Before I even opened my suitcase I knew what I would find: the bottle of my “Special Date” lotion had broken open on its flight home and spilled inside the protective bag I put all my liquids in when I travel. And of course, just the smell of it was enough to remind me of what I’d done while I was gone this week.
Not of the kinky fun I’d had over the weekend at Kinky Kollege, but the adventure I’d had all on my own while I was at my work conference.
It was weird being alone those three days. The juxtaposition between a weekend of extreme kink, of being with both guys, of being tied onto a desk in a headcage and photographed, and the professional, work-intense, non-kinky days of the conference, with only myself to answer to, was strange–and a little disconcerting. It really was hard to get back into the world that the rest of the population inhabits. One in which girls don’t get tied up and have their clothes ripped off, in which they aren’t ponygirls, in which being caned until you cry or made to orgasm in public isn’t the norm. One in which women don’t fuck strangers while someone else watches and films them, just because that someone told them to.
I had gone to the conference with this idea that I’d be a super-sexy version of my usual work self, a hotrod secretary-type in killer heels and tight pencil skirts. And, in some ways, I was. I had the heels, I had the skirts, and I looked pretty good. Maybe even hot.
But the essence of me, of who I really am, is not that vixenish secretary tart on the prowl. I’m a little…uneasy in a crowd, alone in a place I don’t know. And let’s face it, I’m more cute than ravishing, and it’s usually my attitude that turns heads–easy-going, fun-loving, open and sincere–than an image of ultra-sexiness. Yeah I know I clean up well, and can look pretty hot, but in my day-to-day life, that just isn’t the real me. I recognized that very quickly, and (thankfully) didn’t try to force myself to be something I wasn’t.
But I had set myself a goal when I decided to take this trip. I was determined to move outside my comfort zone and at least flirt with someone new. Maybe I couldn’t achieve W’s ultimate goal–for me to get laid by a stranger–but I could make, and meet, my own, personal goal.
Tuesday night I met them both.
The best part about it is that, yes, I did have to step outside my comfort zone. I did have to put myself out there in ways that were not always comfortable, or easy, for me, but it was the real me, the essence of who I am–warm, intelligent, easy-to-talk-to, interested in others–that made W’s goal happen. I didn’t have to be someone I wasn’t. In fact I think being who I am, being the real me and not trying to be a vamp or a seductress, was what clinched it.
That is immensely gratifying to me.
But, in the interest of being honest, I do have to admit that in order to get to that place, where it was me that “seduced” my way to getting laid, I did have to step way outside my comfort zone and make the choice to seek out and initiate a seduction. In my hotel room that evening I dressed very carefully, very deliberately, in a way that I knew would attract attention–not slutty or in-your-face, but, yeah, hot. Tight jeans and top, new boots, a sassy scarf around my neck.
Last of all, I opened the bottle of my Special Date lotion and breathed deeply. This was the moment of decision. Once I put it on my skin, my destiny–and my goal–was fixed. I would be W’s slut. Slowly, I spread it over my arms, chest and legs and let my sense of him steal over me.
It’s a wonder what the scent of it can do, now that I have worn it only for these kinds of adventures. It settles me immediately into the headspace that I need to be in, in order to do it. It reminds me of what I am–W’s slut–and what he wants of me. It focuses me, and it also transports me, just that little bit, outside of myself, and into that persona that is a woman that can seduce a stranger.
The event was an after-hours cocktail party in the aquarium, which had been closed to the public for this event. Walking over from the conference hotel to the aquarium I felt a moment of that acute sense of isolation-in-the-midst-of-a-crowd that I had felt my first day of the conference. There was a large contingent of folks from my National organization there, but I wasn’t actually part of their workgroup, so most of my time at the conference was spent on my own in the crowd of 1100 attendees. The National group had mentioned meeting up to head over to the aquarium together, but I had avoided the meet-up time/place–I couldn’t be on the prowl if they were watching. Still, even though I’d chosen to be alone, I felt a little lonely and out-of-place as I headed over by myself, walking amongst groups and pairs that were going over together.
Once I arrived I wandered around, making myself chat idly with others, drinking a glass of wine and checking out the exhibits, but not really connecting with anyone. I scoped out a few “possibles,” but I had lost the headspace that I had started out with, and pondered simply heading back to my hotel alone.
Then I thought about surprising W with a phone call at midnight or one o’clock in the morning, telling him what a slutty girl I had been. I felt my stomach contract and my panties getting damp just thinking about it.
But I still wasn’t sold on the idea. I just didn’t know how to make it happen! I didn’t know how to come on to a guy that way. I leaned back against the rail of one of the balconies overlooking the shark exhibit and sighed. Maybe I really wasn’t cut out for this. Exasperated with myself for my incompetence in things that every other woman on the face of the earth seems to know, and with W and his unrealistic image of me-as-vamp, I decided what the hell, at least I’d go see the dolphin exhibit before I left.
Unfortunately I didn’t know where it was.
My gaze fell on a man a few feet away, snacking on appetizers at one of the little tables. He was older, middle-to-late fifties, well-dressed though not fussy, with thinning gray hair and a neatly-trimmed gray beard. He had sharp gray eyes and an easy smile that he flashed at me when I asked him if he knew how to get to the other building where the dolphin exhibit was.
I hadn’t picked him to be “the one” yet. I just wanted to talk with someone friendly. He came over to where I was standing and we started doing just that, having a conversation.We were perhaps twenty minutes into it when he said something that gave me my first clue that maybe, yes, he was “the one.”
I recognize that much of my inability in the past to do this has been a result of simply being oblivious to signals. He smiled at me, I saw him looking at me (discretely, not leering), we talked and laughed easily and made lots of eye contact. But was he really interested? Or was it just cocktail party flirting, much like I do with just about everyone?
The catering staff had been wandering around, clearing empty–or mostly empty–plates off the tables. They were, um, over-efficient, and every time my new friend turned his head, they tried to swoop in and take his plate. Finally, exasperated a bit, he laughed and said, “I am having a hard time keeping my eye on my food when I have you to look at instead.” The smile he gave me was definitely warmer than just friendly flirting. And I knew in that moment, if I wanted him, I could have him. All I had to do was recognize the signals and take some initiative.
There were several moments throughout the evening when things could have gone differently. When I could have not extended myself, or not steered the situation in the “right” direction. But he was an interesting conversationalist and wonderfully self-confident, something I am always extremely attracted to. He made it obvious that he was attracted to me, but not in any obsequious fashion, just letting me know in subtle ways that he would love for things to continue on, and that, in turn, fueled my own self-confidence. Soon we were wandering the aquarium together, and then having a drink back at his hotel, and then, we were up in his room and he was fucking me against the 32nd floor window.
That’s right, for the second time in a week I was standing naked at a high-rise hotel window, looking down on the world while a man fucked me from behind.
It turned out that he was surprisingly, pleasingly, naturally dominant. He fisted his hands in my hair. He pushed me down to my knees and told me to look up at him when I sucked his cock. He bent me over the end of the bed, ran his hands from my ankles to my shoulders, and then, slowly, pushed inside of me, telling me how fucking hot I was. He was an aggressive, attentive lover, and of course my desire was fueled all the more knowing that I would soon be calling W to tell him all about it.
There was, of course, lots in between that initial hello and the three hours of fucking that followed. And I ended up calling W far later than one o’clock. I came away from it seeing myself far differently than I had when I’d gotten dressed that night, too. That is one of the things that I treasure in what we do, in doing the things that W makes me do: the opportunity to see myself in a different light, even though I am the same me.
I have my aquarium friend’s business card, home phone number and personal email address. I didn’t give him my information. He respected that–but said that he’d love to hear from me. That the fucking had been amazing, but more amazing was talking, and connecting, with me. Somehow, that means as much to me as having successfully seduced him.
But I still haven’t decided if I will contact him again or not.