First Date With Steampunk Guy, Part Four: His Huge Life Force

In the course of writing this, I’ve realized that I’ve had an awful lot of first-date sex for someone who keeps saying she’s not casual. I guess the two things aren’t mutually exclusive, but it’s time to acknowledge that some of the things I want fall outside of my lovely-dovey dreams. Some of my favorite adventures have been off to the side of romance and some have been nowhere near it. I’m pretty much in crushtown about Steampunk Guy, but not in the same way that I am for my more romance-oriented partners. Maybe I just want to climb all over him a whole bunch more.

Anyway, back to the couch. As we snuggled, I told him that I was really enjoying the enormous amount of Chi thrumming through him—he thought “You have a huge life force.” was hilarious and worthy of a Fet status, but to his credit he did not stop and update. Anyway, the man has a lot of oomph, and I think it’s contagious.While we were cuddling and chatting, I felt this amazing warmth come over me; heat, well-being, life just simmered through me—he must’ve felt something like it too, because on went the condom. 

He took me by the hair and pushed my head toward his dick, pressing and thrusting--I believe one would call this getting fucked in the face. I pushed him down my throat as far as I could, taking as much gagging as I could stand. I squeezed, licked, sucked. It turns out that the taste of a regular comdom’s okay, but I did miss the taste of the thing itself—it’s a little harder to know what to do with a blow job without the taste to make me all ravenous for it. But I was ravenous for it in other ways.

He put me on my hands and knees and pushed in from behind, hitting new spots inside me and bringing forth more yowling. I got pushed down over the edge of the couch so that my face was almost on the floor. I tried to stifle the screams with a couch cushion.

Then he turned me over, put my legs over his shoulders, and went in so deep that it hurt again, but I decided to take the pain—I really didn’t want him to ever stop. His expression was angry/gleeful, especially when my screams turned into something like sobs—no tears came but it was close enough to crying to put him over the edge. (I know I got mad at Bill way back when for getting turned on by tears. I’m not sure why this is different.)  Again, he came and just kept fucking me until I absolutely couldn’t take it anymore.

During afterglow/aftercare The National started to seem too moody to I put the songs back on shuffle. I was going to skip “You Get What You Give” (given to me by a dear friend whose road mixes have no rhyme or reason except that they are in alphabetical order) based on its general not-hotness, but he liked it so much that I left it on. He went on so ebulliently about the movie-montage moments in life that I have no choice but to love the song now. If we were a thing, it’d be our song.

Some of the things he said made me think that night was a one-off, and ever since Mr. Popular I’ve assumed that overbooked guys might see it as a one night thing. I guess since he texted the next day to see if I’m interested in his partner as well there’s a possibility that more things might happen.

We kissed some more, had pie, and then all of a sudden he was ready to go. He did have a pretty long drive back but I felt a little sad about how quickly he had his shoes on. If there’s a next time, I think I’ll ask for praise and more snuggles. I felt a lonely ache between the time he left and the time Sweetie got home.

However, over the next few days the lonely ache gave ways to such a wonderful feeling of confidence and centeredness—my favorite side-effect of submission. There’s something good there. I don’t know what the heck to do with it, if anything, but it’s good.

Mr. Popular Gets Lucky, Part Two

There’s a lot to celebrate about my visit to Mr. Popular’s house on Monday. 

His home is beautiful. I guess four incomes (his, his wife’s, his ex-wife’s and his ex-wife’s husband’s) can buy a lot of house. It’s perfectly decorated and meticulously cared for, to the last detail. They are surrounded by a lush, beautiful garden. You’ve got to be impressed by a man who grows his own pears. He picked one for me and it was very juicy. The juice ran all down my arm.

When we walked into the house, his pregnant ex-wife was chopping up eggplant for dinner with her husband and us. Un-oh, eggplants, this caused me some anxiety—I’m a picky eater and dinners in people’s homes can be a little fraught. I vowed to myself that I would be a big girl and eat whatever was put in front of me.

Mr. Popular and I sat on his bed singing approximately one million Beatles songs—it was ridiculously fun. I was a little self-conscious that the rest of the family could hear my caterwauling, but mostly I just sang with my whole body and heart. We hadn’t even kissed yet so it was exciting and adorable when he’s put his hand on my knee or his head on my shoulder. Like any good date, there was a fair amount of high-fiving. He was singing the harmony, but when the melody was too low for me, we’d switch and he’d sing my part. We made a good team. He put waaaaaay too much feeling into “Fixing a Hole” and I laughed until tears came down my face. We both got a possessive, cathartic thrill out of belting out “Run For Your Life,” probably the least poly song ever:

We got called down to dinner and there was plenty for my picky self to eat. I felt shy around the rest of the family, but he says I did okay. They went on a Whole Foods run after dinner and left us to do the dishes. I’d rather wash than dry, so this marks the first time I’ve washed a guys dishes before I’d even kissed him. We had a nice time bickering about his terrible taste in music (He only learned about the Beatles from Rock Band, can you imagine?!) and gently brushing up against each other.

After dishes and quite the grueling Abbey Road medley, it was time to snuggle. I got under the covers and right into his arms. He kissed me and made little yummy noises that took some getting used to. He is skinnier than my usual type and definitely bottomy, so he felt a little fragile, but warm, safe, deft. He ran his hands over my breasts and I sighed and cooed. Things were going fast so I said “Okay, just so you know, we’re not going past third base.”

This lead to a lengthy, silly discussion of what the bases are. I think I’m the only adult who still refers to the base system. It’s not like I think there’s only four things to do, I just keep adding more bases. Knowing where this blog is, for example, is 29^th base.

Anyway, he felt so sweet and comforting, and was kind and matter-of-fact about my “I had HPV six months ago” revelation, that I quickly revised my third-base-only assertion.

He felt sooooo good inside me. I may or may not have alienated the rest of the household with my vociferousness. I had to hold back my yelps because the ex-wife is not a fan of overhearing—it was really hard to hold back, I reeeeeaaaaaly missed this kind of sex; I really wanted to loudly celebrate. (A little nostalgia here for the Mayor of Kittentown, who lives in a rowhouse but never minded how much carrying on the neighbors might overhear--thanks for that, pal.) It may be a little fast for me to be all the way underneath someone on the second date, but the connection between us felt real. I’m not sure how deep it was, but it was genuine. I felt him gasp and surrender and come inside me (in the condom, of course). I told him that was the first time that’s happened since the Nineties, so thanks.

We chatted for a good long while after that—Mr. Popular is very easy to talk to. His soft orange kitty joined us on the bed, oh, the joy of getting to know new cats. I may have gone on a little too much about Mister Hazel Eyes, but he didn’t seem to mind—he’s in favor of me cutting MHE some slack and letting more things happen. Who knows.

We fell asleep in cozy friendship, my arm around him and petting the cat.

There’s a lot to be said for being let into someone’s life, even if it’s just for an evening. I appreciate his sweetness and generosity and warmth so much. His calendar is very full but I hope he fits me in, even if it’s just as a sometimes treat.

Mr. Popular Gets Lucky, Part One

 As promised, I went over to play Rock Band at Mr. Popular’s house, and the game is right by the bed. It felt really good to be there, and after we sang a looooooot of Beatles songs, I just sort of relaxed into him. It was a relief and a release, and I’m sure I’ll have a little more to say about it tomorrow when I’ve let it sink in.

For now, another song:

YAY Mr. Popular Tonight!

I may be confused and fussing about Mister Hazel Eyes, but I’m happy to look forward to my playing-Beatles-Rock-Band date with Mr. Popular tonight.

Last week, Mr. Popular’s wife sought me out on Ok Cupid to touch base and let me know that she and the kids would be staying at the grandparents’ tonight so there’s be no bedtime concerns and I can stay over if I want to.

For a second date. I felt so special! Like I was an event the whole family’d gotten ready for.

So, putting shakiness aside and ready to get pretty and sing my heart out. Go me. 

Yay Updates! Mr. Popular, Mr. Hazel Eyes, and Sweetie With a Blindfold

It’s been a little while since I’ve been able to post. Sweetie and I moved into a new apartment last week, and while it is shaping up to be quite a little love nest, moving has been sucking the life out of my writing life.

So! Three main updates:

1. My first date with Mr. Popular! I named him that because we first started corresponding last summer when his dance card was all filled, and at the moment he lives with his two kids, wife, his ex-wife, and his ex-wife’s new partner, as well as having another girlfriend who doesn’t live with them. I’m thinking that if we work out, he’d make a nice once-a-month treat, and I’m excited about meeting the rest of the constellation some day too.

Mr. Popular is a tall, beardy, adorable engineer. He asked me out for Indian food, which means yay, he read my profile! We sat there talking for like three hours, about his family, my adventures, his love of Rock Band, and poly in general. He was all full of energy and it was easy to get excited about him. (In fact, when I excused myself to go to the restroom, I was so excited that it was hard to pee, so I think that’s a good sign.)

He likes to seduce girls by inviting them over to play Beatles Rock Band—he says it’s easy to get cozy after singing all those romantic songs together. So that’s exactly the plan for our second date, which isn’t for a few weeks. He gave me the choice of family-style Rock Band or a more datey plan, and I chose the just-the-two-of-us version because I want to get to know him a little better before I meet everyone else.

What really turns me on about Mr. Popular is that he has to be proactive about scheduling—it oddly seems easier to make plans with him than with less-busy pals. I feel like all of the stuff he’s got going on makes him more respectful of the stuff I’ve got going on—and that is HOT.

2. On the other hand, my second date with Mr. Hazel Eyes was romantically serendipitous. I was just getting out of a placement test on Friday when he texted to tell me that he needed a hug. I happened to be in the neighborhood where he works, so I was happy to deliver one. It was pouring down rain so I had to go on a quest for an umbrella—the only one I could find was a mini Hello Kitty one, darn.

I was dressed for a placement test, not a date, and my back was soaked from the rain, but he didn’t seem to mind. We met at the local indoor farmer’s market and had burgers in the little diner there. Over lunch we talked about some of the things I’ve been worrying about, my post-Bill anxieties, which he was able to mostly put to rest. I kept stroking his arm and he kept looking me like grrr. I told him his Kitten Calendar nickname but didn’t tell him where he can find it.

After lunch the rain had stopped, so we took a little walk before he had to go back to work. He whispered progressively filthier things in my ears and stopped periodically to press me up against buildings. I’m starting to get used to the fact that I can turn guys on, but he really was making such a big deal about it. I liked him hard and pressed up against me, mauling each other like teenagers in the middle of the bright day seemed extra lewd. He grabbed my ass at the bus stop and I think I’d have to call it the good kind of humiliating.

He has really good top energy and I think I might be able to teach him how to be my dom, but I’m still just not sure about him. We’ve got a dinner date for Wednesday night so we’ll see.

3. This weekend Sweetie and I went to our favorite rope-themed play party again. I’ve been really hankering for a spanking so I was really excited to be there. Two really significant things happened!

First—somebody else spanked me while Sweetie was nearby and she didn’t mind! Huzzah! There was this sort of Renn-Fair-ish  guy whose flogging techniques I’ve admired for a while and he looked like he wanted to try out a new toy—a cane tipped with a ceramic star—and without stopping to think, I blurted out an offer. I asked Sweetie if it was okay and she said yes!

We were sitting on cushy benches in sort of a square with a whole bunch of people. It was lingerie night, so had on a pretty, sheer nightgown with hardly any coverage on the boob area (but tape on the nipples, sadly) and a frilly ruffle at the bottom, with matching periwinkle blue lace undies. I climbed up on my knees on the bench, hoisted up my nightie, and stuck out my ass. The star thing hurt like a son of a bitch but the guy had such a funny spankside manner that I was laughing my head off. I asked Sweetie how it felt to see that and she said she just really liked to hear my laugh. High-five to us.

Then it was time for me and Sweetie to play. I decided I wanted my arms tied to posts and lots of ropes on my upper body and thighs. Off came the nightie and I stood there almost naked in front of everyone. It felt much more exposed than being all the way naked at the beach. I had my contacts in so I kept catching people’s eye while they watched us, which felt hot but unnerving. There’d been a munch right before the party, so I think people just felt too chatty to play.

“Too many looky-loos!” I kept saying. Finally I asked Sweetie to put a blindfold on me and it felt GREAT. I lost self-consciousness and slipped right into subspace after that. I’d been scared of blindfolds after Fireguy, and I’m delighted to have them back on the yes pile. So much to celebrate!