There’s something to be said for playing with partners that know you, know your body and your triggers, know how to push you in just the right way and what buttons to push; that know how to please you (even when that pleasing involves some not-so-pleasing things.)
A lot of somethings, in fact.
And as I have noted before, in discussing the pleasure W takes in playing with new partners, in exploring the unknown and walking the edge of uncertainty that that kind of play engenders, I much prefer the depth and connection I find in playing with someone I know well and that knows me well.
That said…there is also something to be said for sex with strangers. With going back to the hotel room of a man I only met that night, with being fucked in a completely unfamiliar way by a man that knows nothing of me and my desires (except, perhaps, what he’s been able to glean from my Fetlife profile and the bit of conversation we’ve shared as we flirted over glasses of draft beer.) I’m not going to lie, it was hot, that first “get to know you” date (that turned into an all-night fuckfest) with the Wedding Guy.
Unfortunately the rest of what was supposed to have been a three-day event didn’t pan out quite as well.
I can’t recall if I mentioned the set-up for all this, so I’ll lay it out. Skip and forgive if this is a repeat.
I met Wedding Guy online via an ad that he had placed looking for someone to attend a wedding here in the Lou with him. He is from out-of-town, doesn’t know anyone but the groom here, and wanted someone to hang with, to show up and look cute with, possibly to play with. I raised my (virtual) hand, we perved each other’s profiles on Fet, emailed back and forth, and soon a plan was hatched.
The wedding was a two-day affair, with activities planned for guests both Friday and Saturday nights, as well as Saturday day. He was scheduled to arrive Thursday night before it all began.
Part 1: Meet each other for drinks Thursday night to get to know each other a bit, see what kind of chemistry there was, if any.
Part 2: Go to the Friday night festivities together (I had to work Friday day.)
Part 3: Attend Saturday daytime activities and then the wedding and reception Saturday night.
Part 1 went off swimmingly. Although I hadn’t planned to stay over with him that night, the combination of me discovering I had a headlight out on my car at the last minute and him being pretty cute compelled me to confess to him, at the end of the evening, that I had my overnight bag with me. You know, “just in case.” He seemed to be on board with that (well, he had actually brought up me going back to his hotel room first, so of course he was good with it) and we had a rollicking good time the rest of that night. I didn’t get much sleep, but when the options are 1) get my beauty sleep or 2) have ferocious, aggressive sex, well, there’s no competition. His primary kink is rough sex and yes, there was something about the danger of being manhandled and roughed-up by a stranger that excited me.
And scared me, just a little.
I have often talked about needing my lovers to always have complete control over themselves when we are engaged in any kind of D/s play. I need to know that, even if they push themselves to the edge, I am always completely safe. I have chosen playpartners carefully for this reason – and left ones that didn’t meet that criteria. With Wedding Guy I had no idea where he would fall in that continuum, and that was part of the thrill.
It turned out he walked that line quite well. I felt sufficiently “roughed-up” without ever feeling real fear that he would damage me. Hurt me, yes, because we both liked that (and he slapped me a few times hard enough to make my ears ring and bring tears to my eyes) but I never felt in actual danger. It was exactly what I had been looking for in such an encounter.
It helped that he was also solicitous and caring, and a damn good kisser – when he wasn’t fucking the shit out of me. ;-)
So Friday morning came and I left feeling a good buzz from the night before – and more than a bit sore between my legs and in other places. When I got off work, I visited with W for a while at his house, recapping the evening before’s activities, and making sure that he was still comfortable with everything while I got ready to go to Part 2. I was looking forward to it, but was also a bit nervous to be meeting some friends of his that had come in for the wedding, as well as all the wedding guests.
At first all went well. His friends were interesting and pleasant to me (they knew that we had met via the internet just for this wedding, but I think were inclined to give me the benefit of the doubt when I turned out to be fairly normal.) We had drinks on the terrace of a wonderful rooftop bar and chatted in a desultory fashion for a time, he was sweet and charming and funny, and I was beginning to relax and enjoy myself. Finally we headed over to that evening’s activity, which was being held at a local bar.
The first part of the evening was enjoyable. Even without knowing any of the guests, I enjoyed their stories and people-watching is always a good time. It was only when we started back to the hotel that I realized we had a problem. Specifically, I hadn’t realized how drunk he had gotten at the party. I don’t think he did either, but as we left the bar for the 10 block walk back to the hotel, he staggered against me, knocking me into the side of the building, and I had to grab hold of him to keep him standing up. I realized he was beyond just buzzed and well into unable-to-stand-or-walk-on-his-own obliteration. I should have called a taxi right then, but it didn’t occur to me, and so I walked him, as best I could, back to the hotel.
It was a horrific walk. Downtown St. Louis can be a scary place at night for a single woman. For a single woman trying to hold up a staggering, obviously very inebriated, man, twice her size, it was even more so. At one point we walked by three men who were throwing trash at someone in a car. When the person stopped the car, they ran around it, pounding on the windows and shouting. I have no idea what was going on, but as we approached on the other side of the street, they all stopped what they were doing and turned to stare at us. I don’t know what they might have done, because at that moment another couple turned the corner ahead of us and I took the excuse to engage them by asking if they knew the time. They glanced askance at my companion, but told me the time, and by the time we continued on, the men had moved away.
After what seemed an eternity, we arrived back at the hotel. With one of the porter’s assistance when my date staggered against the wall and I couldn’t seem to right him, we got into the elevator and up to his room. There I undressed him and put him to bed, where he promptly passed out.
And as I stood there looking down at him, I realized how little I knew of him. Perhaps this was typical behavior. Maybe tomorrow would be more of the same. Or perhaps the “amiable” drunk that he appeared to be now would fall away in the middle of the night, and he would awaken with that red gleam in his eye that I knew so well from my (first) ex. My date liked rough sex, who’s to say that wouldn’t translate to being truly abusive with enough alcohol in him? And even if he wasn’t abusive, he was obviously not in control of himself. He’d grabbed, choked and slapped me the night before, but never had I felt a lack on control on his part. Never had I felt unsafe. That would not be the case if he woke in the middle of the night and wanted sex. I couldn’t feel safe with him being so drunk.
I had no way of knowing if any of these things would happen – because I just didn’t know him well enough. And I made the decision right then, even if my fears were not warranted, not to stick around and find out – the hard way – that they were. I got my things and left, and then called W to come and get me. My headlamp was still out and I had had a couple beers myself, and frankly I was a little shaken by the way things had turned out. The frightening walk back, the worry and concern about him, and, of course, my own issues.
People get drunk at wedding parties all the time. It’s almost expected. But…I was pretty disappointed that he had not had more respect for me, a stranger and his date and a woman that he had brought to a party where I knew no one, than to let himself get that drunk, even if it was unintentional. And…I’ve had my share of drunk men. I’ve had my share of out-of-control men. And I have put myself in those situations and stayed in those situations because I didn’t want to “make waves,” to “make a scene,” and most of all didn’t want to disappoint anyone – even when that anyone was the person I should have been getting away from. I was not going to put myself in that position again.
And so what was supposed to be a three-day extravaganza of fun turned into one fun night and one not-so-fun night. W was wonderful, as always, being his calm, logical and supportive self, never making me feel that my fears or actions were unwarranted or that I had disappointed him, and, as he said, we got a “bonus weekend” in the bargain.
The next day I texted Wedding Guy and told him why I had left and that I thought it best to just call it quits. To his credit he was very apologetic, took full responsibility for having fucked up, and asked if I wouldn’t reconsider attending the wedding with him. He even offered not to have anything to drink. But the night before had completely soured me on the idea, and I knew that I wouldn’t make a very good companion. Nor did I want to be the reason he “couldn’t drink” and have a good time.
Admittedly, the majority of the issues were my own. Though I didn’t like the feeling of being left high and dry and having to take care of someone I barely knew, he was an amiable drunk, and I think his intoxication – or at least the level of intoxication – was unintentional. Regardless of that, though, it is me that has had to face the demon in another drunk man’s eyes, and when I walked away from that situation I earned the right to make the choice to never place myself in that situation again. Friday night I exercised that choice, and though I felt bad about bailing out of the actual wedding, I didn’t feel bad about my choice. It was the right one for me, even if it was a hard thing to do and disappointed my would-be wedding date.
And hey, one-and-a-half good times and a night of some rocking sex is better than none, right?