Apr 112017
 

It’s been my limited experience that men in the military take on aspects of their partner’s interests. Perhaps because they’ve become institutionalized and are used to just going with whatever is around them, an adapt-and-overcome attitude. Perhaps it’s because for the vast majority of them, they went from high school to adulthood in the military, without having that awkward transition period of now-what?. Whatever the case, the friends and lovers that I know who are military tend to get involved with their partner’s interests and embrace them as if they came into the relationship with them.

Interested in kink? Well I’ve never considered it, didn’t even consider myself kinky, but let’s try it.

Interested in ballroom dancing? Hey, that’s something I never considered and I love to be active. Let’s give it a whirl.

Interested in weight lifting? Fantastic, I know a thing or two from having to be in great physical shape.

Now don’t get me wrong, there is something endearing about a partner who will embrace my interests and actively engage in them. It is fantastic for a couple to be share passions and  hobbies, but the problem is when a military man personally gets involved with me but comes empty-handed of new experiences that I may also learn from. It also can be a problem when my lover takes an interest and pursues it so fiercely, maybe because it’s new and exciting, that they push only that agenda where I am now sick of something I used to enjoy. Or, it could even be the one-up mentality: they can now (or think they) do it better/know more.

The beauty of engaging with another person is meeting and being introduced to new concepts, ideas, hobbies, experiences. Of my two long term relationships with military men (though my sister had far more and experienced the same things), they did not have a hobby that they pursued in the relationship with me, so I gain nothing new; whereas they pursued some of my passions (kink being the foremost) and broadened their horizon.

Perhaps it’s wrong to tally-mark what is gained in a relationship in this way; I am grateful that the men have engaged in something in something that I love and that we can share in it.

 

Mar 272017
 

“Aren’t you afraid it will happen all over again?” Mr. Texas asked me as we drove back from a BDSM speed dating event. I thought it would be good for him to get out and talk to other people, perhaps find a play partner or two besides me. “Your husband got into another relationship and then left you.”

I winced, though I hoped it wasn’t obvious in the darkness of the car. “No,” I stated, though that was only slightly true. I was concerned Mr. Texas might leave me, but not because he found someone else. He might leave me because I want an open relationship and he doesn’t, or because we’re incompatible, or because I can’t be who I was when he met me, or because I tell him to get the fuck out of my life.  He may find someone else and leave me because she is more perfect for him than I am; that could happen even if we were monogamous. It could happen, and she’d be lucky to have him.

I could tie him to the bed when I’m gone and release him when I’m at home to keep an eye on him, could have sex all day long every day, could be the most fantastic lover, provide the most stimulating conversations and entertainment, drop weight or gain weight to be his ideal body, dye my hair blonde (his favorite), and still he could leave me.

But it wouldn’t happen because he met someone else more… it would happen because we aren’t that compatible in the long term scheme of things.

…Unless he goes through a midlife crisis, like my ex husband did. He’s also transitioning out of the military, like my ex husband did before he left me.

But still, it wouldn’t happen because he met someone.

So yes, I’m concerned it could happen all over again.
Wicked Wednesday

Feb 122017
 

Happy Valentine's DaySo I looked up on my own blog “Valentine” to see how I’ve reflected on this over the years. It’s been a mix: happy with photo prompts (pictured here) but my writing shows how I overall view the holiday. In one piece of fiction, I write about how the character breaks up with their partners the day before – which is something I used to do in my youth. In another piece of fiction I wrote about how a character was done being second when they should have been first – sadly something that echoed why I didn’t write anything related to Valentine’s Day last year.

Last year, my husband turned me (and family) away hours before we were to be reunited after months of choosing separation to help with transitions and failed attempts at polyamory. I just recently tweeted about how I haven’t felt the same since, and it’s very true. But even when we were married, I didn’t see him much for Valentine’s Day – the all-too demanding price of being a military spouse.

This year, I was given an idea by a coworker of how to celebrate Valentine’s Day. Mr. Texas would rather have the romantic couple’s night, but he’s on board and supporting me as he does best.

My table is set and beautiful and Texas is going to make a nice dinner. We are raising some teenagers, and two of them are special needs and may not have a relationship for some time. I don’t want anyone to feel alone when there are people around who do love them – and I would not have survived last year if I didn’t have the support of friends and family. So, we embracing Valentine’s Day message of love but directing it at people who matter most – family and those that support you best. I even invited some single relatives.

I’ve already warned the kids that we are going to go around the table and say nice things about each other so they better be prepared (a challenge for one or two, it seems). It’s a day to show appreciation, a day to sit down with each other (though family dinners are rather important to me) and express the positives.Wicked Wednesday
Febraury Photofest

Jan 022017
 

“People are surprised you are able to keep on going at all, they compliment you all the time. They are surprised you haven’t crashed,” Mr. Texas commented, when I lamented that I haven’t been writing recently. I’ve barely been surviving on the domestic front either. Everything seems such a struggle.

“I am shocked I haven’t crashed yet either, I feel like it’s around every corner, could happen at any moment,” I replied, lying in bed, recovering from jet lag as I watched him wrap him Christmas presents that I had bought but had no energy to wrap after traveling to another country.

Mr. Texas takes excellent care of me, so much so that I’ve officially moved in with him. He even added that he felt like perhaps I won’t crash the way I fear because he is here to support me, not to mention that I’m on medicine right now to help me limp along with my emotional wreckage of a life. I hadn’t been sleeping to the point where I could no longer function – it’s amazing what some sleep and emotional stability can provide to functioning.

So let’s catch up my life to speed:

2016 greeted me with my husband wanting a divorce – which ripped my heart out and left me a shadow of my former self. The divorce also left me abandoned in my former hometown, looking for a new job and away from my support system of friends and my sister.

Somehow, during this stressful period, two men have been kind enough to care for me: Mr. Texas and The Wanderer. My relationship with both of them has been rocky, especially reconciling with my ex husband briefly, but they are supportive and patient through my struggles.

Before I felt fully myself from the divorce, my baby sister died unexpectedly. My family leaned on me, the way they always have for some odd reason (they say it’s because I’m the most responsible and strongest though I feel far from that), but I simply could not handle even the littlest things reeling from another loss so dear to my heart.

Mr. Texas, throughout it all, has held me and stepped up when I simply couldn’t stand on my own. We have a ton of issues – mostly coming from my end, but after my sister died and sex and hurty rope didn’t offer the comfortable escape I sought, Mr. Texas simply opened up his arms and held me through the tears, kissed and beat and fucked my body until I temporarily could seek release from it all.

When he wasn’t around, I fought the sleeplessness; the admitting that I needed help, counseling, medicine; limped along in my job and fought panic attacks; I binged ate and forgot to eat. Time and time again I kept coming over to his house, our kids blending seamlessly and he offered home cooked meals, wine, hot tub, comfort.

He offered home.

He changed his work schedule (a rare opportunity in the military) to help me with school schedules, painted bedrooms and negotiated with all the kids involved to make space personalized for everyone.

I don’t know if we’re suited: he was very vanilla but is now open minded enough to accept my want of polyamory, finds himself liking and even craving the kinkier intimate moments and the social communities; for myself, I wanted the freedom that older kids came with and exploring my outgoing kink lifestyle yet now find that home makes me content most days. It may be a fleeting acceptance on both of our parts but we are willing to see where it goes.

It’s a scary step.

I still fight the feeling that I need to stand on my own, that I need to find myself amid all this chaotic life changing loss, that I am relying on another so heavily.

I have always been the reliable one, the one that my family and even my ex husband relied on, the stead fast one, always known who I was, what I wanted, and how to get there.

I’ve no clue anymore. My heart is shattered in so many pieces I am shocked that anyone wants to hold the slivers and be in my broken company.

Maybe, even if I’m doing this wrong or for the wrong reasons, it’s what is right for right now.

And maybe it’s time I set aside my worry and allow Mr. Texas to soothe my vulnerability with love (and yes, even opening myself up to another potential loss).
Wicked Wednesday

Nov 012016
 

Inspired by Domme Chronicles

I think of myself as selfish though many would disagree. It is not unusual for me to handle more responsibility or take care of others; of course in the role of mom, but I sacrificed a great deal as a wife. As a friend and family member I will go above and beyond for – there is little I would not do, and my profession is known for being selfless and I will still put forth the extra mile for my coworkers and the people I work with. Sometimes in these roles, while fulfilling, I will overly commit and feel drained, exhausted, and have nothing left for myself. Being selfish shows up more in my intimate relationships, but even that, upon reflection, is some shades of grey.

That is how I felt for three years during my marriage, though through no fault of my husband; it was the cost of supporting him during a job that wrung us both dry that the military created. It was also a time that I didn’t have the support of the other fulfilling roles (with the exception of mother) in my life – it required me just to be a selfless in my role of wife and even diminished my role of lover with my husband. (There was more positives than negatives during our marriage, for one: I offered my full submission to him during the course of our marriage – the only man that I have completely done this for, and that was a beautiful connection that I really blossomed and grew in.) What I have learned in my marriage is that I cannot compromise who I am really am and what is important to me – I learned this of course months after the marriage ended. He has asked me to give up the blog and twitter, something that I worked years on and that I feel passionately about. I couldn’t do it. He has asked me to give up people in my life – something I could compromise to an extent on. (And yes, he has asked for other outrageous stuff which felt like he was testing my desperation to be with him, and some things I did and others I agreed to, and then months later I wouldn’t compromise on those when we discussed AGAIN getting back together.) He has asked for monogamy – something that during the course of my marriage I truly struggled with and was the only thing I asked of him to compromise on (granted it’s a huge thing), something I realized that I could commit to only when the marriage was over.

…Something that I will not compromise on in my current state. I am not ready for commitment, I need to discover truly who I am and what works for me, and if that means that I come out the gate with a selfish stand while dating then so be it – I need this attitude, and as long as I am being honest, it isn’t selfish, right? It’s actually a concept I struggle with a bit, because I know Mr. Texas wanted the full commitment (he even proposed marriage), and so do some other men, so even though they know and supposedly accept, I feel guilty when I do play or date others.

What I have learned as a top (the role it seems I take with my vanilla dating explorations) is that it comes from a place of both selfish and selflessness. It is what I want – my show, my decision, my entertainment, my pleasure. But it is no fun unless they are enjoying it too, so I want to provide an experience that they desire. Maybe I top from the bottom?

What I have learned as a rope bottom is that I want things done to me and to be passive – this is a role that I do not often take and I relinquish control in bondage. I have simply no choice. I am bound, I can fight or struggle all I want – I am still being forcibly controlled. The power dynamic of this is incredibly erotic to me, and also can be pointed towards another kink of mine with consensual non consent. Someone else is in control and I am powerless to do anything about it, even if I so desired. I can achieve a mindlessness in rope that is rare for me, though it needs to be a very challenging, painful, or include multiple orgasms, as the physical demands have to override the constant chaos that is my brain. There is also some part of myself that just wants to accept what is happening to me without resistance or responsive action; being so compliant and submissive is the path of least resistance that creates such peacefulness when I have the dynamic with another in rope to be passive (found most often with my ex husband or Mimir). Rope helps me find that peace. (Mimir taught me acceptance towards passiveness.)

What I have learned as a bottom and play partner could be everything in being a rope bottom but a bit more complicated due to the forced factor. I can be more switched into submissive head space where I want to do what they want, but it takes a strong connection, a feeling uncomfortably foreign (new place, new experience), or physically forced (oddly just placing a hand on my throat will do it, it doesn’t have to be forced take downs – though those are hot). Some examples are The Wanderer asking me to fetch things for him (connection), when I was co-topped and ordered to move certain ways (foreign), or when Mimir would tell me to just stand there and look at me (thus making me feel self-conscious and awkward but oddly beautiful) because it was a power play allowed due to our strong connection. But this role is self-serving, I am having things done to me and I am not taking an active role, I am selfish in that it is my body being played upon and that I am not making decisions or having to come up with a plan.

It is this role, in rope/bottom/play partner, that I want the most; this is most selfish role that I am in my life.

Jul 262016
 

Wicked WednesdaySome things I’m doing this summer:

First thing first: I dyed my hair purple and fucking loved it for two months until I had to fully transition in my life and be professional again.

I went skinny dipping a lot…

…On a related note: I’m getting sun burned on parts of me I never have before. I make very sure to put sunblock on my nipples, but have completely forgotten my bottom – and that hurts when I’m trying to sleep, sitting down, or getting spanked (which this summer has happened surprisingly frequently).

Having pool sex…

…Actually, I rock at pool sex. I straddled Mr. Texas‘ hips, gripped my heels around his upper thighs, my hands at his shoulders for balance and rode, grinding against him until he came deep inside of me with a groan, the water splashing around our bodies.

With no children around, he and I had sex with me bent over the kitchen counter, then he swooped me up in his arms and laid me down on the cold hard tile as he slipped between my thighs.

He slipped my skirt up and pushed me over the end of the couch, pushed himself into me.

I went cherry picking, the cherries tart and sweet in my mouth as my teeth puncture the tight skin and the juice trickling down my throat. In the dirt brown backdrop, the red a sharp contrast.

I visited quite a bit with The Wanderer, who seems to be a calm shelter amid my tempest summer.

I went to Las Vegas twice: once with The Wanderer, and once with a friend who turned out to be an asshole – he expected sex because we were sharing a hotel room, even though I stated that I wasn’t interested. I ended up completely disgusted by the pressure and asked to be brought home early.

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A picture of my purple hair (a dark purple) and a picture The Wanderer took of me in front of some art in our suite in Las Vegas. My ass is a little pink from a recent spanking and I was ordered to keep my arms behind my back in this moment.

I visited some local dungeons and have made some great friends and new experiences.

I met some old friends and made some new ones from Twitter.

I hooked up with my husband, a lot. He has broken up with me and my heart three times in the last month alone, still as wishy-washy as ever. He goes back and forth between his girlfriend and me, playing us in his quest to not be lonely (my perspective). He and I still continue to talk about our future and love…and I truly do believe that despite everything he loves me. Fear keeps us apart, I believe, and a fucked up past neither of us know how to overcome. He also has no clue who he is outside of the military, and I don’t know who I am outside of him, so we both are suffering an identity crisis that is shaping our stupid decisions. He didn’t want our make up to be a secret anymore, so if we try it, dammit we’re both being very public about it.

I love the fuck out of that man, I can’t stress that enough. He fulfills me in a way that I have never felt before, fits into my life like a puzzle piece meant to be there. Honestly, I want to be fully monogamous with him and live as happily ever after as possible in a real society where we have to work hard to keep our love alive – a thing I still believe in.

I committed myself to him for life, and if nothing else, I believe in that commitment to him still. We could make it. But I don’t have faith anymore that he would allow it, and even though each and every time trying to be back together again is his suggestion and persuasion – by this point I’m terrified of hoping we’ll make it only for him to break us up again within a week.

May 222016
 

Story of what I thought was a random pick up guy here. I had a long night with this guy.

He picked me up and bounced me on top of him standing. The muscles in his arms bulged and I gripped his broad shoulders to balance, my legs not quite wrapping around his waist – a military body is truly a work of art at its peak.

It was in this position, where he was essentially in the driver’s seat over the sex, that he curiously asked: “If you wanted to take control, could you?”

I thought for all of a few seconds. “Yes.” I was fairly confident of my skills and abilities, thought about what little I knew of random pick up dude and knew he wouldn’t hurt me intentional – which always gave me an advantage.

He obvious viewed me as someone he could just throw ideas at, as he had already asked to take a video of us.

He lowered our bodies to the bed, the mattress firm at my back before I used the strength of my leg to gently kick into his chest; he ended up laying on his back with his head barely missing a dresser, surprised at the action.

I don’t think he got kicked much in bed.

I was on top of him instantly, my small but still effective hand around his throat; my thumb dug into the side of his jaw to position his face to the side and teeth bit down where neck meets shoulder. He groaned, whispered to not leave a mark, tried to grasp me – but not to hold me to him, rather to remove me.

So it appeared he wanted a fight, not just me in control. Always a bit trickier, as he was undoubtedly stronger and I am not going to hurt a random man in my quest for control.

My hand tightened on his neck, fingertips pressing in, my teeth sunk into the muscle on his chest, one knee dug into his upper arm while my other hand’s nails pressed into his sensitive nerves along the other upper arm. There’s an advantage to being small in that I am quick and my legs can easily be used in the same region as my arms. Also, being a rope bottom has taught exactly what part of the arms are full of exposed nerves.

“Jesus you’re incredible,” he whispered as his body relaxed into what I was doing. My mouth turned into kisses as I felt him submit and relax his body into the mattress; one hand moved to roam and explore his hardness, stroking him. And then he gave a tell tale sign of tensing, and my hand around his throat was ineffective as he pushed against it and my unwillingness to grip too hard against a pulse or windpipe with a man I just met, so I used my forearm and pressed more to hold his neck down, My leg began to be useless as well as he pivoted to the side a bit, but my free hand stopped stroking him and nails again clawed and gripped the flesh and muscle on his chest right under the arm.

…I’m certainly not going to hurt his cock – we hadn’t discussed that bit.

“Stay down,” I ordered, my forearm pressed a bit more, my nails threatened to dig even further. He complimented me some more, asked for a kiss, and after some time of me stroking and kissing him, I relaxed my stance on top of him and allowed us to be rolled to where he was on top again.

I should have known he would different from the other random hook up guys – I had actually kissed him and he had a whole list of things he wanted to do with me after this first night.

He slid into my depths as his hands took hold of my ankles and he positioned them up his body. I hooked my ankles on his shoulders and arched my hips even further up to take him in deeper. After some time, he held one of my feet and sucked on my toes

…another first, and one I didn’t see coming – if I had I would have stopped it as I hate my feet being touched in anything other than a massage. I wasn’t about to kick in his teeth, though the urge was strong. I simply waited until it felt safe to remove my toes from his mouth without hurting him and then changed our position so it was no longer an option.

When we were finally done, when he finally found his release as I rode him some time later, he stood up and walked to the mirror to inspect his body and supposedly the damage done. “You weren’t kidding, no marks,” he remarked in awe over his neck.

It’s a source of pride to me that I can go pretty hard on a man’s neck and not leave marks.

He rotated and saw his back, the side of his chest where my raked nails raised red. “I didn’t promise I wouldn’t scratch you,” I laughed and he smiled, uncaring of those marks.

He wanted to see me again, the next day. I told him I was busy so he pushed to see me when he got back from a deployment. I was hoping he would forget all about me by that point and told him that I wouldn’t see him again.

Still, he’s sweet and texts and checks in with me, so maybe we’ll be friends.

..and it turns out that despite my intentions of him being a one-nighter, he ended up being more. Turned out he lived in my town I just moved to after the divorce and he was all the way across the country for training before a deployment. Such a small world.
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May 152016
 

Masturbation Monday badge - smallI fought with my ex husband and then called up for a lover. It just happens sometimes. Sex can be my drug.

I didn’t intend to pick up a lover at all. I blocked my ex’s number, told him that I wanted just one week of respite from his constant calls on my vacation, and thought I was good.

He created several new numbers to call me from. Then he started texting me, threatening to ruin my brand new relationship with Mr. Texas, whose phone number he had because when we still shared a phone plan he saw how often I spoke to a number. But that’s not all: he also used an I-lost-my-phone-app and had my phone pinging since none of those worked. Talk about going crazy because I no longer wanted to speak to him.

But all this was after me answering his questions about what I was doing, how life was going, him bragging about his new adventures pursuing a rope dream that was ours – with his girlfriend who was brand new in rope, and then him telling me that he doesn’t want to speak to me ever again and he wants to completely cut me out of his life.

Yep, I was an emotional wreck. So, I just found a lover, turned off my phone…became lost in the arms and mouth and cock of another.

I made the first move, as he seemed content to sit across the bed from me and talk. I kissed him and pulled him on top of me. I sucked on his neck as his hands roamed a new body – mine with its history, curves, and scars. He leaned away from my mouth to pull off my pants quickly – like the magician who rips off the tablecloth without damaging anything on the surface. I sat up and pulled off my shirt as he removed his clothes.

Men in this area never disappoint as far as bodies. They are created from the military – not natural human daily tasks, but crafted to be broad of shoulder, tapered to small waist, and muscle definition throughout it all. These bodies can lift me with ease, have the stamina to go all night. I never require either one, I only required an escape and his eyes promised that in the dim light.

A knee and then a body on the bed, on me. A strong chest pressed against my soft breasts, a possessive mouth covered mine, a dance of tongues, gripping of hands. With  my small hands, I pulled and clenched at the various parts of him, he couldn’t be close enough, not even when he finally slid deep inside of me.

His hands also roamed as his mouth tasted, roughly – as that is what I stated I liked before we even began. His hips positioned between my easily parted thighs, fingertips massaged my hips and forced up so that his stomach ground into my clit. His mouth trailed wet, open mouth kisses to my breasts and as he shifted we both took advantage of the space and our hands sought out our colliding points.

Masturbation Monday Week 89

His fingers entered me to find me already wet. I palmed the head of his erection, reveled in the smooth skin as my fingertips wrapped and followed the curve of his shaft. He was long, hard, and had a natural curve down.

When he entered me, he told me he wasn’t going to cum, that he could do this all night long. Why would anyone believe this is desirable? I get some time is appreciated, but at least for myself I have never appreciated marathon sex. Give me fifteen minutes of penetration please; I could do foreplay and afterplay for much longer, however.

He had this neat trick of launching us still connected into almost a back roll, without my assistance, and all the sudden I would be on top. Honestly, I still can’t think of how he did it, but I did compliment him on the nifty trick every time he did it. I joked once that I wouldn’t mind being on top if he would take less time, but by that point I had already been on top a few times.

He wanted the light on and the only one in the room was an overhead on a fan. I hate the bright lights right above my head, but he really wanted to see us in something other than the incredibly dim lighting coming from the window. He was very intent on my face after he ran his hands and mouth over my body, complimented me as he traversed. He seemed to love to watch my expressions, delighted in hearing my noises as they accompanied what he was doing to me. Self conscious and hating the light anyhow, I kept my eyes shut most of the time.

“We should take a video of us,” he said, to which I immediately rejected. “You could keep it. We’re so hot together.” There was no way, and despite his insistence as he fucked me, I remained firm in that decision. There is only man I have taken a video with, only one man I trusted still.

He picked me up and bounced me on top of him standing. It was in this position that he curiously asked: “If you wanted to take control, could you?”

I thought for all of a few seconds. “Yes.” I was fairly confident of my skills and abilities, thought about what little I knew of random pick up dude and knew he wouldn’t hurt me intentional – which always gave me an advantage.

I had a long night with this guy, so I will continue this one night some other time…

…and it turns out that despite my intentions of him being a one-nighter, he ended up being more in such the strangest of ways.

Continued Here

 

 

Apr 292016
 

Yummy Men is truly the ultimate of my Slutfest week stories, for the letter Y for my A to Z Challenge.

Slutfest: a week and a half between my husband leaving me, my travel back to our home, and packing up the remainder of our stuff to move it across country and say goodbye to every thing I knew. My sis A named it that with her friends in the periods between when they were single, and my sister helped me design an online profile to attract the type of men that only wanted a hook up. Apparently, I’m the only one of her friends – herself included – to do slutfest completely sober, all the more reason why I’m suited to it, she commented. I am truly emotionally unattached to sex, if I chose to be so.

photo credit: Condoms via photopin (license)

photo credit: Condoms via photopin (license)

Slut fest total: 8 in 1.5 weeks, 3 of them prior partners

I went for the “pretty boys“, mostly the young military men newly formed and sculpted, the ones who spent hours a day at the gym and hours more being active at work. They would even message me asking if I were interested in someone younger. I went strictly for looks and perhaps that is why I was overall unimpressed with skill, except the last guy. I am often not attracted to looks, it is not important to me, and maybe that’s I changed my tactic this time – to be the opposite of me; plus if they were just going to be a body to fuck and nothing more – the body should be in peak physical form to satisfy me..at least in theory.

Again, the reality is that these men overall didn’t bring skills to the table, perhaps they thought their gorgeous bodies were the only thing needed. And they were pretty to look at, to touch.

But many of the men couldn’t stay hard (I heard a lot of condom griping), didn’t care about my pleasure, foreplay was unimportant, sex was the monotony of ramming as fast as they could without angles or even rhythm.

Sometimes I wondered if I was just there to fill the empty places in them, the same way that I was using them. If it even mattered at all what the opposite person in front of us wanted or needed, because they were just a distraction from ourselves. The men didn’t know me any better than I knew them. Was I another notch on their post, a conquest gained, or did they seek me out to combat the lonely holes in their own lives?

I used sex for all the wrong reasons during slutfest, but I am still glad I did it. I felt desired, I felt like I could find another and that I didn’t need to worry about being alone the rest of my life; I felt like I could relax and rest and recuperate before pursuing something a bit more real and authentic – whatever that ends up being.

I don’t think I’ve got fucking out of my system wholly, I do after all truly enjoy sex for the sake of sex, but I am more ready to take a deep breath, be a bit more patient and less desperate, and seek out someone compatible rather than a distraction I was to discard immediately.

Apr 262016
 

Vacant would be a good adjective for my next two men, for my A to Z Challenge. There was a lot absent in the experience with both of them – one an entire memory, the other was just a self centered jerk who I still continued with because I was desperate to stop the hurting. I ended up far more hurt than I could have imagined.

photo credit: via photopin (license)

photo credit: via photopin (license)

The ginger I was unconscious for.

I have no recollection of what he looked like, neither his body nor face, though the dating app shows pictures of him. I found two condoms in the trash can the next morning.

That doesn’t make him a bad guy – he was probably unaware of my mind state. That night, after so many nights of crying but still not sleeping, my sister gave me an Ambien, where I apparently had what is known as an Ambien blackout. I probably started messaging him first, regardless of what I did next to unconscious, I gave him my address somehow during this blackout.

I don’t remember him leaving either, but thank goodness he did, because that would have freaked me out – to wake up with a strange man in my bed.

There are just a few moments that I remember, it would all amount to a total of five minutes perhaps, but it was was at different parts.

I answered the door in a flannel.

I remember going down on him and nothing else on a physical level – I don’t remember actually wrapping my mouth around him, just leaning down to do it.

He repeatedly asked: “where have you been the three years I’ve been here?” and I remember thinking he repeated that question a lot.

And compliment after compliment from him.

Thank goodness he messaged me the next day, otherwise I would have been clueless who I slept with during the night. He kept the conversations very focused to things like his free time over the weekend and how he wanted to see me during them.  He was sweet and kept messaging, telling me his work schedule and asking about what I was doing so that he could see me again. Neither of our schedules worked out – I didn’t see him again* and I really wanted to – just to know who he was that I had slept with. It is odd to me to sleep with someone I don’t know/remember.

>>>>>>>>>>Another Night, another guy<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Pull Out Get Out, seriously if I could name a guy (which I can on my blog) it would be that. The dude was gorgeous (slutfest was mostly about female votes on who was the hottest as a deciding factor for my one night stands), but he didn’t ask a single question about me and then left immediately afterwards… seriously he pulled out of my body, rolled off of the bed, stood up, dressed, and muttered about going to smoke as he shut the door…and didn’t return.

He was also the only man during slutfest that I was set up with, a friend of a friend who immediately came over when he heard I just wanted sex and then talked a lot about himself as an awkward getting-to-know you, but wasn’t curious in the slightest about who I was. I knew nothing about him outside of his work (his only topic).

I was tired that night and almost skipped a night of hit-it-and-quit-its and by the time he left me, really wished I would’ve stuck to that instinct.

It wasn’t all bad: he made the sexiest grunting noises, but zero foreplay outside of what I did to him. It was all about him, just like the conversation.

It also felt like he was splitting me in two; he was far too big especially with my body not thoroughly prepped but still he pressed in, pressed on.

Him on top, me on top, doggy style for some stupid reason even though that made him bigger.

He hurt my cunt to mirror my heart, perhaps that’s why I allowed it.

I felt terrible about being with this man, would rather have been a guy of my choosing – which it didn’t feel like it was, this meeting of a friend already negotiated for sex.

However brief  the conversations and connections, at least on the dating apps I saw them first, they engaged with me, messaged at least a bit to get a feel of something.

I was so emotional when I knew he truly left (I had to check because he didn’t say anything); I didn’t quit crying that entire night.

A terrible end to what I thought of as slut fest, the one that spotlight shined the desperation in it.

I was a hole, and no matter how many cocks slid into my hole, it was there incomplete, wounded, gaping, exposed. Disgusting. Unworthy.

…Unloved

*He texts me still, constantly for awhile. Apparently, I was amazing at giving him head and being on top. He wanted to know when I would come back to the state so that we could hook up again, and I gave him that chance when I visited again about a month and half later. I believe that I wrote about that second encounter as well, this man that I had slept with but was meeting for the first time. He was/is nice.

 Posted by at 8:54 am