Apr 072017
 

*Switch: A person who vacillates between dominant (I’ll also use topping) and submissive (bottoming) roles within relations.

So at the GRUE (conference/event), one of the most engaging things to me was a conversation about switching. It was looked down a lot, kind of the way bisexuality is at times: being too flighty to pick a side or not really knowing which side to choose rather than a valid choice and natural instinct.

In my new state, a lot of people identify as switch, by far the majority from what I’ve observed. Once in room full of people, the presenter asked how many identify as a switch and everyone but the presenter raised their hand. It’s a bit odd, but at the GRUE it made for an excellent conversation. Such topics were:

 How do you switch with another switch? My ex husband and I were both switches (to an extent, he was always a service top if he topped). Our dynamics were always very clear to us – there was no mistaking our role for whatever the occasion – a very strange and special knowledge of knowing each other so intimately. He would voice if he needed me to top him, otherwise the dynamic was he would top me. At times we would go for more of a primal, fight to be on top, role but that was even clearly telegraphed in an unspoken manner between us.

In speaking and listening to others at this conference, I realized just how rare and special that dynamic was as there was little conflict in just knowing what the other wanted and being so attuned as to grant it.

Mr. Texas and I are switches, and while we haven’t been together nearly as long and are no where near as attuned to each other, the agreement is for the most part he tops. We do have a few of these complications that others discussed of two switches being together; for example, sometimes it’s unclear who wants to bottom – I top far more than I ever did with my ex. We will also sometimes switch mid scene. The rule that is keeping us the most satisfied in this dynamic is regardless of who is on bottom at first, I cannot go from bottoming to topping. I just cannot get my head space right to submit and then dominate, whereas he can because he can only take so much pain, which brings me to my next topic that was discussed…

Many of them had triggers that would flip the switch. This shocked me to hear, as many of them discussed how mid-scene they would grab the implement they were being hit with and hit the person topping them. I have never felt this urge, it would not even occur to me. To me, that’s a consent violation unless it was agreed upon. I addressed perhaps a need to disclaim that in part of the negotiations to my fellow switches, as a collective group we were trying to come up to some solutions to some of the issues of being a switch.

Mr. Texas and I, prior to the GRUE, did not switch mid-scene. He would ask me to mid-scene after he topped me for awhile, but I always declined (again, can’t do the head space) until we came the agreement that the order could be reversed (I could go from top to bottom). What began as a negotiation and honest communication with what made us tick has worked to our benefit, as Mr. Texas doesn’t necessarily have a trigger that makes him flip roles – it’s more of a pain threshold that he can no longer tolerate but doesn’t want to call an end to. I am really having fun exploring my more sadistic side with Mr. Texas in a way that was unforeseen, but Mr. Texas is not a masochist (we both love each other’s reactions in this dynamic) so once he’s done but too stubborn to color, he simply grabs me and flips me under him, often with a hand around my throat – a simple and consistent action that always gets me in a submitting headspace.

What I have also discovered since the GRUE is that Mr. Texas does have a sensual trigger that makes me want to top me: when I am not obviously topping but being more playful, I will sometimes straddle him, tease him with my body, have the tip of his head right at my entrance and deny him, press my breasts against his chest, and nip at his neck. It’s really the nipping at his neck that triggers him, his moans turn into growls and he begins to grip and grab at me to position certain ways. This tends to turn into a fight for top but only briefly (nowhere near the savage intensity my ex and I played at, which I am fine with).

What’s the difference between switching and bratty. 

*Brat: Within the BDSM lifestyle, the term brat is usually applied to a person of a submissive nature who acts up or causes trouble in order to attract attention. This is generally frowned upon as it is classed as topping from the bottom and trying to control the situation.

I am not sure if the group ever could clearly define this question posed. Bratty also tends to have a negative connotation in the BDSM scene. I know that I am not bratty with Mr. Texas (except once when he asked for a picture while he was at work), but that I was occasionally bratty with my ex husband. Bratty is almost a challenge in my mind and Mr. Texas is new to this role so I try not to challenge him as he needs to gain confidence in it. I was a brat with my ex whenever I wanted his attention, most often when he would tie me and was more focused on the rope than me – a common occurrence. I have not been bratty to The Wanderer – again our dynamic has always been firm in roles, though I am playful at times to get him away from his serious nature, but never in a challenging way or to gain attention. I don’t know if I will be clearly defining the difference but switching is a role and bratty is a mood to me.

The need to address the things done incorrectly. How we know both sides of the coin and will invariably meet up with people that we’re more knowledgeable but will bottom for. It’s somewhat inevitable that the longer someone is in the lifestyle and educates themselves, that they will know more than the person topping them. It’s the case with Mr. Texas, as he knew nothing so I topped from the bottom as I taught him (which wasn’t the case with everything, some things he just instinctively knew), and I teach him what I do know. Sometimes it’s with demonstrating on him, sometimes it’s talking him through something, and sometimes it’s going to educational events with him. Regardless, it revolves around honest and authentic communication – something anyone with any amount of knowledge should do with the person they are engaging with.
*Terms defined by Urban Dictionary

Feb 052017
 

Febraury Photofest

Wicked Wednesday

 

 

 

 

“I should just quit the scene now,” I told my friends at a dungeon as we were sitting around socializing. I was on a couch with a couple that I’m quite close to, the man was in the middle and the woman on the other side of him. She was laying across his chest so I could rub her arm, and my legs were draped across his lap so she could rub my legs. We aren’t sexual, just close.

A man had approached and began a conversation towards negotiating a scene with me. I mentioned that I’m a wimp with impact and pain. He had stated that he had seen me scene several times prior to approaching me.

It brought up the topic of scenes and what each of the four of us had experienced – mine far tamer in so many respects.

I mentioned how I see so many bottoms able to be thoroughly beat, displaying marks that I am quite envious of. “But I’m a wimp. I should just quit the scene now,” I halfheartedly joked.

Anyone who has played with me, with the exception of Mr. Texas because he was new to any kink, has heard something similar from me.

I’ve heard from tops pretty equally now on their views of lightweight versus heavy hitter views of bottoms, which leaves me feeling just as insecure that I will be seen as a lesser than bottom. Though I’ve also had two separate tops (The Wanderer, and the man who co-topped me) articulately discuss with me how that isn’t the case, especially from their perspective of the what’s-in-it-for-them. These men discuss how comparative doesn’t even come into play, that they play because of the individual, and stress beautifully that the reactions of the bottom (me) are what do it for them as a top. I’m very reactionary, and they love to play with me because of my reactions. If they are getting a reaction playing softer, then it’s less work for them even, and they are perfectly content.

My ex husband, after his girlfriend and while we were reconciling, told me while we were at a GRUE together that he missed playing with his ex girlfriend because he wanted to play harder and couldn’t – because I couldn’t handle it. He had watched a scene of two people playing roughly on the floor. He knew this was an insecurity of mine and approached it as almost a reason to not be with me (at least that’s how I felt). He especially liked how he could draw back and backhand her in the face without holding back.

Her kink is not my kink, and that’s okay.

Even wanting him back as much as I did, that was not an activity I was going to engage in. I could go into the whys like just not interested and I can’t bruise on my face due to my career; but it truly is as simple as that is not something that I am even remotely curious about experiencing. I’m not at all close, with the exception of that one horrible weekend, to giving into something just to be/play with someone else.

In conversing with the couple and how hard they play, the top stated that it was nice having different bottoms to get what he wants, because he loves to the play with the individual, but every so often he feels the urge to go hard and it’s nice to have someone who can provide that.

That was not going to be the case with my ex husband, as playing with others was a hard limit during our reconciliation.

Truly, though, I am okay with a multitude of play partners because each individual will bring a new experience and wealth of knowledge or reactions.

So, no, I’m not really going to quit the scene, though I feel anxious when being approached by someone new, and sometimes even playing with a prior partner the insecurities will creep up. But I find that I will always state in advance that I am a wimp and can’t handle much.

I can only hope that the person engaging in play with me gets something out of it as well.

Jan 262017
 

https://www.flickr.com/photos/martekristineo/5502801613

I agree with those that feel that a safe word is not needed, that no and stop should be exactly that.

I also agree with those that feel that a safe word is needed, that they don’t want their no and stop to always mean that.

I also realized that I need to be clear where I stand. I used to be the second option – I wanted the struggle, my instinct when something hurts is to say no and stop, but I can continue and I want my partner to push me.

I learned a very hard lesson in the complications of this negotiated use of safe words when I felt like I was forced anally, but he expected me to use my safe word.

“First and foremost, while my safeword did not occur to me, I did have one. My ex truly expected me to use it… I believe that he expected me to safeword if I felt that strongly about “no” after talking to him months later. And I truly did not even think about using a safeword, felt like my “no” and “stop” were enough; after all – just the day prior we discussed needing the safeword before a scene. I didn’t use a safeword with him just having sex with him – never felt that was needed.

Perhaps this is a horrible complication with using safewords, when stop and no don’t always mean stop and no.” – Consent with Anal

My ex and I did discuss safe words before every scene that we felt it was needed – and only the scenes that included impact (or our one time doing consensual non consent). Even in rope I didn’t use a safe word but gave a time that I needed out (even if it was immediately). So I understand why I did not think to safe word, we were just having sex, after all. I also understand why he felt that I would safe word – I do have and use my safe word and he trusted me in that.

So now I’m on the fence with safe words. I still use them, and I’ve been trying to get Mr. Texas to use them. I really like the “yellow” for change up or no further, and the “red” for can’t take anymore. I also, especially when I top him, realize that I am dealing with a man not used to coloring at all, so I listen to his body language,  his words, his noises, and his actions and proceed cautiously, stopping far before he colors. If I force him to color, I warn him ahead of time that is my intent and do only one action (like bite down) until he remembers to use it.

Again, though, I don’t believe that I should only stop when he uses his safe word. If I am playing to the edge it is with someone I trust and who trusts me, someone that I have played with many times before, someone that will know my tells and listen to my body language the same way that I do theirs.

My ex husband should have known mine, should have listened. But we are equally to blame for that scenario.

I still want my no and stop to not mean no and stop when I feel like struggling or fighting back, it is so hot to me that I will be held down or my cries will be ignored. It is also reassuring to me that my safe word will be respected, that I have a safe word.

But I need to start being more consistent with using my safe word, even if I am just having sex, because just having sex is very easily turned into something else once we’re naked and having fun. I need to not view sex as an activity isolated from BDSM, because it is not, and it rarely ever is just sex with me.

I can easily view how I am inconsistent: The Wanderer would never have to worry about me not coloring and using my safe word – we have a clear boundary of no intercourse and a partnership that’s foundation is BDSM. Neither would anyone that I played with in a dungeon or other kink event. Mr. Texas, however, may have to worry if he pushed for something I didn’t want to do – and that’s incredibly unfair to him; but I view us as having a sexual relationship first, exploring each other in BDSM second – and BDSM being new to him especially he needs to read other cues and listen to words (to an extent – he already has figured out my no rarely means no but I like the protest).

I am confusing as hell about using my own safe word and that isn’t fair to my sexual partner. I have learned that I cannot rely, either, on my partner and I consistently using a safe word only in certain scenes (like impact or consensual non consent).

It is up to me to clearly define and use my safe word to my partners, and to be consistent.

Aug 312016
 

Questions found from Insatiable Desire:

Day 11: What are your views on the ethics of kink?

I love the RACK philosophy (Risk Accepted Consensual Kink). I know that am taking risks, I educate myself on the risks that I am taking, and I consent (and my partner as well). Not everything I do is 100% safe inherently.

I also support the SSC (Safe Sane Consensual) philosophy, but feel that acknowledging risks suits myself a bit more.

I believe that more people are conscious of seeking consent in the BDSM communities than outside of it, where someone may attempt something without a conversation (like smacking my ass, sexual activities, even hugging). I thoroughly enjoy the more direct and honest communication that I hear as well.

This doesn’t mean that everyone I meet has been a positive experience, consensual, or honest; it’s just I have been more likely to encounter this type of dialogue and conscientious people within the kink communities.

Jun 122016
 

Wicked WednesdayIMG_6374
When my sister and I first began blogging, I wanted absolutely no identifying factors. Sis A definitely chafed at this, but overall really respected my wish to be completely anonymous.

As time has gone on, I’ve become more relaxed about identifying factors, discussing more and more personal stories, letting her show more and more of her face, eventually showing a bit of me too.

I still don’t show my face, but I’m getting closer to it.

My reasons for being anonymous haven’t changed, simply how stringent I feel like I need to be.

At first, the only audience that I personally knew was my sister, and I had zero issues with that. Then my husband starting reading (he always knew, just wasn’t interested). As soon as I knew he read, I found myself changing how I wrote, keeping in mind he was in the audience.

The friend that was my tech help later became my lover for a time – he obviously knew about the blog, he helped me make it. He encouraged me to write after we were intimate, and loved to read it. I’ve written in more detail how people that I am intimate with have shaped my writing in Known Blogger.

When my sister convinced me to let her post the website on her Fetlife – certainly taking at least her away from anonymity with her kink community, my husband and I decided to do that as well.

So mostly everyone I met in the kink communities knew I wrote; it was odd to see a comment from someone I knew personally. It was strange to me that I may write up something that will influence how they see me, my sister, my husband. They may read something about a scene that I have had in their presence. (Lesson Learned would be a prime example.)

Mimir became my first true challenge on how to navigate consent with writing – I asked if I could post scenes for the first time ever and he read each and every write up beforehand for approval.

Because I started to write from a personal perspective about my life and explorations, I felt that it was important to write up any conflicts and had the full support and approval from my husband. The problem with this only came about when he moved across the country to try and find a job after getting out of the military, and we were separated for a few months while I supported us and gave notice to quit my job before joining him. New people in a new community were reading the blog without seeing our dynamic in person and the deep love that we had for each other. They also only viewed me from the one perspective that the blog affords – not as a wife, or mother, or professional, or friend, only from the sexual journey that I presented for a particular audience.

My identity is far more than the flat sided puzzle piece of the blog.

They began to criticize our dynamic.

Then my husband found a play partner and immediately broke all boundaries and limits that we had established in pursuit of a relationship. I understood the whys – after all, I had been guilty of it years prior, and I moved across country with a job offer in his town only to be turned down within hours of arriving.

I wrote of my heart ache in separating from the love of my life, sent them to him for permission, and tentatively got it. He was always my biggest supporter, though he disagreed on some posts and wanted his girlfriend left out of it completely.

And then I became the other woman, and he wanted that kept hidden. He began to  criticize and shame me on what he was reading from Twitter. I blocked him, he created a new account. He said his girlfriend read my Twitter, read my blog. I tried to stifle even more of me, take out less personal details.

But the blog had become something very personal, and I just couldn’t take it back to impersonal erotica. At a time where I was again alone from moving and not having a support system when I so desperately needed it, I found strength in the online community.

Then he wanted nothing else posted – this is about where I’ve left his story off, though I did share more than he wanted at the very end – I felt like it was important to gain perspective and for my healing process, not to mention that it completely killed the twisted future that he and I went back and forth on.

To be very honest: my marriage kicked ass and was truly magnificent (I absolutely mourn for it far more than I thought possible); it was my divorce that became dark, abusive, cruel, ugly.

Because the blog is a few months behind my actual life for most posts (not all), when I began venturing into new relationships and new communities, I have kept it anonymous: it is no longer on my Fetlife profile, the people I scene with do not know of its existence – though if I ever develop any sort of intimacy with someone they will know, I just feel that’s ethical, though I do not feel the need to share with my random hookups or random people I scene with.

So who does know in my “new” life?

Mr. Texas because he was someone that I became very intimate with and he features often.

David because he was in my old town so already met me with the full knowledge, and because I needed his permission to post the photos (each one emailed for approval prior).

Speaking of photos, any random guy that I take a photo of that I want to post knows (so far this is only one man).

The Wanderer who also knew me prior to me withdrawing open knowledge. Just like with Mimir, I am incredibly nervous to write about him, almost intimidated.

I am about to tell The Reservist because he is more than a one night stand, despite my original intention of only one time. He lives in my actual town though I hooked up with him across the country while he was in training, and he paid to fly me back out to see him over a long weekend before he deployed. We have a great connection and amazing sex. We have every intention of pursuing something once he is finished with his deployment. I figure when he returns, I will tell him if we truly do pick back up.

I am also about to tell someone I’ve scened a few times with; we are about to do some photo shoots which will definitely need his permission. He is great at rope, though I do not have the dynamic that I had with Mimir. (Hopefully, I will develop that strong of a dynamic with someone else someday as it was everything I could ever hope for.)

I am tentative about sharing the blog to people I am meeting because I do not want to be judged from this one sided perspective of my life – it does not define the entire person that I am, it simply sheds light into my sexual journeys and relationships with others.

 Posted by at 2:01 pm
Jun 092016
 

Let me introduce a new character in my life: The Wanderer.

*And yes, I realize I overthink things far too much, as you’ll read before I met him. That’s why I seek BDSM – for the silent mind.

So I approached someone that I had only met briefly years ago at a conference, to ask if he wanted to meet up and if he wanted to do some rope. We had struck up a friendship of sorts, knew each other liked kink, so I wasn’t taking a risk. I knew he was a bit rusty with rope – he lamented that fact, and I wanted a rope partner.

I missed rope after my husband.

We had kept in contact through various online means, but still nothing of a personal nor intimate nature to warrant a bold request for a scene. I can be a bit forward at times, and I respected this man a great deal.

So I was surprisingly delighted when he said yes. He traveled quite a bit and was in town for a few days, so we scheduled to meet. “I didn’t bring anything with me,” he told me, “I didn’t want to make any assumptions.”

“Want stuff? I’m game.”

“I’ll leave it to you to pack stuff. We’ll start vanilla and see where it goes. Fair?”

I didn’t think so at all. “You’re a terrible negotiator.” Is is smart to poke the sadist before even meeting him? Although I always speak my mind. “I’ll pull out things like Mary Poppins pulls out of her magical bag, and you’ll look at me like I’m crazy.” Talk about assuming – I’d pack a bag full of things on assumptions, and he wanted me to assume without him doing so?!

“Okay, Mary Poppins, pack some rope and toys. Better?”

“Yes,” I agreed gratefully, but the toys seemed a bit vague. What kind of toys…sex or implements? But he didn’t say implements, he said toys and when I think of toys I think of sex toys.

A friend suggested, when I lamented on my big, HUGE decision, that: “bring two of each kind.” Two implements, two sex toys. I couldn’t lose that way, could I?

That was great advice: I could easily bring two of each – I already had nipple clamps and a wartenburg wheel in my rope bag – that counted as implements, right? Or did the nipple clamps count as a sex toy? Did nipple play count as sexual? We hadn’t even really negotiated what kind of touching – and nipples were pretty personal – was I being too presumptuous with the clamps? If that was the case, then hiding the other sex toys until given the go-ahead like a wand or a vibrator was way over the top!

I froze. I would just bring rope, I couldn’t handle the vagueness of the toys order. But I already didn’t want to disappoint this man for some reason.

I kept the items in my rope bag – there was also a blindfold in there. My little wand that was always kept in the bag had dead batteries – which was fine – because… presumptuous.

When we met, I was half afraid I wouldn’t recognize him from years ago. Luckily, we both seemed to recognize each other  and hugged. I went up to his hotel room just to drop off my bag and then we went out to eat dinner…like two vanilla adults.

I do the vanilla adult act well to the casual observer.

The conversation was comfortable and typical in the getting to know you fashion. The food was excellent.

When we went back to the hotel room, he sat in a chair and I laid on the bed. We just talked, he seemed in no hurry, and it’s bad manner to show how impatient I am to someone I don’t know well. Time was getting shorter until I had to leave, however, so I bounced on the bed and asked if he wanted to do rope.

It took us a bit to warm to each other – having not even come close to touching except for the hello hug – and there I was in nothing but panties (knickers for you UK people, I know how you feel about panties), but we connected amazingly well and my body began to feel that pull to have his hands further on me.

Sometimes I feel like my body is the stronger force than my brain…

…and I think my body told his body what I wanted.

May 292016
 

“Come up with something that you want to do, that you haven’t heard me mention before,” I suggested to him one balmy night in the hot tub as I sipped my wine and his hand gently roamed alongside me. He couldn’t keep his hands off of me, and in the hot tub I was more often than not in his lap being fondled. I made the suggestion because he was inexperienced and I had no clue what turned him on or what he desired – I was the stronger and more experienced force, but I wanted an indication of where he was at and what he wanted.

“Hot tub sex,” he suggested. “Have you ever done that?”

“Yes, and I’m not that fond of it,” I shrugged and set down my wine glass.

“Why not?”

“Because the water dries me up a bit,” but I leaned over to kiss him amid the steam and heat. Though perhaps me being not as wet would be a benefit with him, I thought. The bubbles concealed our lower halves as in between kisses I peeled us out of our attire, his mouth sucking a bit too greedily at a breast and leaving a mark that would last for a week.

I straddled him and slid him into my body, the water working against me but for the friction that can be absent when I am soaked from my own desires. I angled myself and wrapped my hands around his neck for balance and leverage as I raised and lowered myself on him.

The jets swirled and pushed between our bodies every time I raised up on him, added to my own sensations and helped keep me turned on. This session was about him and his fantasy – I really didn’t appreciate hot tub sex though I did appreciate the water creating a pleasurable tension to my body. I tightened upon him and heard his groan, felt my own slight crest of a climax, and tightened even further, increasing the tempo.

Water lapped at the sides as we created waves. I cried out as he did, enjoying it much more than I thought I would.

He couldn’t keep a sweet, goofy grin off of his face. “Is it just me or is it really hot in here now?” he asked when I pushed myself off of him and towards the step.

I’m sure my face was red – it always is in a hot tub and I had just worked hard for our pleasure amidst the heat. “Yes,” I said, taking that as a cue that he was also ready to get out. My foot swiped my bikini bottoms and I pulled them on before stepping out of the water.

He managed to squeeze back into his wet shorts and soon we were padding back into the house and headed towards the shower.

“Want me to wash  your back?” he offered, and I handed him the loofah and he scrubbed slowly at my back.

There were far sexier ways to clean each other, and I figured I should show him, so I shoved him against the shower wall once I was handed back the loofah and slowly began to circle his back with one hand and scratch with the other. He made a surprised noise as his chest and face slapped against the wall, but made no resistance.

Slowly, sensually, I used both the loofah and my hand across his back, his shoulders, his arms, down his butt – intermittently pressed my own body and glided it down his soapy surface, before I told him to turn around. I slapped his legs apart a bit and just as slowly rubbed down his outside of his thigh, calf, foot, up both of the insides of his thighs, my mouth inches from his growing cock, my breath felt on the tip. I paid no heed to it, and stroked and caressed and scratched up his inner thighs before taking a handful of soapy bubbles from off the loofah and giving him a hand job, looking up at his face as I kneeled between his legs.

He thoroughly enjoyed the shower, so much that he showed his appreciation by scooping me up and carrying me a dripping mess to the bed after we rinsed off.
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 Posted by at 8:46 am
May 232016
 

500205968I sat through an orientation, the majority of it being what the kink community is. The group of people that I shyly sat amongst talked about just discovering Fetlife, the things that they learned already, how it was all so much…whether it was overwhelming or fun they wavered back and forth on too.

I didn’t say anything. I realized that while orientations were for everyone, this one was filled with people brand new to the lifestyle. Which there was nothing wrong with, I was just a bit taken aback by it.

The people in charge of the orientation were humorous in their advice and words of wisdom. They talked to the audience as if we knew absolutely nothing – which was fair considering the majority of the people admitted as much.

I sat silently. I didn’t want to nod sagely and appear arrogant or a know-it-all, nor could I even pull off the open-eyed wonderment of my peers in the room. I wasn’t an expert – at anything, didn’t know the facility at all. But I sure as hell don’t consider myself new to the lifestyle either.

Yet, I was new to this dungeon, and assumed to new to the lifestyle.

My brain kept drifting to all my friends in my old state, all the kinky adventures. It drifted to attending all new functions of the past next to the sexy and strong comfort of my husband – a couple with all the privileges that come with it.

After the orientation, I made conversations with people – both the new people and the people who walked in for the upcoming party who seemed to know everyone else, where I felt again in that awkward “hey, I really know what I’m talking about with a few select things with really only my husband who is no longer my husband, but I can’t personally do them because I was a bottom”.

Last night hit home how strong my kink explorations were tied into my husband. Sure, I’ve played with many other people with and since him, but they were all from that group that I met with the comfort of him beside me.

I felt a bit intimidated, and homesick – for both my marriage and the benefits that it brought, and for my friends where I was known to be capable and friendly.

It’s nice knowing people and having their support. I knew of no one here.

I disengaged myself from the lobby and the conversations so that I could see how the dungeon functioned during an event. Despite my intention to sit in a dark corner and just watch the play party scenes unfold to get a feel for the place and people, a single female sitting alone earned me a bit of conversation. I had two older men approach me, one after another, both a tad assertive about pushing for play – one wanted me to take various implements to him despite my assurance that I had very little knowledge or expertise in it, the other wanted to take heavy implements to me in a way that I would not like at all. I indicated to both that I just wanted to watch, that I wasn’t interested in the impact play that they were offering, and they both, on each separate occasion, said they would come back later for me.

I know I could’ve asked a dungeon monitor for assistance, but even though I felt slightly pressured, I didn’t feel in danger or creeped out by these men, and I truly try to handle my own issues.

After about five minutes of quiet, another man slowly approached me, almost hesitant. He seemed shy, or just reserved, so I smiled and nodded – I understand what it is to be shy, though many people don’t see the inner turmoil when I struggle with it.

He asked if he could sit next to me – already a big improvement from the other two men, and I assured him he could.

“I saw you at the class,” he began barely above a whisper, eye contact sparse.

I asked him if he enjoyed the class and what I enjoyed about it. We discussed how long we had been in the scene, and what were some things we enjoyed. The conversation lasted awhile only because it was so stinted in long pauses. He seemed to mull over things before questioning and sometimes even answering. He had a slow, articulate, unhurried manner that made me feel easy in his company and reminded me a bit of Mimir – communication seemed important to him.

“Would you be interested in playing?” he softly asked after some time.

He mentioned he was a switch, but I didn’t want to top someone – that’s a rare mood for me and one that really comes about with only my husband or very close friends, so I queried: “what would you want to do to me?” There, crystal clear I wouldn’t be doing anything.

“Electricity?”

“Pads or wand?”

“Wand. And sensations play?”

“Okay.”

“What’re your limits?”

“I have zero idea beyond nothing of a sexual nature because I’ve only done it once and with someone I was intimate with, though breasts may be touched. I don’t think I’d like my stomach or ribs zapped. What else were you planning so I can get an idea of the play you do?”

And we began to negotiate for a scene, despite my intention of only watching people play.

He seemed alright to play with because he knew most of the members (who in just listening to discussions he had experience), didn’t seem pushy, asked the right questions, seemed humble rather than egotistical, and was interested in a play at a level that I felt I was at.

I also felt some connection to him – otherwise I don’t quite care how awesome all the factors are, I need to play with the person first – not the experience and skills they bring to the table.

And, if I were honest, I really needed a scene, it had been so long and my mind and body were craving it.

*Here is the scene that we did, one that was certainly a first for me. 

Apr 252016
 

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U is for Ultrahot (yes it’s really a word) for my A to Z Challenge. This man I experienced a lot of firsts with, and he has to have been the hottest I had ever had sex with (if we’re going by society’s standards – he didn’t turn me on physically the most out of every body.)

He was pretty. His photos were of a body that was incredibly sculpted, his smile friendly. He had light eyes and hair. He contacted me within minutes of my new dating profile that my sister had helped me create for “slutfest” – as she called it. In my profile, were a lot of lingerie and me in a bed type pictures so people didn’t get the wrong idea. The tagline and profile was a mixture of corny and pretty direct – I would have never written it myself, but with sis A at the helm of the keyboard, my inner most slut was polished and put on online display.

If he would have contacted me later, I wouldn’t have responded, as his message was generic. The first few guys had the advantage in that I had zero expectations towards communication. And the amount of communication I received in being so direct in just wanting sex was staggering.

We exchanged messages, and then kik (which I created because he suggested it). He was respectful, left openings in the conversations, but didn’t come across as aggressive or desperate.

We met at my place, the place I went back to to pack up the remainder of what I could gather in the home my husband and I had shared – all the way across country (this time I flew back). It was still in the same week my husband had turned me away, and I figured that I needed to empty the house belongings before I looked for a job since I couldn’t guarantee my husband would help me move later. (He did offer to help in about 2 months, but that was no guarantee with two people divorcing.)

I stuck out a hand and introduced myself at the door – how does one make an introduction to an online hookup…a kiss, a hug, a handshake? He was my first ever hookup in such a manner. I asked if he wanted to go into the bedroom; he smiled and said yes, eyes widened in surprise at my directness, but he was there for one reason only and I didn’t want to engage in small talk – I was still crying daily and the smallest things set me off.

I hopped up on the bed and began undressing, he complained he was bloated before removing his clothes. I laughed at his self consciousness as I admired the incredibly gorgeous body that was being revealed. He sat next to me on my big bed, and leaned forward to kiss me. I pushed him back so he was laying on the bed and kissed his neck. He gripped my hair and pulled me onto my back.

He hands were often forceful around my throat or in my hair, an unusual move for someone new who had zero discussion of my comfort with kink. He tried to penetrate me without a condom, even though I stated condoms were to be used before he even arrived. I kicked out from under him and reminded him of the condoms.

He had a hard time staying hard but we were certainly all over the bed when he was erect. I was on top. He was top. He pulled out, put his face down and spit between my legs – the first ever to spit on me and one I tried to not laugh at – it seemed so porn-like; I disliked it but said nothing. He rolled me over for doggy style, where he almost spanked me but instead his hand came down hesitantly, softly down upon my ass cheek; again the hesitation surprised me considering that I found a hand around my throat more risky than a spanking.

Then I was back on top.  I marveled at his strength, couldn’t keep my eyes off of his arms as he picked me up and fucked me standing, lifting me up and down with such an ease. After some time, I was laid back on the edge of the bed.

Again with the spitting – so strange to me, lube is far more effective if we needed it (and I almost never need it) and it was almost a show with its line of slow spit. Too much porn?

Almost face slapped, and just like his spanking, his hand came down softly on my cheek, the movement tentative. Then he told me to “spit on it, jerk me off,”. Apparently it was my turn to spit, but I just couldn’t do it – I don’t spit for starters. I gave him head instead until he took control right before he came and stroked himself furiously. He came in my face and down my body. The first man to ever do it and an experience I could have done without. It felt a bit rude and a day afterwards (when he contacted me) I recommended he ask someone first before gushing over their face.

Too much porn? I thought that far too often with this man.

He suggested a shower afterwards, complained his butt was big (it was gorgeous like the rest of him), and then asked so many questions about me that I had no inclination to share but didn’t want to be rude. He was sweet and respectful, soft spoken in contrast to his sexual dominance. He laid in the middle of the bed and reached out for me, not necessarily to cuddle but just to be near. I stroked his chest and felt the prickly shaved hairs, thought what a shame – I prefer a hairy chest.

It was not a bad first encounter for a hookup. I liked his dominance – an unknown factor, though some discussion would have been nice. When he left hours later, he was expressed more self consciousness – this time of his hair. I joked he was pretty, that he was slightly obsessed with how he looked.

He gave me a quick peck on the cheek and I shut the door after him, locking it.

*As a follow up, we kept in contact a good month after the fact; he would occasionally begin contact, and I genuinely liked what little I knew of him, though I kept the conversations short.

 Posted by at 8:42 am
Apr 082016
 

The letter G, for the A to Z Challenge. (Post written and unedited 3 months ago.)

What’s good for the goose is good for the gander

A conversation where my husband told he wanted to pursue a connection with a woman he just met, led to me harassing him a bit because he always does to my potential partners (so he would know how it felt) and sincerely asking him to be patient. Once he knew her for more than a couple of hours, we would talk a bit more.

He was frustrated; he felt like I was doing it to spite him and those perimeters were not where I was at – a lover as long as they were tested.

While I wanted him to know the frustrations he made me feel, and made no secret of that, I wanted to him to truly understand where I was coming from and feeling; I didn’t feel that I was holding him back – simply asking him to know his potential partner a bit more. I was still at the point where I couldn’t just have a lover if they provided a test: I needed his approval and it was only someone of a long time of knowing, a lot of open communication between everyone involved, slow steps and compromises. He didn’t know her beyond a few hours and I didn’t feel that I was being unfair.

He ended with saying that he understood his boundaries and respected them, that while he wanted more, they wouldn’t be a problem with upholding; but now there’s this new shiny potential in a woman, so he called me several hours later to renegotiate my boundaries of  public rope events, with dinner or drinks around those events only until he knew her a bit more, though kissing was allowed (and only kissing).

Apparently they had been texting all the next day, fired up and amped on the night before and the mutual attraction they felt towards each other. They were talking about going to each other’s places, when they could meet up again.

He complained about any boundaries being in place, how I had virtually none (conveniently forgetting even the week’s conversation of him placing more boundaries on me).

I get it. Matter of fact, I feel a bit bad that I am slowing or placing any boundaries. But the truth is that he was being bloody hypocritical at this point and it was also irritating me to no end.

“You want the freedom you don’t even allot me, and I’ve known my potential partners for longer. You have only seen her a couple of hours and you just want to open the floodgates for us both because now it’s convenient for you.” I couldn’t keep the anger of my voice.

While he listened respectfully, he had to be reminded constantly of how I didn’t have absolute freedom to pursue relationships, that there were constant compromising of perimeters and limits of comfort.

While he said his boundaries were understood and he respected them, he kept arguing about them and took that frustration into the telephone at me.

I listened respectfully, understood where he was coming from.

But it didn’t change the fact that he was being a hypocrite. I would have preferred zero boundaries from either of us (besides the STI test) so that we are free to pursue the potential connection in others openly, but he didn’t want that. So he bloody well has to follow his own rules. And I don’t want polyamory – we simply aren’t designed for that as a couple right now.

And that includes moving slowly, even if it risks losing that potential partner.

I understand that fear too.

I compromised on letting them go to each other’s places – though they have only met for hours the one time. He told me I have no boundaries anymore in the hopes that once he met her a few more times he wouldn’t either.

Because what’s good for the goose is good for the gander

 Posted by at 8:54 am