Sparkly Festival of Awesomeness Part Eight: Ending With a Sky Full of Stars

So, yes, it’s taken eight posts to describe a few hours. I hate to finish typing it because I’ll be lonely for them, it’s been like writing them all a nice long letter every day or so, but I guess it is time for new adventures. Plus, I’m pretty sure there’ll be other ways to stay in touch.

After Mr. Sweetheart and I were done, Mr. Shiny Eyes was rarin’ to go again. He said he usually needed more rest in between times, so this must have been extra special. I was of course ready for more as well. Mr. Sweetheart left to go I-don’t-know-where.

Mr. Shiny Eyes put me on my side and folded me so that my knees were on my chest and pushed himself blessedly inside me. “You’re okay if it doesn’t take long this time?” he asked but I was feeling such a thrill again that I panted “Just..a…couple more minutes…”

Far from being tired out, I was primed for this and the way that his dick moved inside me felt like a fucking miracle. I shouted and shrieked louder than I had all day. We came and came together, and it felt like a gold-star accomplishment.

Mr. Sweetheart came back from wherever he’d been and we all cuddled for a few minutes before we realized we were starving. It was starting to get chilly, too. I got up and (stupid clothes!) put on fresh underwear, bra, pajamas, and sneakers. (Anything you can wear that outfit to is my kind of event!)

By the time we were dressed, a few of their friends had joined us in the tent. The woman who’d been running the shop at the front said that everything had sounded great, and the guys gently mocked me for being excited about that compliment. Hey, I’m a showoff!

While he started up some snuggles with another lady, I kissed Mr. Shiny Eyes goodbye and told him that I didn’t ever want to stop kissing him.

“Well. is that a problem?”

I smiled big and said, “No, I guess not.”

“Though occasionally you’ll have to stop so that I can kiss someone else…” and with that, he pulled down the other lady on top of him and I left the tent. Mr. Sweetheart said to be sure to come back up after dinner. He thanked me for the afternoon and I said “Hey! Thanks for liking me that way!”

I was really conscious of wanting to give them space (or else I just needed a little space) and I was superaverse to appearing clingy, even though I had the urge to get them to both lie down and fall asleep with me. Maybe next time.

Shaky legs and trying-not-to-be-clingy notwithstanding, I had such a lovely time in the dining hall with Sheandhim. (Most of my dinner consisted of chocolate chip cookies, because if I’m already being this decadent, why not?) I got to learn more about their relationship and family and there was a lot of leaning my head on her shoulder, a lot of hugging. We promised to plan a double date soon and hey! I should really put that on the calendar.

It was dark by the time supper ended and I made my way back up the hill to Mr. Sweetheart and friends. They were sitting in a circle of lawn chairs still eating their dinner. Ms. Sweetheart was sitting next to him and offered me her chair, but I preferred to sit at their feet. She patted my hair, which was a wonderful bed head rat’s nest, and said “Ugh, these boys don’t know what to do with hair. Let me fix this.”

She was going to fix it with her fingers but I dug a brush out of my backpack and she as-gently-as-possible got the tangles out. The last time I’d had my hair brushed was during that terrible quasi-aftercare with The Man, and this was the complete opposite of that feeling, the perfect healing for it. Accidentally, another auspicious ritual. A soul-retrieval for my hair.

During the whole mess with The Man and The Wife, I’d started to worry that I didn’t have what it takes for poly. He’d convinced me that I was this weird possessive thing that I’m really not. Being accepted and cared for by Ms. Sweetheart brought me right back to who I really am—a humming engine of compersion ready for a million more snuggles and a whole universe worth of love. She probably didn’t know she could accomplish all that with a hairbrush.

When my hair was all smooth, I shifted over to sitting at Mr. Sweetheart’s feet. He ran his fingers gently up my neck and through my hair as he and his friends talked and I occasionally chimed in. The stars came out and I realized how much I’d missed them. New resolution: see more stars.

When it came time to go up to the parking field to meet Sweetie, Mr. Sweetheart walked me. We stopped and kissed under those stars and I just COULD NOT believe how lucky I was. Am. (I wanted to say goodbye to Mr. Shiny Eyes, but couldn’t imagine where I might find him.)

Sweetie was already waiting in our little blue car. I kissed Mr. Sweetheart goodbye and got happily, exhaustedly into the car. I was so glad to see her as I yammered all about my day and we wound down country roads to our hotel.

The Sparkly Festival of Awesomeness, Part Seven: All the Nice Getting Held Down

(I doodled this while I was on the phone with Mr. Sweetheart. Not sure why all of my doodles end up vagina-shaped…)

***This is the very first correction I’ve ever posted (no, he didn’t ask me to) and maybe the best correction ever: Says Mr. Sweetheart: “I have never once, in all my life, worn underwear under my kilt.” Noted! Sosorry.***

And now back to the tent: I was pleased and flattered by their pillow talk. Mr. Shiny Eyes told me that I feel really good to him and that my insides have nice contractions. He said we should spend more time together and I was happily surprised to hear him say that. They went back and forth a little bit about who lives further away, and by how much, and I reminded them that I’m off all summer. So who knows!

Then we played my favorite favorite FAVORITE (even more favorite than Apples to Apples) game: “What if I tried to get away?’ I tried to wiggle out from between them and they descended on me, holding my whole body down with theirs. Sometimes every limb was pinned! Sometimes in these kinds of situations I try to resist, but the struggling is really part of the fun. In this case, it wasn’t so much wrestling as it was futile attempts to fight a blanket of strength.

There’s such a relief that comes from being held down lovingly, a transcendence to it, like I’m kicking all of my fears’ asses and ironically like I can take a break from the day-to-day struggle of being alive. The relief and joy came from my trust in them and the aliveness and safety of it-of knowing that I won’t just float up off the earth.

(Sweetie has a similar explanation for why I like ropes so much—I don’t have to hold myself together for that little while, so I can just relax.)

(My sense of my own existence has always been a little fragile, if that makes any sense at all.)

It was almost time for Mr. Sweetheart to fuck me, but the game continued. He placed himself between my legs and held my arms down by the wrist. He is wiry-strong like an animal. I told him not to leave bruises that my students would notice and he loosened up his grip a little but pressed down with his arms all the more so there was still no way that I could’ve gotten away. (Unless, of course, I wanted to.)

As I pulled and strained, his heart beat fast against my stomach. That stopped time a little, the perfect closeness of it.

Then he leaned up and got the condom on. While he was doing that, Mr. Shiny Eyes played with my clit, and my ridiculous moans started up again. Sex with Mr. Sweetheart was slow and warm. At one point he said “Well, this is lovely.” and that it exactly what it was. I looked up into his face and felt safe and known, in exactly the right place.

Mr. Shiny Eyes looked, petted, and complimented. He’d found himself a flavored condom and I gave it a try. I was so happy to have his dick in my mouth, but not so happy with the artificial vanilla flavor. He rearranged himself so that I could reach to squeeze with my hand instead.

Here’s my (entirely unsurprising) confession: While Mr. Sweetheart was inside me, the warmth spread all the way up to my heart and I got feelings for him. It’s just that fast sometimes and just that simple. I knew it might be a what-happens-at-the-festival-stays-at-the-festival situation. I was and am ready to let the experience stand on its own. But part seven, friends, is where I get attached, where I started to hope that more would happen. And since we’ve been in touch almost every day since, maybe it already has.

The Sparkly Festival of Awesomeness, Part 6: Hot Sex, Hot Hand-Holding

As I’ve been writing my way through this story, I’m conscious of being the least experienced person in the tent, at least when it comes to this kind of sex, and trying to keep things in perspective. I’m thinking about oxytocin and other bonding chemicals and how they might be the source of these lovely deep feelings of connection. When I write about it, I’m agnostic about energies and such, but in the moment, none of those thoughts or doubts were relevant at all. I was, for those few hours, a true believer in magic, men, myself, and everything else, like a horny mystic on ecstasy.

So back to where I was, snuggled between two radiantly warm guys, one-in-each-hand, hands in my hair, on my back, everywhere. Legs intertwined. Kissing, kissing, kissing. I was enveloped in the smell of them—one smelled fresh, the other, more dark and musky. Both smells made me ravenous for them.

We paused for a moment to go over our testing situations, of course. The guys geeked out for a while about STI science facts, and then it was back to the snuggles.

Mr. Shiny Eyes put on a condom and a glove. He slid his hand in and I was as wet as I’ve ever been. His fingers jolted my inside awake and alert and every nerve ending lit up like Christmas. I wanted so badly for him to fuck me. There was a little fuss about positions (remember, we’re on an air mattress, and one that could use some inflating at that) and he ended up deciding to lay back and have me climb on.

“But I’m a bottom…” I complained only a tiny bit.

“Okay, then I’m making you be on top.”

Friends, it had been since last August. I’ve had plenty of adventures, as you know, but for whatever reason it’s been much easier to get a guy to spank me, flog me, tie me up, set me on fire, drag a knife over my (pajamaed) clit, etc—for some reason this part of things has been elusive.

I was so, so happy to have Mr. Shiny Eyes inside me. All of him is so smooth and assured—his arms, his kisses, his penis. As soon as I straddled him and pushed him in, waves of delight sparked up inside me and I started making ridiculous sounds. As the Mayor of Kittentown’s neighbors would attest, I can never contain my joy when a man is inside me. I am super, super loud, and since I’m a showoff, I was glad to feel like the whole festival could hear me.

Since up until this point, I’d only Googled two-(or ten, or a hundred) guys-one-girl, and so even though everybody knows life isn’t like porn I feel compelled to talk about the contrast. In videos, the men always talk around the girl, either egging on the other men or talking about practical things like which way to bend her. Sometimes they might as well be moving a couch, for all the interaction they have with the lady. Of course, that objectification is fun to watch, but would never be fun to do.

This was the complete opposite of that in every way. Even as I was being bent into ways I didn’t know I could bend, (thank goodness for yoga) I felt like they were both so there for me, like they were being so generous, that we were all working as a team to get what we needed.

As Mr. Shiny Eyes fucked me, Mr. Sweetheart was kindly there to help, kissing me, pulling my hair, giving my ass the occasional helpful smack. But my favorite, the part of the day that I revisit the most, is when I reached out and he just took my hand. That hand-holding was so tender that it might have been a friendship oath. That support is a magic thing to walk through my days with.

But back to Mr. Shiny Eyes. After I first met him, back at that conference, I asked around and folks told me his dance card is really full—and no wonder! He moved in me like an expert. I kept saying/panting “Oh, you’re so perfect, no wonder you’re so popular.” He kept going until I exploded into fireworks, and we all piled up again for snuggles.

Next time: Pillow talk and being held down a lot.

The Sparkly Festival of Awesomeness, Part Five: I May Have Been Born for This

“I’m starting to wonder if I should rethink my workshop plans,” said Mr. Shiny Eyes. “Should I?”

“Um, yes.”

I called Sweetie and asked her to pick me up a little later than we’d planned. She’d gotten us a hotel room nearby and I was excited to end the day snuggling her, but for now I really wanted to see what would happen. (As I write this, it happens to be a week where I haven’t seen her enough and I miss her, so this paragraph gives me a little wistful feeling…)

We decided to go back to Mr. Sweetheart’s tent. There was some talk of him putting ropes on me (Yay!) but Mr. Shiny Eyes negotiated for my arms to be free. “There are some things I want to do where she’ll need to have her arms free.”

At the point, it occurred to me that things were probably going all the way to PIV sex, (Sex festival! I know! Keep forgetting!) which is an everyday thing to most people and which I sorely needed. It’s still such a big deal to me because I haven’t had that much experience with it in the past decade, so I had to stop and check in with myself to see if it would be okay. And hooray! It was!

So there I was, walking up a grassy hill on the most gorgeous sunny day, past all kinds of smiling pagan folk in various states of undress, with a cute guy on either side of me. Not sure why such a moment would bring out more imperiousness, but I said:

“Wait, why am I walking with two dudes and still carrying this heavy backpack?”

True to his pseudonym, Mr. Sweetheart took the bag.

Then I said “Now what would happen if I tried to run away?” and took off up the hill. What happened was, they chased me and spanked me as I ran, and we all laughed, and then they had to tell me I was running in the wrong direction and steer me towards the cabin and tents.

Mr. Shiny Eyes went off to wash his stuff, since he’d already had sex once that afternoon. So thoughtful.

Mr. Sweetheart and I went into someone’s communal cabin to use the restroom. Too-turned-on-to-pee is a good feeling, but is also annoying when there’s a whole bunch of stuff I’m in a hurry to start doing/having done to me. After I washed my hands I saw that there were no paper towels so I wiped them on the back of his shirt—that got me in some very nice trouble and I got pushed up against the sink. Jeez I wish I could feel his (your) hands in my hair right now.

Mr. Shiny eyes returned all fresh and clean and we all made out for a while on the railing of the cabin porch. I felt like a prize when people saw us. Then it was time to go in the tent.

The tent that Ms. and Mr. Sweetheart were sharing with some others was a store that sold..dresses, maybe? and had a big sleeping quarters in the back. There were three big air mattresses all nicely made up and lots of clothes and gear all around. They led me to the mattress on the far right of the tent and I lay down first—it was exactly the kind of happy that I get sunbathing at the nude beach, only sexier.

Is it possible to undress soulfully? I watched Mr. Sweetheart strip off his shirt, his kilt, his undies. He looked so vulnerable and sincere.

I know I talked about whatever-the-straight-version-of-bears-is as being my type, but these two aren’t that, and they’ve kind of given me a taste for fit-and-strong.

They lay down beside me, Mr. Sweetheart on the left and Mr. Shiny Eyes on the right. We held each other, kissed, and then they did something I’ve fantasized about my whole life—each of them took a nipple in his mouth, sucked and played. Complete, deep warmth flooded through me, and I felt cared-for and at peace in a way that I’ve never felt before. My moans of pleasure were insufficient to express the bliss I was feeling, so I guess that’s why God made blog posts.

Song of the Week: Stop!

Okay, I'm not sure what making a fool out of love entails, but I sure loved dancing to this at new wave night last night and it makes me feel like last week's soul retrieval was kind of real.

The Sparkly Festival of Awesomeness, Part Four: The Hair-Pulling Contest

Friends, in my everyday life, when I’m not running off to sexy festivals and writing about it, I’m a teacher in my very first year. As any teacher will tell you, the first year is kind of a nightmare. Yes, there are many happy and fulfilling moments, but also bucketloads of trial and error that comes down mostly on the “error” side, mistakes that make my soul hurt, and mountains of self-doubt and shame.

I’m telling you this so you’ll understand what the sheer rightness of this story is doing for me. I may be stumbling and sniffling determinedly through my professional life, but the way I got myself exactly what I needed that day in the woods gives me hope that I will someday float myself through it into confidence and grace. Plus, it gives me something nice to daydream about when I should be grading papers.

So back to the kissing. I’m not sure how Mr. Sweetheart and I got from that sweet cake flower kiss to him yanking the bejeezus out of my hair, but I’m thinking I probably instigated it. Sincere and soulful as he is, Mr. Sweetheart has a delicious mean streak when it comes to happy pain. As we kept on kissing, he reached his hand up into the back of my hair and pulled insistently, making me feel helpless/giddy/elated. The adrenaline pushed up through me, I groaned and laughed.

Snarling a little, he dragged me across the pavilion and the “She” half of Sheandhim got adorably concerned: “Why are you dragging my friend around?”

By way of answering, he angled my face so that she could see my expression. “And...she loves it. Okay.”

So on top of the fact that I was lucky enough to have this happen to me, I also won the friend lottery by having her check on me.

And ohboy, I DID love it.

It should be said that as I write this I’m not sure of the order of things—the timeline slips away a little as happens in regards to magical days. But I do know that while we were milling around sampling obscure liquors, I had maybe the best idea I’ve ever had. I told my two kissing-pals that they should have a hair-pulling contest, and they obliged. Ms. Sweetheart held my glasses for me and Mr. Sweetheart went first--was very unsweetheartlike. He pulled my hair down so hard that I was forced to my knees. I loved making a spectacle of us, doing something so nicely violent in such safe, lovey-dovey surroundings. I think I have him an eight.

When Mr. Shiny Eyes had his turn, it was more like dancing. He holding the hair at the nape of my neck, he steered my body this way and that, eventually into a precipitous dip. It was a very princessy feeling.

“Well, (Mr. Shiny Eyes) has finesse, but (Mr. Sweetheart) is not afraid to really hurt me. They went back and forth, getting stronger and snarlier. I forget which one of them I called “Sir” first, but they sure both deserved the title. They realized after a while that I wasn’t giving them tens because then the game would be over, but eventually it was and things got much more makey-outy. Mr. Shiny Eyes helped me try a delicious elderberry something by drinking it first and kissing it into my mouth. It was dreamy and soft and tasted like all the spring goodness. He kept kissing me and kissing me until I asked for some spanks.

He told me to lean against a post on the side of the pavilion, so I did. It had some nails in it so I had to be careful. The spanking soon went back to kissing, and as he held me there against the railing, his hands started to wander, as did mine. He played with my nipples, which felt like they’d been waiting for him all along. Likewise my hand had been waiting for his fantastically hard cock.

I noticed Mr. Sweetheart hovering off to the side, so I said “What are you doing over there?” He came close so that I could put my arm around him and I said “Can I?’ and when I got the okay (More like the “Can you what?” but still…) I ran the hands over the front of his kilt while still playing with Mr. Shiny Eyes and kissing the heck out of both of them.

And one-in-each-hand is of course so very very much better in real life than it is in search terms, dears. I felt like a millionaire. Like a goddess. Like a millionaire goddess with the wettest hoo-ha in the entire known universe.

Next: It’s possible I was born for this.

The Sparkly Festival of Awesomeness Part Three: Two Kisses, One Cake Flower

After the nature walk, I was feeling oddly standoffish—I was sitting on the side of the hill overlooking the afternoon ritual. Some folk nearby promised some “Ritual Science Theater 3000” and that’s kinda where I was at: ironic, detached. I’d had a lot of fun but I wasn’t sure what else I could get out of the day. Plus, I was sad that all of the guys had sarongs on. I was not seeing anywhere near a nude beach number of penises, and that made me grumpy.

But! After the ritual, which took place in sort of a picnic-pavilion thing, they had a feast where you weren’t allowed to feed anything to yourself—foodstuffs could only be put in your mouth by others. This seemed like enough of an icebreaker to get me over my wallflowerness. And then! I saw Mr. and Ms. Sweetheart! (Not married, but I’ve paired their nicknames for the sake of simplicity and also because they happen to both be sweethearts. Also it should be mentioned that she looks like a beautiful kickass goddess. Freya maybe.) I hadn’t even known they’d be there!

Mr. Sweetheart and I had been in touch a little bit since the hotel party. He even tried to matchmake me with the cute ex-fireman guy, but that didn’t go anywhere. Recently, Mr. Sweetheart had started following my blog, so he was really really on my good side. Any guy who can read those heartbreak-laden posts I’ve been writing lately and still want to hang out with me—that is a man.

Aside from the collared human platters who ringed the pavilion covered in fruit, I was the only one at the feast completely naked. I worried that it might be bad etiquette, but no one seemed to mind. Mr. and Ms. Sweetheart wrapped me up in a big hug and said they’d keep me from being a wallflower, and I was so grateful for that. With them there, I felt a nice homey healing feeling, like I could really open up and join the party.

My friends Sheandhim arrived, looking flushed and sleepy from whatever Tantric magic they’d been getting up to. We all took turns feeding each other apples slices, strawberries, and other yummy things.

And hooray! Mr. Shiny Eyes was there, chatting with a pretty lady on the ersatz dance floor. I interrupted their conversation to ask if he remembered me and tell him I DEFINITELY remembered his rope-pulling skills. It didn’t take us long to get to a kiss and ohboy was he good at it. Some kisses are just like a key finding the right lock, and this was one of those. “Hmmm, maybe we should spend some time together,” I think he said, and I was inclined to agree.

He went back to his pretty lady and I went back to my friends. After I ended up with an entire mocha mini-cupcake in my mouth at once, one of the dolled-up hostesses kindly explained that I could touch the food after it’d been fed to me, so as to take smaller bites. Predictable but enjoyable things were said about my mouth’s capacity.

Sheandhim looked into licking honey off of one of the human platters, but I’ve never gotten that licking-sticky-stuff-off-of-people thing.  However, I spotted a fancy white cake on one of the (nonhuman) side tables. I thought it was a birthday cake but it occurs to me that it might have been some magic couple’s (or triad’s or whatever’s) wedding cake. It had one flower left on it, a big white blossom that I absolutely had to have, but he fed me the cake part first. (I know, life is hard sometimes, isn’t it?) “Ahem,” I said, “That cake flower isn’t going to feed itself to me…”

I was sheepish for being such a brat, but he seemed impressed. “Not only have you been working on you no, you’re getting really good at making your desires clear.”

He fed me the flower and it was delicious—crunchy, vanilla, crystalline. And then he held me and we kissed. It was sweet and not just because of the cake flower. It was an old-friends kiss, even though we haven’t known each other for long. The kiss of an ally.

He held me tight and pressed himself forward, the front of his kilt all happy to see me—I lovelovelove that feeling.

(Sidenote: The whole kilt-as-pagan-boy-uniform thing? AWESOME. I mean, if they HAVE to wear something on the bottom.)

I feel a little nervous about the romance I’m maybe writing into these kisses, but I really like being in a world where kissing is this easy, where people are just so generous with themselves.

Next time: The hair-pulling contest: Best. Idea. Ever.