Second First Date with the Song Sender, Part Two

I bought this last summer as good luck for my Candyman date with The Coach. It felt like the perfect metaphor for all the lovely changes The Song Sender initiated me into eleven years ago.

We did catch up over dinner, but it pretty quickly shifted to a friendly negotiation. Did it have to be mean? No. Could he praise? Yes—he said he thought I might like it if he patted my head and called me a good girl and I nearly offered him my head across the dinner table. Did he need to do breath play? No. (Breathing! It’s great!) He talked about spanking and hair-pulling and my smile was as big as the sun.

I took his hand across the table and he let me. Those gorgeous, powerful hands could be so gentle out here in the world, I’d never known. He paid the check and I was glad I’d driven instead of taking a train and a bus.

I’d never driven him anywhere. I was still sharing a car with Sweetie-Now-BFF the first time around, and the car was always away on her long commute. I was very pleased to have The Song Sender in my car. I put on my CD of The National’s High Violet, the perfect sexy/gloomy summer album.

About halfway home, just before we got to the most winding part of the drive, I said:

“I kind of want to take your hand and put it into my hair, but I’m, you know, driving.”

He went ahead and put his hand on the back of my neck, tugging at the hair just hand enough to elicit a gasp/sigh. It didn’t distract me at all, quite the opposite—a clean whoosh though my brain making me all the way centered and calm.

“Oh actually I think this makes me an AMAZING driver,” I said, silly with happiness.

Because I hadn’t been sure if it was a date, I hadn’t tidied the apartment or shaved any kinds of hairs, but he didn’t show signs of caring about either. I was standing next to the cluttered dining room table, chattering away and offering fizzy water, when he pulled me into a kiss.

It was decisive and forceful, hungry and sweet. It felt so easy and natural to be bent over the couch, dress pulled up, ready for spanks. His caress-to-spank was tender and sure. I felt right at home.