Staycation Sext Fling Part Two: I Need an Ass Photographer

Part of my staycation festivities was a visit to the record store for car CDs—I’m trying to be more album-y lately. So that’s how I ended up listening to Nirvana’s Nevermind three times, smiling big and screaming along, on my short roadtrip to see some out-of-town art. No BFF to judge me for playing “Drain You” like a bazillion times, just me, a dramatic sky, and Kurt Cobain’s fucking perfect caterwauling and boss-of-me guitar.

So, through the combined influences of Kurt’s rasp and The Coach’s pre-trip forwardness, all the doors of my body and spirit were flung open by the time I got to my hotel, changed into my coziest PJs, settled amongst the many pillows, and lay down for a nap. Of course I couldn’t nap and of course I couldn’t wait and see if The Coach would send his eager-grin-emoji version of a “You up?” later. It sure didn’t matter that I hadn’t packed lube. I was soaked. I’d been soaked for days.

Even by myself, I could feel him all the way in me. I could feel his eagerness to please. I could feel myself holding him down. I could predict some sunny future where he’d get a little too rough with my nipples. The Coach has never been inside me, but also now he’s in there anyway, permanently, with the rest of them.

Maybe I started to feel the tender feeling creep in that night when he did text and got me into a helpless bliss and then (Pause to look up fuckboy in the dictionary. Not really but kind of.) fell asleep without saying goodnight. (The hotel bedding was REALLY soft.) Maybe in a just-got-off-hard-twice-and-about-to-see-some-amazing-art haze of happiness, the daydream machine whirred to life.

Or it could have been a couple nights later when a teensy bit of regular conversation preceded another nice smutfest. Or when he texted “Wide awake baby!” when it was taking a long time to get an ass-angle I liked enough to send him. (He put on The Dark Knight while he was waiting. For some reason I’m glad it was the Heath Ledger Joker and not the Jared Leto one. Not sure why that matters!)

I’m not sure how warm feelings happen with someone who texts “Oh can I cum on your tits too?” (Obvs yes! Hooray!) (Point of grammar though--I think it should be “cum” for the noun and “come” for the verb, but at least autocorrect didn’t wreck his “your” game!)

But yep, warm feelings. Smutty as all those gorgeous sentences were, it did feel like a sticky, slippery, phone-getting-all-messy kind of intimacy. A weird Miranda July kind of intimacy, but still. It took a lot of trust to keep writing and writing and writing to him, letting him know my fantasies without physics or even much friendship to ground my body, heart, or mind. Just naked, momentarily-uncomplicated desire. The ungroundedness would eventually make this playpalship unsustainable, but I’m glad for a little while it got to be exactly what it was.

Midyear Heart Inventory

Fresh from a Sweetie spanking, (First thing in the morning! Before she even had her coffee! That’s love.) I think it’s time to take a look at my adventures’ progress so far this year:

1. My New Year’s Resolution was to connect, and for a while there, it felt like I was screwing it up like crazy. But when I look at the year with perspective, it has been a year of connections: I’ve had amazing big dates with Sweetie and a million little porch dates, too. We’ve had fantastic trips and family visits. I’ve been able to forge deeper connections with my favorite friends, through long walks and long phone conversations. I’ve had good, deep, loving scenes and some that totally revolutionized my idea of myself. And my job (where I would never let a first-grader start a sentence with “and.”) on a good or even a not-horrible day, is nothing BUT connection.

I’ve been sending favorite old posts to Mr. Sweetheart and rereading them makes me feel rich with experience, even though things sometimes do go spectacularly awry.

2. That being said, I am JUMPING OUT OF MY SKIN. I want everything. I want ALL of the penises in me. I want very nice bad men to do very nice bad things to me. The weather’s driven me back into my shorty pajamas and is fanning the hoo-ha flames. Unfortunately at the moment I don’t have a lot of ideas about what to do with all of this urgency. I love jumping on Sweetie, of course, and I will, but this is a man-craving, and I can feel it in my teeth. And hair. And ass. Please, universe, you’ve been so kind, send me some ideas. And some strapping men with nice, fat fingers.

3. But I like the way that things have settled in with Mr. Sweetheart. After the festival,  he’s kept in touch nearly every day. He’s the first guy-who’s-interested to text me heart emoticons. (My BFF Angelface sends them all the time, but that’s different.) Mr. Sweetheart lives a ways away but we agree that we should be able to see each other about four times a year. (How hot is he with the planning-ahead? *swooooon*) He calls about once a week, promptly every time. (again, hot) We talk for a long time and I doodle drawings that for whatever reason keep ending up looking like vaginas. As we talk, this lovely warm energy descends over my shoulders and I feel oriented and safe. He’s good. He’s romantic. He says he likes the idea of us having all of this time to talk and get to know each other before we do more stuff, but of course I’d love to just take the sexTARDIS over and give him a smooch. They’ve got to build me one of those.

4. Mr. Shiny Eyes is going through a lot in his life right now and also lives far-ish, so I really don’t know when I might see him, but it seems like there are more fun times to come with him as well. I hope so.

5. The other guy (He’ll be Steampunk Guy if we have any adventures. The blog needs one of those, don’t you think?) that I like is local, and let us now toast the fact that all of the guys I currently like have cars. (And excellent penises, though in this case it’s only hearsay.) I met him at Poly Speed Dating a few weeks ago. The algorithm hadn’t paired us up but I liked him instantly so I bypassed the checkmarks and just gave him my number. He’s an excellent flirt and a fantastic texter, but he seems kinda overbooked. One-of-six might not be special enough for me, even in an FWB situation, but I really enjoy him, so we’ll see.

6. And then there’s this grief. I’m still a bit broken over what happened with The Man. We were supposed to be friends, after all, and I had such a deep affection for him. There were so many hopes tied up in that first good scene (I should really get around to writing about it.) that the loss still feels like a big one. The grief still makes me run away from guys, but luckily my heart and pants keep me running toward them.

7. I don’t know if I mentioned this, but my publisher dropped the Kitten Calendar book early this year. Something about the press being over-committed, it was really sad when I found out. A “no” from a beloved editor is a particularly hurty one. Looking back over the posts, I still thing there might be a book there, so maybe I’ll make it my summer project anyway. Or else I’ll just work on not having tanlines.

Well, dears, the strawberry waffles are ready and it’s time to crawl back into bed with Sweetie. Happy adventuring to you. May the second half of the year be equally fruitful.

Sweetie’s Knack for Ropes Part Three: Our Pretty Pink Scene

(I just found out from FetLife posts that notorious local predator was at the party that night. I seriously hope it wasn’t the guy I flirted with—we know I have iffy taste sometimes…)

There was a little while when they couldn’t find the ropes I’d ordered, and let me tell you, I felt like a real fetishist at that moment. The proprietress was kind enough to lend me her kit for the class, but my brain kept saying pink! I daydreamed it pink! It has to be pink to go with the pink pajamas and my lucky undies. I guess an artistic vision is an artistic vision. The pink ropes were found and I was overjoyed.

I went to change into my pajamas. Sweetie and I got beers and milled around getting up the courage. We struck up a conversation with a top I’d been flirting with during the class, and I offered to be a supporting character for him, should he need one on another night. Then he went off to flog a lady who was not his sub while his sub explored her options—adorable.

I’d spent all week picturing the scene as me standing in the middle of things while she undressed me and wrapped me up. We took a spot in the middle of the floor, near to, but out of reach of, both the cute gut’s and the switchy couple’s floggers. I put my hands up and Sweetie took off my pajama top. I left my glasses on so that I could watch everybody else. This was a keep-your-nipples-covered party so I had to leave on my black bra. A few of the women in the room had X-es of black tape on their nipples, but I don’t think that’d work for me. They’re so big that the tape might just pop right off.

The music was unfortunate, loud and distracting, Eighties hits that gave me little pangs of Bill, I don’t know why. Sweetie took her time wrapping the rope around me, had to stop and start and readjust. She told me afterwards that she’d been self-conscious. She made a loose halter on top, wove some ropes around my waist (I really like that) and cuffed my wrists together in front of me. I wanted to be spanks but all of the kneeler thingies were taken, so we pulled up an ordinary stacking chair and I knelt down on it.

At first, she had me so that my ass was facing away from the room, but I had her turn it around. I wanted them to see. I had on my favorite undies, the ones I’d worn for Bill and Fireguy and the Mayor of Kittentown and lots of times for Sweetie. I love the feeling of having my undies arranged just so for a spanking, the fabric being pulled gently this way and that. I loved the fact that everyone could see her paying attention to me.

Now, spanking isn’t Sweetie’s favorite thing. She only started trying it a few months ago and saw how happy and calm it makes me. She’s got a natural talent for it, not too gentle, not too hurty. Spank, pet, spank, pet, stinging then rubbing away the stinging. I was subdued, in spite of the Eighties music, but the chair was hurting my neck so we moved to one of the sets of padded benches off to the side.

I lay on my belly and she tied my hands behind my back. I gave her my glasses but I wish I hadn’t—she told me later that the couple on the next bench over had a knife involved. I’d’ve liked to have seen that, but she would not have.

I felt us fall into the roles of top and bottom in a way that we hadn’t before. I liked trusting her that way, seeing her as a commanding presence. But remember when I said I wondered what the doms were whispering to the subs? In this case, it’s “What do I do next?”

When she pulled my hair and spanked, I almost really did cry. My heart was really grieving over Bill that day (I don’t know why, after all these months, he’s such a looming figure. Maybe because what happened with him is much easier to fathom than what happened with Fireguy.) and I guess the hair-pulling brought it out. I didn’t stop her, just felt her gentleness and the heartbreak and felt empty and sad and lost but also loved and protected.  It’s beautiful how she took on this world for me, how much she’s pushed her boundaries just to share his with me. I love her so much for it.

After that, she tied me to a chair and kissed me. I love the feeling of being kissed in front of everyone, and it was a strange sensation to do this sort of playacting kiss with someone that I know so well, someone I’ve kissed so many times before. She felt like a new person, we both did.

When our scene was done, she wrapped me up in my blanket. Aftercare feels kind of silly with someone I’ve loved so long, spent so many many hours on the couch with. I liked hugging her but felt like I’d just as soon be home in bed. We wouldn’t stay too much longer, but first, she put fresh socks on my feet and wove the rope around my ankles. I laid down my head on my cute suitcase and relaxed. Then we decided to go home. The cute flogger guy expressed some disappointment that we were leaving, but I told him I’d be back on my own sometime.

So much of BDSM has been about learning to trust men, so I missed that leap-of-faith aspect of it when I was playing with Sweetie. But it was such a gift to get to see just how deeply I do trust her, and how very much she loves me.

Next: The Ropes at Home: Smut About My Wife, Hooray!

Proof of Spankability

Continuing on the theme of showing off...This is another picture from my photoplay story... Fireguy wanted me to see just how spankable I am--he's helpful like that.

Momentum Con Part One: The Winner for Best Epiphany

(The photo above isn’t something that happened at Momentum. It’s a picture from my FetLife profile, taken during my photo play session with Fireguy. I’ll get to why it’s relevant in a sec.)

Momentum Con was exactly the right thing to go to. It really helped me to understand how I can contribute to the overall project of sex-positive feminism. Getting to meet some of my sexpert idols filled me with courage and, yes, momentum.

I liked my first foray into live tweeting: you can see what I said at @kittencalendar and what everybody said at #mcon .

I’ll say more about the larger themes of the conference later in the week, and I’ll post a reference list, too, but the experiences that are most relevant to this project were both very personal. They both happened yesterday as the conference was starting to wind down.

The first was: I skipped the fist set of sessions to take advantage of the big, fluffy hotel bed with Sweetie. As we were getting started she said “Remember, we’re in a hotel, so….”

And I said “So?”

We had a fantastic time and I was just as loud as can be. (If we’d been in the host hotel, it would have been even more fun.) While we were spooning afterwards, Sweetie said (all mocking-affectionate)

“You’re just a show-off.”

And what else could I do but tweet about it to the con’s live feed?

The second thing was this: One of the things I was most excited to go to was Cunning Minx (Polyweekly.com) giving her talk on “How Not to Be a Douche on FetLife” I’d heard parts of it already on the podcast (and, in fact used it in building my FetLife profile) but I love etiquette talk of all kinds and I was excited and starstruck to meet Minx.

When she asked for volunteers to share on the big screen and use as examples, my hand shot up. She’d mentioned being a smiley sub, and I wanted to show her that we had that in common. It felt so, so good for my profile, and especially my picture gallery, to be up there in front of all those nice polyamorists. It was a moment of pure joy and recognition, especially when someone in the crowd piped up “Great ass!” Thanks. It also makes me superproud that Minx pronounced my profile “adorable.”

She thanked me for volunteering, and people kept being really sweet and saying I was brave, but honestly I’ve never felt so indulged in my life. That burst of joy from being a show-off was such a big epiphany.

I was thinking about those two experiences on the way to therapy this morning, and I realized that wanting to show off is a big part of my earliest sexual experimentation. When I first started getting boobs (around 12) I was completely obsessed with them. (That sure hasn’t changed!) I couldn’t get enough of touching them. When my family was away from the house, I would stand in the upstairs window, pull up my shirt, and just play with them for hours.  We lived in the middle of nowhere and it was extremely unlikely that anyone ever would’ve seen me.

Once or twice, I even wrapped up in a sheet, went outside, dropped the sheet and walked around naked in the middle of the day.  Apparently I was close to my inner Bettie Page before I even knew who that was!

My childhood was not a sex-positive one by any definition. Our house was full of anger, shame, criticism, fear, and abuse. The fact that young me was able to find enough inner safety to want to be exposed, to take so much pleasure in it, seems like a miracle to me. I am very proud of that person and so encouraged by the way pleasure can overcome such adversity sometimes.

The power of pleasure was one of the overarching themes of the conference. It’s a wonderful blessing to feel it so deeply within my own body. Thanks.

Nearly-Naked and Fire-Kissed, Part Three

I’ve never been very good at casual kissing, but I want to learn to enjoy sensations for their own sake, and plus I just wanted to kiss him, so when Fireguy offered me an upside-down kiss, I said sure. And of course was a good kiss, of course it was. I’m not supposed to get attached to him, so I was holding back, but it was definitely good enough to make me wonder what it would be like if I didn’t hold back.

I’d like to stop for a second and acknowledge that even though this is a friend who belongs to two other ladies, and there were people are lined up to be next, this scene still seems wildly romantic to me. Even the idea that H and E (They need nicknames. How about Varga Girl and Firewife?) were letting me and the rest of the world borrow him for the evening makes my heart go all mushy because it makes me feel close to them. To The Ladies and to the world. So we’ve established that I am a sentimental poly mushball.

And not a moment too soon because then he asked “Can I give you a fire kiss?”

Um, yeah.

He told me to close my eyes, then lit the fire on his hand. He snuffed the blue flames and then put his hand at the bottom of my neck, just above my heart. I gasped as he kissed me. It was a swoon, there’s no other way to describe it. A falling sensation.

He asked how I’d gotten so good at kissing and I laughed and said, “Well, I’ve been married to a lady for a long time.”

The woman who was next in line makes me rethink my idea of myself as needy. At one point, I opened my eyes and saw her just staring down at me, the flames reflected in her wide eyes. It was creepy, and I don’t know why I didn’t ask her to back off. I guess I just felt like I was safe. I smiled at her and turned my head like I was going back to sleep.

He had me turn back over for “fire spanks.” (Is that not the happiest phrase ever?) I would gladly have submitted to that for seven or eight more hours, but there were other people waiting and he was also supposed to be taking pictures. I sat up all blissed out and glowy and he said, “Now normally, if there were more time, I would wrap you up in a blanket and do aftercare” and I just sort of leaned into him and he said “Aaaand I’m going to do it anyway. Wrapped up and in his arms, I felt special and famous and chosen. Being seen getting treated in this way filled something up in me, gave me a bright feeling of being recognized.

He asked for a few more kisses and I joked that now he would have to kiss all of the girls in line. He said that no, he wouldn’t.

I was planning to stay and do more things with him if he got time, but when I called home Sweetie was already on her way to pick me up. (I really have to stop being a baby about driving myself to things.) It was kind of a good thing I had to go, because I was starting to feel like I didn’t have enough energy left to navigate the place. After I said goodbye to Fireguy, the self-consciousness I’d bypassed earlier kicked in, I felt awkward and threatened, and I was ready to just be home. When I went to the dressing room to change into my comforting flannel PJs, one of the couples I’d watched earlier was in there on the couch snuggled up. They seemed so beautiful and sad and sweet, I was worried that I would disturb them.

Walking out of the place, you know what? Young fetishy people really look at you funny if you are in flannel pajamas with cupcakes on them. Who knew?

I was at a loss for words (Rare for me, obviously) in the car on the way home. I kept trying to explain how I felt but could only come up with phrases. When we got home, Sweetie and I curled up and watched sitcoms. After a good night’s sleep, the fears wore off and the sex-goddess feeling came back, turning Sunday into a blankety daydream.

Typing this story just makes me want more. More him, of course, I hope it turns out that that’s possible. But also just MORE. I’m not sure what my next adventure is, but I am SO ready for it.

Photoplay Part Three: Some Thoughts on Some Spankings

So after I got out of the cozy cuffs, Q asked me to pose with a riding crop in my hand. Toppy things aren’t my superfavorite, but how could I not feel how anyway? He had me pose looking over my glasses like a strict librarian, which came kind of naturally.

Next he asked, “So, do you know submissive position number one?” No, but of course I wanted to learn it. It’s not that different from yoga. I took off my pretty shoes and knelt on my feet, hands resting palms up on my knees like you are supposed to do when meditating. It was a lot like meditating, if while meditating someone happens to tell you to “spread your legs more.” (Seriously, swoon.) He had me sit up straight: “This is a gift, it’s something to be proud of.” When I looked in the camera, I sure had the badass expression I’d been hoping for. And then, hooray, he asked if he could pull my hair.

He took hold of the hair right at the back of my head, and pulled, snapping a picture as he did so. If I’d’ve known him better, I would’ve said “Harder.” Of course I was smiling too much to have a serious expression in the picture. Then more joy from a little string of bites along my shoulder to my neck.

After that, it was time to change into my PJs-they could conceivably work in an author photo, but mostly I’m just obsessed with them. The photo above does not manage to convey just how SOFT these pajamas are. I climbed up onto the table in the secret room and did my best to look like a pinup. I said I was going for spankability and he took a picture of my ass to show me just exactly how spankable it was. A lot to very if I do say so myself.

Now comes the time to muse about spankings. It was never something I liked before Bill—I always thought it was kind of ridiculous, but the way Bill did it was compelling-swift and arbitrary. He’d pull me into a cuddle and then surprise me with a smack, or make me hang over his lap with my head upside down. I laughed the first couple of times, but after a while it got less funny, it started to be one of the things I thought about when he wasn’t around.

I’d seen Q testing out a paddle on H at the munch and I liked their style (and, okay, her ass) so when he said I could be spanked if I wanted to, I was like, yes, please. When I was closing the door to the secret room, a shelf came loose and I broke a little figurine, so there was even a reason. He took me be the hand and led me to the couch.

This whole time, I’d felt more and more peaceful. I felt like settling in for a nap. Lying across his lap made it all the more cozy. He started with a series of light slaps, alternating between the cheeks and from harder to softer. then he asked if he could take my pants down and I said sure. He did it so gently and deliberately, arranging my pajama bottoms and lacy pink undies artfully around my butt. All the while he was telling me I was a good girl, which Bill had done exactly once. By email. The smacks got harder and he said “Take a deep breath” then smacked as I was exhaling so that the exhale turned into delighted giggles.

I was just about to ask for more hair-pulling, but he declared us finished. After that I got a nice little cuddle. Sweetie was on the way to help with the fire, but first, pretty ropes!

Next: Ropes! Fire! Sweetie!