FOR GOD'S SAKE

REALLY?!

"inhaling Your gorgeous fuck juice"

It's not even the same guy. I have a new tag: fucknoun. Please now, boys and girls, don't make me use it ever again.

Truly Perverse.

NB: This post refers to roleplay, I am not being incestuously abused thank you Mr/Ms blog-trawling-concerned-authorities.

I went through a stage of having very niche-fetish phonesex with a friend, and this one came up.

"How's my little girl?"

"Sleepy."

"Do you want a bedtime story?"

"Yes please."

"You know what I want to hear."

I drop out of the breathy lisp that makes me sound half my age. "I can't, Tom*, it's weird."

"I think we went past weird a long time ago," he laughs."Come on, princess."

Somehow, it's not quite right that this is the only context in which I have ever said these words. "I love you, daddy."

"Good girl."


*Names changed to protect the god-honestly wrong in the head.

St. Kink

I credit much of my current self confidence and my current attitude to one man. Before him, I was a wallflower slowly peeling from the brickwork and beginning to lean into the open air. After a few mere months of him (in real terms, ten days or so in his company) I had blossomed into... well, a raving pervert. Not so sure blossomed was the word I was looking for, now!

I’m not for a second saying he corrupted me. More that he, in gently revealing his own...tendencies, gave me a forum to reveal my darkest desires and showed me that it was alright to want things. Alright to experiment. Alright for things to go horribly wrong and if you ended up having to cringe/laugh hysterically/burn the evidence/call the paramedics you chalked it up to experience. As such, I tried more things for the first time with him than I can possibly put number to (although one day I might try)and know I won’t hold back on things I want to do in the future.

And my my, he was into some weird stuff. I say was, I presume I haven’t put him off any of it. And when I say weird, I mean... there are fetishes, and there are the fetishes that are taboo even amongst the fairly open minded, and he is off the end of that scale. And slightly to the side: there were things he came out with which were just baffling. Not even disgusting, just plain obscure, like he was making them up to find out if I’d say yes to everything.

I did.

And I did because I trusted him. Not to look after my heart, not to turn down hot local girls determined to sleep their way up the scene, but to be honest about it and not put me at risk. To stop when I said stop, to be open to my own little quirks and fantasies, to be patient whilst I learned and to laugh when it went horrendously wrong.

It was like a great big BDSM/Fetish checklist. We did pretty much everything I’ve every heard of, and a few things I’m convinced he made up. One or two maybe I did. At one point he genuinely had an Excel spreadsheet written up, because we knew our time was limited and you have to be organised to fit all this nonsense into a couple of hotel weekends a month. Sadly we left it with a few boxes yet to tick, although the rate we added to it, I don’t think we’d have run out of ideas in a lifetime of room service and individual Molton Brown hair and bodywash bottles.

This was how I went from having done virtually nothing to virtually everything in half a year. And I must say, I enjoyed all of it. The sex was fantastic, both in terms of technique/results and the balance of tenderness and humour with which it was conducted making it completely okay that I wasn’t loved, committed, or a ‘girlfriend’... it was fun, I was having a fantastic time and accepted that there was nothing to be ashamed of.

That’s not to say he was perfect: he was, after all, doing all this in spite of being in love with another woman; he was consumingly pretentious, vain to the point of parody; once we genuinely thought he’d given me herpes and on more than one occasion we had blazing rows that lasted days. But rare to find a man who could flatter me without being smarmy, teach without being patronising, idolise me without being lecherous... Given the volatile nature of the concepts we played with it could have gone so horribly wrong, but he took my fragile self esteem and handled it with such care that our twisted pastiche of a love life became the most enjoyable and fulfilling thing I had ever had.

I thanked him a while ago, sincerely, for giving me the safe learning environment which has opened my mind and, dare I say it, enriched my life. And for doing so without once letting me feel used, dirty, hurt or anything on that spectrum. What he considers common decency has been above many of the people I’ve encountered, and I truly appreciate it.

“I’ll be alright when you go to write your autobiography then? Like a madman, obviously, but a decent one?”

“Oh yeah,” I replied. “When I write my biography, you’re going to come across as the Patron Saint of Perverts.”

Black and Blue

Just has a skim read back through this blog. Ahh dear, what's happened to me in a short year or so? From the boy-shy wall flower who presumed she wasn't interested in anything on the kink spectrum to... this? My, what interesting parts of myself I've uncovered. Very publicly, for the most part (but that was one thing we DID know I liked).

So what have I been up to? Partially this...


Although I feel I must point out that was entirely asked for, consensual and I dare say enjoyed. I'm probably convening all sorts of things by posting that and will probably be ganked for it but... I'll deal with it, I'm sure!

Dealbreakers

Now, my limits aren't where some girls' might be, and my standards may be a bit odd, but I am NOT sleeping with anyone who says things like this, and this is PASTED from IM, for god's sake:

shot deep inside one of your hungry fuckholes

..Let's take a look at that phrasing. "...shot deep inside one of your hungry fuckholes..."

...Shot?
..hungry?!
...FUCKHOLES?! "one of"; indiscriminate?

...Hunrgy fuckholes? No, sorry, just no.

When I didn't go to dance

It’s one or two in the morning, we’re watching girl be very elaborately tied up and suspended from what looks to my uneducated but willing eyes a lot like the frames children’s’ swing and slide sets are attached to, or a giant version of the rails I hung clothes on at Matalan. We watch, and talk about it, his hands subtly circling my wrists, my collarbones, the places his fingers suggest ropes should be. I turn to put my hands on the stair rail and watch more intently, him kissing my neck, my ears, the side of my face, my lips when I turn my head, and grinding the jut of his hipbones, his hard cock, into my pvc skirted ass. They see us watching, no one has a problem with this. We’re at the side of a dance floor, in the path of one of the main doors with friends and voyeurs and the people who DID come to dance, and we touch and kiss and sweat and I do not care.

Hours of dancing, talking, standing outside watching others smoke and chatting, him holding my hand, taking it back from men who kiss it in greeting defensively, comfortably half my owner and half my pet - one last time, another entirely the time before - and I am yet to learn his second name. I watch them presume we are a couple with the feeling I am more bothered by this than he is. Hours later we retire to the couples’s room, surprisingly clean leather sofas and enough space to sit down, this time. I sit in his lap and we kiss. He unpins my hair and the grip gets lost under the sofa, the will to care lost in quickly bruising bites and nail scratches. For the first few seconds his fingers are too rough but I slow him down with retaliation and then I can accept him. It’s peaceful, slow but urgent, the DJ plays Bauhaus and we grind.

Kisses on my collar and he slides to kneel on the floor. I go to stop him, he shouldn’t... why shouldn’t he, why shouldn’t I allow myself that? So I take a deep breath and I do, heedless of the thoughts, the place, and the other people who could be watching if they wanted. Its dark enough that I don’t have to notice but I choose to know they’re there, I know they can see his lips press against me, his tongue reach out to touch me. Perhaps they see me shiver; perhaps no one notices us. The warmth of pleasure I was expecting to need to imagine, the shock as he hooks his teeth into the piercing and pulls. Licks again. stops to bite the skin and i know i shouldn’t enjoy that pain but i do. I know i shouldn’t want people to see but i do, and it would be senseless to pretend I don’t. How long did I spend pretending to enjoy things I didn’t..?It doesn’t matter now, here with him and when I’ve had enough I’m up on that sofa with him, persuading myself to put his cock in my mouth. I can’t kneel, that’s crucial, and I doesn’t bother him in the slightest. He arches his back and sighs ,that smile of pure bliss which says this is good enough. I am good enough, and I can do this.

Told You So

Done, done and done, but wasn't it fun?

I'm not ecstatic, I must say, but chin up, some good memories and get back out there. There are many many things to do and no doubt people to do them with. Plenty of things to write up retrospectively too, so nothing's quiet on the blogging front.