Fourth Date Tears, Part Three

I kind of knew I had to say goodbye, but when we got back to my apartment, I asked him to come up to bed to cuddle. I hoped, like I always hoped in these moments, that the warmth and attraction would fix things, might help me ease open my snapped-shut heart.

He sat with his back against the bed frame and I cried into his lap, big gulping not-cute sobs. We both kept apologizing, a tangle of apologies, a squeezing spiderweb of apologies.

In moments like this, I feel so far from the role I’m supposed to be playing, the easy, sexy playful person I could be before I asked the outness question, when I was sure I had a place in his world. When I was hopeful and free.

I figured if I had to let him go, I might as well let him know how I feel. I looked into his sweet face and said “You know I already love you, right?”

Saying it gave me a wisp of relief, a relaxing of all my tiiiiiiired holding-back-feelings muscles. I think two months is a reasonable “I love you” time, but I still felt dangerous, radioactive with need and want and wishes.

He didn’t say it back, but he was kind. He smiled down into my sniffling, sheepish face and said “Isn’t it good to love people?” That smile.

I did try to say goodbye then. I said, “I have to let you go.” But he took that to mean just timewise and said, “Why? It’s barely eleven?”

“That’s not what I meant, “I said, but I let him settle back into bed after his time-checking. The saying goodbye would’ve been easier if it hadn’t been for the kissing.

“Do you want to look for that other person?” He asked.

“I guess I don’t really have a choice.”

“Do you want me to be with you while you look? The most important thing is to be your friend, but I can be more if you want me.”

“I want you,” I said, and then his hand was under my dress, resting on top of my long-wet undies and then sliding his fingers underneath. I was breathless with want. I wanted him to hold me there like that forever, open and warm, together.

I asked him to fuck me and he did, leaving the dress on, sliding into me slow and sweet, smiling big as he reached over me to close the window so I could go ahead and scream.

Except. Also. I grabbed his hand and placed it over my mouth, careful not to cut off breath but relaxing into the dominance. It felt good, a relief and a release, but also I wanted to tame myself to him. I wanted to make myself still, soothe all my hesitation, be his in whatever way he had room for. I wanted to be the right girl.

Midnight came too fast and I pulled him back to me a few more times before letting him go. I asked if I was still his girlfriend and he said yes. We had plans to go to an art installation on Saturday. We said goodnight and I felt desperate, lonely and lost.

A Veto and a Happy Accident, Part Three: All the Closure

What I felt when I saw Steampunk Guy come up the stairs was what I always suspected I would: pure joy and the hope that he was as happy to see me. He looked at me like I was up to no good and then we both smiled big. I kinda flung myself into his arms and oh sweet halleluiah, he hugged me ass-first, one check in each big strong hand, squeezing hard. He was, in the traditional sense, happy to see me, huge and hard against my front. My arms around him tight, I buried my face in his neck and breathed him in, felt a kiss on the back of my head, on my neck, hands in my hair and ohpalthisisdefinitelyhappening looked into his face, grabbed the back of his hair and kissed him hard, two months worth of kiss, all the things we didn’t get to do yet in a moment of forgetting my friends were there, that the party was there and we were in fact blocking the only way in.

I pulled away laughing and said “That’s not how I thought that would go…”

I got his rope out of my purse and explained that I’d sort of seen it as a gesture of closure. He ran his hand over my bra, pressing my nipple and squeezing hard like he owned the place. I closed my eyes and felt happy and dizzy and wet and then we made out some more.

“So much closure…” he said in a faux-wistful voice.

“Oh, I know, I’m totally moving on,” I said, while basically devouring his face.

“Should we do some stuff?” I asked.

“…Maybe…” He has this romance-novel-character way of being charmingly noncommittal, even when he’s clearly excited.

There’s a half-walled area near the bar where the fireplay usually takes place- spectators can lean on the wall and look in. He went over there, found an empty spot behind a suspension rig, and casually watched the fire while I made my way over.

“Just hanging out, mingling…”

I looked around and said “Eh, I know enough of these people,” and turned to face him, stepping up onto the base of the rig so that I was taller than him in my heels (The pretty shoes are the real heroes of this story, I think. I just love them so.) and kissed him some more. I felt like a sex goddess movie star, all gorgeous and happy (I keep saying happy) and climbing all over this beautiful friend who was for some reason letting me have my way with him. I felt like I’d won the play-party lottery.

We joked (Well, I was joking) about the possibility of fucking:

“I do have a car, I’m just sayin…’”

“You suuuure do!”

“And we never got to that whole anal thing…”

“I know! That is the part that needs the most closure!”

But this isn’t that kind of story.

He said some incorrigible thing and I smacked him across the face, inspiring him to grab one of my pigtails hard and yank my head all the way to the side, then grab hold of the other one and kiss me while my head couldn’t move. Did I already use the word happy too many times? It just felt so good. He yanked me toward the floor until I was crouched at his feet. His hand went up my neck and over my mouth and he left it there, soft and warm and where I’d wanted it to be since July.

There’s never been a lot of subspace going on when I play with him—it’s always been more of a sex-friendship than a power exchange—but there at his feet with his hand over my mouth I felt a deep calm, a quiet descended over me. It was an oasis, a break from every single thing. I felt safe and adored and adorable and childlike, at peace. I kissed his hand and rested there, content.

He yanked me back up, losing a button from his jeans in the process—“Must be all the closure!” I said.

I turned around and stuck my ass out for him, leaned my hands against the rig. He smacked and squeezed, smacked and squeezed, and of course I wished his fingers could go all the way in everywhere. So little of this was about pain, it was the opposite of my last awesome trip to the dungeon. He plays more like a lover than like a Dom, it’s about pleasure much more than sadism (except for always wanting to be rough on the boobs, grrr) so I was cooing rather than screaming, and there would be absolutely no emotional hangover the next day.

Next: Ropes! And the girl with the “Awesome” tattoo.

Self-Adventuring: Hand Over Mouth and This, Um, Other Thing

Since I’m partly still in multiple-heartbreaks mode, I have kind of a love-hate feeling towards masturbation at the moment. Still, I’m doing it about twice a day. I’ve always been one of my main (and best) partners, there’s no reason that should change now. Last night when I went to bed I was antsy enough to need personal time, but I was having trouble getting things started. My body chemistry has been off from the grief and I’m not always as instantly ready as I like to be.

My fantasies have been on the rough side lately, so I tried putting my hand over my mouth. To my surprise, my whole body responded. I felt my shoulders relax and a warmth spread down my arms and across my shoulders—it was a miniature version of the warmth I always felt when I was playing with Steampunk Guy, but it was so cool that I was giving that feeling to myself. I was relieved and excited and kind of mentally already writing about it.

And I was instantly wet. I have to admit, too, that the wetness wasn’t just coming from inside. That’s happened a few times lately—I think my hoo-ha is learning to squirt. I think it happened a little this summer but I wasn’t ready to tell anybody about it at the time and there were already too many things to process in that story. (I’ll give you a hint: there was a great big cock shoved all the way down my throat.)

Anyway, I think before my 40^th birthday, (September 2014) I’ll be an ejaculating lady. Fireguy once told me it looks like I can do it, whatever that means. More research is needed. It’s not been particularly a goal or anything, in fact it fills me with trepidation and shame, makes me feel really vulnerable even to mention it. But at the same time, I’m curious, and I want to let my body try everything it wants to.

This morning I woke up triggered, for various related and unrelated reasons. (See the next thing I post.) I think the key to letting things unspool in a nonscary way is, as always, trying to temper curiosity with time and self-care. And research!

Oh, My Urgent Mouth

Yesterday while I was taking a nice bath after personal time I felt a warm, tingly feeling spread across my mouth and the lower right of my face. I ran my hand over it and knew exactly what it was—the urge to be slapped and to try a hand over my mouth, things for which my own hands just won’t do. Sometimes my body is absolutely humming to get along to the next phase, and I honestly don’t know what to tell it.

Adding the new fetishes to my Fet page only fanned the flame of it. I want to push forward and let my body have what it is so hungry for. Maybe there’s a way, but I know what’s in me besides that physical urge—the part of me that wants love so badly that it will imagine love where it isn’t. But holding myself back doesn’t seem natural or right either.

My poor mouth wants so very many things to happen to it, is dying to be kissed and smacked and fucked so hard I can’t breathe. I know there are other things that need to be taken care of right now, but 50 to 75 blow jobs doesn’t seem like too many.

I can take care of my hoo-ha and ass. I can feel myself up all night and day if I want to. (That’s one of the benefits of being out of work, I guess.) But what can I do for my poor, pining mouth, friends, while I wait for this break to be over?

Oh, mouth, I’m sorry. I wish I could give you everything.