I like to leave a party while I’m still having fun, so after
the Beatles sing-along and one more piece of cake, I started saying my
goodbyes. Cute Master and Pretty Slave were disappointed--they’d assumed I was
staying over because I had my PJs on and probably also because I’d been hitting
on them off and on for about a month.
“Just let us molest you for five minutes,” he said, and that
seemed reasonable, so I let them lead me into their bedroom and I climbed into
their big satiny bed.
Being between them was a rush of unmitigated joy, him
pressing himself into my back, her in front, both with their hands all over me.
It was a transcendent moment of giving myself over.
He lay back and asked us both to blow him, but I couldn’t—we
hadn’t done the when-were-we-all-last tested talk and besides I was worried
about the emotional attachments that tend to happen to me, especially when
confronted with large friendly penises.
“I can’t, I’ll get attached,” I said, and they both seemed
befuddled.
“It’s okay to have a crush, we both like you…” But I just
couldn’t. So she blew him and I watched. He rubbed my clit through my pajama
bottoms. I was soaking wet from the however many hours of attention I’d just
had and I liked the idea of walking out through the party with a wet spot
afterwards.
“Come on, let me fuck you (my name)” He snarled.
Ohboy I really liked hearing my name that way but I knew I
couldn’t and also I didn’t want to.
“No. Feelings!” I said. “I don’t want to fuck anyone I can’t
belong to.”
Crap. I hadn’t actually put that preference into words
before, but given my various FWB aches, it makes sense.
“Well, then, you’re just gonna have to watch me fuck her.”
“Hooray!”
I like helping. I put my arms around Pretty Slave and kissed
her, played with her nipples, held her tight while he spread her legs and
pushed in. She had such pretty little cries at first, building up to throatier
groans.
He shoved his hand down my pants and pushed his fingers in
hard, in the same rhythm he was fucking her. We yowled together and I enjoyed
imagining the party guests listening downstairs.
As he started to get close to coming, he said, “Kiss her,
kiss her hard, let me see tongues, come on.” And I did, in the exaggerated
showoffy way that he wanted. That’s the one part I really didn’t like, despite
her loveliness. The whole kissing-a-girl-to-turn-on-a-guy thing is just, no.
(Does this disqualify me from unicorn fun? Jeez I hope not) I may have flashed
my boobs for beads earlier that day, but I’m just not a Girl Gone Wild at
heart.
I did love the feeling of contributing, holding her tight
and helping her through it—that was absolutely beautiful. When they’d finished,
he got dressed quick and went back to the party, citing a dislike of snuggling.
(Which, oops, is one of my minimum play partner expectations, come to think of
it.)
Pretty Slave and I snuggled and talked. I told her I was
surprised about the not wanting to fuck and explained about my summer adventures
and not wanting my heart to get me left out of parties. She was so sweet and
understanding and still very strongly in favor of me fucking her boyfriend,
which is really nice.
I think I may not be ready for unicorning or even for ladies
post-Sweetie, but I’m so glad I followed them into that bedroom and got to
enjoy the warmth and energy of them. As I said my goodbyes again (this time
with awesome bed head) and left for real, I was proud of the night everyone had
helped me make, so grateful to my new friends for being so game and helping me
make my birthday fantasies into realities. Being vulnerable to the whole crowd
was a huge win, and so was being true to what I wanted and (most of) what I didn’t
want.
Dear Sunday night, thank you and thank you and thank you.
It’s all the way Thursday now and the effects still haven’t worn off. What an
amazing gift.