Saturday
He was stretched out between my legs, his chin pressed against my inner thigh. He looked up at me with dark brown eyes, and a wicked smile danced across his lips.
“I think you have one more in you, sweetie.”
I laughed a full-body laugh, my limbs sprawled over the tangled sheets. I was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, my legs quivering from the force of my last orgasm.
“I didn’t think the last one was in me. I’ll trust your judgement about the next.” I gasped when his fingers flexed inside me and stared unseeingly at my bedroom ceiling. The moment felt surreal like I had just woken up. My brain was mostly unplugged, and my entire body was taut with the sensations this man was bringing me. The pleasure began to build again, his fingers and tongue working in tandem.
“Tell me when you’re ready,” he said, his breath teasing my swollen clit.
I laughed again, knowing that he wouldn’t wait. Just like the previous three times.
Sunday
An actual first date. I couldn’t believe I was sitting in my car, looking across the console at a many who might be my next lover, Dom, partner… there were just too many questions with too many possibilities. I mentally shoved the labels aside and stared at the clean cut features of my date. He was handsome in a wholesome kind of way that I truly appreciated. (We wholesome types have the filthiest secrets.) He was a couple inches taller than me with military-short hair, clear blue eyes and was dressed in the ubiquitous khakis and button down shirt. Yup… boy scout material.
He had suggested that we meet at an Asian bistro close to my house and had given me a white rose when I arrived. He said it was a reward for making my word count that weekend. With every correspondence we had slowly circled the subject of Dominance/submission. Like so many words that passed between us, the rose might have been a dominance play. Or not. That which we call a rose/By any other name would smell as sweet. It was impossible to really tell, and the constant wondering kept me off-balance.
Hot and sour soup began our discussion of careers which led to stories about our divorces. Garlic chicken ushered in more personal anecdotes, and finally I caught a glimpse of what lay beneath the squeaky clean visage. I was delighted. It felt like I had discovered someone who spoke the same secret language. Dessert was at a different location with more revelations and more shared secrets. He held my hand at the table, and I felt butterflies. Not because I was nervous of him, but because I was getting a taste of the potential between us. An hour later we were back at the original restaurant so he could pick up his car.
We had taken off our seatbelts and turned to face one another, the streetlight highlighting half of his face. I can’t remember how it started, but suddenly my arm was caught securely behind my head. My other arm was held to my side by his body as he leaned close, and his voice assumed that tone… a growl in my ear that somehow managed to articulate the long laundry list of desires that I had. The voice that made my knees turn to jelly and my panties wet. It was a voice that reminded me that I may be out of practice, but darlings, I am a BDSM slave to my very core.
I have the shredded panties and leftover cake to prove it.
************
Nikki
I wasn’t looking for a relationship. I had no interest in dating either. I’d been separated from my husband for less than two months and my life was devoted to building Vagina Antics, figuring out how to stand up on my own, and comforting my emotionally fragile offspring. I barely had time to breathe. And the only orgasms I could squeeze into my hectic schedule were courtesy of my vibrator. But when a man complimented my eyes instead of my ass, my curiosity was aroused. His message lacked the usual form letter feel with the eye roll inducing “hey baby” splattered across the subject line like the others I’d received on FetLife. He didn’t copy and paste my fetish list into the body of the note. He didn’t even insinuate the naughty things he could do to my mouth which sadly, has happened more than once.
“I stopped, and stared, and thought, wow.”
His words were simple, original, and typo free. And when I looked at his profile, I was relieved to not find a photoshopped cock staring back at me. He was a professional in search of a play partner, and as luck would have it, he would soon be traveling to my neck of the woods. I read the message four more times. I couldn’t ignore this one. I didn’t want to, so I replied.
Our communication was constant from that point on allowing our cerebral connection to build to an insane level of intensity. And when we discovered our physical attraction was just as powerful, he remarked that he was fucked. The strong attachment was unexpected and the adjustment was challenging. It still is. But we acknowledge that we are an important piece of each other’s lives. He’s been a tremendous part of my sexual evolution, encouraging me to look deeper inside myself to find the switch he knew had been hiding there all along.
It’s not always unicorns and butt-sex though. Like any relationship, we’ve jumped over our share of hurdles which I have a tendency to blow sky high because keeping my mouth shut is a talent I don’t possess. We’ve danced ungracefully around monogamy issues, plowed through boundary breaches, and minimized the uncertainty that is left in their wake. There are times I feel about as secure as an unlocked Mercedes at midnight in the middle of Crime Hills. But it was the communication break-down that shoved us over the edge without a parachute. Okay, so it was a brief break-up. Roughly 48 hours if you want to get nit-picky about it. I cried though, a lot.
We learned a lot about each other during the rebuilding process, but there are still certain parts of our relationship that are difficult to translate. For example, what do I refer to him as? It’s been eight months and I still don’t know. Up until recently, I’ve labeled him as my partner when writing about him. I can’t say ‘lover’ with a straight face because it always comes out as ‘lov-ah’ instead. I blame Will Ferrell for this. And just last week I called him my boyfriend which provoked a sing-song melody of “Nikki has a boyfriend” from Heather. She enjoyed it way too much. As a result, I’ve decided to call him The King of Anal, because behind every queen is a willing king.
*snort*
I never expected what began as a playdate to morph into the relationship it is today. Neither one of us did. It’s still complicated, but we’ve figured out how to make it work for us. We’ve stopped trying to categorize what we are and we’ve lifted the pressure of certain expectations. And that honesty afforded us a new freedom to voice the emotions we once bit back. Our relationship may be viewed as unconventional by some and that’s okay. We’ve made peace with it. And the truth is we love hard, we fuck hard, and we crash hard as we come down from the high of the time we spend together. Then we try, and sometimes fail miserably to transition back into our everyday lives, counting the days until we can do it all over again.
