The End of My Adventures? A Sparkly Festival of…Grief.

I was excited yesterday morning to pack up and get ready for the Sparkly Festival of Awesomeness, but I was also grumpy and space-issuey—even the shower curtain brushing up against my legs seemed invasive. I was thinking it might be better to stay home and rest and write, maybe even grade papers. I wanted some time to myself.

But I also knew it was time to start reaching out, and I was curious about whether I’d even be interested in a naked-outside adventure now that the Big Therapy Project had been completed. When I arrived, I immediately felt disincluded—the man at the gate couldn’t find my name on the list, and neither could the lady at registration, at first. Still, I was glad to be there and excited to see my friends.

I found Mr. and Ms. Sweetheart right away. Their tent was in the same place it was in last year, where I’d had all the fun with Mr. Sweetheart and Mr. Shiny Eyes. This time, all the front tent flaps were open and it had the feel of a veranda, a porch full of inflatable beds.

I got naked and fell easily in with them on their bed. I was warm from the gorgeous day and from the adrenaline and had lots of lovely snuggles and sexytimes in front of everyone, but Mr. Sweetheart got impatient with me for wanting to stop and put on sunscreen—he deemed it shady enough. After snuggles they were going to a workshop and he was getting annoyed with me for making them late, and I wasn’t okay with that. I wanted to go enjoy the woods anyway.

I felt post-coital tired and cranky as I set off on my own. I started out naked but kept adding more clothes as I went. My spray-on sunscreen wouldn’t work and everything all of a sudden felt sore. I added a skirt and then a bra, but still sure did like the sun on my skin. I found and walked the labyrinth where I’d had such a meaningful experience last year, then went to explore the pond. It was teeming with tadpoles, a fuck you to anything that would interfere with the flourishing of life. I found this vindicating, since the pond where I used to watch tadpoles as a child has fallen prey to frackers. It felt like the frogs were still winning.

I saw a tiny turtle and got very, very sad that Sweetie wasn’t there to see it with me.

I tried to have some self-adventures in the woods, that had long been a fantasy of mine, but my body felt raw and disconnected, guarded against touch, even my own. I started to realize that no matter how pretty the scenery, no matter how much everyone else was having fun, I didn’t belong here, maybe never would.

On the way back from the pond, who should I see but that harbinger of go-home-already, Steampunk Girl. She was, as always, perfectly at home, being chatted up by a guy who looked exactly like a young Weird Al Yankovic. She was directly in my path and I thought I should go talk to her, say my sorries and get in over with, but everything inside me finished shutting down and I found a way to get past them without being seen.

I found some nice grass to lie down in, looked up at the perfect cartoon clouds and thought about the Steampunks, who were probably here together and fitting in perfectly the way they always do, like I never would. I don’t know why I still feel so much pain about them, but there is. I’m still broken about them no matter how much progress I’ve made otherwise.

I started to sob and a couple of strangers came over to talk to me, but I couldn’t articulate it to strangers, I needed a real friend.

I spotted the Recurring Character and his wife sitting in lawn chairs and watching a nice couple fuck in the next tent over. I asked if I could just sit by them, but they got closed and guarded and he said “We’re having an alone moment right now.”

I think that was the moment that I clocked out of polyamory, or whatever community this was. The way they used boundaries as an excuse to ignore the real need of a hurting human being, this has been the essence of heartbreak after heartbreak for these past few years. It certainly wasn’t friendship. Like a child, I sobbed away across the field, in front of everyone, maybe even in front of Steampunks.

I eventually found the Sweethearts leaving their workshop, hugged them and told them what happened with Steampunk Girl. I lay down on the bed for a few minutes and when I closed my eyes, they were gone again. There was nothing and no one here for me, not even myself since I felt so disconnected.

I tried to get a cup of coffee in hopes that that would make me feel better, but even THAT felt exclusive—you had to be a member of the Coffee Club. Never has the universe been so unsubtle at telling me to get the heck out of someplace.

I headed home sad and wondering what hobbies would replace unicorning and nudity, if I’d ever find a place to belong. (Where does one go to meet monogamous available people, anyway?) I stopped at Gold Star Wing Girl’s house on the way home, and talking to her confirmed what I already sort of knew: My adventures of the past few years helped me to separate from Sweetie and successfully tackle the Big Therapy Project, and now that that’s done, they just don’t have the same meaning. Being a naked peripheral character feels bad because it’s already in the past and going backwards always hurts.

I hung onto the Sweethearts the longest probably because they’re the nicest, but it’s time to cop to the thing I said out loud to Sweetie in the ocean last summer—I didn’t say I wanted an FWB or a play partner or a couple. I said I wanted a husband. And because, unlikely as he is for giving such an insight, Steampunk Guy was the one who helped me realize it, maybe they’ll always be there to show me when I’m off track.

It’s lonely not belonging, but I can only refocus on ways to keep belonging with myself and hope the rest works out somehow.

Poly Conference as Benchmark: Very Good Progress

When I first attended the Big Poly Conference the year before last, it was almost like research as an outsider. I found many different kinds of comfort and acceptance (especially in my first nudist experience) but by the end of the day I was hurting and crying in the cuddle party, being comforted by the facilitator (who is, incidentally, now Showtime famous) and feeling like I should never be near such nice people, like I was just to rotten inside for all this togetherness. I cried my heart out all the way home that night, consoled by Sweetie in that toxic way we had, half-knowing that my relationship was part of where the rottenness was coming from.

Then last year I attended with much more experience and a few more good connections, spent the day mostly catching up with friends and being proud to find out where the big party was being held. That was the night I first really connected with the Sweethearts, Mr. Shiny Eyes, and the Recurring Character. Because Sweetie was staying in the hotel with me (though not attending the conference) I still felt separate from the poly folks and strangely protective of her, like I couldn’t give all the way in to everything that was going on around me.

This year, I shared a room with my favorite snuggle-couple, the Sweethearts, whom I’m still learning, of course, but thoroughly and emphatically enjoyed in both pants-off and pants-on ways. They feel like home to me, a physical and spiritual comfort to be near whether we were mid-scene or not.

As with last year, I spent a good amount of time catching up with the Lady of the House, who decided that wherever we are together talking is actually the nude beach--it’s exactly that sunny, embracing, and free.

I got to devour Mr. Shiny Eyes for lunch and have some emotional breakthroughs with him during postsex cuddles. (I’ll elaborate on all this as the week goes on…)

And yes, I did know where the party was, but I chose instead to curl up in a comforter and enjoy the warmth of my own company.

For all of the happiness, there was grief, too. I miss having someone to whom I could confess everything and be (until the next condemning fight, at least) absolved. And since last year’s party was all about Sweetie’s ropes, I missed the heck out of those too: I love that we were able to create such beautiful rope-magic even as we were falling apart. I miss the home of her even as I rejoice in finding and founding new person-homes.

This was also the weekend in which I finally admitted to myself that I believe in Tantric energy—I’ve experienced it enough times, I might as well. The first time I tried Tantric breath (at that same sobby conference cuddle party) I experienced it as stabby, almost debilitating pain, a grief-cramp that didn’t go away until I cried it out. This time, just after I left the Sacred Sex Puja, I felt such a warm, sunshiny glow move through me, and keep moving. Though I’m still facing some roadblocks and daunting obstacles, on some fundamental level I’ve come unstuck. There’s so much more work to be done, but sometimes I feel my body, mind, and heart giving me time and space to relax into the flow of whatever comes next.

Naked New Years as Benchmark: So Many Gold Stars

As I alluded to last week, the Sweethearts came down for the Lady of the House’s annual New Years party, and to my delight they offered to stop by my apartment on the way. I was so excited to make them soup and catch up—hard as it is to believe, we hadn’t seen each other since the Sparkly Festival of Awesomeness, when he was part of my first threesome and she brushed my hair after.

When we started getting ready, there was a spark of energy in the air, and not just because we were enthusiastically comparing shiny butt plugs. At my encouragement, she came in to keep me company while I was getting dressed and we agreed that my Snoopy Christmas underpants were much more festive than my lucky polka dot ones. I found my shiny red bra, packed my red satin heels in my trusty suitcase, and chose a pretty outfit that would certainly not be on for very long.

I was shy around Mr. Sweetheart at first (Well, my version of shy…) but his body felt warm and welcoming. While they were sitting together on the couch getting the directions situated, I made some room for myself and kissed him, still the same softness, still the same lovely, steady connection. Then I got up the courage to lean across him and kiss her. She was a fit, just as I always suspected she would be. It is a wonder we ever made it to the party, but we did, in spite of my somewhat haphazard driving. (Note to self: become a better driver before the next time I drive someplace with a butt plug in.)

Shortly after we got there (While we still had clothes on, even!) the friend whom I’ve just named The Recurring Character arrived. He tends to be present at many of my formative experiences: He was the first person I (sort of) cuddled at my first cuddle party, he was in the clothing optional workshop where I first (sort of) stripped down, he was even there the first time I went to the nude beach. Last February, with Sweetie’s help, I was his first rope top. Like many of my guy friends, he’s a belle-of-the-ball type with lots of partners. Maybe I gravitate towards characters like that because they’re the most approachable, or maybe because I kinda want to be like them. Maybe both.

The Lady of the House’s parties always have a designated play space, adjacent to the rest of the party but not visible. That’s where the Sweethearts and I headed before too long. Last year, even though I was having a lovely rope scene with Sweetie, sex at a party seemed like a distant dream. Not even one year distant, it turns out. (Pause to high five Pretty Slave and Cute Master, who got to be that first. Jeez 2013, you were awesome sometimes.)

The aim was to have my first anal sex before midnight, but it was not meant to be. The universe seems determined to have me wait on that one, I don’t know why, but I’ve decided to settle in and be patient about it. Well, as patient as possible, anyway.

Anyway, playing with Mr. and Ms. Sweetheart was perfect. Especially considering that I’d been fantasizing about it for half a year! I always thought she looked like some badass Nordic goddess, all pale skin and smooth, heroic curves, an ass like a Romantic-era odalisque. (Yay I just used my Art History degree everybody!) Mr. Sweetheart is still such a wonderful combination of gentle and mean, though in this case, more gentle. The kindest spanks I’ve even known, kindest finger in my asshole.

As I lay between them like a loved-up princess, the Recurring Character asked if he could join, and after a quick soul-search I said yes and was plunged into the middle of the three of them. He kissed me while the Sweethearts played with my breasts, while Ms. Sweetheart ran her fingers over the front of my more-and-more-wet underpants. Everyone wondered how I could possibly still be wearing underpants and worked together to get them off of me. They were kind enough to let me leave my socks on, though, as all the best people are. With them everywhere on me, I felt helpless and goddesslike all at once, floating/submerged/drowning in an ocean of ecstatic sensations, the most perfectly myself I can imagine, all white light and joy.

At midnight, we all got up and toasted, danced with the Lady of the House, kissed and ate cookies and drank wine and caught up with friends. There was no one I wanted to text at midnight, though I did text a few at 2 AM. I was fully present and immersed in things, that was the real difference between this year and last year.

After the midnight revels, Mr. Sweetheart put a rope harness on me and fucked me so perfectly that I had to put my hand over my own mouth to stifle the screams. This was the first night I had PIV sex in front of other people; there was something comforting about hearing my friends’ conversations nearby while I was in the throes of him. Heartwarming. Connected. Shortly thereafter, I put Ms. Sweetheart over my knee and spanked her while Mr. Sweetheart sat and petted us both. I was proud to turn this powerful woman into a sweet, sleepy angel.

I’d planned to stay over and snuggle with them, but this was a rare night where I’d had enough.  Enough closeness, enough kisses, enough snuggles. I wanted to be in my own bed and I hadn’t drunk much at all so I had a soda, found my clothes, and said my prolonged and grateful goodbyes. It was an astonishing feeling to be so filled up by others and yet still self-contained.

When I met the Sweethearts last New Years, I couldn’t have predicted what we would become. I still can’t. The same goes for when I made friends with The Lady of the House by cuddle/wrestling her the June before last, or the first time I laid eyes on Cute Master and Pretty Slave or any of the other characters. We never know what magic we’re making or where connections are leading, but I’m more convinced than ever that there’s a current underneath it all, taking us where we need to go. The Sweethearts seem to have fucked me full of faith.

Awesome at Life in '014: Thanks, Mr. and Ms. Sweetheart! Plus Another Song

My family always says that whatever you're doing at midnight on New Years is what you'll be doing for the whole year. I got up from a hot and heartfelt threesome (briefly a foursome) to watch the ball drop, then danced around naked with my friends. I'll try to say some coherent things about it later, but for now, I'm optimistic and tired. And so grateful to the Lady of the House for deciding to throw her annual party.

The best part is that after all of the revelry and snuggles, all I wanted was myself and my beloved bed. I'm so proud to be on my own, of how far I came last year, and I think I can get to where I need to go. This is the song that was playing as I gathered up my stuff to go:

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.

Happy Move-In Day, Ms. and Mr. Sweetheart!

Two of my favorite pals are making their lives more merged today. Just wanted to send them all the blessings and love!

Important Heart Updates!

1. Sweetie and I are divorcing. It's sad and hard but the prevailing emotions for me are relief and hope. We called our families and they were very kind and understanding.

***If you're a close friend of ours and this is how you're finding out, I'm sorry. Give me a call if you want.***

2. Mr. Sweetheart (with the help of Ms. Sweetheart's insistence that he talk to me) said he was sorry until I listened. He's one of the few people to make it past one of my breakup letters! We talked for a long time and our official status is now "Friends Who Will See What Happens."

3. I have a date tonight with Steampunk Guy and that makes me happy. I'm grateful to him for being such a treat. And for getting me out of the house! Yay.

Ohno, Mr. Sweetheart. A Breakup, I Think

Last Wednesday afternoon was an especially good one. Sweetie had played hookie from work and we went to our special library over by the city pool. We got out about a million books and then, feeling rich and satisfied, went over to the pool for a swim. I usually go by myself to the pool so I was extra-excited to be there with her. There’s been tension between us for the past few weeks and I was happy to feel it wash away in the sun and water—my heart felt truly free.

Part of the reason for this sense of well-being was that Wednesday night is my scheduled phone date with Mr. Sweetheart. Sweetie had already planned to take herself out and about so that we could have privacy and I had a cute nightgown picked out just in case I got asked what I was wearing. Plus! My visit to Mr. Sweetheart’s place was less than a week and a half away—I couldn’t wait for us to plan it!

Except. A post showed up in my facebook feed that said Mr. and Ms. Sweetheart were on a plane on the way across the country to visit friends. I’d known that they had a trip coming up but had no idea that it fell smack in the middle of our date night.

I felt hurt, disoriented, and left out, as if he didn’t really consider me a factor in his plans. I would have been happy to reschedule our call or even postpone it until after the trip if I’d been asked, but I wasn’t. I calmly left a voice mail saying as much, and he texted back when they landed. He was sorry for “not putting two and two together” and said he’d call but it wouldn’t be “full service.” It seemed pathetic to wait around for a call that he’d forgotten about, so I went out with Sweetie to pick out some new sheets and made some optimistic lingerie purchases while I was at it.

He told me to let him know when I was back from running errands, and when I did he called. He was very matter-of-fact about what was going on, saying he’d be better about the calendar but also just sort of breezing past the hurt. Knowing he was sitting next to Ms. Sweetheart made me feel like I had to reign in my emotions, too. He told me happily about the friends they were staying with and the poly meetup they were headed for. I felt ugly and stupid for having to be a complaint in the middle of his festivities, and would have given anything to be someplace other than sitting rejected in my pajamas as they joyously began their stay. I hated the role I was put in.

Businesslike, he asked me what my driving-to-his-house plans were for the following weekend. I felt startled by this since what just happened had not been resolved yet. It seemed crazy to drive that far for somebody who’d forget a date with me, but I pressed on figuring it’d be resolved by then.

Midsentence their friends arrived and that was that. With a businesslike “Okay, I’ll follow that up with you later,” he started ending the call and I was like “Are you kidding me? You’re hanging up on a conversation about how you…”I hatehate HATED being in this harpylike position so I hit “end call” without really thinking, and when I called back, he didn’t pick up.

What upset me the most was that instead of just enjoying Sweetie and my library books, I was now typing sad texts, turning off the phone, and crying my eyes out. It’s a leap that I take complete responsibility for, but I felt not just rejected by the Sweethearts but by the poly community as a whole—being cut off midconversation in the midst of their revelry made me feel like I’d tried to crash a party where I was unwelcome. What started out as a simple miscommunication had turned into what felt like a public humiliation, and (I have to say it!) not the good kind.

Still, I fully expected it to get worked out, that I would turn my phone back on and find some genuine effort to fix it, but there was none. (He’s gotta do SOMETHING,” Sweetie kept saying, as if we live in a movie and he could tool over and hold a boombox over his head.)

I wrote a gracious (if somewhat disingenuous) breakup text this morning because I didn’t know what else to do. I can’t be with someone who treats me like nothing as soon as his friends are around—I already went through it with The Man and once was too much.

But I didn’t WANT to break up. I wanted him to show that he cared, to somehow assure me that I wouldn’t slip through the cracks again. I wanted to hear from him so badly today that I thought I’d explode, but there was nothing, and I spent most of the day crying and feeling like a failure.

The thing is, everybody, this is the second time I’ve been forgotten in the last couple of weeks. When Steampunk Guy and I were making plans for our most recent shenanigans, he sort of drifted off mid-planning, for days. I had to remind him to finish making a date with me. That hurt less because it’s less of a relationshippy situation.

But still, I’m having a hard time not freaking out about being forgettable. The calendar is my sun, moon, and stars and I would never forget ANYBODY, friend, lover, event or otherwise once they’re on there. Why can’t I find this in another person? Why do I consistently choose partners who don’t/can’t see me as part of their lives? Is there anything else out there for me besides having a hot but tiny role?

Mr. Sweetheart, if you get around to reading this, I hated being the negative part in what seemed like such a fun night. I absolutely fucking detest the idea of not having you in my life and I so wish that things had gone differently. But somewhere in me I need to find the belief that I deserve to not be forgotten.

Happy About Ms. and Mr. Sweetheart

Last Sunday, I had my favorite metamour day so far. Ms. Sweetheart was in town for a meetup with one of her online communities and I was superexcited to spend some time with her. To tell the truth, if we hadn’t been with a rather vanilla-y crowd, I’d’ve been an eensy bit snuggly toward her. I like the way she makes me feel looked-after: During dinner, a chocolate chip from my bread pudding fell on my jeans and she didn’t hesitate to try and clean it off—to no avail, but still.

When Sweetie came to pick me up, Ms. Sweetheart walked me over to the car, saying “Do you think I should’ve blown their minds and told them you’re dating my boyfriend?”

And that’s how I found out that Mr. Sweetheart and I are dating, and I guess he felt the same. When I told him what she said, he said, “Oh, I’ll have to thank her, now I know!”

So yay, we’re dating. We have a weekly phone date on Wednesdays at 8 pm and plans for a visit are starting to come together.

And, (I can’t resist saying) speaking of coming together, during this week’s call he suggested talking about regular stuff for the first hour and then getting smutty after that. Sweetie even gave me the house to myself for the evening so I could speak (etc) without worrying she’d hear more than she wanted to.

When it came time to talk dirty, I was uncharacteristically shy—there are a lot of things I’ve written that I have yet to feel comfortable saying. He was kind enough to do the talking and oh, swoon, what a talker.

I kind of flunked “what are you wearing?” I had cute lacy pajama shorts on but I had to admit to a ratty and less-than-hot old top. Next week I’ll take the opportunity to put on an outfit—for a nudist, I’ve been getting preoccupied about outfits lately. I think that’s partly because I’ve been working out and I’m starting to feel a little more lingerie-able or something.

I was surprised by how intimate and sensual it felt—the sound of his voice made it feel like he was close. I got all warm and soft as if he were there to run his hands over me. He told a rope-themed story full of helpful angles and detail, but the part that gave me such a squirm/twinge/sparkle of lust was when he said something like “I’m getting nice and hard for you” and then said my name. What was it about hearing my name? I don’t think I’ve heard it said to me like that before.

“Are you ready to come for me yet?” he asked, saying my name again.

“Aaaalmost…” I sighed. I couldn’t really scrape together too many words the whole time, mostly moans and breaths and sighs which I felt oddly self-conscious about on the phone but nonetheless could not stop making.

I was in a dreamy, sleepy state and held the phone to my ear with my shoulder while I rubbed my nipples and clit.

“Come for me.” (Is there a better sentence in the universe?) and I did come, a new kind of orgasm swelled up and crested like an obedient (but still naughty) wave. I heard him come on the other end of the line too, and we were together and happy. We panted our way back to regular talk until it was time to say goodnight, at which time I texted him 1. The doodle I’d made during the regular part of the conversation and 2. A picture of the wet crotch of my PJ bottoms.

Even writing this a couple of days later, I still feel like we should high-five. Instead, here's a star:

Sparkly Festival of Awesomeness Part Eight: Ending With a Sky Full of Stars

So, yes, it’s taken eight posts to describe a few hours. I hate to finish typing it because I’ll be lonely for them, it’s been like writing them all a nice long letter every day or so, but I guess it is time for new adventures. Plus, I’m pretty sure there’ll be other ways to stay in touch.

After Mr. Sweetheart and I were done, Mr. Shiny Eyes was rarin’ to go again. He said he usually needed more rest in between times, so this must have been extra special. I was of course ready for more as well. Mr. Sweetheart left to go I-don’t-know-where.

Mr. Shiny Eyes put me on my side and folded me so that my knees were on my chest and pushed himself blessedly inside me. “You’re okay if it doesn’t take long this time?” he asked but I was feeling such a thrill again that I panted “Just..a…couple more minutes…”

Far from being tired out, I was primed for this and the way that his dick moved inside me felt like a fucking miracle. I shouted and shrieked louder than I had all day. We came and came together, and it felt like a gold-star accomplishment.

Mr. Sweetheart came back from wherever he’d been and we all cuddled for a few minutes before we realized we were starving. It was starting to get chilly, too. I got up and (stupid clothes!) put on fresh underwear, bra, pajamas, and sneakers. (Anything you can wear that outfit to is my kind of event!)

By the time we were dressed, a few of their friends had joined us in the tent. The woman who’d been running the shop at the front said that everything had sounded great, and the guys gently mocked me for being excited about that compliment. Hey, I’m a showoff!

While he started up some snuggles with another lady, I kissed Mr. Shiny Eyes goodbye and told him that I didn’t ever want to stop kissing him.

“Well. is that a problem?”

I smiled big and said, “No, I guess not.”

“Though occasionally you’ll have to stop so that I can kiss someone else…” and with that, he pulled down the other lady on top of him and I left the tent. Mr. Sweetheart said to be sure to come back up after dinner. He thanked me for the afternoon and I said “Hey! Thanks for liking me that way!”

I was really conscious of wanting to give them space (or else I just needed a little space) and I was superaverse to appearing clingy, even though I had the urge to get them to both lie down and fall asleep with me. Maybe next time.

Shaky legs and trying-not-to-be-clingy notwithstanding, I had such a lovely time in the dining hall with Sheandhim. (Most of my dinner consisted of chocolate chip cookies, because if I’m already being this decadent, why not?) I got to learn more about their relationship and family and there was a lot of leaning my head on her shoulder, a lot of hugging. We promised to plan a double date soon and hey! I should really put that on the calendar.

It was dark by the time supper ended and I made my way back up the hill to Mr. Sweetheart and friends. They were sitting in a circle of lawn chairs still eating their dinner. Ms. Sweetheart was sitting next to him and offered me her chair, but I preferred to sit at their feet. She patted my hair, which was a wonderful bed head rat’s nest, and said “Ugh, these boys don’t know what to do with hair. Let me fix this.”

She was going to fix it with her fingers but I dug a brush out of my backpack and she as-gently-as-possible got the tangles out. The last time I’d had my hair brushed was during that terrible quasi-aftercare with The Man, and this was the complete opposite of that feeling, the perfect healing for it. Accidentally, another auspicious ritual. A soul-retrieval for my hair.

During the whole mess with The Man and The Wife, I’d started to worry that I didn’t have what it takes for poly. He’d convinced me that I was this weird possessive thing that I’m really not. Being accepted and cared for by Ms. Sweetheart brought me right back to who I really am—a humming engine of compersion ready for a million more snuggles and a whole universe worth of love. She probably didn’t know she could accomplish all that with a hairbrush.

When my hair was all smooth, I shifted over to sitting at Mr. Sweetheart’s feet. He ran his fingers gently up my neck and through my hair as he and his friends talked and I occasionally chimed in. The stars came out and I realized how much I’d missed them. New resolution: see more stars.

When it came time to go up to the parking field to meet Sweetie, Mr. Sweetheart walked me. We stopped and kissed under those stars and I just COULD NOT believe how lucky I was. Am. (I wanted to say goodbye to Mr. Shiny Eyes, but couldn’t imagine where I might find him.)

Sweetie was already waiting in our little blue car. I kissed Mr. Sweetheart goodbye and got happily, exhaustedly into the car. I was so glad to see her as I yammered all about my day and we wound down country roads to our hotel.

The Sparkly Festival of Awesomeness, Part Four: The Hair-Pulling Contest

Friends, in my everyday life, when I’m not running off to sexy festivals and writing about it, I’m a teacher in my very first year. As any teacher will tell you, the first year is kind of a nightmare. Yes, there are many happy and fulfilling moments, but also bucketloads of trial and error that comes down mostly on the “error” side, mistakes that make my soul hurt, and mountains of self-doubt and shame.

I’m telling you this so you’ll understand what the sheer rightness of this story is doing for me. I may be stumbling and sniffling determinedly through my professional life, but the way I got myself exactly what I needed that day in the woods gives me hope that I will someday float myself through it into confidence and grace. Plus, it gives me something nice to daydream about when I should be grading papers.

So back to the kissing. I’m not sure how Mr. Sweetheart and I got from that sweet cake flower kiss to him yanking the bejeezus out of my hair, but I’m thinking I probably instigated it. Sincere and soulful as he is, Mr. Sweetheart has a delicious mean streak when it comes to happy pain. As we kept on kissing, he reached his hand up into the back of my hair and pulled insistently, making me feel helpless/giddy/elated. The adrenaline pushed up through me, I groaned and laughed.

Snarling a little, he dragged me across the pavilion and the “She” half of Sheandhim got adorably concerned: “Why are you dragging my friend around?”

By way of answering, he angled my face so that she could see my expression. “And...she loves it. Okay.”

So on top of the fact that I was lucky enough to have this happen to me, I also won the friend lottery by having her check on me.

And ohboy, I DID love it.

It should be said that as I write this I’m not sure of the order of things—the timeline slips away a little as happens in regards to magical days. But I do know that while we were milling around sampling obscure liquors, I had maybe the best idea I’ve ever had. I told my two kissing-pals that they should have a hair-pulling contest, and they obliged. Ms. Sweetheart held my glasses for me and Mr. Sweetheart went first--was very unsweetheartlike. He pulled my hair down so hard that I was forced to my knees. I loved making a spectacle of us, doing something so nicely violent in such safe, lovey-dovey surroundings. I think I have him an eight.

When Mr. Shiny Eyes had his turn, it was more like dancing. Holding the hair at the nape of my neck, he steered my body this way and that, eventually into a precipitous dip. It was a very princessy feeling.

“Well, (Mr. Shiny Eyes) has finesse, but (Mr. Sweetheart) is not afraid to really hurt me. They went back and forth, getting stronger and snarlier. I forget which one of them I called “Sir” first, but they sure both deserved the title. They realized after a while that I wasn’t giving them tens because then the game would be over, but eventually it was and things got much more makey-outy. Mr. Shiny Eyes helped me try a delicious elderberry something by drinking it first and kissing it into my mouth. It was dreamy and soft and tasted like all the spring goodness. He kept kissing me and kissing me until I asked for some spanks.

He told me to lean against a post on the side of the pavilion, so I did. It had some nails in it so I had to be careful. The spanking soon went back to kissing, and as he held me there against the railing, his hands started to wander, as did mine. He played with my nipples, which felt like they’d been waiting for him all along. Likewise my hand had been waiting for his fantastically hard cock.

I noticed Mr. Sweetheart hovering off to the side, so I said “What are you doing over there?” He came close so that I could put my arm around him and I said “Can I?’ and when I got the okay (More like the “Can you what?” but still…) I ran my hands over the front of his kilt while still playing with Mr. Shiny Eyes and kissing the heck out of both of them.

And one-in-each-hand is of course so very very much better in real life than it is in search terms, dears. I felt like a millionaire. Like a goddess. Like a millionaire goddess with the wettest hoo-ha in the entire known universe.

Next: It’s possible I was born for this.

The Sparkly Festival of Awesomeness Part Three: Two Kisses, One Cake Flower

After the nature walk, I was feeling oddly standoffish—I was sitting on the side of the hill overlooking the afternoon ritual. Some folk nearby promised some “Ritual Science Theater 3000” and that’s kinda where I was at: ironic, detached. I’d had a lot of fun but I wasn’t sure what else I could get out of the day. Plus, I was sad that all of the guys had sarongs on. I was not seeing anywhere near a nude beach number of penises, and that made me grumpy.

But! After the ritual, which took place in sort of a picnic-pavilion thing, they had a feast where you weren’t allowed to feed anything to yourself—foodstuffs could only be put in your mouth by others. This seemed like enough of an icebreaker to get me over my wallflowerness. And then! I saw Mr. and Ms. Sweetheart! (Not married, but I’ve paired their nicknames for the sake of simplicity and also because they happen to both be sweethearts. Also it should be mentioned that she looks like a beautiful kickass goddess. Freya maybe.) I hadn’t even known they’d be there!

Mr. Sweetheart and I had been in touch a little bit since the hotel party. He even tried to matchmake me with the cute ex-fireman guy, but that didn’t go anywhere. Recently, Mr. Sweetheart had started following my blog, so he was really really on my good side. Any guy who can read those heartbreak-laden posts I’ve been writing lately and still want to hang out with me—that is a man.

Aside from the collared human platters who ringed the pavilion covered in fruit, I was the only one at the feast completely naked. I worried that it might be bad etiquette, but no one seemed to mind. Mr. and Ms. Sweetheart wrapped me up in a big hug and said they’d keep me from being a wallflower, and I was so grateful for that. With them there, I felt a nice homey healing feeling, like I could really open up and join the party.

My friends Sheandhim arrived, looking flushed and sleepy from whatever Tantric magic they’d been getting up to. We all took turns feeding each other apples slices, strawberries, and other yummy things.

And hooray! Mr. Shiny Eyes was there, chatting with a pretty lady on the ersatz dance floor. I interrupted their conversation to ask if he remembered me and tell him I DEFINITELY remembered his rope-pulling skills. It didn’t take us long to get to a kiss and ohboy was he good at it. Some kisses are just like a key finding the right lock, and this was one of those. “Hmmm, maybe we should spend some time together,” I think he said, and I was inclined to agree.

He went back to his pretty lady and I went back to my friends. After I ended up with an entire mocha mini-cupcake in my mouth at once, one of the dolled-up hostesses kindly explained that I could touch the food after it’d been fed to me, so as to take smaller bites. Predictable but enjoyable things were said about my mouth’s capacity.

Sheandhim looked into licking honey off of one of the human platters, but I’ve never gotten that licking-sticky-stuff-off-of-people thing.  However, I spotted a fancy white cake on one of the (nonhuman) side tables. I thought it was a birthday cake but it occurs to me that it might have been some magic couple’s (or triad’s or whatever’s) wedding cake. It had one flower left on it, a big white blossom that I absolutely had to have, but he fed me the cake part first. (I know, life is hard sometimes, isn’t it?) “Ahem,” I said, “That cake flower isn’t going to feed itself to me…”

I was sheepish for being such a brat, but he seemed impressed. “Not only have you been working on you no, you’re getting really good at making your desires clear.”

He fed me the flower and it was delicious—crunchy, vanilla, crystalline. And then he held me and we kissed. It was sweet and not just because of the cake flower. It was an old-friends kiss, even though we haven’t known each other for long. The kiss of an ally.

He held me tight and pressed himself forward, the front of his kilt all happy to see me—I lovelovelove that feeling.

(Sidenote: The whole kilt-as-pagan-boy-uniform thing? AWESOME. I mean, if they HAVE to wear something on the bottom.)

I feel a little nervous about the romance I’m maybe writing into these kisses, but I really like being in a world where kissing is this easy, where people are just so generous with themselves.

Next time: The hair-pulling contest: Best. Idea. Ever.