Pagan Boy’s Crush: A (’93-Present) Friend Story

Though neither I nor Pagan Boy would have used the word “polyamory,” there was sort of another presence in our relationship. Pagan Boy’s Crush was one of his cool friends who sometimes met us at Basement Rave Place. I looked up to her so much—in my memory, she-of-then is kind of a goddess sculpture, dressed in fitted silver or coral dresses as opposed to my grubby goth slips and too-short polyester dresses. Her boyfriend was a hippie-cute straight boy with glossy blond curls. He seemed a little out of place at the club, but maybe I was just biased in Pagan Boy’s favor.

One night, after we said goodbye to them outside the diner and started off on the long drive to PB’s, he said the most magical five words in my then-as-now love lexicon:

“I made you a mix tape.”

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

In some ways, the mix was totally us: “Let’s Go to Bed” by the Cure! (Robert Smith is a milkshake! We always said.) Sound bites from MST3K (“Mike! Mike!” from Manos, our fave.) and the campy pornos PB favored.

But a lot of the tape was…bitter. Crush bitter:

“Tempted”-Squeeze

“Wave of Mutilation” –The Pixies

“Boy”—Book of Love

 (OMG I need to make a Crush Bitter playlist from the nowtimes ASAP!) (I’m not really feeling like that but the songs would be treasures.)

I meeeeeeaaaaaan it was a good mix, but as he drove us through the early morning, he said sheepishly:

“I was thinking about (crush) when I made this.”

I really don’t remember his pining for her feeling like a problem, don’t remember being annoyed about my mixtape being a proxy bitter-love note. I was kinda like, yeah, I get it.

Pagan Boy’s Crush and I had our own thing going on—is there such a thing as platonic grinding? (If so, it would be a good name for my entire memoir.) She was the first girl I danced with in kind of a sexy way. I want to stress how much this wasn’t a for-his-gaze (only) Girls Gone Wild kind of thing. When we danced together, we were whole, and joyful, transcendent and so perfectly ourselves. We were beautiful and free on the checkered dance floor, definitely not giving the faintest fuck about anyone else.

Chaste though we (mostly) were, “our song” was all the raunch:

“You Suck”—Consolidated (feat. Yeastie Girls)

Mostly, Pagan Boy’s Crush seemed like a sophisticated dream, someone I wouldn’t have known how to really connect with because I was such a mess and she was so…her!

But then! Almost 30 years later! She reached out to me in a side-chat at Pagan Boy’s Zoom funeral! And it turns out we’re like emotional sisters. Our lives all these years have been so different, but it felt like we got each other’s whole deal right away. Now we talk once a month or so and I tell her my homebody adventures, she tells me what things look like in whatever state she’s traveling through (Very Nomadland but without the bucket situation!) and we compare notes on what hijinks our brains are up to lately.

I don’t believe in the afterlife or “divinely ordained” but it’s hard to not feel like Pagan Boy made us into a friend match. It makes me feel magical and hopeful about what other unexpected connections might be waiting out in the world for me, hopefully not just on Zoom.

Slept (Not That Much) in the Middle, Part Three: Oh, THANK YOU!

I was delighted to be in their bed, but I didn’t know quite where to start. He was in the middle and I feel more sure of myself with her. I lay there in a sleepy haze while they started to kiss and cuddle. I was unsure of a way in, but not unpleasantly so. Somehow I’d gotten the idea that he and I weren’t supposed to be kissing, but I nuzzled up against him and wrapped my legs around, my hand reaching out for PS’s hair.

Soon she and I were kneeling above him, kissing. I latched onto her perfect pink boob with my mouth and didn’t stop sucking it for a long time. His hands were on both of us but I think he was mostly just enjoying the show. I reached between her legs and found her clit, the first non-Sweetie one I’d touched since the late Nineties. I still had her nipple in my mouth like my life depended on it. I lost myself in her, pushed my fingers inside and felt a little bad for not having trimmed my nails. Still the worst lesbian ever!

Pretty Slave was much more responsive than Sweetie, no layers of repression to fight through. She was moaning and crying out as I pushed and pulled inside her. CM’s hands wandered inside my pink lace panties, just grazing my asshole lightly, giving me the occasional spank. He was different than he was in the dungeon, so sweet and careful. It was touching. I think part of the reason I like swaggery guys so much is that it’s so special when their vulnerabilities show.

At this point it should be said that I’d been thinking I couldn’t have sex because I was right on the cusp of that time of the month, just starting. Frustratingly, I’d kinda signed up for everything-but-intercourse (Which sometimes feels like it could be the title of the story of my life.) again.

So that’s why he said, as he was climbing onto her, “C’mon, let’s make (my name) really jealous.”

Jealous isn’t quite the right word. I already knew I liked helping them fuck, kissing and petting her through it, his hand down the front of my panties, her crying out. After they were done and we were all back to kissing and cuddling together, I could not contain myself anymore.

“You know,” I said, “The that-time-of-the-monthness is really VERY minimal…”

“I’llgetyouatowell.” He said, but I didn’t really think I needed one. My body was giving me a little break and for that I am grateful.

It’s really weird in retrospect that he and I didn’t kiss that night—I found out the next day that while I thought he wasn’t kissing me, he thought I wasn’t kissing him. Kind of an adorable misunderstanding, I think. Everything worked just fine without it, but I hope I do get to make out with him before too long.

Anyway, so it was PS’s turn to hold me and I was as ready as ready can be when he slid into me. I hollered out in joy and relief but then worried for a sec and asked “How loud can I be?”

“You be just as loud as you WANT.” she said and so I was. He felt so good, and it had been all the way since July and Jesus Christ I needed his dick in me. It was a gift, a reprieve, a revelation. I felt so grateful to her for sharing him with me.

“Oh, THANK YOU!” I cried out and they both laughed at me and I laughed too, but I couldn’t help it, couldn’t help feeling grateful for all of the everything. He thrust harder and my moans started to sound like sobs.

“Oh, that is so fucking hot,” she said. Every sensation was ratcheted up as high as it could possibly go. He put his hand around my throat and I pushed it away but got inspired. I found PS’s hand and put it over my mouth. She pressed down and I got even more riled up. After a little bit, he pushed her hand away and said “I got this.” and there was another fantasy fulfilled, his big strong hand over my mouth, his thrusts getting more urgent and I just felt flattened, melted by how good it felt. Carefully, deliberately, he grabbed the back of my hair and held me down, fucked me hard until we were both in a frenzy, until I came and came (and felt those nice squirty sensations, though it didn’t happen for real) and he came too.

I lay flutterhearted and tingly between them, patted him on the shoulder and said “Thanks, pal.”

He laughed and said “That’s all you can say after all that?”

I guess it was kind of a funny thing to say.

Next: Sneaky personal time and more him.

First Single-Girl Dungeon Night, Part One: I Spanked a Girl (And it Was Kind of Okay)

One of the reasons that I put off divorce is that I felt like Sweetie was my armor—I thought walking around the scene without her would make me too vulnerable, that I’d be too needy to make any more connections, but it had the complete opposite effect—I ended up feeling like a nearly-naked superhero, invincible even without her ropes to hold me together.

I had three goals for the night:

1. Talk to people and get to know them better.

2. Practice confidence.

3. Get some catharsis if it feels healthy.

I still felt a bit skittish about the car, so I took the bus over. I put on a respectable dress because I almost always run into my students around the neighborhood. In my suitcase I carried my purple velvet-and-fleece blanket (in case I needed to give myself aftercare) a little black and white nightgown, and the shoes I bought for my first scene with The Man. Among my many small accomplishments was the fact that the shoes were redeemed.

Back in June when I decided to reenter the scene, I’d asked Old-Timey Guy and Punk Rock Girl to be my protectors, so I had the extra security of knowing they’d be looking out for me. That’s a nice feeling. I always wanted protectors and they are good ones.

I’d gotten myself added to the end of HempRopes’s dance card. I figured that was a longshot and probably just an opportunity to practice the useful skill of waiting confidently, but if it did happen I thought suspension would be a good way to give myself a rest. I stopped playing with HempRopes last year because it felt too casual, but it didn’t feel like that would be a problem now.

When I walked in, the party was in full swing (or full spank, I guess.) I immediately wanted about eleven things to happen to me. Before I even put my stuff down, I got a bunch of hugs and knew that I was completely at home. I changed into my nightgown and heels, and Isweartogod this happened:

A very pretty young lady that I was kind of acquainted with stopped mid-chat and said:

 “Just so you know, this? Right here?” (Gesturing to her corseted self) “You have full access. You can do whatever you want.”

I hadn’t even gotten a drink yet. I promised to come find her. At the bar, I ran into Old-Timey Guy, who pulled up the back of my nightie and spanked me while I ordered my glass of wine. (Actually not so much a glass as a plastic cup, but still.) I asked him if he had any advice for my newly single self.

“Just let it all go.” he said. Okay Sir, if by letting it go you mean writing seven million paragraphs and also maybe some lists, then sure. But I didn’t say that, because in the moment I actually felt like I might be someone who could let things go.

“Tonight you have to do three naughty things,” he said, “And this doesn’t count.” He proceeded to tickle me until I asked again why he’s the only one who’s allowed to do that.

Unfortunately for the purposes of writing about Naughty Thing #1, I didn’t remember to ask the girl if I could write about her and I couldn’t find her online to ask, so I won’t go into detail. It felt hot and pretty and fun and definitely cathartic (And sweaty, jeez! Tops work hard!) and I loved that I was making her happy, but in the end (ha) it just wasn’t my cup of tea. But! Definitely something to be proud of trying.

She went back to her boyfriend and I stood back and watched, seeking inspiration for Naughty Thing #2.

Next: Some reunions, plastic wrap, and a vibrator fit for Judy Jetson.

Unicorn Practice Is Easy, Part Three: Spanks, Snuggles, a Little Melancholy

I’ve noticed that the amount I need to negotiate and be oriented in a scene is proportional to how serious my feelings are for the top involved. In the right party situations, I feel perfectly safe throwing caution to the wind and bending over for near-strangers-I guess that’s because I’m starting to have faith in my friends and in my yesses and nos.

At some point in the party, of course I managed to do something punishable, possibly related to trying to get my underpants back, and Cute Master commanded me to kneel on a chair and stick my ass out. Don’tmindifIdo! He’s a good, hard spanker—I wiggled and laughed and squealed and even let somebody (I’m not even sure who) tickle my feet. I love how things are so easy sometimes, how once in a while life just throws things in my lap. I’d like to let that be the case more often.

Speaking of which, he made me laugh harder than I’ve laughed in a long time when he next decided to express his flirtation through the medium of ironic lap dance. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to laugh so hard…

Anyway, I hated to leave when it was time to go. I pulled my underpants out from where he’s stashed them—in between the string s of Pretty Slave’s corset. Knowing where else they’d been, I didn’t put them on, but pulled on my leggings, had someone hook my bra, and put on my dress. Cute Master and Pretty Slave were snuggled up on a couch when I went to say goodbye.

“No, come here first,” he said. “I want to see if you’re wet.”

And I totally was gonna say no, except that Die Antwoord’s “Baby’s On Fire” came on and I really can’t resist having hijinx to that song. It feels like (*high five*) one of the sluttiest things I’ve ever done, but I went ahead and straddled him, let him find out that of course I was wet. He rubbed my clit and I felt a sense of calm come over me, kind of like when you’re little and you’re half-asleep and being carried up the stairs. I relaxed into him and held on.

He pulled his hand out and put it in Pretty Slave’s mouth, and she happily sucked, looking at me in a hungry/sweet way.

It’s time to stop pretending I don’t like some pretty porny stuff. That’s the part I’ve thought of the most during personal time since then.

I reached over and petted her, running my hand down her neck, playing with her hair, holding her lovely hand. She ran her hand very gently over chest, finding my nipple and giving me a perfect shiver. Her face was so close to mine and her expression was blissful.

And then the song ended. I hugged them both and gave her a teensy bit of a goodbye kiss. Cute Master grumbled about blue balls but! The beach!

Any party I leave with my underpants in my hand is a good one and I drove home super turned on and excited to get handsy with myself, and I was proud and happy to have made new friends, but there was a melancholy to it, too. I passed the diner where I first met the Steampunks and wondered how things would’ve turned out if I’d been more ready for them, more confident and self-aware. I think things happened exactly the way they were supposed to, but I still miss them a lot and feel hurty for the experiences I may have missed out on. I can’t quite let go of the fantasy of them, of snuggling into their bed. I wanted them to be my first a lot of things.

But! I’m glad I still feel like high-fiving Steampunk Guy whenever I’m being awesomely slutty, and they’re both keeping in touch. And I’m starting to see how I can keep myself entertained until I’m healed and ready to resume the quest for love--that is a very, very good thing.

Unicorn Practice Is Easy Part Two: My Lucky Underwear Down His Pants

 

I wish I could give you identifying characteristics of the party from last Friday night, because it was a doozie. It hit the spot in a wide variety of ways. A pretty friend of mine even let me take off her dress—I didn’t even know I wanted to DO that! But that’s not what this story’s about.

I’m taking a break from romance until my home situation is ironed out, but that doesn’t mean I can’t keep having adventures. It’s impossible to turn off the flirt anyway. I went to the party with very little agenda other than to catch up with friends, but of course one always hopes that spanks might happen. I wore my short black and white dress that Steampunk Guy inspired me to buy a few months back, with leggings and a shiny red bra that matched my red satin heels. I couldn’t stay long because I had to drive to the beach in the morning, but I accomplished a lot of fun in two drinks’ worth of time.

Let’s call them Cute Master and Pretty Slave. I noticed them as soon as they came in the door. She’s a tall dark-haired knockout and he has that confident, cheery glow that well-sexed men tend to have—very appealing. Once they were settled into the party, I struck up a conversation with him and then she came and sat at his feet. She was wearing a fitted lacy black dress and a collar. I asked them all about their adventures and liked hearing about them fucking in all kinds of nice show-offy situations.

I asked them what advice they might have for a new unicorn.

“The unicorn can do no wrong. You’re what everyone’s looking for.”

When he said that, I had the sensation of sitting in a throne like a princess, the world at my feet. Knowing the realities of secondary-ness in general, I suspected that that might not be the whole story, and a friend standing behind me confirmed it:

“They don’t know what they’re looking for. And they don’t know what to do when they get it.”

Huh.

(I just want to stop and note that wanting to practice playing as a supporting character doesn’t mean that I’ve forgotten that I want my own guy. Just I’m not ready for him yet and I still want to have fun. Plus! People are hot and I am alive.)

Cute Master is a goofball and an instigator. You know I love making friends with good bad influences. When I expressed (uncharacteristic!) hesitation about being the first one naked, he insisted that Pretty Slave take her dress off as encouragement. She stripped down to her corset (Oh such lovely little boobs peeking out the top. Picturing them I wish I’d gotten a little more handsy.) and panties, and I stripped down to nothing. Cute Master stuffed my underwear down the front of his pants, a cheeseball move that I found hilarious.

“Suck her nipple,” he said to Pretty Slave. I was sitting in a chair and she was on the floor. She looked up at me kinda wide-eyed and asked if she could, and I nodded, nervous-but-emphatically. It was the first time I’d been touched that way by a woman who isn’t Sweetie since the year 2000. Her mouth on me felt strange and new and I felt tentative at first but gave in to it, burying my head in her nice-smelling hair as she licked and sucked, gently running my hands over her back. He took the other nipple and sucked too hard (They’re my favorite part of me but sosensitive!) until I had to smack him in the back of the head and the spell was momentarily broken.