is petrified of and which constantly marginalizes homosexuals, gay men in particular, so to make such an allusion just goes to show how low virgins rank on the social totem pole. Sorry, guys.. that just sucks.
I think part of it is that most people don't realize there is a segment of the population that is terrified and uncomfortable at the prospect of intimacy. It's so easy to hear that someone is a virgin and chalk them up as having some innate personal flaw that has precluded them from shrugging off the onus of virginity. But think about it.. we don't marginalize people who are phobic of air travel, or dogs, or swimming in large bodies of water. So does having social phobias make someone a loser? I think not, at least no more than anyone who has a different phobia, but what's odd in our society is that if such a phobia prevents someone, especially men, from being sexually active, then automatically something is wrong with them.
The 'virgin apprentice' post got me thinking and looking at the situation in a new light. I have lately realized that I'm not just 'shy', I think I have some real social phobias, especially when it comes to large groups of people. I know it's not logical, but I have real fears when it comes to other people in social situations. So even though my fears manifest in a different way, I completely understand and empathize with both Adam and Almost 40-Year-Old Virgin. And in that light, I think the judgment isn't fair. A phobia is irrational by nature and anyone who has one knows that it takes a lot of work to overcome.
Lastly, I think the dichotomy of male and female sexuality rears its ugly head in this area. As ever, it is considered the norm for men to act like dogs and fuck whatever moves, but failure to conform to this ideal results in harsh social judgment. It definitely is different for men. While there will always be men lining up to relieve a woman of her virginity, no matter her age, male virginity automatically puts in mind the question of what is wrong with the guy.. is he a loser, ugly, nerdy? Of course, the older one gets without having sex only compounds the issue. It challenges the stereotype of the virile man who wants to dip his pen into whatever well is available and people can't seem to wrap their minds around the fact that not all men are like this.
Now that I think of it, shame on both Clay and myself. As non-heterosexuals, we both should know full well that you cannot judge a person or their quality based solely on their sexuality. In my mind, that includes someone who hasn't explored it yet. I'll be checking back on Almost 40-Year-Old Virgin to see how things unfold.
My personal history includes a few virgins, in addition to having been the first female experience for several women. I have a very tolerant and relaxed view of sex and while, to some degree, I am guilty of the same sort of judgment of older virgins that the predicament elicits in most people, I feel less that it's a big deal, or that it reflects badly on them personally, and more concern and empathy for the person's underlying phobias or insecurities. I suppose because sex and physical intimacy have come very naturally to me, I find myself wanting to help someone who is struggling with those things.
One of my ex-girlfriends was 31 and had never had sex with anyone. She had been kissed a few times and got to second base once with a guy, but she confessed that she really did not enjoy any of the experiences. Her personality was such that she had put relationships and sex on the back burner while all her focus was on what she considered to be most important at the time: school and straightening out her life. When I met her, she hadn't even sorted out her sexuality at all, instead using what few experiences she had with men as further proof that being intimately involved with someone was a waste of time and energy. In a way, her virginity was somewhat accidental because opportunities hadn't surfaced for her in the way they have for me. At 31, she was a mixture of terrified, uncomfortable, and grossed out/unexcited by the idea of sex.
We started out as friends, but as we knew each other, our feelings grew. Finally we both admitted we had crushes on each other and after a long talk, we decided to explore things. When I'm excited and/or eager about something, I have a difficult time with patience and not pushing, but I honestly did try to go as slowly as I could. It wasn't easy breaking down the walls she had built up and admittedly, I made some errors with her, but overall, I was definitely a turning point in her life. Even though things didn't work out between us, I'm sincerely glad that despite my mistakes, she has gradually opened up to the world of sex and relationships. She's had several girlfriends since and according to her, some rewarding sexual experiences.
If you watch The Apprentice, you know about Adam, a 22-year-old virgin. Almost 40-Year-Old Virgin's post about the virgin apprentice offers a different perspective. On the show, Adam is sort of scoffed at and made fun of for his virginity and his discomfort with sex, in addition to being very much put on the spot for it on several occasions. My reaction to his virginity and squeamishness was probably not far from the reaction of the others on the show. I was so busy paying attention to how Trump would handle Clay's homosexuality that I failed to realize everyone's judgment of Adam was wrong. What's sort of perplexing to me is that according to Trump, it is better to be gay than a virgin.. this, in a country that is petrified of and which constantly marginalizes homosexuals, gay men in particular, so to make such an allusion just goes to show how low virgins rank on the social totem pole. Sorry, guys.. that just sucks.
I think part of it is that most people don't realize there is a segment of the population that is terrified and uncomfortable at the prospect of intimacy. It's so easy to hear that someone is a virgin and chalk them up as having some innate personal flaw that has precluded them from shrugging off the onus of virginity. But think about it.. we don't marginalize people who are phobic of air travel, or dogs, or swimming in large bodies of water. So does having social phobias make someone a loser? I think not, at least no more than anyone who has a different phobia, but what's odd in our society is that if such a phobia prevents someone, especially men, from being sexually active, then automatically something is wrong with them.
The 'virgin apprentice' post got me thinking and looking at the situation in a new light. I have lately realized that I'm not just 'shy', I think I have some real social phobias, especially when it comes to large groups of people. I know it's not logical, but I have real fears when it comes to other people in social situations. So even though my fears manifest in a different way, I completely understand and empathize with both Adam and Almost 40-Year-Old Virgin. And in that light, I think the judgment isn't fair. A phobia is irrational by nature and anyone who has one knows that it takes a lot of work to overcome.
Lastly, I think the dichotomy of male and female sexuality rears its ugly head in this area. As ever, it is considered the norm for men to act like dogs and fuck whatever moves, but failure to conform to this ideal results in harsh social judgment. It definitely is different for men. While there will always be men lining up to relieve a woman of her virginity, no matter her age, male virginity automatically puts in mind the question of what is wrong with the guy.. is he a loser, ugly, nerdy? Of course, the older one gets without having sex only compounds the issue. It challenges the stereotype of the virile man who wants to dip his pen into whatever well is available and people can't seem to wrap their minds around the fact that not all men are like this.
Now that I think of it, shame on both Clay and myself. As non-heterosexuals, we both should know full well that you cannot judge a person or their quality based solely on their sexuality. In my mind, that includes someone who hasn't explored it yet. I'll be checking back on Almost 40-Year-Old Virgin to see how things unfold.
Thursday, November 03, 2005
Hellooooo....
Wow.. nearly a month since my last post. I'm surprised no one sent the cops over to my place to make sure I was still alive. Anyway, I really didn't mean it to be a month.. it seems like time gets away from me sometimes.
I'd apologize to anyone still reading, but I feel in some ways, I was preventing myself from truly boring you all. While I still don't have this blog pinned down, the one thing I know I don't want it to be is boring. The minutiae of relationships is interesting to an extent, but I feel it would be tedious here if there is no point or critical idea to draw from. I want my readers to feel less as therapists and more as confidantes. Also, if I am going to recount my life, I want to feel truly inspired to do so. It's the perfectionist in me; I want to give this blog my very best and I want to feel as if I can stand behind it.
Call it an exhibitionist streak, but I enjoy letting you peek inside my dirty head. What I have posted so far is a mere taste of the kink that resides in my brain and I hope to share that in the future. I think quite a bit and come up with all sorts of random ideas, some of which I try to funnel into writing. Some make it into blog posts, but when I'm not inspired, others get filed away.
I'm tired and in a rambling mood, so you'll have to be forgiving of this disjointed post. I broke up with MC and while the situation is not perfect, we are still friends. She mentioned to me that she would like to be fuck buddies and while that appeals to my libido, my brain keeps putting its foot down. I don't know. My libido ususally wins, but this could be an interesting fight.
When I'm dating someone and having sex regularly, I usually lose my desire to masturbate. As I have mentioned before, masturbation is practically a hobby for me and it is rare that I go a day without. The abstaining is both physical and logical. The regular sex keeps me satisfied, while subduing the desire results in better orgasms later.
This time around, when I went back to my vibrator, I noticed something. I guess it's something I have always sort of vaguely observed. I have better orgasms alone than I do with my partners. I'm not saying I don't have great orgasms during sex, but when allowed to really focus on myself, I have much more intense, longer orgasms alone.
There was such a noticeable difference this time that it prompted me to think about it. The intensity was almost startling at first. It makes me curious as to whether other women find this to be the case. Ladies, when, on average, do you have better orgasms?
I mean, when I'm alone, I can do whatever turns me on the most in that moment. Think about anything I want, truly focus on the sensations. I can really draw out that pre-orgasm peak to result in a huge explosion. Masturbation is good stuff.
Sex is good, too, and I have had some really mindblowing orgasms at the hands of someone else. With MC, I found that as my heart was in the relationship less, the quality of the sex decreased. It's not that she doesn't turn me on, because she definitely does, but sometimes I found myself a little bored. I know it should be hot and that I should be fully into it, so my awareness that my lack of feelings was generally unfair to her was the main thing that drove me to break it off.
All this talk about orgasms and masturbation.. gonna have to go do something about it.
I'd apologize to anyone still reading, but I feel in some ways, I was preventing myself from truly boring you all. While I still don't have this blog pinned down, the one thing I know I don't want it to be is boring. The minutiae of relationships is interesting to an extent, but I feel it would be tedious here if there is no point or critical idea to draw from. I want my readers to feel less as therapists and more as confidantes. Also, if I am going to recount my life, I want to feel truly inspired to do so. It's the perfectionist in me; I want to give this blog my very best and I want to feel as if I can stand behind it.
Call it an exhibitionist streak, but I enjoy letting you peek inside my dirty head. What I have posted so far is a mere taste of the kink that resides in my brain and I hope to share that in the future. I think quite a bit and come up with all sorts of random ideas, some of which I try to funnel into writing. Some make it into blog posts, but when I'm not inspired, others get filed away.
I'm tired and in a rambling mood, so you'll have to be forgiving of this disjointed post. I broke up with MC and while the situation is not perfect, we are still friends. She mentioned to me that she would like to be fuck buddies and while that appeals to my libido, my brain keeps putting its foot down. I don't know. My libido ususally wins, but this could be an interesting fight.
When I'm dating someone and having sex regularly, I usually lose my desire to masturbate. As I have mentioned before, masturbation is practically a hobby for me and it is rare that I go a day without. The abstaining is both physical and logical. The regular sex keeps me satisfied, while subduing the desire results in better orgasms later.
This time around, when I went back to my vibrator, I noticed something. I guess it's something I have always sort of vaguely observed. I have better orgasms alone than I do with my partners. I'm not saying I don't have great orgasms during sex, but when allowed to really focus on myself, I have much more intense, longer orgasms alone.
There was such a noticeable difference this time that it prompted me to think about it. The intensity was almost startling at first. It makes me curious as to whether other women find this to be the case. Ladies, when, on average, do you have better orgasms?
I mean, when I'm alone, I can do whatever turns me on the most in that moment. Think about anything I want, truly focus on the sensations. I can really draw out that pre-orgasm peak to result in a huge explosion. Masturbation is good stuff.
Sex is good, too, and I have had some really mindblowing orgasms at the hands of someone else. With MC, I found that as my heart was in the relationship less, the quality of the sex decreased. It's not that she doesn't turn me on, because she definitely does, but sometimes I found myself a little bored. I know it should be hot and that I should be fully into it, so my awareness that my lack of feelings was generally unfair to her was the main thing that drove me to break it off.
All this talk about orgasms and masturbation.. gonna have to go do something about it.
Thursday, October 06, 2005
Trouble in Paradise
Okay, so maybe I spoke too soon in my last post. I should know by now that there is no such thing as "easy" when it comes to relationships. It has to be some sort of record for me; not even two weeks and already I'm fucking things up. I'm sure a lot of it is of my own devising, but I wish I understood what happened. Last week, after a particularly lovely afternoon having lunch in the arboretum, MC and I came back to my place and after a bit of making out, we ended up in bed. After an athletic round of sex, we were lying there and she kind of freaked out and started crying. It was mostly her fears of her feelings for me and of being hurt, compounded by some other unrelated issues. She was unconsolable and cried for a while, but eventually she felt better after talking about things and being reassured.
At the time, I was more concerned about her feelings than my own, and so I didn't realize for a few days that what happened freaked me out. Things had been developing so well up to that point, and I definitely had feelings for her. I don't know what it was about it, but that afternoon, it was like someone threw cold water on me. Feelings, poof.
I have a lot of mixed emotions about my current state. Personally, I think it's fucked up. At the very least, I think it's highly unfair to MC, so I have been struggling with it. It's like one of those orgasms that you build up to and know is going to be so great, then all of a sudden, it's just... gone. It defies logic, really.. how can I want and not want someone at the same time? I think she's a great girl and I really want to be romantically involved with her, but I don't seem to be able to get my original feelings back. How does one go from really liking someone to feeling nothing in such a short period of time? If I felt something once, is it possible to get that back if I'm patient? It's not even like emotion or crying freaks me out, so I don't understand my reaction, or why it happening when it did should have such an extinguishing effect on my feelings.
For one, I feel a lot of pressure. Pressure to figure out what is going on with me, pressure to make a decision, pressure to spare MC's feelings, pressure to explain to her what's going on with me without hurting her feelings. Unfortunately, I don't always respond positively to pressure. As unfun as it is being in the center of this, I can only imagine what it looks like to MC, from the outside. Mixed signals, the appearance that I'm jerking her around, that I don't value her.. the great irony is I don't think I'm capable of showing or telling her just how much I do value her, or that I need some time because she deserves someone who isn't half-assing it. I can't fathom that it's been less than two weeks, because it just feels like so much longer. Part of the pressure is that I know just how much she likes me, and that she is waiting for me to make up my fucking mind already so she can relax and enjoy her feelings.
When put in the 'less than two weeks' perspective, I can't help but wonder why we're at this point already. What happened to taking our time to date and get to know each other? But on the other hand, when I think about the things I need right now, space and time to think, it's not like I don't have them already, or that she isn't willing to let me have them. However, I know I am not doing a good job explaining myself to her, which only makes things worse and adds more pressure. She's sensitive, and I know she has feelings for me. Feelings she's fighting because of my indecisiveness and internal conflict.
What's odd to me is that, had my feelings not changed, I would be perfectly happy where we are. When compared to my behavior and reactions in previous relationships, I know damn well that the things that make me want to step on the brakes with MC would not bother me much, or at all, if I was riding the bliss of being with someone I really like. I've been trying to not let on that I'm not so sure anymore, but what I'm most afraid of is hurting her. My intention is not to hurt her or lead her on, so the other day I finally broached the subject. The conversation didn't go very well, mainly because when it comes down to it, I really suck at disclosing and/or explaining my feelings and the craziness inside my head. I don't even really understand my own reaction to that afternoon. How do you explain to someone that you have an On/Off switch that you didn't even know existed?
I asked her for some space and some time, but couldn't explain that I needed those things despite the fact that in some ways, she's giving me a fair amount of leeway. It's just that while I have the freedom on paper, she doesn't seem to understand what I mean by 'space'. She's somewhat clingy, but it's definitely not that she's smothering, because ordinarily, I think I'd like the clinginess and affection. It's not that she's not giving me space, just in some ways, I feel like it's not okay for me to need more. I know it hurts her feelings, and I know she's really unhappy with me right now. She went out of town to visit some friends, and I decided to take the opportunity for time in solitude to think things over. I don't know how to explain to her my intense need for solitude, without her taking it personally. I mean, I'm well aware that we're in the phase of the relationship when I should be wanting more time with her, not less.
She called me on her way back to town, and the conversation went pretty well, at least up until the point where she asked how the space thing was going. I had mentioned my need for alone time in a previous conversation, so that it wouldn't be a huge surprise when I had to take it. So I spent about a day out of communication with MC, thinking things over, trying to relax, trying to relieve some of the pressure. It was working, actually, and part of me wished I had one more day because I suspected it would help quite a bit. So when she asked me yesterday how it was going, I didn't know how to respond, so I went ahead and asked for two days. Only I think maybe I was too blunt, because it was clear her feelings were hurt. The way she told me in a faux-casual voice to take the time I needed, and then added in an unhappy tone that I could take a month, made me feel like such a bitch.
That's where we are now. Obviously, I'm not good with translating my thoughts and feelings with tact, and I'm still trying to figure out what the hell is wrong with me. Everything is put together and it has all the elements I want, except for the nagging fact that most of the time, I don't feel what I should. I have no plan and I don't know what to do. I keep thinking it would be more fair to her to simply be friends in order to spare her my emotional freakishness, but I don't want to be just friends. Maybe that's selfish of me. Oy.
This post is definitely longer than I intended; the truth is, I have had no one to talk to and I have desperately needed to discuss this, even if just with myself.
At the time, I was more concerned about her feelings than my own, and so I didn't realize for a few days that what happened freaked me out. Things had been developing so well up to that point, and I definitely had feelings for her. I don't know what it was about it, but that afternoon, it was like someone threw cold water on me. Feelings, poof.
I have a lot of mixed emotions about my current state. Personally, I think it's fucked up. At the very least, I think it's highly unfair to MC, so I have been struggling with it. It's like one of those orgasms that you build up to and know is going to be so great, then all of a sudden, it's just... gone. It defies logic, really.. how can I want and not want someone at the same time? I think she's a great girl and I really want to be romantically involved with her, but I don't seem to be able to get my original feelings back. How does one go from really liking someone to feeling nothing in such a short period of time? If I felt something once, is it possible to get that back if I'm patient? It's not even like emotion or crying freaks me out, so I don't understand my reaction, or why it happening when it did should have such an extinguishing effect on my feelings.
For one, I feel a lot of pressure. Pressure to figure out what is going on with me, pressure to make a decision, pressure to spare MC's feelings, pressure to explain to her what's going on with me without hurting her feelings. Unfortunately, I don't always respond positively to pressure. As unfun as it is being in the center of this, I can only imagine what it looks like to MC, from the outside. Mixed signals, the appearance that I'm jerking her around, that I don't value her.. the great irony is I don't think I'm capable of showing or telling her just how much I do value her, or that I need some time because she deserves someone who isn't half-assing it. I can't fathom that it's been less than two weeks, because it just feels like so much longer. Part of the pressure is that I know just how much she likes me, and that she is waiting for me to make up my fucking mind already so she can relax and enjoy her feelings.
When put in the 'less than two weeks' perspective, I can't help but wonder why we're at this point already. What happened to taking our time to date and get to know each other? But on the other hand, when I think about the things I need right now, space and time to think, it's not like I don't have them already, or that she isn't willing to let me have them. However, I know I am not doing a good job explaining myself to her, which only makes things worse and adds more pressure. She's sensitive, and I know she has feelings for me. Feelings she's fighting because of my indecisiveness and internal conflict.
What's odd to me is that, had my feelings not changed, I would be perfectly happy where we are. When compared to my behavior and reactions in previous relationships, I know damn well that the things that make me want to step on the brakes with MC would not bother me much, or at all, if I was riding the bliss of being with someone I really like. I've been trying to not let on that I'm not so sure anymore, but what I'm most afraid of is hurting her. My intention is not to hurt her or lead her on, so the other day I finally broached the subject. The conversation didn't go very well, mainly because when it comes down to it, I really suck at disclosing and/or explaining my feelings and the craziness inside my head. I don't even really understand my own reaction to that afternoon. How do you explain to someone that you have an On/Off switch that you didn't even know existed?
I asked her for some space and some time, but couldn't explain that I needed those things despite the fact that in some ways, she's giving me a fair amount of leeway. It's just that while I have the freedom on paper, she doesn't seem to understand what I mean by 'space'. She's somewhat clingy, but it's definitely not that she's smothering, because ordinarily, I think I'd like the clinginess and affection. It's not that she's not giving me space, just in some ways, I feel like it's not okay for me to need more. I know it hurts her feelings, and I know she's really unhappy with me right now. She went out of town to visit some friends, and I decided to take the opportunity for time in solitude to think things over. I don't know how to explain to her my intense need for solitude, without her taking it personally. I mean, I'm well aware that we're in the phase of the relationship when I should be wanting more time with her, not less.
She called me on her way back to town, and the conversation went pretty well, at least up until the point where she asked how the space thing was going. I had mentioned my need for alone time in a previous conversation, so that it wouldn't be a huge surprise when I had to take it. So I spent about a day out of communication with MC, thinking things over, trying to relax, trying to relieve some of the pressure. It was working, actually, and part of me wished I had one more day because I suspected it would help quite a bit. So when she asked me yesterday how it was going, I didn't know how to respond, so I went ahead and asked for two days. Only I think maybe I was too blunt, because it was clear her feelings were hurt. The way she told me in a faux-casual voice to take the time I needed, and then added in an unhappy tone that I could take a month, made me feel like such a bitch.
That's where we are now. Obviously, I'm not good with translating my thoughts and feelings with tact, and I'm still trying to figure out what the hell is wrong with me. Everything is put together and it has all the elements I want, except for the nagging fact that most of the time, I don't feel what I should. I have no plan and I don't know what to do. I keep thinking it would be more fair to her to simply be friends in order to spare her my emotional freakishness, but I don't want to be just friends. Maybe that's selfish of me. Oy.
This post is definitely longer than I intended; the truth is, I have had no one to talk to and I have desperately needed to discuss this, even if just with myself.
Sunday, October 02, 2005
Some BDSM Resources
I compiled this list because MC wanted to do some reading on the subject. I figured I'd post it in case anyone is curious and doesn't know where to start.
Why BDSM?
BDSM Scenarios
The Good Girl's Guide to Female Domination
Leather and Roses: BDSM Resources Site
BDSM Resources
BDSM Beginners
BDSM Info on About.com
Advice to a Novice Dominant
BDSM Handbook
Introduction to Spanking
Why BDSM?
BDSM Scenarios
The Good Girl's Guide to Female Domination
Leather and Roses: BDSM Resources Site
BDSM Resources
BDSM Beginners
BDSM Info on About.com
Advice to a Novice Dominant
BDSM Handbook
Introduction to Spanking
Monday, September 26, 2005
Good Things
Life works in very mysterious and interesting ways. The enlightenment of moments when all the pieces fall into place make struggling through what life throws at us completely worth it. I had a booty call set up for Friday, someone amazingly cool and cute that I found on Craigslist, but after a week of getting all worked up for the date, the plans fell through. Not really anyone's fault, but I was rather sexually frustrated upon realizing I wasn't going to be getting any, and I ended up taking it out on my vibrator several times throughout the weekend.
Two Thursdays ago, I received a "wink" from someone who liked my profile on Match.com. She had no picture in her profile, but I read it over and found she sounded interesting. We had common likes and interests, so I winked back. As I live two hours away from my female best friend, I have been wanting to meet someone here that I can really talk to. Not to mention I know virtually no queer people in this town, so I figured I'd approach it from the friends angle and see what happened.
I got an email from her in response, and because I don't subscribe to Match, they stripped her email address from the note. She sounded really cool and I wanted to write her back. As I was debating whether to subscribe to reply (and cursing the fact that Match's free trials are never offered when there's someone I want to contact), lo and behold, a 3-day trial offer arrived in my mailbox. Providence? Perhaps, but whoever I have to thank for a small miracle, I jumped on it and wrote her back.
We corresponded a bit, then started talking on the phone. On Saturday, we decided to meet and have dinner on Sunday night. I went into this not thinking it was a date, so I was unnaturally calm. In fact, it's actually kind of weird, because usually I'm nervous throughout a meeting with someone new. Not thinking of it as a date actually worked very much in my favor because she ended up being very cute and sexy -- and damn, she has one yummy ass.
I told my personal "Hitch" about the 22-ish hours I spent with MC on our first date and how bizarre it was that I was so calm. First he cheered me on like the awesome guy he is, then he kind of laughed and asked me if I knew what I'd done. The Tao of Steve? I guessed.
He said, Yeah. You eliminated all desire.
I laughed and replied, It was totally an accident, too..
MC, on the other hand, was really nervous. I kind of got the vibe that she liked me, so I just relaxed even more. We had a good conversation over dinner, then ended up at her apartment to watch the Martha Stewart movie. We had a couple of drinks, lounged on the couch to laugh at the movie, all the while gradually moving closer to each other. Eventually she leaned her head on my shoulder and asked if she could snuggle, and of course I agreed. I put my arm around her shoulders and she rested her head on my chest. When she looked up at me, I leaned down to kiss her.
I had had zero expectations going into this, and it was turning out better than I could have imagined. The kissing led to making out, which lead to her asking me to spend the night. We snuggled and kissed in bed and I would have been satisfied with that, but when she climbed on top of me and straddled my hips, things got turned up another notch or two. Making out turned into really hot, passionate sex. All of it took me entirely by surprise.
Mainly I can't get over how random and weird things happened, like one minute I was whining over being single, and the next minute I meet an awesome girl. Frankly, the ease of it is a little unnerving. I know it should be easy when it's right, but I'm so used to drama and emotional rollercoasters with women. Don't get me wrong, though, it's definitely a very nice change. She so far seems pretty much a good match and I've been really pleased to discover all the things that I really like about her.
So the past week has been spent talking to MC, and after Sunday, we've been spending quite a bit of time together. I feel very comfortable with her and maybe a little amazed that she even likes my qualities that others might find annoying. We have a lot of common interests, so I'm very excited that I have a new partner in crime and someone to share experiences with. And, big plus, the sex is a perfect mixture of languor and hungry passion. I've alluded to my kinky side, which seems to intrigue and interest her, so with time, that will be fun to explore with her. I have so many huge, bruised bite marks all over my neck and shoulders.. while it doesn't look pretty, I have to say I love it. And I definitely loved getting the marks!
Two Thursdays ago, I received a "wink" from someone who liked my profile on Match.com. She had no picture in her profile, but I read it over and found she sounded interesting. We had common likes and interests, so I winked back. As I live two hours away from my female best friend, I have been wanting to meet someone here that I can really talk to. Not to mention I know virtually no queer people in this town, so I figured I'd approach it from the friends angle and see what happened.
I got an email from her in response, and because I don't subscribe to Match, they stripped her email address from the note. She sounded really cool and I wanted to write her back. As I was debating whether to subscribe to reply (and cursing the fact that Match's free trials are never offered when there's someone I want to contact), lo and behold, a 3-day trial offer arrived in my mailbox. Providence? Perhaps, but whoever I have to thank for a small miracle, I jumped on it and wrote her back.
We corresponded a bit, then started talking on the phone. On Saturday, we decided to meet and have dinner on Sunday night. I went into this not thinking it was a date, so I was unnaturally calm. In fact, it's actually kind of weird, because usually I'm nervous throughout a meeting with someone new. Not thinking of it as a date actually worked very much in my favor because she ended up being very cute and sexy -- and damn, she has one yummy ass.
I told my personal "Hitch" about the 22-ish hours I spent with MC on our first date and how bizarre it was that I was so calm. First he cheered me on like the awesome guy he is, then he kind of laughed and asked me if I knew what I'd done. The Tao of Steve? I guessed.
He said, Yeah. You eliminated all desire.
I laughed and replied, It was totally an accident, too..
MC, on the other hand, was really nervous. I kind of got the vibe that she liked me, so I just relaxed even more. We had a good conversation over dinner, then ended up at her apartment to watch the Martha Stewart movie. We had a couple of drinks, lounged on the couch to laugh at the movie, all the while gradually moving closer to each other. Eventually she leaned her head on my shoulder and asked if she could snuggle, and of course I agreed. I put my arm around her shoulders and she rested her head on my chest. When she looked up at me, I leaned down to kiss her.
I had had zero expectations going into this, and it was turning out better than I could have imagined. The kissing led to making out, which lead to her asking me to spend the night. We snuggled and kissed in bed and I would have been satisfied with that, but when she climbed on top of me and straddled my hips, things got turned up another notch or two. Making out turned into really hot, passionate sex. All of it took me entirely by surprise.
Mainly I can't get over how random and weird things happened, like one minute I was whining over being single, and the next minute I meet an awesome girl. Frankly, the ease of it is a little unnerving. I know it should be easy when it's right, but I'm so used to drama and emotional rollercoasters with women. Don't get me wrong, though, it's definitely a very nice change. She so far seems pretty much a good match and I've been really pleased to discover all the things that I really like about her.
So the past week has been spent talking to MC, and after Sunday, we've been spending quite a bit of time together. I feel very comfortable with her and maybe a little amazed that she even likes my qualities that others might find annoying. We have a lot of common interests, so I'm very excited that I have a new partner in crime and someone to share experiences with. And, big plus, the sex is a perfect mixture of languor and hungry passion. I've alluded to my kinky side, which seems to intrigue and interest her, so with time, that will be fun to explore with her. I have so many huge, bruised bite marks all over my neck and shoulders.. while it doesn't look pretty, I have to say I love it. And I definitely loved getting the marks!
Saturday, September 10, 2005
On My Mind
I have been wanting to write, but have found myself unable. There is too much to think about and it renders me speechless. I wish I had words eloquent enough to convey what is inside my head, how much I want her, what she does to me. Even now I struggle. Why do my thoughts and feelings still my tongue? Steal my voice? I know I don't say enough, I know that my silence says the opposite of what I feel. If only I could express that my silence is not the lack of speech, it is instead full of too much to say. Too many variables, so much possibility. So much that I want. Not having the words, not being able to speak or to release them into the world as objects of beauty... my invisible gag.
Music has been my solace; I find relief while submerged in a medium of fluid emotional expression. My thoughts beat against the confines of my skull like the wings of a caged bird. Soft but insistent, they seek release that is not forthcoming. It would be easier if I could tie strands of thought together, sort them, discover what they mean. Why am I finding it so difficult? How can I convey the depth my want, cleverly and poetically, as it deserves to be expressed?
It would be so much easier if she could read my mind..
Music has been my solace; I find relief while submerged in a medium of fluid emotional expression. My thoughts beat against the confines of my skull like the wings of a caged bird. Soft but insistent, they seek release that is not forthcoming. It would be easier if I could tie strands of thought together, sort them, discover what they mean. Why am I finding it so difficult? How can I convey the depth my want, cleverly and poetically, as it deserves to be expressed?
It would be so much easier if she could read my mind..
Monday, September 05, 2005
Aural Sex
I've been talking to K online for a while, as we explore our attraction for each other. It's been titillating thus far, to say the least. I find her intriguing and exceptional in many ways and it has been a real pleasure getting to know her. It's not often that I come across someone that draws me the way she does, exciting me both mentally and physically. Not everyone can hold my interest in such a way, make me keep coming back, keep me eager to peel back their layers in order to find out what lies beneath.
We've begun to speak on the phone and it's difficult to describe how addictive I find her words and her voice. Part of me wants to play it cool, but I'm hopelessly unable. To begin with, I think she knows the power she holds over me and I think it would be safe to say she enjoys it. In addition, I think we mesh quite well in terms of sex and lust, and she seems to perceive the depths of my desires. I love being her audience, hearing her thoughts and fantasies. I'm aware of the deep currents that run beneath her surface; I want to plumb her depths, I want to find myself deep enough to be carried away by them. I want to know things that can't be asked, things I will have to find out through time.
I want to be her fantasy, to be whatever she wants. I want to turn her on, to please her, to give her anything she asks. I want her to ask, to demand things of me. I want to get her off, fuck her through the phone, make her want me. I like the fact that even our most intimate conversations are shrouded in mystery, that we don't know each other and probably never will. This is new territory and I relish all the possibilities that lie before us because reality is so far away. I'd be lying if I said I don't fantasize about finding her so I can throw her down and fuck her, to explain my passions without words. Yet, I love that because of the anonymity, she can hold me in her mind and see me however it turns her on the most. That I can be exactly who I want to be, without any of the inevitable judgement that comes with meeting and knowing each other. I guess, in a sense, after so much fantasy, I would be worried about not living up to her expectations. This is better than the worry. The lack of reality is appealing, in the sense that what we're doing is an escape from the ordinary. It's nice to have a place to go where none of the things that plague my daily life exist.
It's all difficult for me to describe because I still haven't figured it out for myself. It's different, and it brings up a host of things that I want to mull over and figure out. She knows she has me hooked, so I'm waiting to see what else she has in store. I know this is only the beginning and I am being patient, just letting it all unfold. She knows what I want, so now I can relax and work on giving her what she wants. I want her to know that I have few expectations. I simply want to see where things go, where she takes me. I want to know her better, find out all her deepest desires. She makes me think, at least when my mind isn't returning to the subject of her, replaying her words. I've been turned on for a week because of her gifted silver tongue. Her voice, her breathing, her excitement in my ear.. how could I think of anything else?
We've begun to speak on the phone and it's difficult to describe how addictive I find her words and her voice. Part of me wants to play it cool, but I'm hopelessly unable. To begin with, I think she knows the power she holds over me and I think it would be safe to say she enjoys it. In addition, I think we mesh quite well in terms of sex and lust, and she seems to perceive the depths of my desires. I love being her audience, hearing her thoughts and fantasies. I'm aware of the deep currents that run beneath her surface; I want to plumb her depths, I want to find myself deep enough to be carried away by them. I want to know things that can't be asked, things I will have to find out through time.
I want to be her fantasy, to be whatever she wants. I want to turn her on, to please her, to give her anything she asks. I want her to ask, to demand things of me. I want to get her off, fuck her through the phone, make her want me. I like the fact that even our most intimate conversations are shrouded in mystery, that we don't know each other and probably never will. This is new territory and I relish all the possibilities that lie before us because reality is so far away. I'd be lying if I said I don't fantasize about finding her so I can throw her down and fuck her, to explain my passions without words. Yet, I love that because of the anonymity, she can hold me in her mind and see me however it turns her on the most. That I can be exactly who I want to be, without any of the inevitable judgement that comes with meeting and knowing each other. I guess, in a sense, after so much fantasy, I would be worried about not living up to her expectations. This is better than the worry. The lack of reality is appealing, in the sense that what we're doing is an escape from the ordinary. It's nice to have a place to go where none of the things that plague my daily life exist.
It's all difficult for me to describe because I still haven't figured it out for myself. It's different, and it brings up a host of things that I want to mull over and figure out. She knows she has me hooked, so I'm waiting to see what else she has in store. I know this is only the beginning and I am being patient, just letting it all unfold. She knows what I want, so now I can relax and work on giving her what she wants. I want her to know that I have few expectations. I simply want to see where things go, where she takes me. I want to know her better, find out all her deepest desires. She makes me think, at least when my mind isn't returning to the subject of her, replaying her words. I've been turned on for a week because of her gifted silver tongue. Her voice, her breathing, her excitement in my ear.. how could I think of anything else?
Sunday, September 04, 2005
Surrendering
I have been thinking about control, why the true loss of it is my biggest turn-on, why I desire certain things. I have always wondered at what point I discovered and became interested in kink; I know I have always been attracted to powerful women, was it as early as my teens? What is it about power play that has always drawn me, both fascinated and aroused? I can't pinpoint the moment I realized that I wanted it, nor have I been able to explain why things like submission and being beaten have such a profound effect on me.
I think I've come to a conclusion about at least part of it. The secret lies in control. No matter the situation, even if I am willingly submitting to someone, I will give away all other pieces of myself long before I loosen my grip on my self-control. I keep myself so tightly wound, so tightly under control that it is very difficult for me to let go. It is deeply ingrained and I have it all down to where it comes as natural as breathing. I rarely surrender control without a fight; even when, in reality, I lose some, you would never know. I'm the kind of person that rarely gets to the point where it's obvious I'm intoxicated -- I may be, I may have even had several drinks, but I would never let it show... I'm the person you would want talking to the cops as they arrive to break up a night of bacchanalian revelry. I don't know the source of my drive, but control has always been a prominent theme in my life, and it has shaped me in numerous ways that make me who I am now. I have fought battles with all my being to maintain the control of myself and of my life.
Yet, I crave submission. Strong personalities attract me, maybe because I'm secretly hoping they will dominate me. I yearn and hunger for the blissful release of surrendering control to someone strong enough to take it completely. Someone who is perceptive enough to know I haven't given all I could, and who is determined to crack the vault in order to take my most valuable possession. It's more than being dominated, though. Domination alone is not enough; I need someone who recognizes what I crave and not only has the might, but also the desire, to topple all my inner fortifications in order to get to the core of me.
I've had BDSM experiences, but it only just occurred to me what I've felt missing in the past. None of them were strong enough to truly take control from me. I don't fault anyone, especially as some of them had no previous experience. I have have even eluded an experienced top. Until recently, I didn't even know what it was I needed, just that I felt somewhat unsatisfied. I have finally realized that there is usually a part of me I hold at a distance in a scene, unless the top is willing to really push me. It is not intentional and it is not something I can let go of consciously. There has to be some sort of catalyst; something to allow me to let go.
I knew I was searching for something and my dissatisfaction puzzled me. I realize now what my deepest desire is. Being topped or dominated is great -- I enjoy it, don't get me wrong -- but it is not enough. I need to be pushed much further, to be harried, broken down, to have the control wrested from me with force. I do not relinquish it easily; I need to be broken.
It's difficult to translate my thoughts and feelings about my desire into words. My craving is intense and insatiable. I live each day with this desire quietly burning away in a secret alcove within my core. Waiting, yearning for the next moment I am taken completely. For the person strong, determined, and understanding enough to be my guide and companion on the path to my limits and perhaps beyond. For the someone who is energized and challenged by the knowledge of the kind of fight that lies in store for them if they continue to push. Someone who loves being the catalyst for my tears, because they recognize the source and meaning of my needs. I dream of someone who wants to conquer me as much, or more, than my need to fight it. And, at the same time, equal to my thirst to be entirely conquered.
I could live without the pain, the humiliation, the power play, but that part of me will never die. I would always want it. I love the trappings of power play, but there's more to it than simply submitting or being spanked. My body's reaction is immediate when it comes to even a brief thought on the subject. My fantasies are, of course, quite rich, full of all my deepest wants. I hold out hope that I'll get to experience that of which I dream nightly. That I'll find someone who knows my need because they have a complementary one of their own. That I'll be able to again experience the intensity of being wholly owned and powerless. The moment I lose everything is deeply freeing. To have nothing left, to have given everything I am.
That is my want.
I think I've come to a conclusion about at least part of it. The secret lies in control. No matter the situation, even if I am willingly submitting to someone, I will give away all other pieces of myself long before I loosen my grip on my self-control. I keep myself so tightly wound, so tightly under control that it is very difficult for me to let go. It is deeply ingrained and I have it all down to where it comes as natural as breathing. I rarely surrender control without a fight; even when, in reality, I lose some, you would never know. I'm the kind of person that rarely gets to the point where it's obvious I'm intoxicated -- I may be, I may have even had several drinks, but I would never let it show... I'm the person you would want talking to the cops as they arrive to break up a night of bacchanalian revelry. I don't know the source of my drive, but control has always been a prominent theme in my life, and it has shaped me in numerous ways that make me who I am now. I have fought battles with all my being to maintain the control of myself and of my life.
Yet, I crave submission. Strong personalities attract me, maybe because I'm secretly hoping they will dominate me. I yearn and hunger for the blissful release of surrendering control to someone strong enough to take it completely. Someone who is perceptive enough to know I haven't given all I could, and who is determined to crack the vault in order to take my most valuable possession. It's more than being dominated, though. Domination alone is not enough; I need someone who recognizes what I crave and not only has the might, but also the desire, to topple all my inner fortifications in order to get to the core of me.
I've had BDSM experiences, but it only just occurred to me what I've felt missing in the past. None of them were strong enough to truly take control from me. I don't fault anyone, especially as some of them had no previous experience. I have have even eluded an experienced top. Until recently, I didn't even know what it was I needed, just that I felt somewhat unsatisfied. I have finally realized that there is usually a part of me I hold at a distance in a scene, unless the top is willing to really push me. It is not intentional and it is not something I can let go of consciously. There has to be some sort of catalyst; something to allow me to let go.
I knew I was searching for something and my dissatisfaction puzzled me. I realize now what my deepest desire is. Being topped or dominated is great -- I enjoy it, don't get me wrong -- but it is not enough. I need to be pushed much further, to be harried, broken down, to have the control wrested from me with force. I do not relinquish it easily; I need to be broken.
It's difficult to translate my thoughts and feelings about my desire into words. My craving is intense and insatiable. I live each day with this desire quietly burning away in a secret alcove within my core. Waiting, yearning for the next moment I am taken completely. For the person strong, determined, and understanding enough to be my guide and companion on the path to my limits and perhaps beyond. For the someone who is energized and challenged by the knowledge of the kind of fight that lies in store for them if they continue to push. Someone who loves being the catalyst for my tears, because they recognize the source and meaning of my needs. I dream of someone who wants to conquer me as much, or more, than my need to fight it. And, at the same time, equal to my thirst to be entirely conquered.
I could live without the pain, the humiliation, the power play, but that part of me will never die. I would always want it. I love the trappings of power play, but there's more to it than simply submitting or being spanked. My body's reaction is immediate when it comes to even a brief thought on the subject. My fantasies are, of course, quite rich, full of all my deepest wants. I hold out hope that I'll get to experience that of which I dream nightly. That I'll find someone who knows my need because they have a complementary one of their own. That I'll be able to again experience the intensity of being wholly owned and powerless. The moment I lose everything is deeply freeing. To have nothing left, to have given everything I am.
That is my want.
Monday, August 29, 2005
On the Couch
AP is the butchest girl I have dated so far. We were together for about six months in a fairly casual relationship, in that while we enjoyed the company and the sex, both of us knew we weren't going to end up together forever and ever. It has been a year or so since we "broke up", even though we continued to have sex until the end of last year. We are still close friends and she says she doesn't think she's that butch, but compared to my previous lovers, she definitely is. Admittedly, she has qualities that soften her edges, so she is decidedly nowhere near stone butch or diesel dyke.
It was a new experience for me, because for whatever reason, I seem to attract girls who are either more femme or at about the same level of in-between tomboy as I am. Before AP, I'd never been the girlier one in a relationship. It was new, different, and I discovered that I found her masculinity really hot. She was good at a lot of traditionally male things, i.e. technical and mechanical -- she even made me a paddle! -- but also enjoyed cooking and baking. Watching her do something stereotypically male was such an incredible turn-on, to the point where sometimes I would have to mill around and watch her, just to revel in how much I wanted to fuck her at that moment. She wasn't always the most forthcoming with her feelings, sometimes to the point of confusing me, but she always showed me how much she cared for me through her actions. Much like men do, rather than talk about it, she would instead work on my car or something else equally practical, in order to surprise me and make me feel special.
She introduced me to the pleasure of wearing men's underwear (the briefs not only turned me on, they are really comfy), which I'm not sure I could pull off regularly, but on her it was very hot. The sex was pretty damn good, too.. Not only did she own her cock in such an amazing way, she was the first girl I'd ever been with that was able to female ejaculate. That, too, took some getting used to, but I have to say that it was so fucking hot to have her on top, working herself on my cock, and then as she rode out her orgasm, to feel her hot come streaming over me.
She lives at the equivalent of Grand Central Station, with the phone ringing constantly and family coming and going, so one afternoon when we found ourselves with a quiet and empty house, she turned to me to ask if I wanted to make out. We were sitting on her couch, and of course I said yes. She then stated that she wanted to fuck me, and I think I groaned my assent. As I said earlier, she was damn good with her cock.
She got up, locked the doors, then went into her bedroom to get ready. I lounged a bit on the couch as I waited, but I didn't remove any clothing. The mere thought of her fucking me was enough to have me soaking wet already, and when she came back with her hard dick evident in her pants, I could hardly take it.
She frowned at me. "Why do you still have your pants on?" she asked in a stern voice.
"I want you to take them off for me," I replied breathily.
She stood next to the couch, gazing down at me, her hand coming down to rub the hard cock tenting her pants through the fabric. She gave me a look and, maintaining eye contact with her, I reached down and unfastened my pants. She bent slightly to take the waistband in her hands and, with little fanfare, pulled the pants over my hips and then off my legs, dropping them on the floor beside the couch. I was soaking wet and my body buzzed with desire. I felt a throb between my legs as she began to undo her pants.
"With my panties on," I said in a soft voice.
She stopped briefly to look at me, then replied as she pulled out her cock, "Of course," as if she had intended it all along.
I had my left leg up and stretched across the couch, and my right leg was bent with my foot on the floor. Cock in hand, she stepped toward me, between my legs. As she moved between my thighs, she pushed my right leg with her foot, parting me wider. I settled back and opened myself to her as much as I could. She leaned down and began to cover me with her body, her stomach and breasts grazing mine as she found my lips for a kiss. I kissed her hungrily, biting and sucking at her bottom lip, my desire nearly unbearable. I felt her hand move down the length of my body, her fingers slowing as they reached my mound. I lifted my hips to meet her as she cupped me with her hand and pressed gently, eliciting a moan from me.
I could feel her fingers travel lower and, the next thing I knew, she pushed the crotch of my panties aside and the head of her cock was inside me. I groaned pleadingly, and she was inside me with her next thrust. I threw one arm around her neck, clutching at her as she fucked me. I arched and drew my left leg around her, pulling her closer. I lifted my hips to meet hers, revelling in the ecstacy of her cock filling and emptying me in a steady rhythm. She hovered over me with her face close to mine, her breathing ragged as she talked to me.
"You are so fucking wet.. you needed to be fucked, didn't you?"
Her words left me dizzy with desire and nearly unable to speak. "Oh my god, yeah.." I let out in a breathless rush.
"You're such a little slut.. so fucking wet.. you needed my cock. Take it.."
All I could do is whimper in reply. She slowly removed her body from mine and then sat on the couch. "Get on top," she said.
I moved onto my knees and straddled her, positioning myself above her lap. I sat back on her legs, her cock nestled along my wet length. I put my arms around her and leaned in for a passionate kiss. I leaned back slightly and kissed my way down her face, along her jawline, to her ear. "You are so fucking hot," I whispered as I leaned up against her to push aside my panties and position her cock with my hand.
I let out a deep groan as she slid in with no resistance and filled me easily. Being on top isn't usually my favorite position, but it was absolutely amazing this time. I think it was due to the couch's angle and the large head on the cock (for stimulating the G-spot), but whatever the reason, I was being stimulated in all the right spots. Her hands roamed my body as I rode her cock, gripping the shaft with my pussy on every upstroke. It felt so fucking good.. I was totally lost in the pleasure. I answered her with groans and whimpers as she talked dirty to me. And then, all of a sudden, I was coming.
Really. With no warning whatsoever, I exploded. The only way to describe it is to say that it was by far the best orgasm I have had in my entire life. I came so hard that I screamed.. so loudly that my throat was hoarse later. I couldn't help it; it was incredibly intense and seemed to be interminable (not that I was complaining). I clutched at AP, whose hands gripped me as rode her cock. She continued to talk to me, telling me to come for her, expressing her desire. I came forever, the longest orgasm in the history of Earth. Even when the intensity faded, it was deliriously pleasurable to keep gripping and fucking the hard cock. My arms around her, my head on her shoulder, unable to stop moaning. I continued to move myself on her as the waves abated, gradually slowing to a stop.
I was unable to move, so I stayed on her lap with her cock inside me. We held each other as I leaned against her to recover. "Oh my god," I gasped every now and then.
This experience has been masturbation fodder recently, so I thought I'd share.
It was a new experience for me, because for whatever reason, I seem to attract girls who are either more femme or at about the same level of in-between tomboy as I am. Before AP, I'd never been the girlier one in a relationship. It was new, different, and I discovered that I found her masculinity really hot. She was good at a lot of traditionally male things, i.e. technical and mechanical -- she even made me a paddle! -- but also enjoyed cooking and baking. Watching her do something stereotypically male was such an incredible turn-on, to the point where sometimes I would have to mill around and watch her, just to revel in how much I wanted to fuck her at that moment. She wasn't always the most forthcoming with her feelings, sometimes to the point of confusing me, but she always showed me how much she cared for me through her actions. Much like men do, rather than talk about it, she would instead work on my car or something else equally practical, in order to surprise me and make me feel special.
She introduced me to the pleasure of wearing men's underwear (the briefs not only turned me on, they are really comfy), which I'm not sure I could pull off regularly, but on her it was very hot. The sex was pretty damn good, too.. Not only did she own her cock in such an amazing way, she was the first girl I'd ever been with that was able to female ejaculate. That, too, took some getting used to, but I have to say that it was so fucking hot to have her on top, working herself on my cock, and then as she rode out her orgasm, to feel her hot come streaming over me.
She lives at the equivalent of Grand Central Station, with the phone ringing constantly and family coming and going, so one afternoon when we found ourselves with a quiet and empty house, she turned to me to ask if I wanted to make out. We were sitting on her couch, and of course I said yes. She then stated that she wanted to fuck me, and I think I groaned my assent. As I said earlier, she was damn good with her cock.
She got up, locked the doors, then went into her bedroom to get ready. I lounged a bit on the couch as I waited, but I didn't remove any clothing. The mere thought of her fucking me was enough to have me soaking wet already, and when she came back with her hard dick evident in her pants, I could hardly take it.
She frowned at me. "Why do you still have your pants on?" she asked in a stern voice.
"I want you to take them off for me," I replied breathily.
She stood next to the couch, gazing down at me, her hand coming down to rub the hard cock tenting her pants through the fabric. She gave me a look and, maintaining eye contact with her, I reached down and unfastened my pants. She bent slightly to take the waistband in her hands and, with little fanfare, pulled the pants over my hips and then off my legs, dropping them on the floor beside the couch. I was soaking wet and my body buzzed with desire. I felt a throb between my legs as she began to undo her pants.
"With my panties on," I said in a soft voice.
She stopped briefly to look at me, then replied as she pulled out her cock, "Of course," as if she had intended it all along.
I had my left leg up and stretched across the couch, and my right leg was bent with my foot on the floor. Cock in hand, she stepped toward me, between my legs. As she moved between my thighs, she pushed my right leg with her foot, parting me wider. I settled back and opened myself to her as much as I could. She leaned down and began to cover me with her body, her stomach and breasts grazing mine as she found my lips for a kiss. I kissed her hungrily, biting and sucking at her bottom lip, my desire nearly unbearable. I felt her hand move down the length of my body, her fingers slowing as they reached my mound. I lifted my hips to meet her as she cupped me with her hand and pressed gently, eliciting a moan from me.
I could feel her fingers travel lower and, the next thing I knew, she pushed the crotch of my panties aside and the head of her cock was inside me. I groaned pleadingly, and she was inside me with her next thrust. I threw one arm around her neck, clutching at her as she fucked me. I arched and drew my left leg around her, pulling her closer. I lifted my hips to meet hers, revelling in the ecstacy of her cock filling and emptying me in a steady rhythm. She hovered over me with her face close to mine, her breathing ragged as she talked to me.
"You are so fucking wet.. you needed to be fucked, didn't you?"
Her words left me dizzy with desire and nearly unable to speak. "Oh my god, yeah.." I let out in a breathless rush.
"You're such a little slut.. so fucking wet.. you needed my cock. Take it.."
All I could do is whimper in reply. She slowly removed her body from mine and then sat on the couch. "Get on top," she said.
I moved onto my knees and straddled her, positioning myself above her lap. I sat back on her legs, her cock nestled along my wet length. I put my arms around her and leaned in for a passionate kiss. I leaned back slightly and kissed my way down her face, along her jawline, to her ear. "You are so fucking hot," I whispered as I leaned up against her to push aside my panties and position her cock with my hand.
I let out a deep groan as she slid in with no resistance and filled me easily. Being on top isn't usually my favorite position, but it was absolutely amazing this time. I think it was due to the couch's angle and the large head on the cock (for stimulating the G-spot), but whatever the reason, I was being stimulated in all the right spots. Her hands roamed my body as I rode her cock, gripping the shaft with my pussy on every upstroke. It felt so fucking good.. I was totally lost in the pleasure. I answered her with groans and whimpers as she talked dirty to me. And then, all of a sudden, I was coming.
Really. With no warning whatsoever, I exploded. The only way to describe it is to say that it was by far the best orgasm I have had in my entire life. I came so hard that I screamed.. so loudly that my throat was hoarse later. I couldn't help it; it was incredibly intense and seemed to be interminable (not that I was complaining). I clutched at AP, whose hands gripped me as rode her cock. She continued to talk to me, telling me to come for her, expressing her desire. I came forever, the longest orgasm in the history of Earth. Even when the intensity faded, it was deliriously pleasurable to keep gripping and fucking the hard cock. My arms around her, my head on her shoulder, unable to stop moaning. I continued to move myself on her as the waves abated, gradually slowing to a stop.
I was unable to move, so I stayed on her lap with her cock inside me. We held each other as I leaned against her to recover. "Oh my god," I gasped every now and then.
This experience has been masturbation fodder recently, so I thought I'd share.
Thursday, August 25, 2005
Honesty
Something I've been thinking about lately is the whole personal ad thing. Of course I have them on various sites, because I'm terminally single and frustrated that I can't seem to meet anyone at all in this town. Maybe I'm unlucky, but the ads never seem to bring about much of substance.
Anyway, in all my futile endeavors, the theme of honesty has come up consistently. I'm equally repulsed and amused by what passes for personal ads, or rather I should say how people sometimes try to pass themselves off in the ads. What kills me is the bizarre phenomenon of inverse attraction of the women who choose usernames like "hotsexybabe6969" and "sexycutie4u". So this, amongst other things, makes me wonder where honesty plays into the game. When is it okay to be less-than honest? Is it okay at all? Is it all right to sort of soften the edges a little bit to make yourself more appealing?
Though I personally avoid dishonesty, sometimes it's not only inevitable, it's the wise decision. I don't advocate big lies about important things, but at times I feel it's needed for saving face or avoiding hurting people's feelings. I'm a Do-As-You-Would-Have-Others-Do-Unto-You kind of girl, and on the other side of it, sometimes I want to be lied to. As much as I appreciate and endeavor toward honesty, the total truth all the time is a real bitch of a mistress -- both giving and receiving. I'm learning to not ask questions if there's an answer I don't want to hear, but I don't see it as a huge deal if it's a little lie about something insignificant to spare my feelings.
This ties into rejection, as well. I wonder about rejection protocol, so I'd like to do a little informal survey. Is it better to let the person know you're not interested (kindly, of course) or to not respond at all? I ask because I personally prefer to not get a rejection letter in the interest of sparing my feelings, but some people seem to like sending them. See, if I don't hear back, I forget about responding in the first place; if they answer with a rejection note, I'm not only reminded that I wrote them, but that they're not interested for whatever reason. I might add that most of the replies I get seem like excuses rather than the truth, but that could just be my wounded ego talking. So, I'd like your opinions on which method you would most appreciate if you were the recipient of the rejection.
In other news, your beloved author shrivels in her sexual drought, goes to live on until she's 70, and becomes the neighborhood Crazy Cat Lady.
Anyway, in all my futile endeavors, the theme of honesty has come up consistently. I'm equally repulsed and amused by what passes for personal ads, or rather I should say how people sometimes try to pass themselves off in the ads. What kills me is the bizarre phenomenon of inverse attraction of the women who choose usernames like "hotsexybabe6969" and "sexycutie4u". So this, amongst other things, makes me wonder where honesty plays into the game. When is it okay to be less-than honest? Is it okay at all? Is it all right to sort of soften the edges a little bit to make yourself more appealing?
Though I personally avoid dishonesty, sometimes it's not only inevitable, it's the wise decision. I don't advocate big lies about important things, but at times I feel it's needed for saving face or avoiding hurting people's feelings. I'm a Do-As-You-Would-Have-Others-Do-Unto-You kind of girl, and on the other side of it, sometimes I want to be lied to. As much as I appreciate and endeavor toward honesty, the total truth all the time is a real bitch of a mistress -- both giving and receiving. I'm learning to not ask questions if there's an answer I don't want to hear, but I don't see it as a huge deal if it's a little lie about something insignificant to spare my feelings.
This ties into rejection, as well. I wonder about rejection protocol, so I'd like to do a little informal survey. Is it better to let the person know you're not interested (kindly, of course) or to not respond at all? I ask because I personally prefer to not get a rejection letter in the interest of sparing my feelings, but some people seem to like sending them. See, if I don't hear back, I forget about responding in the first place; if they answer with a rejection note, I'm not only reminded that I wrote them, but that they're not interested for whatever reason. I might add that most of the replies I get seem like excuses rather than the truth, but that could just be my wounded ego talking. So, I'd like your opinions on which method you would most appreciate if you were the recipient of the rejection.
In other news, your beloved author shrivels in her sexual drought, goes to live on until she's 70, and becomes the neighborhood Crazy Cat Lady.
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