archived: december 2015/january 2017

Finally writing to report back on the results of my first attempt here. Despite my period showing up to ruin the week, the person I was talking to suggested meeting anyway that Tuesday night for a bite to eat (actual food, not me naturally.) When he showed up looking like he did--tall, slender yet tightly muscled, and with well-kept dreads that spilled over his shoulders--the corners of my mouth quirked up. I had an idea of how the night could progress.

To no one's surprise, we rounded out the evening at his place, where he cleverly plied me with massage oil and dexterous hands to intended effect. The Xx played in the background while we writhed about half-naked, trying very hard to keep away from my pants. Ultimately thwarted by biology, we parted with the understanding that we would absolutely make plans to meet again and finish what we started. Once the holidays were over, said reunion did indeed happen 2.5 weeks later.

I'll be honest: the first time he went down, I could tell immediately that his style was geared toward women who enjoy direct, more intense, clitoral stimulation. I'm the exact opposite. Thereby followed a small adjustment period, which we quickly sorted out with minimal fuss. Came once, twice, and then fucked him too (decent girth, nothing scary, roughly 7", but who's counting?) What caught me completely off-guard, however, was afterward when he kept us tangled in arms and legs and sheets, talking about the number of interests we shared while periodically kissing my cheek or forehead. I drove home smelling like the heavy-sweet cocoa butter on his skin.

...fast forward a month, and we're still meeting up pretty regularly (when I'm not insanely busy and when he's not insanely busy.) The original aim of the ad was to find a casual, not necessarily perfect, one-off distraction in the middle of holidays so the unusually high amount of chemistry was unexpected to say the least. I don't know how this'll continue (being the full-time employee, part-time student, and poly lady that I am), but he banters well, eats well, and fucks well. I'll make this work.

Let the Record Show

 

Charles, january 2009, manual

Aaron, may 2009, manual

Ben Niel., may 2010, or*l

Taylor, off-on 2010 - 2015, or*l

Dane, april & december 2012, coerc-y or*l, thr**some 

Trey, april 2011, p*netration

Rasmus, june 2011, p*netration/or*l

Zul, june 2011, p*netration/or*l

Chad, december 2011, p*netration/or*l

Shane, august 2012, or*l

George, october 2012, r*pe

Chance, may 2013 – april 2014, ‘relationship’

Asher, november 2013 – July 2016, relationship

Mike, november 2013, p*netration/or*l

Jason the lawyer, dragoncon 2014, p*netration/or*l

Brady, september 2014, p*netration/or*l

Jeff, october 2014, p*netration/or*l

John, november 2014 – december 2017, sub-relationship

Nathan, april 2015, or*l

Mandeep, july 2015, or*l

Stephen, september 2015 – October 2020, sub-relationship/fin-domme

Brandon, january 2016 – december 2017, relationship

Jason the poly-dom, january – april 2016, p*netration/or*l

Andy, dragoncon 2016 – now, relationship

That Italian guy, January 2017, the most disappointing or*l/p*netration ever

Nick, (3) spring/summer 2017, also pretty disappointing or*l/manual 

 

March 1

We didn’t waste too many words on the last day he was in town. I met him on the front porch, acknowledged his presence with a nod, and walked past toward the garage door. He has a soft footfall so I could barely hear him following me down the stairs to his room. Once the door closed, I methodically removed my jewelry (ring, bracelet, necklace), lifted his glasses up to place them on the desk, turned to wrap my arms tight around his neck, and the rest of the motion blurred into a feverish attempt to hold on to each other as tightly as possible.  

I remember sensory items like his grip on my wrists while my back was against the wall, the harsh rhythm of our breaths in the afternoon silence, my underwear dangling off of one foot after being ruthlessly yanked down my legs, his heavy, distinct scent filling my nose, and shortly afterward, my own tart, tangy flavor sliding from his mouth to mine.

We were rough. I bit him harder than I normally would, and he left bruises on the insides of my thighs (like small, blue polka dots.) The force of my first orgasm brought me to the edge of tears that I only managed to choke back before he saw. It was neither the best nor the last—only the last for a long time.

-----

When he slid in too quickly, I winced and hissed. “You’re hurting me.”

We held still, allowing for my body to accommodate him.

“You’re hurting me,” I repeated, softer, gentler, and it sounded like a sigh.

His words came in hot, damp puffs into the crook of my neck. “I’m sorry I’m hurting you.”

“It’s okay.” My hand cradled the back of his head. “I know you didn’t mean to.” 

placeholder since i forgot one for march

everything hurts and I'm dying

not really but I have been crying off and on for the past week because asher and I have broken up I suppose

but is it a breakup if this was never a conventional relationship to begin with???

Niches

I go to John when I want to be spoiled.

I go to Jason when I want to be teased.

I go to Stephen when I want to be thrilled.

I go to Asher when I want to be loved.

A September Entry in the Harem

Stephen reminds me of a giraffe: tall, long-limbed, wide-eyed, and sooty-lashed. He evens walks like one, generous strides made in a leisurely, nimble-footed gait while I have to break into a near-run to keep up. He rumbles rather than speaks, his voice never rising above the lowest note I can personally manage, and talks in dry, restrained asides, like he’s always joking to himself. Pale-skinned, pale-eyed, pale-haired—he’s as white as they come. He’s a funny, strange man. (But fit! Always fit for me it seems.)

His pert, red mouth flushes prettily after going down on me and parts open with still more longing when I press the crotch of my worn underwear to his face. He gives a full body shudder then, slowly rocking back and forth as if he cannot quite believe that this is happening to him. Neither can I. The laugh that bubbled up in my throat as he told the things he wanted me to do him, good god! Such vivid, painstakingly crafted images described from one pervert to another: this blue-eyed, blonde-haired man kneeling in the corner, wrists bound behind his back, a deep black gag between his lips, and an intricate chastity cage holding his 7” cock in place, quite spellbound by the sight of me writhing in his bed with another man. He’s an interesting one, for sure.

He already has a longterm girlfriend who’s currently toiling away somewhere on the West Coast so while circumstances keep them apart, I’m free to explore with him entirely new fields of sexual deviancy: voyeurism, cuckoldry, bondage, etc. There’s an endless amount of speculative discussions about our potential late at night; hopefully he’ll stick around long enough for me to tick a few more things off my bucket list. I rather enjoy his debauched ways. 

When I (didn't) Know, remix

When did this all even start? Was it a conscious, deliberate decision? The best I can manage is to narrow down the timeline to the April visit of this year, the month I was connecting with Nathan in that feverish, intense freefall. He was there to anchor me, I suppose—is that quite right? No, he was my confidant, my reality check, my…reminder? During one phone conversation, Nathan asked me if I’d ever give up everybody in order to be with one person, and the first person I thought of was Asher.

Could I have done it? No really, could I have truly done it? I nearly did. The temptation to be uncontested #1 in someone’s life for once was almost overwhelming. I’ve never had that, the unassuming confidence of coming first, occupying the highest rung on a list of priorities I wouldn’t even need to consider. What did it feel like, having that kind of security? To always know your place? Deep down, I knew I could be that for Nathan, and he for me. I liked him so fucking much. But for how long? How long before we’d begin the inevitable slip-slide down each other’s lists? Before we fought? Before I came to resent him for keeping me tied, before he came to resent me for having such a storied sexual history?

There were too many variables. Then again, Asher isn’t exactly variable-free either. No relationship is—but he’s the one whose variables I’m familiar with. That’s not the sexiest reason for choosing one person over another, but remember, Nathan ultimately didn’t give me the ‘luxury’ of choosing. On the last night, I essentially cried into the phone for two hours while he told me in the softest voice imaginable why he was preemptively ending our whatever-we-could-have-been. And in the morning (that I somehow, fitfully slept through), I called Asher so he could murmur and let me tell him all about it in a voice that sounded as swollen as my eyes. Then I spent the rest of April with him as I had already planned on doing anyway. We left things as they were, and did not quite leave them as they were.

Maybe that entire month taught me to value what I have now: leaning back into the curved space his body makes when he curls around me to watch a movie, hearing the low hum of almost-petulant want at the back of his throat whenever he pulls me into his arms, laughing (or groaning) too loudly at an article he’s linked, running my fingers down the shirt I bought as his Christmas gift (the one he now inexplicably wears for half of my visits), tasting myself on his lips, closing my eyes to sleep after a phone call with him—let’s try that earlier question again. Would I have given all of that up?

I still don’t know for sure, but it would surely have been the most difficult decision I’d have made this year. 

When I Knew, Deep Down

We were on the bed, and Asher was 3 seconds away from dozing off when I realized this night marked the end of a full year of not having seen Chance. My last encounter with him happened late-April ’14 in the parking lot of the Lenox shopping mall at 10pm—not difficult to fill in the tawdry blanks. Since then, I had cut off contact with him for good and struggled for the rest of the year to not think of him every day as my emotional interior mended itself bit by bit. An entire year without setbacks or reneging. I didn’t text him, call him, or try to contact him in the obscenely numerous ways I could have through social media. I didn’t look him up to see the latest updates in his life either. All I had to myself were a very mixed bag of memories.

Half of them were filthy and exhilarating; the other half was one long lesson in manipulation and neglect. When I wasn’t over-the-moon happy, I was miserable, waiting for him to reply to my messages and photos, pretending to hate him, vowing to end things and not, arguing with him and feeling the sting when he’d ignore me afterward for days, beating myself over what I’d *maybe* said or done to upset him. It was a miserable year with a wretched human being for whom I had very strong feelings. The ordeal was over though. I would never have to make feeble excuses for his toxic behavior again, never put myself through the wringer for someone who couldn’t give half a shit about me, never look at him and wonder what went on inside that abusive mind. It was all fucking over.

The finality of it hit me then.

I silently cried while staring up at the ceiling as the tears slid down the sides of my face and onto the sheets.

Asher heard me sniff too loudly, and at seeing my face, a deep line appeared between his brows. He didn't look shocked. “What’s wrong?” He was already half-asleep.

I sighed. “It’s been a whole year since I ended it with Chance.”

He only nodded and rubbed a tear off my cheek. I leaned into his hand, closing my eyes. Maybe this entire set-up—talking about an ex like you still miss him while in bed with your current partner—would have felt wrong with anyone else. The next words slipped out without warning.

“Do you like me the same way I like you?” The question hung in the air. I cringed at the neediness in my voice. Was it so bad, craving a bit of certainty with the people you care about?

“I do,” he rasped softly.

“The exact same way?”

“Exact same way,” he repeated.

I blinked back more tears. My “okay” came out like a sigh. 

The night was late by then, and the moment briskly segued into dressing ourselves and me getting in my car for the hour-drive home. I didn’t think much of that night at the time, figured we had an intense moment and that would be that. Thinking back on this months later though, I think this is when something in our relationship shifted—a subtle deepening of how we relate to each other, laying the groundwork for what I told him at the end of the summer.

This is probably when I knew, deep down, that I love him. 

What I Didn't Have The Strength to Write at The Time of Occurrence

We spent a few hours at a park near his apartment while the sun was out, and the air stayed cool. There were children playing by the lake, dogs catching frisbees in their mouths, and a swatch of gently inclining lawn we could stake a blanket on. I couldn't make this shit up if I tried. When we weren't talking, we were laughing; when we weren't laughing, we were quiet, letting the April afternoon pass us by in cloud-after-neatly-formed-cloud. I remember combing my fingers through his hair as he curved an arm over my hip, uncaring of how many people could see. He smelled clean, like aftershave and warm laundry, and later, in his room, his hands and face smelled like me, lingering oh-so-tartly and sweetly.

I suppose I wore his scent too, in my hair, the crooks of my elbows and inside of my knees, the small of my back, and the center of my forehead where he kissed me so many times. He told me, amid the self-inflicted tangle of limbs locked around each other, that he really liked me. I said it back and let myself imagine a summer of equally eventful dates. I thought I was strong enough not to let my mind wander that far. But I also thought that he meant everything he said. At the end of the night, I kissed him goodbye in the car and left him for what I didn't know would be the last time. That day was the closest to perfect I've had, and I'm terrified of how long I must wait until the next one.

small milestones

Last May I had a conversation with him about dating more later that summer, to which he agreed easily, but with a caveat of sorts that this was highly unlikely to evolve into a conventionally monogamous, committed relationship—best summed up in his exact words, “I love being around you, but I don’t love you.” I didn’t raise much of an objection at the time. We’d known each other for barely half a year; what was there to object to? That summer (well-documented in these archives) passed by uneventfully, and so did the rest of the year as we continued talking, connecting, staying in touch—learning more about one another and growing closer as a result.

Should this week have surprised me then, when he came back into town for a visit, and we fell on each other, starving for tangible contact—his, mine, not anyone else’s, not at that moment—ruining his bedsheets, wrapping arms around the other afterward, and I, carefully holding my breath before gently exhaling, telling him how I’ve felt for the past few months? If the previous sentence sounds rambling and leisurely, that is because it intimately parallels my own emotional journey through what has been the steadiest, most stable sexual/romantic arrangement with a partner thus far. The feeling came in time, nearly two years in the making, and didn’t take me by surprise so much as tap my shoulder one day to say, “I’m sorry it’s taken me such a while to show up, but I’m here. I am here.”

I wasn’t sure I would tell him until Tuesday afternoon when we both reclined there in bed with his head on my chest and my fingers combing through his hair. When I didn’t feel afraid, I knew that it was okay to say the words, even if he didn’t return the same sentiment, even if I’d be exposing myself in the biggest way since Chance, even though that was my very first time telling anyone—out-loud—that “I love you (a little bit.) Don’t be scared because I’m not scared either.”

“...I love you (a little bit) too.”

Time changes things and the nature of things so quickly. 

I just miss him

ABK

His name's Nathan, and he messaged me a little over 3 weeks ago. We've been on the phone every night for 2hrs since then. He told me last Saturday on our 3rd date that he really likes me. I still haven't slept with him yet. We decided to take things slow.

...I'm in such unknown territory here. And Asher's back in town too until May 1. Guess I'm juggling 3 men for the next month.

One afternoon during the Christmas week that he was in town, we watched another episode from yet another show he had gotten me hooked on. Afterward, his hand slid up my leg, and we wasted the rest of the afternoon keeping half our clothes on while both our shirts pooled together on the floor beside his couch. I was on top, hair sticking out in every direction, my hands fingering the waistband of my skirt, when he gazed up and blurted, "You're really beautiful."

I was so taken aback that my only response was a hastily stuttered "Well thank you" and did something with my legs to keep him quiet. He's never given over to little sentiments like that. Later, I asked him why the momentary lapse, and he didn't have a satisfactory answer--"I just felt like saying that."

I'm glad he did, but I wish he hadn't.

Flavor of The Month

August 2014/Dragon*Con Weekend - Jason the lawyer, slept with him in his room at the Hilton. Met again for another session in October at the Sheraton. Liked to eat ass, had gorgeous sleeve tattoos. Extremely smart in his studied field, but your average run of the mill racist.

September 2014 - Brady the architect, went on 3 dates with him, slept with him on the 2nd. Skinniest guy I've been with yet. Sweet, but too passive.

October 2014 - Jeff the mechanical engineer, met with him twice. 1st meet a failed attempt at sex for multiple reasons (most of which I lay at his feet), 2nd time a success of sorts. Broke it off due to his unearned arrogance in the bedroom.

November 2014 to present - John the WholeFoods manager, tried and true submissive who services me whenever I'm in the area. Zero complaints with him. Probably the best oral I've enjoyed.

December 2014 - Asher was in town, rest is self-explanatory.

-----

I put up holiday pictures on facebook and tagged the single one I have of me and him. Look, it's proof. Not every guy in my life is a dirty secret.

A Matter of Need

The other morning in bed, I got myself off by imagining you and oral. A fairly normal (and regular) routine except you weren’t going down on me. You had me in your lap, hands on my waist and lips to my ear, while I closed my eyes and listened to a hypothetical description of what it’s like to get me off with your mouth. The words felt more rumbled and purred than actually said, but the meaning came clear across.

You’re familiar with every sound I make: that sharp gasp at the first bottom-to-top lick, the softer iteration for when you delve inside with your tongue, the drawn-out sigh at the circles you draw around my shy, peeping hood, and those steady little intakes of breath—a slow-building crescendo—that give away how close I am before the breathing abruptly cuts to choked-off moans.

My scent fills up every corner of the room: the initial rush, so bright and heady, wraps around your head, squeezes tight, and locks you in. You can almost taste it—except, you’re too full with the rest of me. A milky slick that sits so sweetly on your tongue, coating your chin, lacing the inside of your mouth, trickling down your throat, all messy, all mine. You can’t ever get enough.

And you murmur how indescribable it feels to press your lips against my clit, its fleeting contractions baring a shapely nub one second and retreating the next. How velvety smooth my lips are, easy to nip and easier to suck. How easily you predict the timing of my orgasm by the rigid arch my back freezes in, waiting for an internal cue to begin a freefall: the whole-body shudder that starts deep in my belly and frantically spreads north until you have to hold me down so the entire bed doesn’t shake.

The sight of me twitching and trembling to cool down, the flesh between my thighs still flushed rosy. You know every sign, and I believe it because you told me all of this—or at least the you in my mind did.

That was such a confusing 90 minute phone call. His voice gets incredibly thick when he cries.

-----

I slept with 3 different (new) people in a 7-week period.

-----

These guys are just tiding me over for Something Else. I wish Asher was that Something Else; at least there wouldn't be any more guessing or speculation. But he's not. No matter how hard I try to bend him into becoming This Guy I could have a Future with, he isn't that. Won't ever be that. The part of me that knows better always stops the part of me that doesn't, thank god. But also goddammit.

-----

I'm all shook up.

I was your primary the whole summer?

And here I tried so hard not to think about that possibility too much.

Reminders

I don't listen to certain songs.

I don't drive by certain places.

I don't wear certain clothes.

I don't look at certain things.

I haven't in months. It's annoying.

#nomoredreamsplease

I've had three this week and none of them good.