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.

Birthday Spanks and Unicorn Snuggles, Part Three: Aftercare and the Beatles Sing Along

After Cute Master was done beating on me to SexyBack, I decided it was time for hugs. I found a nice fuzzy blanket and asked the Cutest Boy at the Party if he would do the job. He was happy to, sat down on the couch and opened up his arms. I was still naked and I felt completely safe wrapped up with a near-stranger. Because life is awesome.

I curled up in his arms, put my head on his shoulder, and breathed him in.

“I’m just gonna stay here and sniff you,” I said.

“I don’t mind that at all.”

He ran his hands over my back and shoulders, gently through my hair. (Oops, I forgot to get it pulled! Oh well, maybe next time.) I wouldn’t have minded if he’d gotten more handsy, but this was really sweet. People kept joking about what a giver he was for being on aftercare duty with a naked girl.

He has a lovely soothing voice and whispered in my ear “You did such a good job.”

I said “Mmmmmm” and snuggled up closer to him, feeling the always-long-anticipated bliss that comes from praise.

“You’re a good girl, you know. A very good girl.”

“I just feel really lucky…”

“Well, you deserve for good things to happen to you. You’re a good person.”

Awwww. I held him long past the time when the subby feelings had gone away, but eventually it was time for him to rejoin the party. I sat on the sofa with the blanket some more, until Huge Handed Fireman, who was sitting on the couch with his gorgeous submissive draped all over him, yanked the blanket off me, all “What’s with the blanket?”

During a conversation about the enormity of his hand-size, I suggested he see if he could fit an entire one of my boobs in his hand. He could. He tweaked my nipple and informed passersby that I liked it. One stranger who’d been a particularly avid watcher of the spankings came over and asked if he could try. It was a delightfully creepy feeling holding my shoulders back and letting him touch, letting him look at me so leeringly. (After I’d made a big speech about how they’re NOT FOR HURTING, of course.

Once I’d had enough with the stranger and pushed him away gently, HHF grabbed one more time, applying a kind of pressure I’d never felt before. A pulse of desire went through me, but he went back to fondling his girl, who has particularly amazing boobs and a pinup body to go with them. I enjoyed that show for a while and then decided to put on my PJs (with people will watching it was like kind of a reverse strip tease.) and wander around the house. What I found was, would you believe it, a Beatles sing-along.

There’s a guy on the scene who I often just think of as Creepy Guy because he tends to wander into scenes, declare them a Kodak moment, then take a picture with an imaginary camera. That just seems kind of goofily hapless now that he’s taken my “Hide Your Love Away” request. One less creep in the world is a good thing.

“Eight Days a Week” was my favorite and I belted it out with the whole force of my soul. As we sang, I sat down behind Pretty Slave, braided her hair and petted her shoulders. CBATP wandered in and ran his hand up the back of my neck, stoked the underneath of my hair until I was all tingly and he totally could have been the boss of me.

Next: Unicorn Shenanigans and the Inconvenient Epiphany*

*Would be a good name for a band.

Birthday Spanks and Unicorn Snuggles Part Two: Welcome Me Back to Subspace!

Earlier in the party (admittedly right around the time I got a little bit high) I’d told Cute Master I was going to try and get 39 birthday spanks from each person at the party—one of my better ideas I have to say, right up there with that hair-pulling contest back in May. Somehow chatting with the Cutest Boy at the Party evolved into him helping me recruit the first spankers.

I started out bent over the arm of one of the two leather couches while spectators sat on the other one and on the other side of the room, egging the spankers on and, at first, counting to 39.

Spanker: “How many was that?”

Onlooker: 28?

Me: “Two!”

I made that joke a lot of times.

The young lady who’d made the “dumbasses” comment earlier volunteered and I can’t really explain why I let her except that it felt okay to do so. Physical trust is a strange thing sometimes, but by I know by now how to listen to my body about people. I’m glad I did because it was over her knee that I felt a sort of inner dimmer switch. A calm came over me and a happy haze descended. Aaaahhhhhh.

At this point, my skirt was pulled up and my underpants pulled down. I still had my shirt and bra on and my hair was draped all over. I sighed into the arm of the couch, feeling like a sleepy movie star and said “I’m getting all well-behaved.”

“Are you?” She sounded surprised and proceeded to take her hurty turn.

When the young lady was finished, it was the Huge Handed Fireman’s turn, and I was thrilled when he asked if I wanted to go over his knee. Ohmygoodness those hands—they’re strong but soft and sort of magically cool to the touch. He didn’t hurt as much as the other spankers did; it was more like he struck a good note. He was just right at holding me down, too—he has such a long reach, I felt like a deftly handled piano. The Cutest Boy at the Party came over and sat at my feet, took off my shoes, held my legs down, and tickled the back of my knees. I wiggled and shrieked and HHF held me down harder.

I have to stop and high five myself for being held down by two of the most desirable characters at the party. Go me!

When HHF was done spanking, he ran his hands soothingly over my back. I took off my shirt to make it easier for him and to add to the nice humiliation I was feeling. I told him I was leaving my bra on for the time being and he used that as an excuse to cop a feel. Ohthosehands. I want them all over me some more.

I didn’t want him to go away and he blessedly didn’t. He acted as a human spanking bench, holding me down for the other takers. I would have stayed in his big warm lap all night if I could’ve. Sometimes he held my head down and I couldn’t see who was doing the hitting—I’d just notice a pair of shoes and try to remember whose they were later on.

Cute Master came in with a nasty crop, stingy as fuck and I screamed my head off. The screaming is so much of the fun, though I suppose I could’ve asked one of these nice big hands over my mouth. I tried to reach back and grab the crop away but I didn’t say red.

“Oh, I see now, so you’re a pain freak,” said HHF, and though I’ve always argued that I’m not, this time I sighed and said “Um, yeah. I can tell by how calm I feel in the days after.”

One thing I loved about being spanked by so many people was that submissives joined in too—one of the best sets of spanks came from the lady I’d bonded with on the couch during my blanket time. When I texted her a “Good job!” the next day, she could not have been prouder.

Once everyone in the room had had a turn, the Cutest Boy at the Party went through the house to see if there were any more takers. These guys really know how to make a birthday bottom feel special. I thought it was probably time to be all the way naked. HHF reached in my bra and started pulling my boobs out, but I asked him to unhook my bra for me. Can bra hooking and unhooking be a fetish? I just love that part so much.

Cute Master came back in and made me get up from my nice spot on the sofa. He pulled an ottoman into the middle of the room and then directed me to kneel over it, arch my back, and stick my ass out in such a way that everything was exposed—all the way submissive. Fully clothed, he draped himself all the way over my body and rubbed his cock against my ass. Pretty Slave had told me he was huge, and she was not wrong. Someone apologized for the fact that all this was happening to the tune of “SexyBack,” but I couldn’t have been happier with the song choice.

Speaking of Pretty Slave, she came and sat in a chair in front of me, stroked my hair, held my hands, and made soothing noises. I let out a gasp and a groan and lay all the way flat, getting exactly what I wanted, the humiliation of everyone watching, the heat and smell of him, the loveliness of her. He started hitting my hard on my now-tender behind, to the point where I was now scream/crying but still not telling him to stop. He was ruthless, growling and snarling and whaling on me until he stepped on my foot wrong and it sort of broke the mood.

It sort of boggles my mind how this all felt perfectly safe. I felt a deep assurance in my ability to say no, I guess, and a basic trust of the hosts, but it still feels like an enormous leap of faith to offer my ass to that many people, many of them strangers. Putting my faith in my instincts and in the basic good of the crowd seems a little crazy, but it worked.

Next: The Cutest Boy at the Party Gets Aftercare Duty (Because He’s a Giver!)

Birthday Spanks and Unicorn Snuggles Part One: I Almost Let a Conversation Wreck My Fun

I was excited and nervous getting ready for Cute Master and Pretty Slave’s party yesterday. I left church a little early, came home and shaved (Jeez I should do that more often, it was a thicket!) put on lacy black and white polka-dot underpants and new fancy pushup bra. Over that I wore a short flowered skirt and a white tank top with the black bra showing through and the lacy straps exposed. I wore comfy shoes for driving but packed up my black and white heels in my suitcase, along with pajamas and a comfy bra in case I needed it for aftercare and/or decided to stay over.

I knew I wanted to play with the hosts, but I wasn’t sure how much. I know I haven’t fallen in love with everyone I’ve had PIV sex with (Only two out of all these recent adventures, I’m realizing…) but I know the risk is there and I didn’t want to end up wrecking/postponing any more friendships. Although they’re very affectionate, I know there aren’t lovey-dovey possibilities—they’re more on the swinger side of things than poly—so I hoped there were ways I could enjoy them without setting off the chemicals that make romantic fantasies happen. Spoiler alert! There were.

For the first few hours of the party I wasn’t sure if I’d end up feeling like playing at all. There was more of a laid back barbecue with friends feeling to it, delightful in its own way. There were a few pervy touches here and there, like Mardi Gras beads which yes, I did earn in the traditional way, adding to my I’m An Awesome Slut Checklist.

A conversation kept starting nearby that I was already in without joining it. A big, tall, dreamy Dom guy (He definitely earns a nickname in the next installment—please welcome the Huge-Handed Fireman.) was having online trouble with the leadership of the Scary Party, specifically with the same woman who’d “resolved” my issue by informing the internet that I was crazy. HHF kept talking about improvements that he thought should be made with security and the DMs because of incidents that had happened there.

By the third time I heard the conversation come around, I stopped resisting the temptation to join in. I went over to thank him and confess the role I’d played. Most of the people standing around agreed with HHF and seemed sympathetic, but there’s always one. Fucking. Mean. Girl.

I think every kind of community has versions of this Ratfaced Bitch Girl. She’s rotten all the way through, dead-to-malevolent behind the eyes, and graduated right from high school hallway bullying to running down outsiders as an adult.

She got her hackles up and started to lay into me about my method of reporting the incident with The Man, getting EVERY SINGLE FACT WRONG and saying there’s still no way to know the truth. I wish I’d been a reality show contestant with a drink to throw in her fucking face.

Since the HHF was talking about starting his own dungeon, I suggested that it would be helpful to have submissives as part of the leadership. Ratface Bitch Girl said that was a contradiction in terms, with in the same crazymaking rock-stupid voice that The Man used to tell me that “higher level” Doms are allowed to bypass consent.

I didn’t say this, but what the fuck does she think I’m doing in my daily life, sitting around waiting for some fucking Sir to tell me how to run my classroom? The assumption that submissives can’t lead just seems like an extension of good old fashioned sexism. If you’re saying that someone is incapable of leading, you’re on some level taking their agency away, and if you’re performing sexual acts on someone you’ve taken agency away from, that’s coercion at the very least. It’s the crux of the whole problem.

Ratface Bitch Girl added that besides, most of the Scary Party leadership are switches, so of course they could sympathize.she said it in the worst condescending snotrag voice.

Rage boiled up all the way from my belly and I expressed in with frosty controlled force:

“No. They. Couldn’t. And I HOPE it never happens to you.”

(Of course it WOULDN’T happen to her because she seems to be part of the Scary Party’s in-crowd and therefore would probably be deemed a person by them.)

Another girl, wonderfully ignorant and self-assured as only a 21-year-old can be, said she’d never had a bad experience there because she is “not a dumbass.”

“I’m not a dumbass. I was handcuffed. And if all the victims are dismissed as dumbasses, how is anything ever going to change?”

She backpedaled after that but I knew I was past-due to leave the conversation. I’d only had a couple of drinks and one hit of some really good weed, more than an hour ago so I figured I’d be okay to drive before too long. I went into the nice cool house and found a quiet spot and a blanket, pissed off that I was panicking and unable to believe that I was probably going to cry at another party. It felt like the goddamned Man was never going to stop taking away my fun.

Scary Party, if you were a person I would punch you in your ugly, rapey face. The inhumanity and stupidity of every gaslighting host and victim-blaming poster from March and April came rushing back. I was so angry at them, and at every adorable Scary Party regular I’ve met who’s said “Oh, that was you?” when it felt like what they meant was “Oh, that was a person?” Because how could you watch anybody go through that and still want to be part of the event unless on some level you didn’t think of her as a fellow human? When I’m in that panicky state, it feels like otherwise kind and wonderful people cosign my violation every time they pay their 10$ at the door, and I am sick to fucking death of being hurt and confused about it. I spent the summer trying to be forgiving, but you know what, I’m not. Fuck them. Fuck the Scary Party forever.

As I sat watching the clock and wondering how long I should give myself before driving, people came and visited my self-aftercare spot. One lady about my age said she’d been through something similar—I wonder how much of the dismissiveness does have to do with being over 35.

Cute Master and Pretty Slave come in and showered me with hugs and sympathy. Snuggled up between them was when the tears started to come, but I was crying and laughing at the same time—indignant as I was about the mean girls, I saw the absurdity of crying at parties two weekends in a row.

Cute Master left Pretty Slave and me in an embrace. She petted my hair and spoke softly, telling me that it was okay, that it was rare.

During this exchange, Cutest Boy at the Party (lady-liking bear!!!) noticed what was happening and asked if I was okay. I felt so silly for having a panic even before the play had started. After Pretty Slave went off to tend to her guests, CBATP came in again to check on me. I said I was fine but would certainly take a hug. He had that amazing sweaty-dude smell and I told him so. We talked about all kinds of things, museums and music and munches.  Just from sitting down next to him and yammering, I started to simmer down and opened back up to the evening’s possibilities. It seems to happen that way—whenever I think I’ll never get past the hurt and fear, god sends a cute boy as an incentive to power through. And it always, always works.

Next: My quest to get spanked by everyone.