poeticdesires

Category: Grue

  • Snuggles and Romance

    Fucking Gray is so much fun.

    I never expect sex with him, even though it is a part of our dynamic, and, when we have it, the act is consistently amazing.

    I find that entering any scenario with little expectation yields the best possible results. And thus I’ve translated this mindset to the vast majority of my life, including my kinky fun times.

    At the Carolina Grue, I had no other expectation than to get to hang out with Gray for a bit, possibly a meal or two, enjoying his company and nothing more. We had planned to play, but Grue’s are intense experiences. I know from past crashes that one cannot bank on having any energy after a day of expending it all.

    Yet we did play, and damn if we didn’t have a fucking awesome go of it. I suppose we were due. We hadn’t seen each other in about six months.

    Yet still, what seemed like twenty minutes to me was actually an hour of cigar play, a bit of mean rope, cocksucking, and fucking me over a table which happened to be covered in flowers. I am not a romantic person, but a small part of me hopes the scent sense memory of that fuck sticks around. Its usefulness could end up being immeasurable.

    As for this past weekend at the Grue Pitt 4, I knew I was going to spend a great deal of time with Gray. I was actually a bit giddy at the prospect. We crashed in what I have dubbed the kinky commune: the home of two good friends who have a tendency to house awesome kinksters when they are in town.

    Gray and I pre-arranged to share a bed, which I presumed meant cuddles and nothing more. Friday night, us both stripped down to nothing (the usual way we rest together), I again found my head on his chest and his arms around me.

    What from others is a grope, Gray turns into a comforting embrace. As he fondled my breast, I still considered this cuddling. My breasts serve little other purpose at the moment than to be the playthings of those I allow to touch them. I happened to say this to Gray.

    I think this is when the cuddling took a turn.

    He gripped my breast harder, sinking his fingers deeper into my flesh. My breathing changed. He got meaner still, attacking the nipple. He switched to my other breast, treating it much the same. Delicious pain and pleasure swelled. He reached his free hand down and rubbed my clit. I gasped, but tried to keep my sounds low. There were, after all, others in the house trying to sleep.

    My modesty didn’t last much longer. He sunk his fingers into my pussy. My breath grew ragged.

    “No. Not yet.” He answered the question my body was begging to ask.

    I turned my head into the pillow to try to quiet my breath and slid a hand down to massage his cock. Instead, he pushed my head down into his crotch.

    I took him into my mouth. He pulled my legs over his chest. He nipped at my thighs. I yelped, but settled back onto his lips. I sucked his cock and balls while fingering his asshole as he ate me out like no other.

    I asked him after how he did it. How did he eat me out? What was his technique?

    “I don’t know. I just eat you out.”

    I was sorely disappointed in his answer, but so very overjoyed in his skill.

    When Gray eats me out, the orgasms are plentiful and overwhelming. He has one rule for me: I have ongoing permission to cum when he eats me out so long as his cock is down my throat. I gagged to my heart’s content as wave after sultry wave crested across my pelvis and down my legs.

    Gray, by far, gives me the best cunnilingus I have ever had.

    At one point, I was riding his face while lapping up his balls and fucking his cock with my breasts. He came on my chest and his abdomen, but he didn’t stop eating me out. And fuck, I didn’t want him to ever stop. As his orgasm had grown and gone, mine had swelled, fell, and swelled again. I licked up his cum as I rode his face and knew there was no other fuck I wanted to ever have more than the one I was having.

    And we weren’t done yet.

    He ate me still longer as I continued to suck his cock. He then pivoted us to the side. With his cock still in my mouth, because I wanted it no place other, his fingers found my pussy again. He pushed. I sat onto his hand. And then his fist was inside of me. I almost felt spoiled at how much fucking we were having in just one night.

    Almost.

    I came again, clamping down on his hand. Gray likes that sensation, the feel of my very hungry pussy not ever wanting to let him go.

    Okay, maybe I am just a little bit spoiled. But fuck, with sex like that, who wouldn’t be?

     

  • DGG #7: Feeling Grue-vy pt 2

    The second half of my fun times while attending the Grue Pitt 3.

    listen to ‘007_DGG Feeling Grue-vy pt 2’ on Audioboo

  • Grue-p Dynamics

    Ok, looks like we will have room for you. 🙂

    It felt like an enclave. No, a kinky commune. No, a kinky family reunion.

    We woke up together. Got ready at the same time. Drank our respective morning drinks. Shoveled loads of food and supplies into cars. Carpooled to our destination. Worked together to make the Grue run smoothly.

    Went to dinner together. Came back to the AfterGrue with each other. At the end of the night, cleaned up. Closed the building.

    Made our way back home. For during that weekend the house was all our home. Crashed and went to bed at the same time.

    Got up again at the same time. Rode to pancakes. And then we started our parting.

    For a weekend, I shared a home with six other people. I felt welcomed, cared for, by the kinksters around me. By TwistedView and K2, who opened up their home to us. And by those who shared the domicile with me. We broke bread together, shared space, laughed and chatted. We were in and among one another.

    There is a certain type of euphoria in the midst of an event. I get that. But I loved this more. Not only did we attend the Grue together, we shared almost all parts of our lives for a weekend. I loved the morning hustle, the ordered chaos, as much as the presentations and play that would follow.

    I loved the warm honey water. Listening to a Katt Williams sound clip. Cookies fresh out of the oven. Sitting around the kitchen island for an hour, or just the ten minutes before we had to run out.

    I loved being a part of this temporary family unit, only for a weekend, but immersed in care and love.

  • AtoZ

    You knew I was going to do this, right?

    Sometimes I just do things for people. Buy them a drink. Take care of the check for a meal. Crochet them something. It’s a part of my personality that I like to do for others, especially if I care about you.

    During the month of April, an A to Z blog challenge occurred. People posted one blog a day corresponding to the letter of the date (1st-A, 2nd-B, etc). Sunday people took off.

    I didn’t learn about the challenge until it was too late to sign up for it, but I still used the alphabet idea as inspiration for last month’s blogs. (Please ignore the fact that it took me until noon today to finish said blogs.)

    I learned of the blog challenge through Gray’s blog at Graydancer.com . He posted an entry stating he was going to try it. I thought this sounded like fun. I love reading his thoughts and was pleased this idea would give me more of his musings, on an almost daily basis no less.

    Plus it helped that it was a sexy subject challenge. Bloggers were asked to write about a topic corresponding to the letter of the date and relating to sex in some way.

    One day, before a gig, I read Gray’s second entry in my car. I have this habit of reading things out loud, especially when I’m alone. As I read B is for Baculine, I found myself smiling, especially at a small moment he describes in the entry.

    I already have a podcast of my reading Gray’s vanilla blog posts at PoeticReadsGray.

    But, for the AtoZ challenge, I thought I would do something special. Just for him. Just cause. I re-read B is for Baculine immediately into my iPhone’s voice recorder and texted the file to Gray. I didn’t expect anything of it, except, hopefully, that he would like hearing his words in my voice.

    I kept doing it throughout the month because one, I really liked it, and two, he never told me stop.

    When I saw him at the Grue Pitt, he asked me why I’d read the entries. I told him simply because I loved his writings and thought it would please him. And that was the long and short of it.

    Until I got a text from Gray a week later.

    – Hope you like the podcast.

    My reply: Oh…god…

    Because yes, it made perfect sense. Quite a few of his entries were rope-centric. Why wouldn’t he create a Ropecast entry from his blogs? And I’d given him a wealth of content to post: 26 entries totally 1 hour and 36 minutes. It was perfect.

    Graydancer’s A-to-Z Blog Challenge, as read by Poetic Desires

    Except it never occurred to me. I did not expect this, at all.

    Still, while listening to the podcast, and after finishing it, and even just thinking about it, I can’t help but smile. A big, huge, face-hurting smile.

    Attention and affection.

  • Yearn

    Attention and affection; two simple concepts, yet it has taken me time and thoughtful introspection to realize they are the two major necessities I need in a relationship.

    I want a partner who will spend time with me. Not around me, but with me. I need simple attention: a meal where we bitch about our respective jobs; watching a movie on NetFlix; going for a jog with me in the neighborhood; testing our duel trivia knowledges via Jeopardy! It doesn’t need to be fancy, but give me the time.

    I also want someone who shows affection towards me. Hugs and kisses, yes. But also holding hands. Back rubs. Gentle caresses. Playing with my hair (bonus points!). Cuddles. Snuggles.

    Without attention and affection, I cannot be happy in a relationship.

    There was a moment a week and a half ago. It was the Sunday after the Grue Pitt. Everyone was tired, exhausted really, winding down from the event. Gray, TwistedView, K2, and myself gathered in the living room to watch random action movies.

    At one point, TwistedView and K2 snuggled on the LoveSac while Gray and I did the same on the couch. Gray lightly rubbed my back, my arm. We were watching either From Dusk Til Dawn or Game of Thrones. It was nothing big; just some down time to relax our brains and bodies.

    And then, in a flash, it hit me: This is awesome. I want this. I should find someone for this back home.

    Ding ding ding.

    Because that’s the thing: I live here and he lives there. Our lives are separated by hundreds of miles. When we are together, it’s great, amazing really, but our lives make it so our time together is fleeting. Thems be the breaks.

    I wanted to kick myself when the obvious hit me upside my head.

    It was exactly what Doc has been talking about. Love, real love, isn’t a series of highs and lows. It’s steady. A baseline that’s always there. Yes, it will have its moments, but the foundation lies in daily consistent care.

    I yearn for attention and affection from someone regularly in my life. I want snuggles on the couch and cuddles in bed each night. I want someone to lean on, and to take care of, not just on special days, but every day.

    I don’t like that, when thinking about any as yet partner, thoughts veer towards my Ex. I don’t like remembering snuggling with him on the couch or sleeping with him at night. I don’t like that he is still a small part of my life (the occasional run in at work).

    It is so tempting to go backwards, to try again. Not tempting enough, though, for me to do it. There were far too many things wrong with our relationship for me to go back to him. But tempting still.

    It hurts, my current situation. Because I know I did have that bond with someone before. I know it’s possible, making the not having it that much worse.

    I do have attention and affection now, occasionally, on special days. When I get it, I feel this sense of ease. Of excitement, of course, but also of stillness. A knowing that yes, this is right. This is what I want, what I need. A gladness for my life in those days.

    But I yearn for more than my special days, as cherished as they are to me. I yearn for constant love, daily care, dependable attention and affection.

    As you might have guessed, since the Grue Pitt, I edited my OKC profile again. I’m trying to find a poly munch. I’m keeping my eyes and heart open. And I’m hoping.

    Slowly, surely.

  • Wavelength

    “Your brain is unlike any I’ve seen before.”

    I laid on a table in the middle of a study, head tied down so I would not move. TwistedView loomed over me as Neuromancer sat by his computer, watching as the data came in. An EEG helmet rested against my skin, multiple points touching through my hair, reading my brainwaves all the while.

    First TwistedView punched my chest. I took in the pain and pushed it back out through my breathing. Next he struck my chest with his cane. I used my shrieks and cries to take in and release his strikes. He repeated this pattern, punching first and then caning, my thighs.

    For a few last readings, Neuromancer delicately stroked my right leg.

    Once complete, I sat up and we chatted.

    Neuromancer marveled at how my brain worked throughout the small scene. I never went away, always staying present in the moment. For him, when he was in throws of pain, he lost himself in the sensations. Other masochists he’d previously scanned lost themselves as well, floating away during their scenes. But my brain never stopped processing as I felt each blow inflicted upon me.

    He asked me to talk about my experience of the scene. I explained that my masochism was rooted, at times, in almost a sense of service. The pain the person wanted to inflict on me I took in, processed, and expelled back out into the world through my breathing, my shrieks, my cries.

    Yes, I still loved it. Loved the pain. Loved experiencing it, processing it, and seeing how far my body could be pushed. But I also loved the simple act of being the vessel for the sadist’s torments, being that which the sadist used to fulfill their dark desire.

    When I told my friends about Neuromancer’s findings, my Big Bro summed it up best:

    “Poetic, over thinking things? Who would’ve guessed?”

    /snark

  • Until…

    My head throbbed. Pain pulsed from the base of my neck up into my brain, out through my eyes, around my forehead, and at my temples.

    It was a migraine, the first I’d had in years, and only the third in my life.

    “I’m feeling nauseous” turned into “You need to drive” in a matter of seconds. I climbed into the passenger seat while Gray took the wheel.

    Immediately, as soon as I buckled my seat belt, I began crying. The pain was too much. Too much now. Not now. Why now? The last few precious moments I had with Gray and all I could do was quietly weep.

    He had me recline my chair, lie back, cover my eyes. He told me to eat his yogurt, but I didn’t want to risk throwing it up.

    My car was running low on gas. We had to stop.

    “Do you want a receipt?”

    “No.”

    I didn’t care about gas or my credit card. All I wanted was to stop the pain. All I wanted was to not make him miss his plane. All I wanted was for these last few minutes with him to be about something other than my head. I hated my body for betraying me.

    “I need something to concentrate on.”

    We started talking. We began a conversation about Game Of Thrones. He’s read the books. I’m watching the television show and reading after. We caught two episodes the night before.

    We discussed the characters, specifically my favorites who, if they die, I will stop watching. We talked about themes in the show. We talked about anything to make the time pass, to make myself forget about my head.

    When I peeked from beneath my arm, I saw it. He was pulling into the airport. I had a new reason to cry. What little time I had had with him in my car was about taking care of me, not about enjoying the the moments with him.

    He pulled in, grabbed his things from the back. I lurched out of my seat, stood by the front.

    He stepped over. He opened his arms for a hug, and caught the corner of my mouth for a kiss. I turned my head and returned his affection. Kissing once. Twice. Thrice. Four times our lips met and parted. My head didn’t hurt, my mind didn’t wander from our moment, standing in the airport drop off lane, embracing a man I loved.

    “I’ll see you in a few weeks.”
    “Safe travels.”

    And he walked away.

    I got into my car, my head throbbing a little less, and made my way home.

    All while driving, through wrong turns, pit stops, and moments of sorrow, I thought about my Senpai, missing him already, until the day I’d see him again.

  • Go See Killing Them Softly

    It’s official: Gray picks all the movies.

    Killing Them Softly was another aftercare flick, which we saw on the Sunday of the London Grue. After Grue-cakes, extra poi practice, and more leather fun. After hugs, and thank yous, and goodbyes. After the Grue was officially over, Gray, Hedwig, and I ventured back to Hedwig’s place for quiet time.

    As we all decompressed, Gray looked up what movie we would go see. Somehow he found Killing Them Softly.

    The best way to describe the movie is by comparing it to another. Killing Them Softly is like an American version of Guy Ritchie’s Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels, but so much darker.

    The showing wasn’t until late, around 9pm, so our trio first headed out to find dinner first. We walked to a restaurant near the theatre, only to find it was closed down. Internets fail. Instead we dined at a small Chinese restaurant a few blocks closer to the movie.

    After dinner, we then searched for the theatre, hoping the internets did not fail us twice. We found Shortwave tucked inside of a block composed of multiple tall apartment complexes the surrounded a large bricked area. The offbeat establishment was a combination cocktail bar/theatre. I liked the modern style and atmosphere of the place.

    The movie theatre itself was small, maybe seating fifty people. We picked seats in the middle and waited. Gray and I had a few chuckles while viewing the British commercials before the film began.

    And then it started.

    Going in, I didn’t know what to expect. I had heard the description I gave above (minus the darker tilt). I also knew the film starred Brad Pitt, Ray Liotta, and James Gandolfini. Those three names were enough to get me in my seat, but the film far surpassed any of my meager expectations.

    The basic premise is this: A small group of people conspire to rob an illegal cards game frequented by mobsters. Brad Pitt is called in to figure out who the thieves are and kill them. Ray Liotta plays the person who ran the game. James Gandolfini is another hitman.

    So many aspects of this movie impressed me.

    First, there is an interweaving of CNN/radio/news clips that not only sets the time of the movie but also stands as a great juxtaposition to the actions of the characters. Many poignant notes hit as I heard a radio clip being played right before someone was to get shaken down, or right before we met characters, or at the very end of the movie.

    Fuck, the end of the movie. I will not tell you who says what, because this is a movie I do not want to spoil. It was just so good. But I can give you the quote.

    A certain person is giving a speech that is broadcast live and being shown on a television in a bar. One of the characters cynically quips, “Watch, he’s about to say some shit about how America is a community.” There is a pause. Something to that effect is said. The character then replies, in just a cynical a fashion, “America isn’t a community; it’s a business. Now pay me.” The threatening undertone in his voice, the anger, frustration, and willingness to get what he wants right now sold this movie for me.

    Second, the cinematography in this flick is gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous. One scene in particular which I loved features a drive by shooting. The actions in the sequence are slowed down and set to music (oh my god, the music*).

    As bullets fly, everything is just so beautiful. The bullets crashing through the glass or puncturing the doors of the vehicle. The holes appearing in the victim. His brains bursting from the back of his head. And then the victim’s car drifting forward and being crashed into by traffic. The cinematographer made this brutal graphic death scene look like a dance, a slow waltz with lovely partners gliding across the floor.

    Third, the acting. Each of the men cited in the description of this movie play their parts so well. It is my sincere hope that at least one, if not all three, are honored from their work.

    One of my favorite moments was the introduction of Brad Pitt. He pulls up, parks his car, and gets out. The camera starts low and then slowly pans up. The boots. The pressed pants. The leather jacket. The hair. This man, though he had a brutal job, was impeccable.

    And, throughout the movie, he was always honest, even when he lied. Brad Pitt’s character was by far my favorite. The movie is so named because of a line he says early in the action. He talks about the difficulty of killing a man. No one is the same when you are about to kill them. They beg. They cry. They yell for their mother. They wet themselves. He advises against any of the normal ways, of beating someone up, of teaching them a lesson first. He says you should kill them quickly, softly, one last gift before their death.

    This movie is my gift to you, my fair readers. Excellent acting. Excellent writing, with crisp dialogue and a story I loved. Cinematography that made me want to weep. And a soundtrack I will be buying.

    Go see Killing Them Softly.

    *Footnote: The music was so good, Gray was actually occasionally pissed when they changed scenes because he wanted the music to finish. I’d say that’s an excellent recommendation for the soundtrack as well.

  • Postcards

    “Why are you sending me a postcard?”
    “Because I can.”

    It was my last moments in London.

    That morning, my last morning in London, we’d fucked like it was the last time for a long time, because we both knew it would be the last time for a long time.

    But now, a few hours later, we sat at a tall table by the bar in The Hung, Drawn, and Quartered. He called our venturing to the restaurant his “giving his respects to his relative”. Apparently a distant relation had been executed here, back when it wasn’t serving butternut squash risotto or duck, cranberry, and port pie.

    We each sipped on our drinks and lounged. My legs dangled from the tall chair in a way reminiscent of my youth, though I was not as happy sitting in the restaurant as I had been when I was young. It was almost time to say goodbye.

    About ten minutes earlier we passed by a small shop that sold postcards. Near the beginning of my London adventure, I’d purchased postage for five cards, thinking I would send them off to family and friends. As my time progressed in London, the thought rarely came back up. Until then, during my last hours, when we walked by the small shop.

    He needed to go to an ATM, so I waited, sampling their small selection.

    Who would I send a card to? Who did I want to send a card to?

    I chose three: one for a parent, one for myself, and one for him. I paid the small fee and waited outside the shop for him to return.

    With a little time on my hands, I thought about what I wanted to write. Something fun came to mind for my parent. Thoughtful intents emerged for his card as well as mine.

    When he returned, we walked the short distance to the restaurant. After a few commemorative photos outside, notably his starfish under the sign, we walked in, found a cozy spot in a corner of the bar, and sat.

    As I sipped my cider, I pulled out my cards and started writing. My parent’s was easy and short.

    For my card, I thought about my trip, and the many amazing moments I’d had. I made a list, bullet points to jog my memory of my fun times in London.

    When it came to his card, I wanted to give him the same gift.

    “What’s your address again?”
    “Why are you sending me a postcard?”
    “Because I can.”

    I thought about the moments we’d had and the times I’d seen him enjoying his latest trip to London. Again I made a list, hoping it would spark his memories of his adventure and possibly, maybe, get him to smile.

    After we’d ordered our food, our friends arrived. They joined us, snuggling into our cozy corner.

    When I finished all my postcards, I realized a slight flaw in my plan. There was no time for me to go to a post office before I had to head to the airport. Gray offered to do it, but I didn’t want him to peek at his card, spoiling the surprise. Instead one of our friends offered to send them off for me.

    And then Gray promptly asked our friend to read it. He and his partner leaned over perusing what I’d written. They then, thankfully, advised him to wait.

    “See, I’m thoughtful and shit.”

    Soon after, it was time for me to go.

    Gray walked me to the station, about a few blocks away from the restaurant. We switched Oyster cards (mine had unlimited bus and Zone 1-3; his was empty). He filled my card with enough money to get me to the airport.

    We hugged just beyond the entrance turnstiles, standing there for a moment saying a silent goodbye.

    “Please try to stay safe and sane.”
    “Thank you for helping me with that while you were here.”

    We kissed one last time.

    Then I turned, swiped my card, and stepped through. He handed me one of my bags over the barricade and I was off. I didn’t dare turn back. I didn’t want to cry and I had a long journey to traverse before I’d be home.

  • Locked In

    We could’ve kept going pretty easily. I’d just completed Gray’s boots and still had his chaps and vest to work on. But it was getting late and Gray didn’t want to keep others up just so we could have fun.

    The two people who had watched our scene were also ready to go. As Gray and I cleaned up, our observers thanked us for letting them watch and walked out.

    I put my things back into my kit as Gray began taking off his leathers.

    And then the duo returned.

    The door from the Dungeon to the main floor was locked. They checked the other entry door. Locked as well. We were locked in.

    I laughed a little, the idea that we actually shut down the Dungoen. But just as soon as the funny thought came, the problem sunk in.

    Could we get out? Weren’t personal items left uptairs? Did they really forget about us?

    I started having a vision of us all camped out in the Dungeon. There was a bed and a couch. Theoretically we could’ve slept there fine. There was also a bathroom downstairs, so using the restroom would not have been an issue. And people would be back in the morning, but not until late. Probably ten or eleven.

    It turned out, though, that the answer to all my questions above was yes. Gray’s things were upstairs, not the best situation in the world but there was nothing we could immediately do about it.

    Since it was left behind, Gray borrowed Hedwig’s sweatshirt.

    It seemed we were indeed locked out of the bar, but thankfully there was an emergency exit door.

    My few things were with me. Gray was fairly shielded from the elements with the sweatshirt, and thankfully his pants were downstairs with us.

    Ready to go, knowing we could not get back in til the morning, we left. Our duo, thankfully, offered us a ride back to Hedwig’s.

    We crashed, having had a good time, mildly annoyed by the inconvience, but knowing we still had things to do in the morning.