New toy

Just about everything I think to write today feels whiny. 

So instead, I'll say, I got some new shoes.  They are called Delicious, and they are.  I like to wear them while being fucked. Hard.  And I particularly like the idea of wearing them out, being seen in them, knowing that they are in fact a sex toy.

I worship his cock

Sometimes it bugs him; we are the reversal of the joke about men talking to a woman's chest. I look at his cock, hidden in his jeans, and he says, "I'm up here!".  "Yes," I say, pulling my eyes up to his and laughing. "Right."

Jealousy

I get jealous.

What does jealousy mean for me?  It means the blinding stab of painful emotion I feel when someone (anyone!) I like/love/admire has a preference for another other than me, whether that preference is real or imagined. 

When I feel it, I am faced with choices- running away has often been a viable one, close up shop and move on; get angry and sharp, lash out- sometimes this feels unavoidable; the third is clear eyed observation, let it be.  There may be other choices, but those are my top three.

I aspire to the third, with mixed results.  When I am centered and strong in myself, letting it be is attainable, even easy.  But centered isn't a constant state. 

In my marriage I have felt very little jealousy- I think this is the beneficence of my husband.  He gave me his heart long ago, and has never wavered, or has never given me indication that he wavers.  We go through ups and downs, don't get me wrong, and face other demons, but his heart is with me.  And he's not a particularly jealous type- he leads by example.

So how to understand the jealousy I feel about others- both friends and lovers?  I feel it when the attention is on another and I am no longer best/closest/dearest.  I wanna be Summa, baby.  It's not rational.  It just is.  And summa presents so many problems.  I can't possibly be best/closest/dearest to everyone all the time, and truly, rationally, I wouldn't want to be.  I suppose ultimately it is insecurity- and the transient dissatisfaction with what I have and what I am.

I don't have an answer, other than this:

Let it Be, Let it Be, Let it Be.

And I'm sorry when I fail.

Loverly

The sex is anything but mechanical. I've never been so wet, never wanted anything so badly. We leave the lights on. We use the chairs, the couch, the floor.
His hands in my pants are heaven. I feel the fabric of my dress pulling across my thigh, moving higher, exposing more skin. My legs are brown from the summer sun, and smooth and tight; the chlorine has imparted a clean dry feeling- the texture of summer.
I arch toward him, leading with my chest. He holds my hips with both hands, and I feel like the definition of womanhood.

First date

He's Dominant. Capital D. I guess that makes me submissive. I've never gone there consciously, but my fantasies have featured direction like this. Tell me what to do. I'll do it. What you wish is what I want. And he does.

On our first date he requested I bring a change of clothes.
"Go change," he said, sitting close to me on a banquette, his fingers on my thigh. I wasn't finished chatting yet. I didn't know the rules.

We were in an anonymous hotel bar, Manhattan traffic trundling by below us.

We talked some more, inconsequential, flirtatious. "Will you go change already?" he said, some asperity and a fleeting note of irritation in his voice. Oh.

I got up and walked toward the bathroom- wondrous and nervous, slightly embarrassed. I locked myself in a stall, removing my jeans, my top. I left the white tank, and slipped the black eyelet dress over it. The dress is short, with a smocked waist and wide, gathered neckline, girlish. I stepped out, feeling small, delicate, and a little unsure.

He watched me as I walked toward him. I began to feel more sure.

I am an actress, I don't yet know the role. I'm me, but not me. I'm finding my way. I'm game.

We hailed a cab, climbed in. He kissed me, deep, a little fierce, establishing again his dominance. His hand between my legs, his tongue sweeping my mouth. My breath catches, and I close my eyes.

The door of the taxi opens suddenly, shockingly.

We laugh at our intruder's expression, as he scrambles to close the door, apologize. I flush. I'm surprised by my embarrassment.

The hotel is modest, anonymous, seedy.

We go upstairs. He pushes me against the wall outside our door. He tastes like cigarettes- it's not unpleasant- only different, exciting. I feel illicit.

He is ravenous, so am I. He tells me to lie down on the bed, "Don't take anything off. Play with yourself for me". I do as I am told, watching him remove his shoes, his shirt, his jeans.

He's watching me too. My hand is stretching my underwear away from my body, my fingers are pressing slow circles against my clit, dipping now and then into my cunt, which is very very slick.

He stands next to the bed, bends to kiss me deeply. My knees feel liquid, and my belly flutters and melts. His hands are on my chest, pulling my dress down. My lips feel bruised, pressed, alive.

He withdraws just a little and I yearn toward him, my hands reach for his cock, feeling him through his boxer briefs. He is hard. I lift myself on my elbows, look up, meet his eyes.

I take him into my mouth, roll him on my tongue, taste him. I lick the underside of his cock, feel his hands descend into my hair, pull me over him. I suck him, feel him fill my throat.

He strips the pillowcases off the pillows, ties my hands to the rails of the bed. My bonds are soft, loose. I could get free, but I don't.

He pushes my dress up further, pulls my underwear aside. His tongue on my clit is possessive, greedy, strong. I writhe under his attention. My hips arch to meet him. My arms are extended over my head, and I hold on, my thighs spread.

He presses his fingers into me, fucking me with his hands, his tongue, his mouth.

I come, gripping the pillowcases hard, my breath shallow and quick, my heart beating fast.

He fucks my face. I've never used this term, but this is what he does, what we do.  My arms are still above my head, my hair fanned out on the sheets. I am dizzy.

He releases me. I climb over him, take him into me, grind my body down, envelope him. Bend to kiss him. His hands on my hips squeeze and guide. I ride him, fuck him, thrill in the sound, the sensation of my ass meeting his crotch.

He comes, holding me on him, sealing me to him.

We breathe. We smile. We're good.

This is our first date.

Status update

or alternately: Standing On My Own Two Feet.

N. and I are on an unlimited hiatus, and I find myself learning to navigate on my own in a new world.  Does that sound dramatic? It isn't.  It's just that the relationship with N. opened so many doors and possibilities and I'm suddenly faced with figuring things out for myself.

Way back when, I said he was a catalyst for me, and that still holds true... when the catalytic agent has finished working the original elements have undergone a change without the agent itself changing at all- I'd like to think that I've been important to N., but I don't think I've fundamentally changed him.

But me?

Well, let's say both N and his wife have opened up a world to me (and my husband), and it's exciting and strange and scary and good.  I had never really believed that people I knew/liked/respected were actively exploring their sexuality in ways that include polyamorous relationships and maintaining a healthy marriage.  Now I know that that is possible, that it's possible to want to (and to) fuck other people without it meaning the end of your marriage. 

My husband and I are more communicative about our needs and desires than we have been in many years, and I am grateful.  Where we will go from here is undefined, and that's fine.

And N.?  I will continue to read his blog with pleasure. I will enjoy the in-person friendship we have, and I will be secretly gratified by our playfully sordid past.  And I may kick his ass periodically at Scrabble. In between the spankings he will certainly give me ;-).

Assignments and requests

From the beginning of our relationship N. has been giving me assignments.  I've never had this type of foreplay before. (Ah, iPhone, how you simplify and complicate my life at the same time).

Sometimes they're goofy (or possibly that is me) sometimes a little challenging; always they're sexy.

Examples include: writing erotic stories, reading erotica aloud and sending him the recordings, offering him a selection of my underwear or clothes to choose from, and then wearing his choice-whether we will see each other or not; sometimes it's word games- or a photo of a particular body part, other times it's more explicit- putting my fingers into my cunt and licking them, sending him a description or photo immediately thereafter.

Sometimes it's physically doing what he asks in the moment of his asking - those are particularly hot.


I've given him a few back.  He usually complies instantly.

He wrote a post a few days ago, describing his relationship to giving these assignments, or requests.  I was thinking I'd comment on it, but then decided I might as well just write my own.

Here's how it shakes out for me:

I love the assignments.  Pleasing him pleases me.

Sometimes the request is counter to my inclination- usually it's not; sometimes it challenges me and drives me to the edge of my comfort zone- and this is good.

I do, however, want and crave acknowledgement.  If too much time elapses without a response from him, I get anxious or annoyed.  Too much time, by the way, is mercurial- it depends mightily on the day, mood and (dare I say it) time of the month.

Let it be known that he always responds, and usually within the day, if not the hour.

Any time I put myself in the position of seeking someone's approval I've opened myself up to failure and disappointment.  Executing these assignments kinda does that: the possibility of failure exists- or the possibility of looking stupid, to myself at the very least.

On the flip side, they're fun, they stretch me, I feel pleased with myself, and aroused, when I do them, and- as I said before- pleasing N. pleases me.  He's hot.

This leads me to believe that submission or surrender is more layered than I at first understood.

(Forgive me if this was obvious all along... Learning is cool.)

casual sex

A story in three sentences (I missed the trifecta deadline on this one- damn Pacific time!-if you haven't already, check them out- but it was fun nonetheless):

They met in the park, drank steamed milk and chatted. The height differential being acceptable, they went upstairs. Kelly was frightened by her idiocy, so she blew him.

Pan

When I was seventeen I went to a boys' house. Two of them lived there, both were dating friends of mine.  I was in my senior year in high school- as yet a virgin.  

There were seven of us there that night, the two pairs, two other guys, and me. We were all cute, and oh so young.  We listened to music, talked, laughed, joked, felt important and grown-up.  What I remember most was how easy and convivial we were together.  

As the night drew on the pairs melted into the shadows of the room and I was left with the two other boys.  One I knew pretty well, and the other only a little.  The second was curly, and cute, and alas fell squarely into the friend category for me.

My friend and I, on the other hand, had flirted for ages, but never made out.  On this night we did.  We kissed for a long time, and did some pretty heavy petting.  But here's where it got interesting- neither of us took any of our clothes off.  There wasn't any conversation about it, it may simply have been the lack of privacy.

Our friends were audible nearby, but not fucking- we were all in that on-the-cusp place; we hadn't actually had sex yet, and tonight wasn't the night.

The curly boy took himself outside for a smoke in a dejected huff as it became clear that I didn't want him.

Weirdly, my friend, let's call him Pan, and I had been naked together before; it had been a few charged, but non-sexual evenings spent at a hot tub/sauna joint in our sleepy town.  His friend worked there and sometimes we would go in a group to sit naked in the saunas after the place had closed.

I digress.  

My sexual experience to this point included just about everything but intercourse...

As we made out, rolling together on pillows on the floor, we started dry humping... sex with our clothes on. With the exception of our hands and lips, no flesh was touching flesh. It was hot, and immediate, and exciting.  We came simultaneously.  And came up for air laughing.  It was sweet, delightful, and thoroughly unexpected.

Up until then, I'd never had an orgasm with a partner.  I'd let boys finger me, go down on me, sucked cock, even the coveted "69", but always stopped short- scared of the expectations of total fucking.

We never had actual sex. I love him dearly, as one loves old friends, and cherish the way we see each other, always with the green-gold glow of youth.

Today, we play Words With Friends and see each other every few years, as one passes through the other's city.  

140 precisely

Pure energy, building, sparkly longing; the push, pull, flow, oneness, rushing wetness, openness, fire, love, toe curling tingles and sigh.

Sitting next to me on the plane

Sitting next to me on the plane, she pulled off her sweater.  The lace edged tank rode up her back when she bent to cram it into her bag.  She is clear eyed, and smooth, and she smells good; the image of youth.
I turn to my son, preventing the juice box from falling, help him slide the window shade up.  I'm grateful for adulthood.