poeticdesires

A Visit August 19, 2013

If it is ok with you, I would like to crash with you Friday night.

Originally I didn’t plan to go to Hot House. It was scheduled for a Saturday evening, typically a night I work. In fact, I had scheduled a ten hour shift for that very night. But more than one friend said they were going. And Doug was coming down from New Jersey. And LyricL asked me, as a title holder, to attend the party. Thus, under the influence of peer pressure, I dropped my shift and RSVP’ed yes to the event.

So it was with more than a little glee that I received a message from Doug asking for a place to stay Friday night.

He arrived at my house around 9pm. We hugged at my front door, holding each other for a long moment, grateful for this random opportunity for a visit.

I suggested we head out for dinner, my treat. He objected, the memory of my Waffle House gesture still somewhat fresh. Instead, he was the one who paid for dinner, sushi at a local hole-in-the-wall.

As we walked back to my car, he pulled out his cloves and smoked. From the vantage point of the parking garage, I showed him our downtown. We spent about half an hour chatting, his tobacco scenting the air around us.

When we arrived back at my home, the rest of the house was in bed. We walked to my bedroom. I stripped down to a comfy t-shirt. He used the restroom, got ready. When he climbed into my bed, I asked him if he minded if I slept naked; he didn’t.

And then, randomly, he asked me where I was during 9/11.

Okay, I thought. Guess we’re not having sex. That’s cool; it’s nice to see him either way.

We chatted for a long time about a whole range of topics: politics, healthcare, religion (or lack there of). All of it weighty, heavy stuff. I adjusted this way and that on my bed, sometimes snuggling with a pillow, sometimes sitting up and animated.

About an hour or more into our conversation, he finally noticed I wasn’t wearing any underwear.

“I asked you if it was okay if I slept naked.”

“Okay.”

He stood up on his knees, took of his remaining clothing, leaned over, and kissed me.

I pulled off my shirt. We leaned back on my bed, onto my pillows, and made out with Tessie over my shoulder.

He kissed me, teased me. Sucked on my nipples. Bit my neck. I pushed him over. Teased him with my lips. Bit his neck hard. Traced my tongue down to his nipples. And then farther.

He stopped me. Explained he hadn’t been tested in a while.

I introduced him to the second drawer of the storage container next to my bed. Pulled out a condom. Rolled it over his cock. Wrapped my lips around his dick.

The fun pivoted. I pulled out an under pad, gloves, lube. He went into his things; pulled out his butt plug.

He laid back down on my bed, his hips on the pad. I sat just off of the pad, lube bottle at the ready. As I lubed my hand, I mentioned that I’d had a few lessons recently in anal play.

I lubed up his hole, pressed my middle finger, and invited myself in. My digit eased inside of him. He removed his condom and began stroking his cock. Later, I inserted a second finger. He rode the wave of his pleasure. I closed my eyes. Felt myself inside him. Relaxed into the fun of sticking my fingers up a cute boy’s butt.

When he asked for the plug, he switched positions. On his hands and knees, he pressed back onto the plug, then rested forward. Back and forward. I kept my pressure constant and in place. Within a few minutes, his plug was in.

“I’d love to suck your cock,” he said.
“I’ve got another idea.”

I pulled out my own plug. Pulled out more gloves. Got on all fours on my bed.

He lubed up his hand. Slipped his first finger in. Then his second. And, quicker than I anticipated, quicker than I knew I was capable of or would enjoy so greatly, my butt plug was in.

I laid down on my back, the sensations a bit overwhelming. He laid down beside me, more relaxed than my demeanor. I tried to emulate his calm, but he had another idea.

Changing gloves, he pulled out another bottle of lube, stroked my lips, and easily inserted his fist into my pussy. I bit my wrist trying to quiet my screams. It felt so good, so right, to be that full. And yet, I started moaning.

“More. More.”
“My full fist is in. I can’t give you anymore.”
“I know. I know. I’m a greedy pig is all.”

I held my plug in my ass as he fist fucked me to an orgasm.

I was high off my cum; he needed a cigarette. We removed our plugs, cleaned up, and headed downstairs.

As we sat, me drinking water and him smoking, he came to a realization. Our hour plus conversation about religion and politics and healthcare had been a turn on for him.

“Well, yes. I get that. I am also a sapiosexual.”
“That’s what that means?”

Shortly after, we went to bed.

The next day we ate diner breakfast before he had to depart. He was a part of the party setup.

I was happy for my sixteen hours with my friend all the same, a most unexpected but highly appreciated quite enjoyable visit.

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e[lust] #49 August 15, 2013

Photo courtesy of Love Hate Sex Cake

Welcome to e[lust] – The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at e[lust]. Want to be included in e[lust] #50? Start with the newly updated rules, come back September 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

A pill for that?

When I Get Annoyed, Shit Happens.

The Dildo Wars- Dildology & Doc Johnson

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Sense, Sensibility and Censorship

Triggers, Asses and Subby Places.

~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

There is no Freedom Without Risk

All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

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Big R August 14, 2013

“How many of you are in a D/s relationship?”

I watched as the people around the circle raised their hands. Rough’s gaze ran counterclockwise until his stare landed on me. My hand was halfway up.

“Well, it depends. What is your definition of a D/s relationship?”
“That’s a good question, poetic. We’ll start with you. What’s your definition of a D/s relationship?”

I was suddenly a bit flustered.

“A D/s relationship is when one person consensually gives up control to another, and the other person consensually receives said control. But there are big R relationships and little r relationships, and I’m kind of in a medium R relationship. Gray is my Teacher, my Sempai, and I’m his student, his kohai. I’m submissive to him, but he’s not in charge of me. There is no veto power. We play with whoever we want. We’re friends and we fuck and play, but he said he didn’t want to do an LDR, so we’re something.”

I took a sip of my water, trying to hide for a breath.

As I did, I looked left and saw two people coming up the walk. Life has a way of having perfect timing.

Gray, accompanied by MissAmyRed, who was in service to him for Rope Camp, made their way up the lane and towards the class. The two of them sat down and Rough, thankfully, moved on to the next person in the circle.

Where Gray and Amy were positioned, I had only to wait for two people to describe their D/s before Gray gave his answer.

Gray, without hesitation, stated he was in a D/s relationship with me as his student and that Amy was on loan, as it were, to him for the event.

Hearing Gray’s answer made my heart both sink and soar. He had just given acknowledgement of our dynamic in front of a few of our friends and had called it a relationship.

Looking at our pre-existing situation, there are places where Gray had already acknowledged what we have. There was the status on Fetlife. There were the times we’d spent together, both at events and not. He’d spoken about me as his student before both among friends and at the Grue Pitt.

Yet, I had been hesitant to call what we have a relationship in deference to what I viewed as his preference to our interactions. I had previously brought up the idea of an LDR, which he did not want. I had mentioned the thought of moving closer to him, which he discouraged. In my mind, I didn’t want to give too much weight to what we have believing the sentiment was not shared. But it was Gray who called our dynamic a relationship.

I ended up having a lengthy conversation with Doc about this moment. The conclusion we ended at revolved around my self worth issues. It is much easier for me to remember the negative. I took the decline from Gray for both an LDR and the move as indicators that our dynamic was not worthy of the label of relationship. Instead of noting all the positive aspects of what we’ve shared, instead of using our past emotional and kink interactions as a basis for my answer to Rough’s question, I went with the less-than-pleasant-ness I remembered, the things I didn’t want to hear but had still resounded like church bells.

After class, I felt the need to tell Gray my response to the question. Many thanks to Doc for the lessons in being emotionally honest. I also asked Gray for an explanation of his answer. He explained, when given the choice between big R and little r, a relationship or none whatsoever, of course we were a big R. We were not just friends.

As our Rope Camp continued, our interactions did not seem effected by our discussion. And, as we spent another day with each other after the event, we were as we were before.

Now, with time between that class and some life lived, I have had the chance to tell people over and over again that Gray is my Teacher, my mentor, my Sempai. That I am in a D/s dynamic with him. Each time I’ve said it, there was a smile on my face and less worry passing over my lips.

Whether we are Big R or medium R, we are something. And that’s enough for me.

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Hot Ash August 14, 2013

My hands shook as I held the match box. I could feel all the eyes in the Barn on me. Could hear my breathing loud as thunder.

I struck the match against the box; no light. Struck again; no light. On the third try, it lit. I warmed the cigar with the match. Once it burned out, I used another still to warm the tobacco. With the third match, I placed the cigar to my lips, held the match by the tobacco’s end, and puffed.

Gray informed me of the Hot Ash competition about a week or two before Rope Camp. I remember standing by the door of the Craft Room, the words “Hot Ash” coming out of his mouth, and immediately banging my head against the wall.

I was already going to be in the Roperlesque for two acts. I suspected I would also be bootblacking. And now I knew I would be in the competition as well, held in between the acts. Just one more thing to add to my crowded plate for that evening.

When Friday night came, so too did the heavens. All day it rained, in fact. The weather woke me in the morning, kept me in bed through the first class session, invited a friend under my covers for snuggles and dragon cuddles, and permeated the camp’s mood.

I intentionally left all my things in the Pavilion for Roperlesque (rope, my bootblack kit, supplies for the fantasy, and cigar accoutrement) during the early afternoon. As the hour of the event approached, I headed down the hill to help setup for the festivities. When I arrived, Gray turned me away. The event was being moved to the Barn. He walked my luggage across the river of mud in front of the Pavilion, and asked that I spread the word to whomever I passed.

As people hustled to stage the event in the new space, I helped move tables, arranged a few chairs, and generally pitched in as we brought everything together.

Roperlesque was low key, as Gray had intended, with shared alcohol, cigar smoking a plenty, a game of poker in one corner, a rig for the performances in the middle of the room, and one chair on the stage for my bootblacking. It seemed almost the entire camp came out to relax and enjoy the evening.

Just about every bit of my night was unnerving. I performed an ichinawa scene with NYRCherryBondage, an act we had never practiced. I re-created my Dirty Pig fantasy with assistance from Roughinamorato and NYRCherryBondage, another time in front of the crowd. However my heart beat hardest during Hot Ash.

I was the first called upon to demonstrate my service. I had my kit prepared, a towel for my knees, and I exuded calm as best I could.

When Gray called my name, a hush settled in the Barn. I stepped to the middle of the room, laid down my towel, sunk to my knees, and became focused on my demo top. I offered them a selection of a few different cigars. I offered various ways of cutting the cigar. Did they want it warmed? Did they wish for me to wet the end or would they prefer to do it themselves? Butane lighter or wood matches? I specifically catered what I had available to their desires.

When the cigar was prepped and ready, I handed it to the demo top, thanked them, rose, and stepped away.

As the evening grew later, after my Dirty Pig reprisal, Gray called all four Hot Ash competitors to the center of the Barn. Lochai took the microphone in hand, then distributed the inaugural Hot Ash certificates to the participants.

For Most Entertaining Service: NYRCherryBondage.

For Sexiest Service: EmberBliss.

For Best Mashturbation: Roughinamorato.

And the inaugural Hot Ash: poeticdesires.

I smiled, sunk to my knees, and accepted my certificate. I turned and stood before Gray could instruct me to not rise. To my right was MissAmyRed. In her hands was a piece of rope with a cutter attached on the end. She draped the rope around my neck, my Hot Ash medal.

I still have the rope. The cutter is in my cigar kit, but the rope is my new favorite necklace. It is a reminder of that night, of those people, of those moments I will not soon forget.

And, as Gray put it, I am now a dual title holder.

I am, indeed, a hot piece of ash.

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Badass August 12, 2013

I wanted to do it. No, I needed to do it.

In the intermediate suspension class, the challenge (for both the tops and bottoms) was a transition. Start with a gote chest harness; attach it to your ring. Tie a futomomo leg lashing while the bottom is standing; attach is to the ring. On the opposite leg, a simple ankle cuff. Raise the bottom to a sideways suspension. And, finally, the true test: invert the bottom, putting most (if not all) of the weight on the bottom’s futomomo lashed leg.

As my top tied me, I was nervous. I’d been inverted before, but the weight rested on my hips and lower back. I had never attempted a single leg before. Yet even as my heart raced, not knowing if I’d been able to handle the tie, I was also giddy. I was being challenged, asked to step up to a level I had not sought before.

My top tied my chest harness and attached it to her ring. She tied the futo, but was unsure of the lashing. She had not tried to bind the tie while the bottom was standing before. She attached the futo to her ring. The ankle cuff was simple. She raised me sideways. But, as I rested in her ropes, she decided we would not attempt the transition. The futo was not working properly; she didn’t feel the situation was safe. She brought me down.

As soon as she took weight off the futo, the ropes collapsed. She’d made the right decision.

Still, I didn’t feel right. I wanted to try the transition. I wanted to know if I could do it, if I could handle it. I wanted to prove to myself that I could be badass, that I was badass.

Later, I spoke to Bombergrl. She had accomplished the transition in class. I trusted her skills. She agreed to tie me that night.

A few of my friends gathered in the Dungeon to watch. I told them what I was going to try and they wanted to be around for support.

As Bombergrl started, I could feel the nerves return. In my line of sight was Elf. I asked them to stay there, to stay close, to talk to me. I needed to keep talking. I needed to relax, calm down, do anything but amp myself up.

Bombergrl attached the chest harness, wrapped the futo around my right thigh, and tied the ankle cuff on my left leg. She lifted me into the air into a sideways suspension. All the while, I kept my eyes on Elf. Kept talking. Bombergrl used her full body weight to raise my right thigh higher into the air. She adjusted the left ankle cuff up as well, but it took barely any weight. Then, slowly, she eased my chest down.

I felt the grip, the pain. I screamed out as my full weight sunk into my thigh. The pain was worse than I had imagined. But as I felt it, the cinching of my skin, the grip of the rope into my flesh, I knew I could take it.

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. Take the picture. Take the picture.”

Elf grabbed their camera, stood in front of me. I breathed, melted into the pain, and stopped screaming. A flash went off twice. Elf had got the shot.

Bombergrl eased down my left ankle, then lowered my right thigh. I landed on the mat below. As the pain subsided, the ground now taking my weight, my screams were replaced by cackling. I couldn’t stop laughing for a full five minutes. I’d done it. An inverted futomomo single leg suspension.

I’m 5’5″, 215lbs. I am not a tiny Asian waif. Yet, I did it. I proved, to myself and everyone in that Dungeon, that big girls can not only fly, but fly hard.

I still have the faint outline on my skin of where the rope gripped my thigh. I wear the scar as a badge of honor, a constant reminder that whispers in my ear every time I see it.

I am badass.

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The Hard Sell August 9, 2013

“I just came back from my trip to Seattle.”
My friend pat me on my back.
“Well, it was nice knowing you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Almost every single person I know who visited Seattle moved there.”

“I’m going to keep poking and prodding because you’re awesome and we want you here.” – Clash

@poeticdesires
– Maybe I should just stay here. #iWish

@Graydancer
– @poeticdesires toldjaso.

I doubted them. I seriously doubted them.

It was the night of the Roperlesque at Rope Camp. The festivities had ended. Everything was winding down.

I found myself in conversation with MissAmyRed and Gray about Seattle. Amy had previously mentioned having a spare room in her house in case I ever wanted to visit. But as I sat on the bench in the Barn, Amy and Gray began suggesting a little more insistently that I take the trip.

They talked about the Center for Sex Positive Culture. They spoke about how there is a party there every night of the week, different groups all converged in this one building.

They spouted names of people I should meet, how I needed to talk to them about leather or bootblacking or rope.

I happened to mention SEAF, the Seattle Erotica Arts Festival. It was being held the first weekend of August. As I weighed my options, stay or go, taking the leap or letting the moment pass, I just knew I was going to buy a plane ticket once I got home.

Amy and Gray spoke so highly of the city. Yet still I thought there was no way it would seduce me as it had them. Not that fast. Not in one trip.

One week. I landed last Thursday morning. I returned home this morning.

I spent seven days meeting people, going to parties, and experiencing the life and culture of a wonderful city.

All too often, I realized how much I loved being in Seattle. How much I loved the people I met, the community that welcomed me, and the moments, both big and small, that defined my trip to the northwest.

Not only did I quickly grow to love Seattle, the people around me seemed to quite quickly grow fond of me.

There was my new title, The Bane of Pants, so dubbed by Amy because I keep charming them off of people.

There was the Sunday brunch on Amy’s deck, where Clash first asked if I thought about moving to the city. My response: “I can’t answer that question.”

It had only been four days, yet I was already feeling the pull of the people around me, the pull of the community, the allure of the city.

The whole group chimed in. Half a dozen people who had just become a part of my life wanted me to stick around. They knew I had to go, but they didn’t want me to leave.

There were my last moments at Paradise, a local camping event. The goodbyes before my departure. And the gentle needling, the suggestions, and dare I say hopes, that I’ll make my way back to them.

As I sat in the airport, I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to get on my plane with screaming babies and an aisle seat where almost everyone on the plane bumped into me. I didn’t want to deal with grumpy flight attendants and a sore neck. But, most of all, I didn’t want to acknowledge how sad I was that I had to travel away from what felt like a new home to me.

I don’t know what my life will be like next year. Or the year after that. Or the year after that. But I know Seattle is there, looming in the back of my mind, a mistress I cannot deny. Her fingers somehow wound their way around my heart. Only time will tell if her hold grows stronger or gently eases.

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A Message, An Hour August 1, 2013

My father is in the hospital. The first thought that ran through my head when I got the news was, My brother is such a douche bag.

He left me a voice mail; I missed his call because I was at work.

“Dad’s in the hospital. He fell and broke his hip. He needs surgery.”

First off, you don’t leave news like that on a fucking voice mail. You say something on the order of, “Please call me back when you can.” Subtlety, it seems, is lost on my brother. Instead, I was left thinking my father was in agony or worse. Since it’s me, I went to some dark places.

I happened to be working close enough that I could visit my Dad in between my gigs. I was the only person there in his hospital room. I forgot to ask if anyone else had come by before me.

He was admitted yesterday. He’d gone outside to turn off the pump to his pool, slipped and fell. He was on pain meds and seemed to be just fine. We chatted, just the two of us, and watched television. I turned on the WiFi on his phone and explained how you transfer pictures to your computer, though his laptop wasn’t there.

I leave on a plane for Seattle in three hours.

Dad’s surgery is tomorrow. I’ll call him afterwards, make sure he’s okay. It’s only a partial hip replacement, thankfully. His doctor thinks he’ll be able to stand and move around a day after the procedure.

I still haven’t cried yet. Once I got the news, I could feel the emotion welling up, ready to break. But I was at work. And Dad wasn’t dead, just hurt. I did my compartmentalization thing.

But I knew, if someone fucked with me, if my boss acted more asshole-ish than normal, I would probably lash out or loose my shit. I’m glad neither happened.

It was a simple hour, my sitting in a chair in my Dad’s hospital room, yet it was something my father and I had never done before. Just the two of us sitting and chatting about nothing important in particular for such a long period of time.

Often when I’ve visited someone in the hospital, the point of my time with them was to help relieve the loneliness and boredom. I was disappointed I saw no one else there with him.

I called my Mom after I left my Dad, told her the news. And, of course, told her to call him. I hope she did. She worried that his wife would be there. I worry that she found an excuse to not call him. My Mom often doesn’t “want to be a bother”. I often want to shake her. She created a child with this man. She is allowed to call him. It is just a phone call.

Funny, this incident marks both my parents suddenly in the hospital in less than six months. And each instance coincides with my kink adventures.

I know my parents are getting older. Shit, my Dad is already old. Eighty-three years old.

I know there will come a time when I get that phone call, when my entitled little dipshit brother lets me know one of the worst things in my life has finally happened. But, for now, it hasn’t happened yet.

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Care July 29, 2013

~ a story ~

Something wasn’t right. She knew as soon as she opened the door.

It was the quiet. It was never quiet when she arrived. He always played music, usually something classical, though occasionally jazz piped through his sound system.

And the smell was wrong. He’d always have dinner almost ready. There would be enough time for a drink. Long enough for her to relax, ease herself back into their way. Yes, she served him, but he knew how to take care of her: a warm dinner, a cool drink, and time at his knee to bring her back, bring them both back, to normal. Their normal. Their way.

She gazed right. The table by the door held his keys, tossed onto the wood instead of hung up on its hook. His briefcase and jacket were thrown on the floor. Something was very wrong.

Then, she heard it. His grunts. But not in passion. Not the way he grunted when he punched her, kicked her, or fucked her. His breath carried no pleasure. There was exertion without enjoyment. And she heard another sound, a cushioned thumping sound.

She sat her bag in the living room, as she always did. Took off her coat, as she always did. Put his keys on the hook. Picked up his jacket and briefcase. Walked to his study. Laid the jacket across his chair, the briefcase on the desk.

She followed the noise. It came from the garage.

And then she remembered.

The garage held boxes, tools, and old gym equipment. She grabbed a towel from the hall linen closet. Walked through the silent scentless kitchen. Acquired a bottle of water. Opened the door to the garage.

There he was. Sweaty. Angry. Pummeling the punching bag. It was red, old, taped over on parts. Had lost some of its original cylindrical shape. His hands were wrapped, at least. He was mad, but not angry enough to hurt himself. He wore his running shorts and tennis shoes.

He was focus, hyper-focused, so much so that he didn’t notice her until he heard the sound of the door close.

He looked up. She saw the change in the muscles of his frame, on his face.

“Oh, fuck. What time is it?”

“7:30, Sir.” She walked towards him. With grace, dropped to her knees. Presented the towel and the water. His shoulders slumped as he accepted them and sank into a nearby camp chair.

“I’m so…”

“It’s okay, Sir.”

“I just. Don’t.” He protested as she crawled towards him, dust and dirt all over the floor. She placed her head against his knee.

“It’s okay, Sir.” She closed her eyes. Encircled her arms around his calf, her legs around his foot. Her temple tickled with his sweat. She scooted her crotch to his heel. She nuzzled her head against his knee.

And then she felt the familiar brush of his hand on her head. And heard his sigh.

It was her turn to take care of him.

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Lessons July 27, 2013

I was driving. Gray sat in the passenger seat. I don’t remember how we got on the topic. Probably one of my random non sequiturs.

“The thing is, I have this harness now. But. But. It makes me nervous. I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“Don’t you have experience with a strap-on?”

“Just strap-on blow jobs. That’s different. Fun, but different. Less likely to be harmful.”

“What about at FetFest? Our threesome with NYRCherryBondage.”

“Yes, but that was fucking a vagina. Asses are more perilous.”

“Well, you won’t hurt anyone if you listen to them and follow their speed.”

“Yes. True. It’s just, to penetrate a guy. To have that control. And I’m not really toppy…”

“You of all people should know an act is not inherently dominant or submissive.”

“Yes. Yes. I know that. I know. It’s just. It makes me nervous.”

“Have you watched any videos on Kink Academy or PassionateU?”

“No,” I squeaked. He chided me for not taking advantage of resources I get for free.

“As long as you listen to the person, you’ll be fine. And just so that you know, yes, I am open to the idea of you pegging me, even though you danced around the subject.”

The first time I licked Gray’s asshole was in London, the morning I was heading home. The last time we fucked for months. I didn’t even know what I was doing. I licked and sucked on his balls. Licked his taint. Licked a little further. And then I heard the moan. It was different than he’d emitted before. And I knew what I’d done. I kept going.

“Show me how dirty a girl you can be.”

He stood in his leathers. I was on the floor, rope harness around me, my hands covered in soap and shoe grease.

As I worked on his chaps, I sunk down. Slithered in between his legs. My ass the last to drop down and through him.

I sat. Rested my back against his left leg. Tilted my head up. Massaged Black Gold into his leather as my tongue licked from his balls to his asshole.

He bent down slightly. Grabbed my hair. Maneuvered my face how he wanted it.

Later, when I finished his leathers, he asked, “Do you want to have some more fun upstairs?”

At Shibaricon, he sat on my face, ass pressing against my cheeks, as he fucked my tits til he came.

The night of my birthday, he sat on my face, ass riding my tongue, as he came in NYRCherryBondage’s mouth.

There is nothing so scary and so arousing as having someone fuck your face, not being able to breathe, and not knowing if they’ll remember to allow you air.

He laid on my bed, still in his leathers. His vest opened out. His chaps put his cock on display. His boots rested at the foot of the bed.

“You need gloves, lube, and dildos.”

I introduced him to my drawer full of safer sex supplies and masturbatory accoutrement. I laid the dildos by his side. Gloved up. Knelt at the end of the bed. Held the bottle of lube. Tried not to shake from nerves.

Now I remember how we got on the subject. It was the butt plug. The Mr. S Piggy butt plug.

I asked Gray for anal stimulation in our fucking. I wanted to get the plug in before next Fusion. I asked his opinion on masturbating with my introductory plug, smaller than the Mr. S prize. Any suggestions he had.

And then I mentioned the harness.

He had me lube my fingers. Lube his asshole.

“Too much is almost enough.”

He was specific; press, don’t poke. I remembered the tip from the two Kink Academy videos I’d watched earlier.

I pressed my middle finger against his asshole. I invited it to open. I pressed, and then felt the release. I slipped in, just a little. And then a little more.

Gray asked for more lube. I reapplied lube, then reapplied my finger. Glided in. My whole finger was in his asshole.

He wanted another. More lube. Again, slow pressure. And then two of my fingers were inside him. I felt his prostate; massaged it. Had his cock in my other hand; licked it. Inside, I reveled in the moment.

He grabbed my hair.

“Don’t you forget who is in charge right now.”

He let go of my mane.

He wanted to try a different lube. I slipped my fingers out; too quickly. I immediately knew I’d fucked up.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. Just remember, you go at the person’s pace. Grab the other lube.”

I did. We tried it. He liked it better, but I made a mental note to buy anal lube the next day.

I laid my ring finger across my middle and fore fingers; held the three together tightly. Pressed against his asshole. Heard and saw the pleasure I gave him as my digits slipped in. Again, I massaged his prostate.

His hands glided along his cock and rubbed his balls. His voice uttered his pleasure, until finally he said, “I’m cuming.”

I quickly readjusted. Put my mouth on his cock. Swallowed his cum. Played with his cock. Flicked my tongue along and around his head until he pushed me off.

“My only critique: I love it when I cum in your mouth, but next time don’t change up what you’re doing as I cum. Other than that, you were great. Now, turn around.”

He fucked me with one of my own dildos before we both passed out for the night.

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30 July 27, 2013

I awoke, my head on Gray’s chest, my body curled up next to him.

And then it hit me.

I’m 30. I am 30.

I don’t feel any different. Are you suppose to feel different?

I’m me. I’m still me. Just me, and 30. Okay, I still feel like me, so let’s go with this.

Gray took me out for birthday pancakes, his treat.

“You order first, birthday girl.”
“Shh. There will be no more mention of that.”

Later, after we’d finished our meals, but had yet to receive the check.

“That’s odd. She gave me my to-go box, but not the bill.”

I heard the clapping before I saw them. Three servers with a bowl of ice cream walking towards our table.

Oh. No.

I cowered, half-covering my face. The ladies finished their song. Our server left our bill. Gray captured the moment in a picture, forever displaying my awkward-humble embarassment.

I ate my ice cream.

I’d already been to Best Buy and my local sex toy shop. Next up on my list of errands was the liquor store. I parked the car, hussled inside, chose a twelve pack of Yuengling, and walked up to the register.

“ID please.”

I smiled.

“How old are you now?”

I grimaced.

“Thirty. How old are you?”

“More than thirty.”

“Oh.”

I invited about half a dozen coworkers over to my house for crabs, beer, and shooting the shit. We ate. We drank. We shot the shit.

And then NYRCherryBondage arrived. I hugged her for so long at my front door. She was here, actually here.

She brought her stuff inside. I introduced her to my work friends. Took her downstairs to see Gray for a hug.

Later, she opened up her suitcase and revealed the motherload: a ridiculous stash of chocolate. All kinds of chocolate. Everyone convened on my livingroom floor to marvel at the display.

I created my own separate pile, chocolate I planned to hide away before the others descended. It was my birthday, afterall.

One of my roommates came down stairs; joined our group. More chatting. More laughs.

For a moment, I stepped back and marveled at the disparate parts of my life together on my living room floor.

I kicked my coworkers out around 8pm.

The Sun Room was already covered. Gray had been in town since Fusion; no need to take the fabric down til his departure.

Gray, NYRCherryBondage, and I relaxed, the haze of their cigar smoke in the air.

She extended her hand, ash in the middle of her palm.

“It’s been a long time.”

I leaned forward. Licked her hand. Ate her ash. Shared that connection with her again.

“Lift up your pussy.”

Gray tossed about ash in his hand. I planted my feet. Gripped the carpet with my hands. Lifted my hips. He slapped his ash across my lips, a sweet sting to my wet cunt.

She got on the ground. Licked my thighs. Licked up the ash. And then licked my lips. I moaned. Relaxed into the floor. Clawed at the carpet. Enjoyed it.

Gray stood; moved towards my head. Knealt. Held my wrists down.

I writhed; breathed heavy.

Gray readjusted. Put his shins across my wrists. Grabbed my shirt. Pulled it up over my head. Held fabric across my mouth. Gagged me with my own clothing, certainly not a first.

Still, I moaned. And, eventually, begged. Begged to cum.

I was still covered in his ash and her saliva. I was tired, but still smiling. I had had a good birthday. No, a great birthday. And I had the both of them with me, soon in my bed.

I curled up under the covers. Waited for them to join me.

Gray bounded into my room. Slipped into my bed. Snuggled up beside me. He was cold. Incredibly cold. Had just taken a shower. Pulled my body into his. Shocked me from my sleepy daze.

Helen joined us.

And then, somehow, I was sucking his cock.

And she starting sucking his cock. too.

And I moved to his balls. And then licking his asshole.

“Someone needs to bring their pussy up here.”

I turned my body. Straddled his chest. Tilted my hips towards his mouth. Started moaning instantly.

He came in her mouth. She dripped his cum into my mouth.

And then we were kissing.

And he was fingering her, fucking her with his hand.

And then he was fingering me too, almost fisting me. And we were both moaning from his work.

And holy fuck.

Best. Birthday. EVER!

An addition, in case you wanted to hear me reading the story.

listen to ‘PD 7.27.13 30’ on Audioboo

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