First Date With Steampunk Guy, Part Two: Spanked Before Kissed

“Music or back episodes of Arrested Development?” I asked when we got upstairs, and he chose music.

I sat down near him on the couch and we sat apart for just a moment. He smiled big. He is almost always smiling big, or laughing for some sometimes-indiscernible reason. Charming. Adorable. I smiled back and giggled nervously and he put his arm out for me to snuggle under.

He just radiated warmth. I’m sure I did too. From my perspective, the energy between us was instant and joyful. How awesome is it that someone completely new can just be such a fit sometimes. I heard his heartbeat and felt his beard against my neck. It’s possible that he kissed the top of my head or maybe that’s just wishful thinking. I know he was squeezing my boobs, hard enough to hurt until I told him those aren’t for hurting. (Even after that I still ended up with bruises—should negotiate for unscathed bosoms next time.)

I got up for some reason (Probably to hit skip on the music. He suggested rightly that I might want to make a playlist, but I haven’t been able to really work iTunes since about two updates ago…) and when I came back to the couch, I told him to scooch himself over towards the middle.

“Okaaaay…” he said and then I showed him why—of COURSE so that I could drape myself across his lap for a spanking.

And now it is time to stop and rhapsodize about Steampunk Guy’s hands. Ohman I am smitten with them. They’re big and muscled, with thick, long fingers that don’t always know their own strength. I would go through a whole lot to get to those hands again, to see what other places I can convince him to put them. I miss him already, but he has, like, eight other partners and who knows when/if I’ll see him again.

Anyway, back to me across his lap, girly shoes in the air. At first, he pulled up the back of my dress and left my undies and leggings on. His hand landed on my left ass check with such a perfect and resounding THWACK. Ohboy I missed typing the word THWACK.

He pushed his hand up into my hair and pulled, then pushed my head back towards him so I could reach for a kiss. Please recognize that it is a compliment when I say that he kisses like a teenager—as if some girl had never come along and told him to tone it down with the tongue. Feel free to not tone it down, pal. I liked him in my mouth. I liked his beard soft against my check.

And oh, I get it, I like him. This post is coming out dreamier than I expected.

His spanks alternated between thuddy (another word I’m glad to be back to typing) and stingy, and when I started to wiggle and writhe too much, he tone it down for a sec, let me pause for a sip of my excellent Manhattan, then go harder. He pulled down my leggings but left my underwear (purple with a little white ruffle) pulled down around the bottom of my ass. I wanted his fingers in there, in everywhere.

He pulled me up by the hair to straddle him, and I could feel him hard beneath his jeans. He and his partner has already told me about the excellence of his penis, (Steampunk Guy is braggy and wouldn’t mind me saying so.) and it was living up to the hype. I pushed my wet self against him as he pulled my hair, kissed me emphatically, and ravished my boobs.

I lay back across his lap, facing the ceiling in a breathless haze. He unbuttoned the top of my dress gently and deliberately and pulled each boob out of its bra cup. He sucked my nipples too hard and I had to tell him again, “Those aren’t for hurting. Hurt other things.”

Next Time: We fold down the fold-down couch.

First Date With Steampunk Guy, Part One

My first date with Steampunk Guy was last Wednesday. Aside from a tough day at work, I’d been in such a good mood looking forward to him, especially after he’d told me he would bring pie and Manhattans. (Drinks on a school night, naughty!) He was coming over for dinner and, ostensibly, a couch-movie. I’m not sure why I didn’t just say I was inviting him over for sex, since that’s what I meant. I guess we could have conceivably watched a movie.

He was right on time, and just as cute as I remembered him. Tall and beardy, with such a warm, friendly expression that he would fit in in a Rankin and Bass Christmas special. After my dinner debacle with The Man, I’d been worried that cooking for him was a silly choice, but this is a guy who can keep his phone in his pants.

We had a nice time talking while he mixed drinks and I made dinner. I have somewhat of a Mad Men fetish, so I love cooking for guys, and he suggested that that meant that heels would go better than slippers with the apron and cute button-up dress I’d chosen. I promptly went to change into some coral-colored polka-dot wedge-heeled slingbacks, and he was right, much more gendery.

“So you don’t have a Fet account anymore, does that mean you don’t play publicly?” He asked.

Sigh.

“Um, should I tell you the whole ugly story?”

I hate that fucking story so much. He’d already mentioned that he is a regular at the Scary Party so I tried to be as diplomatic as possible. I really had to take my time and choose words carefully because I could feel the dread and other ugly emotions start to tumble out—not a good look for a first date. I got through telling him without actual tears coming out.

“I think I remember that.”

“Yep, that was me.”

We took our plates and cocktails out to the pretty bistro table in my apartment house’s side-yard. I was a gorgeous and just-warm-enough evening, but an icky silence came over us.

I said “So are you scared of me?”

He said he wasn’t. There’s nobody in the scene powerful enough to keep someone out. Your friends will always be there to support you.

At the time, I took that as encouragement—I’d been wondering aloud if I should wade back out into the local scene or if I’d be treated as a  whistleblowing pariah. He thought that was nonsense just like Sweetie does, and saw no reason why I shouldn’t return to my beloved Regular Dungeon. I talked a little about the support I’d received at the time, even from strangers, told him that that support meant a lot to me, that it was part of what I like about kink in general.

But some mornings I wake up feeling too close to the Scary Party again, unsure if it’s really sensible to play with one of its regulars. The fact that he was aware of what the security staff had done and still supporting the place, can I live with that, even with a very casual playpal? If doms’ friends will always protect them no matter what, how is any submissive safe? That same irksome question again. I feel guilty that I’m processing it here rather than directly, but again, dark topic for a first date. Or maybe a necessary one when things are about to get spanky, I don’t know.

I don’t like the idea that The Man’s mess-up could cost me fun with other guys, and I hate the way that the dom dating pool shrinks of you rule out that party’s regulars—it’s very popular.

Back to the date, the conversation went on to cheerier things and I enjoyed talking to him so much. I love it when I’m so excited about someone that I kind of turn into a muppet. As Steampunk Guy and I chatted and ate, my downstairs neighbor and his little son came out to play in the yard and all of us were completely adorable-the platonic ideal of a summer evening.

The rest of this story is (I promise) very hot. He has the most AMAZING hands and his other extremities get gold stars as well. I’ll write my way through it and see where I get.

Next: Spanked before kissed.

My First Sexting

I may have mentioned this once of twice, but I’m enjoying Mr. Sweetheart so much. Last Tuesday when I was walking home from work, he texted to ask how I feel about sexting. I told him that it was on my goal list for June. (I do monthly goals with check-boxes. Some of the goals are all virtuous and gym-related, and some are…not.)

So he sent a picture of his lovely junk (First time I’d received such a text—he’s so many firsts!) and I was so happy to see it. I wrote back “For me? What shall I do with it?” but since I’m the sex-blogger he insisted that I be the one to tell most of the story.  (“Hey, aren’t you supposed to be the dominant one?” “I’m instructing you to amuse me with your creativity.”)

Clearly he is a full-service muse.

I got home and started dinner as I started to spin the story. I think I did a pretty good job. I was making tortellini. As I put the water on to boil, I told him about some fictitious Hello Kitty underpants already complete with a wet spot. As I grated the cheese, I tried to convince him to tell me what to do, but he insisted that I tell him what he was telling me to do. As the water started to boil, he sent me an evil grin, and I texted back a bratty eye roll and let that sit while I ate supper. He was excellent dinner company.

After I was done eating, I sent him a picture of my nicely-made bed and got in. Just like he did in the story I was telling him, I pulled up my shirt and down my bra. My nipples were sticking straight up, ready and bright, bright pink. After a few tries, I got a good picture of them and sent it over. I played with my boobs while I waited for the next text to come.

He sent back a try at dirty talk and I rewrote it so it was nastier.

I was conscious of trying not to borrow from scenes I’d already had and written—it was fun to try fiction, to write a fantasy just for him.

It occurred to me that it would be awkward for Sweetie to come home in the middle of this so I called to get her ETA and give her a heads-up. Also I accidentally dialed Mr. Shiny Eyes in the process. #togetherness

Sweetie was a half hour away and I was soaking wet. My fingers slipped around inside my plain flowered undies and inside myself—I was ready for him. There was plenty of time for me to come but I kept losing track of time—texting, playing, texting, playing. It’s kind of magical that I could be that turned on by him even though he’s such a long way away.

Sweetie came in before I was finished but was unfazed—she just closed the bedroom door and went to make herself supper. Mr. Sweetheart asked me where I wanted his cum.

“Well, I tried to swallow for you but you pushed me away and it went all over…”

He texted: “As your reward, I lean in, lick your cum covered tits, then offer you a creamy kiss. :) <3 <3 xoxo”

It was a good reward. I was unsure of the etiquette for ending such an exchange, other than to let him know that I’d come. I told him that next time we’ll have to think of a way to metaphorically snuggle afterwards. I’m excited to write him some more stories.

Midyear Heart Inventory

Fresh from a Sweetie spanking, (First thing in the morning! Before she even had her coffee! That’s love.) I think it’s time to take a look at my adventures’ progress so far this year:

1. My New Year’s Resolution was to connect, and for a while there, it felt like I was screwing it up like crazy. But when I look at the year with perspective, it has been a year of connections: I’ve had amazing big dates with Sweetie and a million little porch dates, too. We’ve had fantastic trips and family visits. I’ve been able to forge deeper connections with my favorite friends, through long walks and long phone conversations. I’ve had good, deep, loving scenes and some that totally revolutionized my idea of myself. And my job (where I would never let a first-grader start a sentence with “and.”) on a good or even a not-horrible day, is nothing BUT connection.

I’ve been sending favorite old posts to Mr. Sweetheart and rereading them makes me feel rich with experience, even though things sometimes do go spectacularly awry.

2. That being said, I am JUMPING OUT OF MY SKIN. I want everything. I want ALL of the penises in me. I want very nice bad men to do very nice bad things to me. The weather’s driven me back into my shorty pajamas and is fanning the hoo-ha flames. Unfortunately at the moment I don’t have a lot of ideas about what to do with all of this urgency. I love jumping on Sweetie, of course, and I will, but this is a man-craving, and I can feel it in my teeth. And hair. And ass. Please, universe, you’ve been so kind, send me some ideas. And some strapping men with nice, fat fingers.

3. But I like the way that things have settled in with Mr. Sweetheart. After the festival,  he’s kept in touch nearly every day. He’s the first guy-who’s-interested to text me heart emoticons. (My BFF Angelface sends them all the time, but that’s different.) Mr. Sweetheart lives a ways away but we agree that we should be able to see each other about four times a year. (How hot is he with the planning-ahead? *swooooon*) He calls about once a week, promptly every time. (again, hot) We talk for a long time and I doodle drawings that for whatever reason keep ending up looking like vaginas. As we talk, this lovely warm energy descends over my shoulders and I feel oriented and safe. He’s good. He’s romantic. He says he likes the idea of us having all of this time to talk and get to know each other before we do more stuff, but of course I’d love to just take the sexTARDIS over and give him a smooch. They’ve got to build me one of those.

4. Mr. Shiny Eyes is going through a lot in his life right now and also lives far-ish, so I really don’t know when I might see him, but it seems like there are more fun times to come with him as well. I hope so.

5. The other guy (He’ll be Steampunk Guy if we have any adventures. The blog needs one of those, don’t you think?) that I like is local, and let us now toast the fact that all of the guys I currently like have cars. (And excellent penises, though in this case it’s only hearsay.) I met him at Poly Speed Dating a few weeks ago. The algorithm hadn’t paired us up but I liked him instantly so I bypassed the checkmarks and just gave him my number. He’s an excellent flirt and a fantastic texter, but he seems kinda overbooked. One-of-six might not be special enough for me, even in an FWB situation, but I really enjoy him, so we’ll see.

6. And then there’s this grief. I’m still a bit broken over what happened with The Man. We were supposed to be friends, after all, and I had such a deep affection for him. There were so many hopes tied up in that first good scene (I should really get around to writing about it.) that the loss still feels like a big one. The grief still makes me run away from guys, but luckily my heart and pants keep me running toward them.

7. I don’t know if I mentioned this, but my publisher dropped the Kitten Calendar book early this year. Something about the press being over-committed, it was really sad when I found out. A “no” from a beloved editor is a particularly hurty one. Looking back over the posts, I still thing there might be a book there, so maybe I’ll make it my summer project anyway. Or else I’ll just work on not having tanlines.

Well, dears, the strawberry waffles are ready and it’s time to crawl back into bed with Sweetie. Happy adventuring to you. May the second half of the year be equally fruitful.

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 Seven: All the Nice Getting Held Down

(I doodled this while I was on the phone with Mr. Sweetheart. Not sure why all of my doodles end up vagina-shaped…)

***This is the very first correction I’ve ever posted (no, he didn’t ask me to) and maybe the best correction ever: Says Mr. Sweetheart: “I have never once, in all my life, worn underwear under my kilt.” Noted! Sosorry.***

And now back to the tent: I was pleased and flattered by their pillow talk. Mr. Shiny Eyes told me that I feel really good to him and that my insides have nice contractions. He said we should spend more time together and I was happily surprised to hear him say that. They went back and forth a little bit about who lives further away, and by how much, and I reminded them that I’m off all summer. So who knows!

Then we played my favorite favorite FAVORITE (even more favorite than Apples to Apples) game: “What if I tried to get away?’ I tried to wiggle out from between them and they descended on me, holding my whole body down with theirs. Sometimes every limb was pinned! Sometimes in these kinds of situations I try to resist, but the struggling is really part of the fun. In this case, it wasn’t so much wrestling as it was futile attempts to fight a blanket of strength.

There’s such a relief that comes from being held down lovingly, a transcendence to it, like I’m kicking all of my fears’ asses and ironically like I can take a break from the day-to-day struggle of being alive. The relief and joy came from my trust in them and the aliveness and safety of it-of knowing that I won’t just float up off the earth.

(Sweetie has a similar explanation for why I like ropes so much—I don’t have to hold myself together for that little while, so I can just relax.)

(My sense of my own existence has always been a little fragile, if that makes any sense at all.)

It was almost time for Mr. Sweetheart to fuck me, but the game continued. He placed himself between my legs and held my arms down by the wrist. He is wiry-strong like an animal. I told him not to leave bruises that my students would notice and he loosened up his grip a little but pressed down with his arms all the more so there was still no way that I could’ve gotten away. (Unless, of course, I wanted to.)

As I pulled and strained, his heart beat fast against my stomach. That stopped time a little, the perfect closeness of it.

Then he leaned up and got the condom on. While he was doing that, Mr. Shiny Eyes played with my clit, and my ridiculous moans started up again. Sex with Mr. Sweetheart was slow and warm. At one point he said “Well, this is lovely.” and that it exactly what it was. I looked up into his face and felt safe and known, in exactly the right place.

Mr. Shiny Eyes looked, petted, and complimented. He’d found himself a flavored condom and I gave it a try. I was so happy to have his dick in my mouth, but not so happy with the artificial vanilla flavor. He rearranged himself so that I could reach to squeeze with my hand instead.

Here’s my (entirely unsurprising) confession: While Mr. Sweetheart was inside me, the warmth spread all the way up to my heart and I got feelings for him. It’s just that fast sometimes and just that simple. I knew it might be a what-happens-at-the-festival-stays-at-the-festival situation. I was and am ready to let the experience stand on its own. But part seven, friends, is where I get attached, where I started to hope that more would happen. And since we’ve been in touch almost every day since, maybe it already has.

The Sparkly Festival of Awesomeness, Part 6: Hot Sex, Hot Hand-Holding

As I’ve been writing my way through this story, I’m conscious of being the least experienced person in the tent, at least when it comes to this kind of sex, and trying to keep things in perspective. I’m thinking about oxytocin and other bonding chemicals and how they might be the source of these lovely deep feelings of connection. When I write about it, I’m agnostic about energies and such, but in the moment, none of those thoughts or doubts were relevant at all. I was, for those few hours, a true believer in magic, men, myself, and everything else, like a horny mystic on ecstasy.

So back to where I was, snuggled between two radiantly warm guys, one-in-each-hand, hands in my hair, on my back, everywhere. Legs intertwined. Kissing, kissing, kissing. I was enveloped in the smell of them—one smelled fresh, the other, more dark and musky. Both smells made me ravenous for them.

We paused for a moment to go over our testing situations, of course. The guys geeked out for a while about STI science facts, and then it was back to the snuggles.

Mr. Shiny Eyes put on a condom and a glove. He slid his hand in and I was as wet as I’ve ever been. His fingers jolted my inside awake and alert and every nerve ending lit up like Christmas. I wanted so badly for him to fuck me. There was a little fuss about positions (remember, we’re on an air mattress, and one that could use some inflating at that) and he ended up deciding to lay back and have me climb on.

“But I’m a bottom…” I complained only a tiny bit.

“Okay, then I’m making you be on top.”

Friends, it had been since last August. I’ve had plenty of adventures, as you know, but for whatever reason it’s been much easier to get a guy to spank me, flog me, tie me up, set me on fire, drag a knife over my (pajamaed) clit, etc—for some reason this part of things has been elusive.

I was so, so happy to have Mr. Shiny Eyes inside me. All of him is so smooth and assured—his arms, his kisses, his penis. As soon as I straddled him and pushed him in, waves of delight sparked up inside me and I started making ridiculous sounds. As the Mayor of Kittentown’s neighbors would attest, I can never contain my joy when a man is inside me. I am super, super loud, and since I’m a showoff, I was glad to feel like the whole festival could hear me.

Since up until this point, I’d only Googled two-(or ten, or a hundred) guys-one-girl, and so even though everybody knows life isn’t like porn I feel compelled to talk about the contrast. In videos, the men always talk around the girl, either egging on the other men or talking about practical things like which way to bend her. Sometimes they might as well be moving a couch, for all the interaction they have with the lady. Of course, that objectification is fun to watch, but would never be fun to do.

This was the complete opposite of that in every way. Even as I was being bent into ways I didn’t know I could bend, (thank goodness for yoga) I felt like they were both so there for me, like they were being so generous, that we were all working as a team to get what we needed.

As Mr. Shiny Eyes fucked me, Mr. Sweetheart was kindly there to help, kissing me, pulling my hair, giving my ass the occasional helpful smack. But my favorite, the part of the day that I revisit the most, is when I reached out and he just took my hand. That hand-holding was so tender that it might have been a friendship oath. That support is a magic thing to walk through my days with.

But back to Mr. Shiny Eyes. After I first met him, back at that conference, I asked around and folks told me his dance card is really full—and no wonder! He moved in me like an expert. I kept saying/panting “Oh, you’re so perfect, no wonder you’re so popular.” He kept going until I exploded into fireworks, and we all piled up again for snuggles.

Next time: Pillow talk and being held down a lot.