the life and musings of a kinky slut


I don’t know how this happened but I am talking to so many boys right now.

I visited Sword Fighter over Labor Day weekend. He lives not that close but not horribly far away. We picked a city that was a fair split between us and he’d been there before so agreed that it would be a good time. 

And yes, it was a good time. 

I was initially nervous about the meetup. We hadn’t seen each other since my birthday, and I wondered if the spark between us would still be there. But of course, it was. 

My naive self thought I would stay for one night and leave in the afternoon the next day. 

So funny in retrospect. I stayed until I absolutely had to leave to make it to Renn Faire.

There was nothing big about our time except for how focused we were with each other. 

Friday night we had dinner, holding hands on the walk to the restaurant and back. We ate and laughed and talked so much. So much. Talking really dominated the weekend. We talked about our lives, both working and the people in them. We told our stories, the fun and not so fun ones. We talked about our tattoos, his pets, my allergy. We talked and talked and talked. 

And we fucked. 

I found it interesting that during our incredibly hot scene at BlerdCon, we had never kissed. And with the timing of things, we never got a chance to have sex. This was remedied on Friday night after dinner, and two hours on the loveseat cuddled up and opening up to one another. 

In total, we fucked four times over forty hours together. 

The first was intense, an exploration of each other. The second was whimsical, the morning after. The third was late night, woken up by the obnoxiously loud drag races on the street outside our AirBnB, so close to one another we couldn’t help but want to be within the other. The forth was silly, a quickie the morning of our parting before I had to go.

I know so much about this man now, more than some people I’ve known for much longer. I feel like this could be something, but I don’t know what yet. He lives three hours away. This could work, but it will completely depend on if both of us are willing to put in the effort and have the intentionality. We’ll see.

Back here at home, I find myself in the curious situation of talking to three members of a friend group at the same time. 

One is a friend I knew before the other two and just so happened to introduce me one night to their crew. Being the occasional center of orbit for their affections is pushing happy buttons in me I have not felt in a long time. 

They are all so very different, yet complement each other in synchronous ways. Two are married. One recently ended a relationship. In a cruel irony, at times it feels the one who is not married is the one who is the least available, attainable. But I’m still here, and I do not give up or fold easily.

Yesterday, Saturday, I spent twelve hours with one of them. We got coffee, then lunch, then drove an hour to try to go apple picking. The conversation was easy and far reaching and never ending. Unfortunately it was also distracting. We did not pay attention to time and ended up arriving fifteen minutes after apple picking had ended. So, I pivoted.

“You’re going to teach me how to bake an apple pie.”

We bought fruit from the orchard and headed back to my place.

After a quick run to the grocery store for a few missing essentials, and a plea for pardon at the state of my apartment, we spent the next few hours prepping and baking. We ended up baking an apple pie and a loaf of bread, my first for both. We talked for the intervening hours, ate a dinner of leftovers from my fridge, and again never had much of a lull in the conversation.

We were open and honest, telling each other about things we were less than proud of and finding in turn a person who listened and held space and affirmed who we are now as opposed to who we were and what we went through before.

Twelve hours and so many stories later, we ended the night with honesty. We don’t know where this is going, but we do know we like spending time with each other, and do it in such an effortless way that more interactions are surely to come.

This Sunday morning, it was as if the other two friends of the group sensed the time I had spent with the first and decided it was now their turns. 

I spoke to one on the phone for forty-five minutes chatting about life and the last time I had seen him, a visit at my place after he had had fun at a play party. He wanted to check in, make sure we were okay, and acknowledging maybe he had put too much emphasis on sex in our friendship. I confessed the last time he saw me I was high, having taken an edible before his arrival, and my brain was not in a place to share that experience with him. But yes, we were good. Our friendship is still solid. I still want to be around him and interact and see what fun life brings our way. There was talk of a group get together to play Cards Against Humanity. I warned him how much I love that game and plan to be as intellectually vicious as always. I think he enjoyed the challenge I laid down.

Then, as one phone call ended, a surprise FaceTime began. For an illuminating one and half hours, the third of the group and I talked and talked and talked. 

Though I had not planned it, I spoke with him about my inner selves, the personas slipping out when I don’t realize it and acting as my avatar in crucial moments both in play and in life.

“Who was that? That change in your voice?”

He likes my voice, has remarked more than once on it in our exchanged voice messages. I confess, I love hearing him speak both about my voice and just in general. I am a very vocal auditory person. Sometimes I will just lay back, close my eyes, and replay a voice message he has sent me. 

This FaceTime, occasionally while he spoke, I wanted to roll back and close my eyes and just listen and image scenarios I hope to fulfill in the future.

I was also blunt at the end of our conversation, saying plainly what I want, hoping I didn’t scare him, realizing none of want I said was guaranteed, but yes hoping that in my radical honestly I could at least let him know and then let him decide how he wished to react. I fear my bluntness may again be the thing that makes what I want not possible, but I can no longer play the cat-and-mouse game. No more hints and hopes and wishes. We’re grown; we say what we mean and we mean what we say.

Wherever things go from here with Sword Fighter or with the trio, I don’t know. 

A fun thought slipped into my brain while I masturbated this afternoon, but I’ll wait a little longer to share it with all these boys and the world. 

For now, I’ll just bask in the sweet sweet deliciousness of all this attention.

And you all know how much I love attention.

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