A Bittersweet Breakthrough “No”

I was over the moon. It was finally going to happen. Cute Master and Pretty Slave were

planning to come over Saturday night for dinner and a playdate and he was excited to be my (at long last) first ass guy. I’m super tired of that storyline, but because this quest is riddled with a Three’s Company level of misunderstandings and pratfalls, a six-letter word had to get in the way.

Day after yesterday, he was sending me a series of exuberantly smutty texts about how hard he was going to fuck me, and I was getting happier and happier. Turned on and glowing, I wrote their names on the calendar and added a cute little Snoopy sticker marked “sleepover.” And then he said this:

“I’m going to make you cum from raping your ass.”

*record scratch…*

What…huh? Raping? I thought we were friends? Doing this together for…fun?

We had a nice text-conversation about why not to use that word, but really, should this really be a thing I have to tell people not to say? What kind of a WORLD is this? I didn’t want to call off the plan but the trigger was triggered and…I just couldn’t. It hurt my heart to say no to a fun night with favorite pals, but I did. I don’t really know what it means for our friendship and I’m really hoping that Pretty Slave isn’t mad at me. But even if she is, I know I did the right thing.

It’s not that using the word in a sext means he’s likely to do it, in spite of rumored allegations to that effect, my body’s always felt mostly safe with him. It just represents a worldview that I just can’t be okay with. To me, using that word meant that we wouldn’t really be in it together, that one of us would get to be a person and the other one, just a thing. I don’t think that was his intention in saying it, but it’s the feeling I got.

I’ve always felt out of sync with the way people joke about rape and throw the word around, like it’s nothing, like it isn’t a deep horror. This is why watching a Seth MacFarlane movie feels more transgressive to me than, say, getting set on fire. To me, lighthearted use of the word "rape" feels contemptuous not just to rape victims, but to humanity in general. It’s a vicious and untenable thing that feels impossible to fight, pervasive as weather.

Because this attitude that the word “rape” is no big deal is so pervasive and rape culture is so much the norm and on the surface in my local BDSM community, I’ve tried to adapt and make peace with it. Because being a rape victim has caused me to overbuild my defenses, I’ve tried to be a little bit less dogmatic about how people speak and act when it comes to matters of consent. There’s the dungeon owner I really like but who regularly dispenses the advice “Don’t go over to someone’s house unless you are ready to have sex with him.” as if driving over there is somehow an implied yes. There’s the way even some of my favorite kinksters often dismiss rape accusations as “drama.” And of course there’s the Scary Party staff treating its patrons like an all-you-can-take-advantage-of buffet. None of it is okay at all but I’ve played happily right in the middle of it for a couple of years. So what does that say about me?

It’s complicated because parts of my inner fantasy life isn’t super-consensual, but I guess what I’m realizing is that that doesn’t mean that I have to accept a guy for whom rape is part of the fantasy. The idea of sexytimes in which one of the people isn’t enjoying it makes me sick, and I don’t want a partner who’s turned on by that, even as a casual playpal.

From a vanilla standpoint, most of this seems like, yeah, duh, but it has been a boundary that is surprisingly hard from me to draw. I have had this semiconscious compulsion for a couple of years that rape culture is something I need to accept, something I need to compromise with in order to move forward. Because hating it sends me to such a dark place, I thought it would be better to love and accept it, and I have loved a few embodiments of it (though this is not that) but it doesn’t make me any less dark. It tunnels the darkness down to a pinpoint and makes me blind to everything else.

I’ve sometimes grabbed myself by the metaphorical hair and shoved myself into unsafe situations because if I could learn to love the dark things that have happened to me, if I could desensitize myself and not wince at little everyday cruelties, I could somehow reclaim the dignity I’ve lost. If I could love it, then I could make it my fault somehow and just say I’m sorry and move on. But I can’t get the dignity back, I can only hold onto what I have now, which is a choice every time somebody gets in my space.

All of this is a lot to get from one hapless and essentially harmless text, but I’m exhilarated by the breakthrough of it. Saying no to him because he used that word, even though it breaks my heart and makes my ass mad at me, means that I’ve stopped trying to compromise about this. The only rape I have to accept is what’s already happened to me. There’s never going to be a way to swoop in and save myself from the past, but I can do it in little calm ways every day in the present.

When I’m triggered, there’s a little voice in me that says I’m worthless, that if I say no to this person who made me feel yucky then I’ll never learn to be part of the world and I’ll never be loved, that I’ll never go to a party or have any friends. The little voice says no one will want me unless I can be exactly what they want, which sometimes means being nothing. As my readers well know, that voice has stopped me from taking care of myself too many times. I’m glad I was able to slow myself down this time, to see a choice instead of a catastrophe.

Today I kicked the bad little voice’s ass and closed the door on a whole set of compromises that I just don’t want to try and force myself to make anymore. Once the fear simmers down and the horizon widens out again, I think the world will look a whole lot brighter and freer. Welcome to me just not liking the stuff I don’t like. Personhood, huzzah.

Year End Heart Inventory 2013: Melancholy and Gratitude

Before I settle in to paint and plan and make my goals for the new year, I’m giving a little time to melancholy. My heart hurts for everything that’s gone past. Even though most of the people in these stories are still around, I miss discovering them, feeling all the hope and imagination I had when we first met. Though I wouldn’t change many things, I still grieve for lost possibilities.

I named 2013 my Year of Connection, and at times that felt like a terrible joke, a colossal failure—indeed, there’s still a fortress of bitterness inside me toward The Man and the Scary Party, and relatedly my inability to resist Steampunk Guy made a nice thing turn into a gaping, unresolved loss that it just shouldn’t have been. I wonder sometimes, if I’d said no after the third or fourth text, in which he said “friendship isn’t required” for sex, if I’d just has the faith to admit to myself he’d never be what I wanted, would we have ended up friends, or would we at least be able to share a dungeon  with him? We’ll never know. Curiosity and lust pulled me toward him and I can never regret where it took me, to some of the most amazing scenes, to emotions I may never have experienced otherwise—he pushed me out of my comfy not-enough existence, whether he liked me at all or not, which I suspect he kind of did. I think he tried to fit just like I did. I think he’s gone because he didn’t like hurting me.

I can’t let the haywire things take away from the fact that it really WAS a Year of Connection. None of the connections except The Man really feel quite lost, and there were so many relationships that blossomed and grew all year, in spite of my up-and-down-ness, there are people who keep getting closer.

Though things didn’t work out romantically with Mr. Sweetheart, he has remained a loyal friend. I can still plan to call him, gather up my markers and draw as we catch up on our lives. He’s even one of the people I can call if I’m a tearful mess. (Dear Everything, Please let me spend much less time this year as a tearful mess!) I’ll see the Sweethearts in a few nights at New Years Eve, and there may even be some shenanigans, but even if there aren’t, it’s comforting knowing that spontaneous sexytimes at a festival can lead to real and lasting bonds. Which is good, because I aspire to many more festival sexytimes.

Speaking of the Sparkly Festival of Awesomeness, Mr. Shiny Eyes stayed a good friend too. He is always willing to share his life with me, to listen and lend me strength.

Cute Master and Pretty Slave have given me so, so much. They gave me the truest expression of bisexuality that I’ve experienced so far. That assured me that I do have a place in this world, that what I want and prefer really matters. She convinced me to treat myself like I’m worth something, and I often do. They both have given me so much joy and happiness, such an unexpected warm, safe place to be naked and sing Beatles songs. I’m so grateful for that, and as friends I love them very, very much, and I don’t think that will ever change.

Did you ever wonder what happened to the Huge Handed Fireman? I only saw him once after our Labor Day encounter: He was at a munch, scrolling through pictures in his phone, laughing to a friend. When I asked to see what they were laughing about, he showed me a picture of an obese patient he’d rescued sprawled and naked on a gurney, almost certainly unaware that he was being photographed. HHF may have been trying to reform the Scary Party, but it seems he’s one of their blackhearted ilk. I think I’ll try to stop being surprised when sadists are mean.

The other September crush fared much better. Cutest Boy sent me a heartfelt Christmas note, letting me know he still reads me and offering support and encouragement. We struck up a conversation and though he is still beyond off-limits, (Please let 2014 be a year without unmanageably jealous girlfriends!) it was good to feel that the friendship is still there and know that the whatever-it-was back in the fall actually meant something. I still have warm feelings for him and I hope they find a way to be happy, that he finds a way to be who he is.

Speaking of the warm feelings, I haven’t heard from Mr. Sweetface since we exchanged Merry Christmases, but I hope I do before too long. He feels genuine and makes me happy and it felt really nice of Mrs. Sweetface to share him with me last weekend. Whatever else happens, that Christmassy playdate will always be a favorite.

And then, of course, there’s Sweetie. I miss her very much. We spent Christmas day together and it was such a mix of comforting and sad. We watched a movie about a couples’ brunch that coincided with the end of the world, that seemed about right.  Some days, I feel so glad to be free and be her friend, and other days I feel completely devastated that she’s not here to bring a cup of coffee to. I think that New Years may be a challenge because last year it was so much about her and our ropes. Before we finally gave up, we had some wonderful times, and those are what sticks with me now that the fighting is over.

Last week I was out at the local erotic reading with Winggirl One and a gentleman came up to us to say he liked the story I’d read, the one about my date night with Pretty Slave and Cute Master. In the ensuing conversation, it emerged that she and I had both played with CM, and that we’d spanked each other etc. The gentleman said “Wow, I have to get out more.”

That made me realize just how lucky I am to be in this particular story. I’ve gotten to do things that many people only read about, only do in their fantasies. It’s been a year of the most beautiful, sexy, strange connections and I get to keep every single memory, in my heart and in my hoo-ha. So I’m ending the year with sadness, yes, but also with gratitude—for everyone who shared him- or herself with me, who gave me pleasure and friendship and support, I love you. I love you no matter where you are now, no matter what happened. Thank you for touching me, for helping me grow, for turning me on, for being in this magic year with me. Thank you for being in my life. I wish you every single wonderful thing.

Thankful for All The Things, and Goodbye Sweetie

It’s such a bittersweet night. Sweetie just gave the first rent check to her new housemate and will move over there this weekend. As soon as she gets back from ordering her new bed, we are going to drown our sorrows in Thanksgiving cookies and Top Chef. By the end of the weekend, I won’t live with my best friend anymore.

But beneath the tears of relief and sadness, my heart is doing its overflowing thing. There’s so much to be grateful for.

1. My soul and my friends. Yesterday, Pretty Slave picked me up right after work so I could hitch a ride to their favorite munch. While PS was getting all dolled up, cute Master and I watched the Beatles Anthology, on the early years part. We intermittently and absentmindedly sang along in harmony, and the griefs of the week slipped away—I felt like I was awesome at life again.

When the camera focused on the screaming Beatles fans, I said, “That’s what my soul looks like!”

“So you’ve gotta, like, tamp that down all the time?”

“Except on Saturdays…”

What I’m getting at is, I am so grateful for all the connections I’ve made this year, and for all of the little ways that my friends help my screeching, hysterical, ecstatic soul find expression.

2. My readers and stars. There are people whose faces I’ve never seen but who provide me with love and comfort every day, friends from across the country who’ve accepted every tricky emotion, and of course the pals, past and present, who are trusting enough to let me write about them and brave enough to read it. I am so, so lucky to have you in my life, and I love you so much, in the purest and most unencumbered way.

3. I am grateful that I have spent the last twelve years loving and being loved. Thank you Sweetie, and I hope we’re still on for Catching Fire.

How We Won the Party

So many of my adventures lately include leaving-practice, and this was one of them. First Boy (so named because he was the first guy I topped, a few weeks ago at that Halloween party) had invited for me to bottom for him in rope class before the dungeon last Saturday, but it turned out to be a demo-class, not hands-on, and he felt unqualified to tie me up on his own. I’m glad he copped to that, but I had a rejection-reaction that was disproportionate with the situation. I got a sour feeling in my belly that tells me I’m not ready yet for rope class, since it was such a Sweetie thing.

Luckily Cute Master’s birthday party was also going on that night, so I bid First Boy a regretful farewell (I’m sure he found some good adventures…) and set my GPS for the suburbs. Really, I should know the way by now. I was all sproinged up with pent-up energy from the rope demo, but I knew that even if I didn’t find a release I’d still have some good time with pals.

Still, I worried about the vulnerability that rope class had brought out, especially since one of the first people I saw when I walked in was CBATP. He didn’t have the scene-glow that he’d had in my memory of him, but still, pangs. And awkward. When I talked to him later that night, I went with false, slutty bravado which might have been unappealing but at least it kept me from losing out on fun.

Cute Master was organizing a game and asked me if I wanted to play as dom or sub. I picked dom, figuring I’d get to spank out some of the pent-up stuff. He handed me a playing card, and ace, and told me to find the sub with the other ace.

It’s possible that CM rigged the draw, because my partner was none other than… Pretty Slave! We were both delighted at this arrangement.

“Is this, like, a sluttiness contest? Because I WILL WIN.”

It wasn’t really a contest, though, we just had to tell the person what to do and if they didn’t do it to our satisfaction, we’d get a goody bag instead.

We were last since we had the ace, so we had lots of time to plan our strategy while we watched the other (very tame and clothed) partnerships do their things—mostly variations on flogging. She sat in my lap while we brainstormed and I felt her up. I wanted us to do EVERYTHING, especially with everyone watching, but I felt a little reticent about asking. Cute Master kept saying things like “Oh, I know you two are gonna be MESSED. UP. You’d almost think I planned this.”

PS and I continued plotting, and she asked “Can I finger you?”

“Of course!”

“Can I make you come? Will you be able to?”

“Um, yeah.”

As our turn approached, CM kept saying, “Oh, man, I can’t wait to read about this on your blog!” Which made me really, really happy.

“(CM) you have to put on “Call Me Maybe!” PS kept saying.

“No, you reeeeeally don’t,” I said, but she wandered off to find it while I stood in front of the crowd in Wonder Woman stance, completely without stage fright.

Once she’d found the song and come back, she kissed me and I put my arms up. She pulled off my bright pink sweater and told me to turn around so that she could unzip my houndstooth pencil skirt. I’d told her to leave on the heels, as they’re my lucky pair. She unhooked my bra and I flung it into the crowd like an old-timey striptease. I took her black dress off and she kneeled down in front of me, emphatically placing her mouth on the front of my panties.

A jolt went through me and I cried out, reached down and petted/pulled her hair. Buckling from the charge of her, I knelt down and we kissed. I squeezed her nipples hard, held her close, and smelled her hair like I always do, except with an audience.

I reached into her black lace panties and found her clit, making her moan and sucking her nipple. At this point, two other girls decided to join in, both friends I’d never played with before. There was a moment where I didn’t know where I fit, but I found my way kissing the one with the long dark hair and the shiny purple dress.

Pretty Slave and I found each other again and she rubbed her hand over the front of my undies while I kissed her some more.

“I have to lie down,” I said.

“Okay, I like it when you lie down.”

“Why am I still wearing these?”

She took my underpants off me (but still not my shoes) and my very favorite moment was when I opened my legs and gave the entire right side of the room (mostly men, some cute ones) a full view of my hoo-ha. It felt like such recognition, a celebration, a big TA-DA! for such a beloved part. The guys made appreciative noises about having chosen their seats well.

They only got more appreciative when Pretty Slave buried her face in there. Oh!

Up top, the other two girls were playing with each other and with my boobs. The one girl, about whom I wasn’t feeling 100% yes, kept hurting them and kept leaning over me in such a way that her blouse made me feel stifled. It took me a couple of tries and some panting diplomacy to back her off, but I did, and she consigned herself to petting my hair.

I stayed in the throes of Pretty Slave’s tongue. She pushed a finger inside me. Another knuckle just grazed my asshole and I got all full of shivers.

“Can we do this for my birthday?” asked a member of the crowd, and soon they were all naming upcoming occasions we could celebrate in this way. I was glad to be so festive and wanted and seen.

When we were done, I sat up and kissed her hoo-ha-tasting mouth, thanked her, and of course got a high-five. She held me in one of the big circle-chairs and we had giggly aftercare, talking about our odd not-relationship and making up silly statuses to have on Fet. We said how much we appreciate each other and we were both so glad to have pulled aces.

And I’m glad I left the dungeon when I did: leaving-practice tends to have the best rewards.

Kinky Karaoke Part Three: More Dancing Around in Ropes

After the chair snuggles, he untied us from each other and we went downstairs to sing and cuddle everybody some more. Dancing around in my ropes and singing with The Lady of the House reminded me of her awesome Nude Years party—I hope she has one this year!

Pretty Slave was singing some hard rock hits and being extremely hot, so I had to climb all over her a little bit. CM and PS seemed a little reserved with me that night, so I was as unslutty as a naked lady who’s kissing somebody can manage.

Before too long, I ended up back upstairs with the Sweetfaces, each of us girls bent over a red reclining chair. Probably the worst 90s hit of all, “I Saw the Sign” came on and now I sort of have to like it a little because it’ll remind me of her, naked and bent over, shaking her hair and singing it out. “No one’s gonna drag you up, to get into the light where you belong.”—It’s weird where one finds poetry.

Mr. Sweetface got out his flogger and I got happy. He went back and forth between us, hitting us sparingly and specifically, each move aimed and considered. I felt waves of joy and relief with each smack, wiggled myself to giddiness.

And he had these special gloves. They had teensy little spiky things on them, kind of like those special gloves they use to brush horses. He ran his gloved hand over my hips, my waist, my boobs, giving me shivers.

When he was done, he pulled my face up into a kiss, sweet and deliberate, soft. Then we all went back down to the party for more songs and goodbyes.

The weekend before last, triggered and heartsick, I lost faith, and I’ve lost count of how many times that’s happened, to the point where losing faith is kind of meaningless. Amidst all of those tears over SG, I realized that for every player with whom things are hard, there are, like, tens of players with whom it’s easy, where things just fit and flow and I don’t have to try at all. There have been so many nights of feeling perfect in my skin and not compelled to change anything about my thoughts or feelings. It’s the sensation of play that’s actually just that, play. Baby animals play in order to learn how to thrive in the wild, and that’s exactly my plan, play and thrive. 

Kinky Karaoke Part One: The Triumph of Light Over Darkness

“Going out to sing means you have to adopt a staunch pro-believin’ stance. But it also means you have to suspend your rational doubts. “Don’t Stop Believin’” isn’t about actually believing in anything, just as nobody in “Livin’ on a Prayer” prays for anything in particular. The belief is in belief itself; the prayer is just for more prayers.”

–Rob Sheffield, Turn Around Bright Eyes: The Rituals of Love and Karaoke

“Before you came into my life, I missed you so bad.”—Carly Rae Jepsen

Saturday was my church’s Diwali celebration (Unitarians feel entitled to any holiday we choose, that’s one of the things I like about us.) and I’d originally planned to go in early to help with the feast, but my day had been so fantastically indulgent and dawdly that I was nowhere near ready to leave at the appointed time. Sweetie and I heated up some frozen samosas and naan and had our own little Diwali feast at home, while watching Top Chef.

My suitcase was packed for Kinky Karaoke, so I hoped that the service wouldn’t be too long. When I got out of the car at church, most people were already inside and I was alone in the woodsy church parking lot with the brightest moon you’d ever see, peeking through clouds that were fluffily arranged in rows across the sky like the stuffing of a comforter. The path to the church was lined with star lanterns, and the walk in ended up to be the most transcendent part of the service.

Usually our Diwali is a joyful affair, with lots of singing and dancing and making art out of flower petals, but this year, the pastor began the service with an admonition that children should not be allowed to run around in the aisles, and it continued in that tone. In place of any religious experience, there was a lecture, complete with PowerPoint. One of the great joys of adulthood is that if you’re sitting in your church pew stifling yawns, you’re allowed to just get up and leave.

I was happy to venture back out into the clear, starry night. I got in the car and set the GPS for the out-of-the-way corner of the city where the Karaoke King and Queen live, turned up my Training Montage mix, and belted out every song along the way.

Pretty Slave has a wonderfully geeky bumper sticker on her car that reads:

And whenever I see it, I get all bubbly-over with joy. I was also excited that I’d see The Lady of the House, who was my main inspiration for showing up that night.  I walked in to many hugs and felt so excited that I’d recovered so quickly from last weekend’s triggers enough to come.

I’m so grateful that I am me, and that these are my friends. I don’t know what they were doing over at the Scary Party, but I’m pretty sure nobody was sitting in anybody’s lap dueting “Piano Man” at full force (high five, Cute Master!) or singing Cee-Lo in their underpants. (I didn’t arrive with much bitterness in my heart, but “Fuck You” really is the very best karaoke song ever.)

Pretty Slave told me I’m prettier than ribbons and Cute Master was sweet and sympathetic about the heart-hurts of last week. I was touched at his recalling that this house was where we met over the summer. “I fingered you right over there,” he said “It’s too bad they moved the couch!”

And then! Some people I didn’t know I’d been wanting to see! Remember the munch I cried at toward the end of the summer? Okay, doesn’t really narrow it down, but the night that I was soothed by the nice ladies goofing around and bringing Long Island iced teas, Mrs. Sweetface was one of the ladies doing the soothing. (Not to be confused with Ms. Sweetheart. The naming part’s not as easy as it looks.) We’d joked about me becoming Mr. Sweetface’s cuddle partner, since she’s not so into that part. I’d yet to meet him and I couldn’t believe she remembered that, but it was the first thing she said: “Your cuddle buddy’s upstairs.”

When she introduced him, he said “Oh, that was you?”

“Yep! If we’re gonna cuddle, we’d better start practicing!” I said, pulling this complete stranger into a hug. It was a hug with a little spark of energy, with potential. Clearly it was time to employ my “Talk to the cute couple until they’re doing stuff to me” strategy, which I devised the last time I was here.

But first, lots and lots of songs. Pretty Slave and I did our song, “Call Me Maybe,” of course, and then the young woman that CS and PM are dating (I don’t think she’d mind being named “Their Girl”) joined us for Nikki Minaj’s “Starships,” which is totally my top Training Montage hit. The Lady of the House seduced our hearts with some Steely Dan, and then teamed up with me on my song of the year, “I Just Can’t Get Enough.” This is how I was born to be, stripped down to my basic ridiculous histrionics and enjoying the fuck out of my friends.

Incidentally, I got a chance to talk with Their Girl and found out that she’d left that party a few weeks ago because she got jealous—of me! It was strange to be on the other side of that equation! I told her she should have joined in and we made plans to conspire against Pretty Slave and Cute Master at the earliest opportunity.

A couple of times during the evening, the Karaoke Queen took a break from her hostessing duties to bend over and get some spanks, and just like that, another sweet little bottom for me. Even though they were just playful party spanks, she got all melty in my arms afterwards and I loved the power of getting to make my friend so woozy-happy. Plus, the Lady of the House was watching and looked impressed—I like that.

Next: Eeeee! Yesyesyes I got tied to another girl!

A Strange and Lovely Day, Part Four: A Slutty Level-Up

Correction: I’ve been informed that the paddle with the Greek letters on it actually belongs to PS, so I guess I’ve fucked a sorority girl, not a frat boy. Doesn’t seem as transgressive, somehow.

And some metablogging: I woke up in a really dreadful mood this morning because of a bad day (actually a bad 10 minutes) at work yesterday, but when I sat down before work to write this in my notebook, my mood lifted exponentially. This means that:

a. I’ll have to keep being really slutty if I’m ever gonna be awesome at the other parts of my life.

b. Life would really suck without the stars of this story, so thanks pals. You are sunshines from heaven. Dirty little sunshines.

There was one guy at the party whom I’d known for a while but who, for some reason, was giving me a go-put-my-clothes-on vibe that night. So I got into my cute PJs and played strip poker without really playing—it was the most I’ve ever learned about poker, and it wasn’t much. PS and CM’s other girl was there, and I wasn’t sure what that meant, etiquette-wise. I went with my default setting, which was to step aside, and went upstairs to lie down in their bed. I listened as the game got less and less about poker (not that it ever really was) and became more like a game of truth or dare. And I ended up being the stakes:

“If I lose,” I heard Cute Master say “Then I have to go upstairs and fuck (me).”

Sure enough, he did lose, and up the stairs he came.

“Wait, are you sure this is okay with (PS)?”

He responded by standing over me, pulling out his dick, and pulling my head toward it. I happily gagged myself, worrying a little bit if I was doing it badly since I was tipsy and at a weird angle. It felt so the-good-kind-of-humiliating with everybody downstairs listening and felt extra-naughty with PS not in the room. He climbed on top of me, grabbed my hair, kissed me hard, and then turned around and went back downstairs.

Soon, their game completely devolved into sexytimes, and I really, really liked hearing them all down there, even with the guy who had been giving me the creeps in the mix. I thought about sitting on the stairs and watching but I was all cozy so I just listened and got handsy with myself. Apparently this is just a thing I do sometimes on the weekends, fuck myself in their bed.

Just as I was starting to get ready to come, they came up to join me.

“Did you come up to go to sleep?”

“Um, no. Turn over.”

“He’s not gonna fuck you in the ass,” she said helpfully, since he’d been threatening to do so all night while they were making fun of me for waiting for SG.

I was glad to be flat on my belly for them. I remembered from class that a pillow would have made a helpful angle, but I was too comfy to suggest it. Though it’s my favorite position it didn’t quite work for whatever reason, so he turned me over, pushed my legs all the way up, and shoved inside. I pulled his head toward me and kissed him, kissed her, hollered my head off in my showoffy way. A girl could get used to this! Maybe I am.

When it was her turn to be fucked, his fingers played gently around my asshole (I’d put away the pretty butt plug when I put my pajamas on) and I turned over to give him better access. I wanted his fingers deeper, but he was deferential to toward the area despite his swaggersome claims that he’d be better for it than SG. I suppose before long I’ll be able to compare, though I wouldn’t.

PS got worried anyway that I was upset that he’d touched me there, and kept checking in. I was fine and sleepy. PS went downstairs to attend to the one remaining awake party guest, and that’s how I ended up falling asleep with a guy for the first time in almost two years. It was fun. His hand rested on my hip and he pulled my ass in close. Every once in a while he’d get half-awake and bury himself in the back of my hair, kiss my neck, squeeze my boobs. I didn’t know if he was even aware that I wasn’t PS and I really didn’t care. I fell asleep that way, aroused and pleased and enjoying the smell of him.

Around 7 AM, he woke me up, urgent and rubbing myself against me, pulling my hair, feeling for my clit. When he got to the (bigger) boobs, I think he realized I wasn’t PS, and he got up and went to find her.

This is a very proud moment, a fantastic benchmark of a new level of sluttiness. It seems like I should’ve been upset or insulted somehow, but all I was was turned on again. I listened to him in the guest room, waking her up, creaking the bed, bringing out first happy murmurs and then her wonderful, musical moans, and soon my own little personal-time moans joined in. They came in and caught me, and I didn’t even feel the slightest bit sheepish.

He lay back on the bed and she went down on him wholeheartedly. He took my hand and put it on the back of her head, and I grabbed her hair and moved her up and down forcefully like the guys do. It. Was. Awesome.

“When she’s done doing that, could you please fuck me? Since I asked so nicely?”

“(PS), get a condom.”

She rolled one onto him and he held me down and fucked me, hard and deep this time. He reminded me of the sleeping guests and she put her hand over my mouth. When she wasn’t doing that, I shoved my face into a pillow.

“I want to hear it, I don’t care,” she said and he admonished her but I heaved out some lusty wails before shoving my face back into the pillow. Oh, penises. You’ve really got to get in there more often. You’re just the best.

He ran out of steam before I did, but I still fell asleep happily, on the outside this time, snuggled up to Pretty Slave.

I was the last one to leave in the morning. PS made me coffee and I sat on the couch between them watching Ted—it’s a testament to how much I like them that I’d watch anything Seth MacFarlane made. It was funny but gave me the creeps when I thought about it later.

The rest of the day was melancholy. Sundays are mostly workdays for me and loneliness often sets in in the evening. It’s wonderful to be a single slutty girl almost every other time of the week, but I get the blues thinking of everyone else having snuggly family time while I’m printing out lesson plans and being divorced-girl.

BUT!

1. I got pretty drunk without getting mournful!

and

2. I now can say that I know how to get myself laid when I need it.

I felt a little bit ashamed as I worked through the hangover, but writing about it now, I feel nothing but proud. No-strings sex (Well, okay. Very few strings sex.) get ready for me, because here I come.

A Strange and Lovely Day, Part Three: Whatever You Like

All week long last week, I’d been having a conversation with myself. It went like this:

1. I really want to get laid.

2. But I can’t have anything serious with Cute Master and Pretty Slave.

3. But I’m not looking for anything serious anyway.

4. So maybe we can fuck even though I wrote them a breakup letter.

I kept wanting to text them and find me a loophole, but I hadn’t. When I walked in, though, and saw Pretty Slave in what was only a little bit of a cat costume—fishnet bodysuit, long black skirt, cat ears—I asked her before she’d even finished making me an apple pie shot.

“(Cute Master) told me you’d say that as soon as you saw me. He said we have to resist!”

I changed into my angel costume again, this time with naked boobs. I left my undies on because I felt a little self-conscious about the butt plug, pretty as it was. As soon as Cute Master saw me, his eyes lit up in an amused/hungry way and I knew there was a chance that I’d get what I wanted.

It was a small party and it started, as these things often do, with a Beatles sing-along. Pretty Slave came over and sat with me on a chair (they have these circular chairs that are almost as big as loveseats) and snuggled with me—there’s really nothing I could do to resist her.  During “Eight Days a Week,” she smacked my ass in time to the clapping parts. Draped over the back of the chair in my angel wings, holding a glass of wine and getting spanked, I felt like a painting from one of my Art History textbooks, but naughty. Angels gone wild.

Sidenote: It was at this moment that I noticed a paddle hanging on the wall—not the regular fun kind, but the kind with Greek letters on it—I realized, everybody, that I’d fucked a frat boy, and I liked it. (The lesser-known Katy Perry song…) Pause to feel the judgment of the younger, more punk-rock me, and move on.

We sang, we danced, we snuggled some more. Cute Master was standoffish at first, but then he got all cuddly again. He was sitting next to me while we were both leaned up against the bottom of one of the chairs, smushing me in a nice warm proprietary way when he said:

“(Pretty Slave), I’m gonna kiss her. Is that okay? Apparently she’s been dying for me to kiss her.”

She approved, and then he kissed me hard, pressing me back into the chair. He kisses just the way I like, emphatically like a teenager, but commanding like a man. OH beard-burn, I’ve missed you.

In front of the other party guests (At least one of whom seemed a little freaked out, sorry to her!) he took my nipple in his mouth and Pretty Slave took the other, and I collapsed in ecstasy under them, exhaling an OH! of pleasure, rapturous.

Then I pushed PS onto her back and kissed her, running my hand over the front of her shirt and finding her clit, rubbing it first a little too hard and then finding the right pressure, then stopping to whisper to her that they’d better check on their guests.

Once she’d gotten everybody situated, she lay back down on the floor with me and cuddled. The mix that was playing was hers, and pop songs kept coming on. One of the best parts of the night was lying on the floor with her and giggling/rapping my way through T.I.’s “Whatever You Like,” which was fitting, and (unsurprisingly) one of my favorite songs.

Next: I fuck myself in their bed, then them, then myself, then them again.

Being a Switch Is Awesome, Part Two: Fire Tickles and Old-Timey Guy

As I was finishing up with The Puncher’s Girl, the Fireman’s Girl (Who, it should be said, is less a girl than a grown-ass woman a more than a decade older than me and light-years hotter. We should all be so lucky!) came over to tell me that it was my turn for fireplay. I went over to the area where the massage tables were set up, handed a nice guy my wings and halo (left on the pretty shoes) and was told to lay down on my belly. Another fire-helper showed me a case full of paintbrushes as the fire Dom asked if I was ticklish.

“Um…a little bit,” I said a warily, but decided to let it happen.

It felt good to be back under the flames, warm hands running over my back and legs. There was none of the romance and Daddy-ness of my Fireguy; this was more like a really excellent massage. With gentle hands on me and the comfort of knowing people were watching, I very nearly fell asleep.

Then he told me to turn over and I got to watch the fire. He dabbed the rubbing alcohol along my legs and belly and then lit the brief flames. There was sometimes a quick burny sting, but mostly just all the warmth. He found a ticklish spot on the right side of my waist (Hey! I even sort of HAVE a waist these days!)  and made the most of it. I held back the laughs at first but he goaded and encouraged me until big shrieky guffaws came out. The Fireman’s Girl was watching from another table and smiled with me every time I got the giggles. So did the spectators watching behind my head. This was a particularly smiley dungeon night.

After I thanked the Fire Tickler for his care, I felt all relaxed and sleepy but also reallyreally ready to get spanked. I asked Cute Master, but he was utterly uninterested—I guess that’s just the end of that. Super frowny face, but also, next!

Old –Timey Guy was all tired out from a day at the Renaissance Fair so I didn’t think he’d do it, but when I mentioned what I needed to Punk Rock Girl, she asked him and he said of course. This is why they’re the awesomest. I may have graduated from having them as protectors, but they still take such good care of me.

He tied my wrists together with my pretty-but-not-super-effectual satin cuffs, and I knelt down on the bench where I’d just spanked TPG. Old-Timey Guy said to leave on my wings and halo, they wouldn’t get in the way. A spectator who’d been avidly watching my girl-spankings raised his eyebrows, smiled big, and said “OH, now it’s YOUR turn.”

Hence the title of these posts. The endorphins of topping and fireplay, combined with the above-mentioned awesomeness of my Dom-of-the-moment made this session utterly, triumphantly delicious. He started with his hands, spanking and eliciting moans of happiness and relief right away. It felt so good that I was making sex-noises, groaning and sobbing and wiggling my ass for more.

Once he’s warmed me up with spanks, he moved on to my favorite strap: sure, thuddy whaps interspersed with little stings. He pulled me close to his front to hold me still and I lost myself in the sensation, intimate and animal, pressed against his junk and wriggling to get closer still. I truly felt like I was going to come—some day before long, it’s gonna happen like that, and it might make a MESS. That’s how much I felt his impact, all the way in somehow.

By the time I moved up to the flogger, I was pulsating with joy, getting ready to float right up off the earth. When he was finished, I told him he’s a nicenice man and asked for a few extra hugs.

I told him I think he’s one of my most successful playpal situations. At no point have I ever felt a bit of fuss or about him, and every single time he hits the spot better and better. I really appreciate the place he has in my life. (Mostly, behind me.)

Next: How to get more snuggles: beat up a boy.

Proud of a Good Break-Off

Some of my poly pals tend to give me a hard time about breaking things off maybe too often so I just wanted to say that Cute Master and Pretty Slave wrote very sweet notes back saying they still want to hang out with me as friends.

Pretty Slave told me to "Never forget what I deserve" and I'm going to try to honor that.

Cute Master agreed with me that if I was getting emotionally involved that it was probably for the best--so guess what? Go me! And go them.

And I hope I can still convince them to top me out in the world sometimes. Will miss the snuggles, though.

Saturday Night at the Dungeon: Oh, The Boss of Me

So, after I got home in all that unicorn afterglow last Saturday, I spent the day in bed reading (and being alternately horrified and inspired by) The Game, snoozing, and getting handsy with myself to dreamy mental images of Cute Master and Pretty Slave. That night, there was a choice between two parties—the one PS had invited me to, (where I’d been promised dancing and maybe a setup with a cute boy) and the Regular Dungeon (where I was hoping to run into the Boss of Me and Her Boy again). Dancing won since I had a hankering for it, and also for more time with PS.

The munch with the dancing was in the suburbs, in the kind of festive, wholesome venue where one’s family might throw an anniversary party.  The cute boy was a nonstarter, but I had the best time jumping around on the dance floor with PS and belting out “Call Me Maybe”—that really is exactly how I feel about her.

I didn’t feel like I was quite fitting there, and I wanted to give them some space to schmooze other girls if they wanted to, so I decided to say my goodbyes and drive over to the Regular Dungeon. The drive over was dreamy, just listening to whatever shuffled on and scrolling through all of the lovely new sensations that the last 48 hours had brought.

Since I hadn’t been planning on going to the dungeon, I didn’t have my suitcase or even cute underpants on! I guess that’s a lesson—I should stop pretending I want to be anywhere else on those particular Saturdays.

When I got there, I saw who I’d been looking for right away. The Boss of Me and Her Boy were standing around being adorable and watching several entranced couples who were in the midst of doing rope on blankets spread out on the floor. I’d sent her a note (with my phone number) explaining that I might not make it, but she hadn’t gotten the note and said they’d been looking for me. That gave me a little *squee* in my heart. He was in an adorable pastel rope collar and I said I wanted one too.

We went to the seating area at the back of the room, where we found Old-Timey Guy, Punk Rock Girl, and The Puncher. I was superhappy to see them and apologized for being such a ninny at their party a few weeks before.

The Boss instructed me to sit down and proceeded to make me a pretty pink rope collar. Boy, pink ropes really didn’t take too long to find their way back into my life! She petted me and hugged me, felt so soothing and her hair smelled so good. She said mine did too: “Good job taking a shower,” she said.

“Thanks!”

She shoved the leash part down my cleavage and suggested to The Puncher that he root around in there and get it out. He didn’t take her up on it, but he did sit down and chat and agree to flog me once The Boss was done with me. The four of us kind of sat there in a sleepy heap, taking in the sights and shrieks of the scenes going on around us. The Boss was so warm and snuggly that I would have fallen asleep on her, had Old-Timey Guy, who was demoing all of his toys for a new friend, not brandished the star-cane at me. I jumped up at the sight of it; I love/hate that thing so much. I pulled my pants down a little bit and grinned at the folks who were watching, suddenly as awake as can be. When he whacked me it did hurt, but I noted that it wasn’t as bad as it used to be.

“Well, you’re much more resilient than you were before!” he said.

Indeed! Go me.

After he was done showing off the star I was delivered back into The Boss’s arms—she really is such a good kisser and she’s so nicely rough with my boobs. Her Boy sat by, rosy-cheeked and smiling, and whenever I did something bratty (which was often) she told him he’d pay for it later. Don’t quite understand the math on that one, but it works for me.

I wanted a good, hard slap across the face, but she was a little hesitant and told me she’d only do it if I really pissed her off. She was in the process of binding me up but I still had my hands fee enough to grab the end of her long blond hair and pull hard. That made her mad enough, and she cuffed me hard across the left side of my face, grabbed my chin, squished up my face and told me I’d been a very bad girl, then slapped again.

“You’re laughing too hard, I don’t think you learned your lesson.”

She went behind me to finish binding my arms, and since my hands were right there I grabbed her crotch.

Just as I was saying “Who wears Spanx to the dungeon?” she was getting livid and forcing me to kneel and put my face against the wall.

“Why would you DO that? Did anyone TELL you you could?”

“Um, no?”

She pulled down my pants exposing my not-cute undies to the room and started to spank hard.

“You’re just going to have to tell me you’re sorry!”

I laughed and wiggled my ass until she forced me to lie on my belly on the flat bench. Her spanks were quick and stingy and I screamed and hollered and fussed.

When it was done, we snuggled for a moment but it was getting close to the end of the evening so I ran right over to The Puncher next—he is as handy with his flogger as he is with his fists, applying the pressure in such a way that it goes straight through to my hoo-ha. He’s an excellent cuddler too—I must’ve given him fifty hugs after.

I walked The Boss of Me and Her Boy to her car and they drove me back to mine, telling me their real names in the process. I’m excited that she’s in my phone now and is a fan of this emoticon: <3 Can never get too many of those!

Slept (Not That Much) in the Middle, Part Four: Sneaky Personal Time, More Him, and S'mores for Breakfast

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Slept (Not That Much) in the Middle, Part Three: Oh, THANK YOU!

I was delighted to be in their bed, but I didn’t know quite where to start. He was in the middle and I feel more sure of myself with her. I lay there in a sleepy haze while they started to kiss and cuddle. I was unsure of a way in, but not unpleasantly so. Somehow I’d gotten the idea that he and I weren’t supposed to be kissing, but I nuzzled up against him and wrapped my legs around, my hand reaching out for PS’s hair.

Soon she and I were kneeling above him, kissing. I latched onto her perfect pink boob with my mouth and didn’t stop sucking it for a long time. His hands were on both of us but I think he was mostly just enjoying the show. I reached between her legs and found her clit, the first non-Sweetie one I’d touched since the late Nineties. I still had her nipple in my mouth like my life depended on it. I lost myself in her, pushed my fingers inside and felt a little bad for not having trimmed my nails. Still the worst lesbian ever!

Pretty Slave was much more responsive than Sweetie, no layers of repression to fight through. She was moaning and crying out as I pushed and pulled inside her. CM’s hands wandered inside my pink lace panties, just grazing my asshole lightly, giving me the occasional spank. He was different than he was in the dungeon, so sweet and careful. It was touching. I think part of the reason I like swaggery guys so much is that it’s so special when their vulnerabilities show.

At this point it should be said that I’d been thinking I couldn’t have sex because I was right on the cusp of that time of the month, just starting. Frustratingly, I’d kinda signed up for everything-but-intercourse (Which sometimes feels like it could be the title of the story of my life.) again.

So that’s why he said, as he was climbing onto her, “C’mon, let’s make (my name) really jealous.”

Jealous isn’t quite the right word. I already knew I liked helping them fuck, kissing and petting her through it, his hand down the front of my panties, her crying out. After they were done and we were all back to kissing and cuddling together, I could not contain myself anymore.

“You know,” I said, “The that-time-of-the-monthness is really VERY minimal…”

“I’llgetyouatowell.” He said, but I didn’t really think I needed one. My body was giving me a little break and for that I am grateful.

It’s really weird in retrospect that he and I didn’t kiss that night—I found out the next day that while I thought he wasn’t kissing me, he thought I wasn’t kissing him. Kind of an adorable misunderstanding, I think. Everything worked just fine without it, but I hope I do get to make out with him before too long.

Anyway, so it was PS’s turn to hold me and I was as ready as ready can be when he slid into me. I hollered out in joy and relief but then worried for a sec and asked “How loud can I be?”

“You be just as loud as you WANT.” she said and so I was. He felt so good, and it had been all the way since July and Jesus Christ I needed his dick in me. It was a gift, a reprieve, a revelation. I felt so grateful to her for sharing him with me.

“Oh, THANK YOU!” I cried out and they both laughed at me and I laughed too, but I couldn’t help it, couldn’t help feeling grateful for all of the everything. He thrust harder and my moans started to sound like sobs.

“Oh, that is so fucking hot,” she said. Every sensation was ratcheted up as high as it could possibly go. He put his hand around my throat and I pushed it away but got inspired. I found PS’s hand and put it over my mouth. She pressed down and I got even more riled up. After a little bit, he pushed her hand away and said “I got this.” and there was another fantasy fulfilled, his big strong hand over my mouth, his thrusts getting more urgent and I just felt flattened, melted by how good it felt. Carefully, deliberately, he grabbed the back of my hair and held me down, fucked me hard until we were both in a frenzy, until I came and came (and felt those nice squirty sensations, though it didn’t happen for real) and he came too.

I lay flutterhearted and tingly between them, patted him on the shoulder and said “Thanks, pal.”

He laughed and said “That’s all you can say after all that?”

I guess it was kind of a funny thing to say.

Next: Sneaky personal time and more him.

Kissed, Punched, and a Little Sadistic, Part Four: Got in Trouble for Running

When it was Winggirl One’s turn to get spanked by Cute Master, I got all excited and offered to help hold her down—I’ve always wanted to do that! He thought it was a pretty good idea and I like being helpful.

So WO knelt down in the same spot I’d just been in. Pretty Slave held down her left shoulder and I held down her right. She relaxed into his strikes at first, but then started to buck and fight. I loved the tension of her body pushing against me. Forcing her back into position, I felt a real mean streak come out, all the way up from my belly. I didn’t really hurt her, but I was sure riled up to hold her down and I loved that PS and I were working on this together, as a team. I’ve always aspired to be a good team player.

When he offered to beat her up front, though, I had to tag out. I just don’t want to be a part of boob-hurting. I wandered off to where Old-Timey Guy and co were situated and caught the eye of The (soon to be) Puncher. His face lit up with an enormous grin and he said “Oh, I know that look. You’d better run.”

How to have complete and utter joy, if you’re me: be in bra, underpants and heels running as carefully as I could through the party (didn’t want to mess up anybody’s scene or get a stray single-tail in the eye) with a boy in pursuit. What a perfect moment, even after the Dungeon Owner called out “No running!” and I had to only pretend to run. “Run slow!” a member of the crowd called out helpfully, and that’s what I did.

There’s a bar in the corner of the party that they don’t use, and I’ve spent many a happy moment bent over against it. That’s where I chose for our scene. I realized I was still in my bra and had to go get situated—I ended up bonding with some new friends in the bathroom over my Hello Kitty tape, it never fails.

The Puncher was responsible and considerate (part of the reason I trust him is because he’s been guided by Old-Timey Guy) asking what not to do. Most of my limits didn’t seem like things that would come up, but I rattled them off anyway. They just don’t feel the way they used to, the limits. Should write about that sometime.

Aside from his youth, The Puncher is exactly my type--tall, big, and scruffy-smiley, and his big hands did not disappoint. They stung against my end-of-the-night tender behind. I grabbed hold of the bar and held steady, screaming my head off as I’m wont to do.

“Do you mind a little punching?”

“Go for it!!”

And that felt even better than the spanks. Deep, emphatic thuds I could feel all the way through my pelvis. I felt my hoo-ha swell up and get wetter and everything started to seem really out of control down there. I’ve never felt anything quite like it—aroused in like six directions at once and throbbing/pushing back in rhythm with his hits. It hurt so bad and felt so wild but I just kept white-knuckling the bar, braced myself and pushed my ass out for more.

He came close behind me and leaned up to my ear to check in. (Is there any better feeling? Well yes, but Dom-leaning-in-to-ask-how-I’m-doing is definitely close to the top of the (LOOOONG) list.) I was out of breath and flustered, sweaty and a little scared, but I said keep going, and he did for a while. It was one of the few scenes I’ve stopped because I’ve actually had enough. He said I hung in there longer than most.

We hugged a good long time standing up, but I knew I should ask for more snuggly aftercare. (I should’ve asked beforehand, bad girl, but I don’t always want it or need it.) I felt shy about asking because I didn’t know what his agreements were—aftercare just seems so much more personal than all the other parts.

But he was so sweet, and he said it was up to me, not him if we had aftercare, and we went to find a quiet spot. I was still flushed and panting and so was he. It was such a nice purely animal-comfort feeling wrapped up in his arms. His heart was racing so fast and I liked the vulnerability of that. Snuggling with The Puncher didn’t have the same emotional resonance as the CBATP cuddles from the week before, but I loved just feeling like happy animals with him.

He apologized for sweating all over me but I explained about Lesbian Island, how I’d been deprived of men so long that dude smell is always such a very very good thing. The Puncher’s Girl came over and I thanked her for lending him to me—she was so excited that we’d played.

***Note: I am a terrible feminist when it comes to handing out pseudonyms. I keep naming girls after the names I’ve given their boyfriends, when of course they have their own identities and could be named a million other things. But there are getting to be a lot of characters and it’s helpful to keep track of who belongs to whom. Also, I keep referring to women as girls, but that’s just because I like to.***

We all sat around and chatted for a bit before I realized that I was satisfied to the point where I kinda needed clothes back on. (“Boring!” said The Puncher’s Girl, who herself was back in her pretty, flowy dress.)

I went back over to where I’d left my suitcase and got dressed. Pretty Slave very helpfully took my tape off for me. It was time to start saying goodbyes, and in the process I found out that Old-Timey Guy and Punk Rock Girl have a party coming (at this house that I got chained to one time) and once I got myself invited I jumped up and down with little-girl glee. Old-Timey Guy always brings that out in me.

I squeezed Cute Master and Pretty Slave into a three-person hug and thanked them for everything.

“Keep inviting me to stuff, ‘cause I’m only gonna get sluttier!”

“We’d like you even if you weren’t.” said Cute Master.

Aw.

The next day I realized I maybe had pushed myself a little too far. I felt a little like I’d smoked a cigarette, even though I haven’t in ten years, and a little paranoid that I’d messed up somehow, even though there was absolutely no evidence. I think partly I’m nervous about how well things have been going, that it somehow won’t be true, but I’m going to do my best to just keep letting awesome things happen, after a teensy little break to process and let all of those fantastic bruises heal.

Kissed, Punched, and a Little Sadistic, Part Three: Yes, I’m a Cuddle Slut

Pretty Slave was now the one kneeling next to me on the (regular) bench. Her skirt was pulled all the way up and her black lace panties were glorious. She really has the most amazing ass, you should see it. Cute Master spanked her and I loved the sound of her voice as she cried out.

Between me, Pretty Slave, and Winggirl One, the turned-on smell was incredible. It was a cloud of girl, and it made me feel so close to my friends.

You might remember that I spanked a young lady at the Regular Dungeon night before this one, and afterwards she led me over to show me how big her boyfriend’s hands are? Said boyfriend (to be gleefully named The Puncher in the next post…) came over to chat and I asked if he might have time to flog me later. He said he didn’t have any tools with him, but we agreed that he probably didn’t need them, with hands like those. (The poor guys on this blog, so often reduced to a pair of hands…) As we kept chatting, his age came up and I realized I was hitting on a 20-year-old. And then I realized I didn’t care. His girlfriend was finishing up a scene and looking like she might need some attention, so I told him I’d come and find him later.

Cute Master told me it was my turn to kneel down in front of him, so I happily did. My face was smushed against the wall and he made me stick out my ass as much as I could. He was slower with me this time, more deliberate. He ran his hands over me affectionately between smacks and I realized he does have nice soft hands. I reminded him about the hair-pulling and he did it, pushing and pulling ecstatic adrenaline out of me.

My favorite part was the after time—I snuggled up to Pretty Slave, Cute Master put his arm around both of us, and we snuggled like a family of kittens. Sometimes a hand would feel me up and I’d be unsure of whose it was—that was the best feeling. They loosened up the top of her corset and with an “Is this okay?’ I reached in and played with her lovely soft bosoms, wanting to put them in my mouth but unsure if that was crossing a party rule line.

It was so comforting and peaceful laying there in their arms, a little oasis in the middle of a crazy world.

I like them, everybody. I really value them as friends and play-partners. Spending the evening at the dungeon with them made me feel connected and cared for in a new way. It made me feel more aligned with myself and made all of my friendships seem easier and deeper somehow. Maybe it was just the (as yet) rare feeling of getting to fully express being bi, to really start actively loving my orientation. Sheesh, it’s about time.

“You really are a cuddle slut,” she said.

“No! I wouldn’t cuddle with just anybody!”

“But you’d do this all night, wouldn’t you?”

I shrugged and nodded and went back to nuzzling and smooching her.

Life is tricky for me lately, ecstatic at times but also tiring and messy. I’m so grateful to my friends for being such a nice place to rest.

Next: I hold a girl down, run away, and get bent over the bar.

Kissed, Punched, and a Little Sadistic, Part Two: A Rope Daydream and My Winggirl Has to Go Buy Panties

Friends, the day might come before too long when I might learn the knots and start tying up good, sweet boys. As I sat around with Pretty Slave and Cute Master snuggling and watching the crowd, such a cute scene unfolded on the bench across from us.  They were a youngish couple, clearly smitten with each other, and the girl had the boy all done up in fairly tight but mostly decorative ropes. To add to the heartstring-tugging, their ropes were pink.

She pinched and prodded him some, but mostly she kissed and caressed him. The rope bottom guy reminded me a little bit of CBATP—same scruffy-but-sweet face, similar deer-eyes. Something about this bottom’s docile, adoring expression just woke something up in me, and I started to understand what was behind the expressions I’d sometimes enjoyed seeing on Doms’ faces: proprietary and protective, sweet and whole. Because ropes stir up such deep emotions, I feel like that kind of play might be a ways off, but it’s so cool to have felt those things.

I think it’s important right now not to over-identify with these feelings, but just try and slow down and experience them. I’m such an unformed cloud of energies and urges, I just need to sort of go with them without attaching or trying to pin myself down to any one identity or role. Not-attaching is so not my strong suit, but still!

Winggirl One pulled me out of my rope-inspired reverie when she came over with her CVS bag. She doesn’t wear undies and you need them to play at the Regular Dungeon. The resourcefulness of the moment cracked me up. Plus, she gave me the rest of the pack.

I stayed in my seat and she bent over in front of me, pulling down her pants. I reached up and pulled her shirt up most of the way, just for the sense of power pulling her out of her clothes gave me. I spanked her for a while, finding it easy to get a good rhythm going with so many spanks going on around me.

She wanted to kneel down so we switched spots. Kneeling on the bench, her face was kind of smushed into the wall. (I’d enjoy the same feeling shortly thereafter…) Cute Master showed me the best way to pull her hair, and then he and I high-fived. I think this is my record for most high-fives in a dungeon night!

When we finished, I gave her a big hug and told her she’d done an excellent job. She returned the compliment.

While being the spanker is still not the thing I go bonkers for, I like that I can give my subby friends a little extra fun in their evening. I also like the feeling of strength that comes out in me when I do it—I think the power-surge that came from topping served me very well throughout the rest of the evening. Also! Sexy arms are one of my goals and it was quite the workout!

Next: I watch, I get hit, I hold a girl down, and so on, and so on…