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.

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 Two: Silly Nineties Music and a Dream Come True

Every since my first munch when Fireguy put the idea into my head, I’ve wanted to be tied to another girl, so when I found out that Mr. and Mrs. Sweetface had a rope scene in the works, I didn’t hold back a single little ounce of my eagerness to join them. (Hard to believe I recently spent a couple of days crying about being called pushy…it seems to serve me okay.) They were getting ready to play in the tiny living room on the red plush recliners and when he came to invite me over, I said “Yesyesyesyes ohyes!” and had my bra off before I crossed the room. (Surprised it had stayed on as long as it did!)

I couldn’t believe my luck. She’s so cute and bubbly and has a goofy sense of humor just like I do and I! Was going! To be! Tied to her! She left on her shiny dark-silver bra and panties, and I was down to my peach and purple polka dot undies. While he started her harness, she scrolled through the radio stations on the TV, landing on “Hits of the Nineties” And by “Hits of the Nineties,” they did not mean dignified alt-hits like “Cut Your Hair,” or “Cannonball,” we’re talking full on “Oops, I Did It Again.”  I don’t know why, but this made things more awesome.

I loved dancing around and singing with her while occasionally being admonished to be still by our top and watching the comings and goings of the party guests. Cacophony kept coming up from the karaoke-ing basement, lending to the overall atmosphere of joy and mirth.

Once he finished weaving her into her shiny purple harness, it was my turn. The ropes he used on me were peacock blue. I was soready. My nipples were alert in that ultrasensitive way they only get for ropes, sending tingles all through me ever time the rope or his hand even lightly brushed against them. I didn’t get all surrender-y the way that I sometimes do for ropes, but sometimes he’d tug at them in just such a way that peace would radiate through me from that spot, and aah, sigh, a reunion, oh ropes, I always miss you.

Much was made of the fact that I like to have an ass-knot in addition to the clit knot, thank you very much!

I wasn’t subby-dreamy-drowsy, I was exultant, and when he looped another length of rope underneath both of our crotches and started tying us together, I got intoxicated by the smell of her—there are never adequate adjectives to describe the smell of a girl’s hair, and besides that sweetness there was sweat, and alcohol, and some girly soap, the smells of happy aliveness. I put my arms around her and we danced around like slumber party girls, to the tune of “Roller Coaster of Love,” which I don’t think I ever properly appreciated before.

We sat together on one of the two big red recliners, the two of us girls in Mr. Sweetface’s lap. I was the boldest and most handsy character in that chair. As we settled into cuddling and petting, many hands were many places, but my fingers went right for her panties, found her clit beneath them, toyed with it alternately with hand and rope. She moaned and rocked, and I worked my way inside her bra, first with my hand and then my face, licking and nuzzling, finding what I was looking for. I reached around and unhooked her bra, and even though I couldn’t get it all the way off, I made her just as naked as I possibly could. It was a good long time until I finally kissed her on the mouth, soft and perfect, and then kissed him too. They kissed alike, searching and cautious, friendly and sensual. She told me later that I’d been her first girl kiss, and I was honored. I should stop going around assuming everybody’s always kissing everybody, I guess.

She grabbed the ropes at my hips so that the crotch rope, with its lovely knots, did just what it was meant to, which was turn me into a moany writhey animal-thing. They both looked a little taken aback.

“Ohyeah, I’m really loud.” I explained, super-unnecessarily, and I didn’t get any quieter when they went for my boobs, a mouth on each one, my favorite, favorite thing. Well, one of the favorites.

Next: Spanks, more songs, and goodbyes.