One Hot Weekend

Oh that could be taken so many ways. This past weekend, it can be taken in all the ways.

  1. Hot House. The A/C went out at our house Thursday and we couldn’t get it serviced until Tuesday, after what were forecasted to be 95+ degree temps over the 4th. We (K and I) went down to my friend’s lake house Friday night instead of staying at the Hot House. Originally we were all supposed to go down together, Ad, K and I, on Saturday, but Adam had to stay to work his Saturday shift, so K and I went down early so we could avoid some of the heat. It wasn’t that big a departure from we would have been doing anyway, since Friday night was a date night with K – we just spent our date night grocery shopping, then driving to the lake, and then introducing him to my friends.
  2. Hot Weather. As mentioned, the temps were in the high 90’s all weekend. One of the days it was even 100 degrees I think. We solved this problem by spending as much time in the water as possible. We boated and swam and I jumped off a really high platform and the side of the boat and lounged around on a froggy pad. I showed K how to kayak, one of my favorite water sports, and we rode wave runners – my girlfriend V (not my ex V, lol) terrifying me as always (I’m always the passenger) before handing me off to K (“Here, do you want to take the giggle-puss?” He did want to.) He did not terrify me as much as she had, and in fact warned me when he was going to spin us around or go stupid fast (which I greatly appreciated.) And throughout it all I managed not to sunburn, though I am sure my skin cancer doc will not be happy about the amount of freckles I am sporting. I, however, adore them.
  3. Hot Spankings. Did I mention that this was supposed to be a vanilla weekend? No kink, and K was supposed to be a friend of ours, not my lover, not my Dom. But because K and I had gone down a night early, we didn’t have to pretend (it was only for our hosts’ family, who were coming down late Saturday.) It was a birthday weekend for M, V’s husband. The past two years I have offered my ass up to him for his bday spankings, but due to pandemic and all, I never got to take them. So, you know, me being me, I offered to take them all at once before the rest of the guests arrived. Because of course! K had fun watching me do the math, and then we were off…paddles and hands and spoons and giggles and whacks and me counting…somewhat coherently. Well, for awhile. At some point I lost count, or maybe I lost how to count, and started in by 10’s (it made sense in my head.) And then, I don’t know what happened, I just started spewing randomish numbers. I mean, they were in the vacinity of the right numbers…like 150 or something. I know this because I have been told the story by K, who gets a devilish amusement from it. I assume it made sense in my head at the time. Maths are hard, okay?! But then, finally, it was K’s turn. Because, see, up to this point M & V had been giving me the bday spankings. But K had decided to use his belt for his turn, and they got to the end before he took a turn. “But I want his belt!!” I may have wailed. Or whined, or begged. Because I love it when he hurts me. I love all the things about it. I may have to talk about that more. (I hope I have lots more opportunity to talk about it lots more!) Anyway…yeah. Um, I got his belt. And it hurt. And I yelped and danced and whined and loved it, every minute. And that was the “hot” part of the hot spankings.
  4. Hot Sex. You knew I was going to get to it, didn’t you? Here’s some highlights:
    • Getting fingered under the stars on the back deck overlooking the lake, then reciprocating by giving him head right there too, the sweet taste of his cum on my tongue. (I might be a cock whore. I want to be his cock whore.)
    • Mornings spent rolling around with each other in the bed until the bedsheets were completely turned around and half off the bed (all his fault), his mouth between my legs or his fingers in my cunt, me writhing and panting and moaning and pleading to be allowed to come. And his cock in my mouth again, my greedy mouth, sucking and swallowing and feeling him tense and listening to his breath catch and then “fuck yes,” and then on a gasp: “I’m coming,” and then he does, holding my head down, pushing up into my mouth, my greedy mouth.
    • Or later, in the shower, his body soapy, my hands all over him, not intending to start anything but wanting to tease and touch and feel him. But then … I am not sure how we got to this exact place … but I had his cock between my legs, rubbing its soapy slippery length on my clit and my labia, and he must have made the suggestion that what I would feel was his cock inside me, because suddenly, oh yeah, he was fucking me or maybe I was fucking him, and I could feel him pushing inside me, and I was sliding down on him, my cuntlips opening, gulping him in that other greedy mouth, my cunt-mouth, sliding him in and out, and I was wet with my own juice, my own need, and then with his cum as he exploded inside me and I came all over his cock as he whispered in my ear, or in my mind, “That’s it, that’s it, cum on my cock…” (And Jesus fuck but I am getting wet remembering it.) And here’s the thing: it was all in my head, it was all mindplay, but it was so real and so fucking hot. And as we dried off he told me I’d keep feeling his cum inside me for awhile, and for the next hour or more, every time I dipped my fingers into my cunt – which I found myself doing far more than was probably considered polite (haha, how often is it “polite” to put your fingers into your pussy?) I could feel it and taste him.
    • And then there is his hand touching my knee while he drove and my legs falling open without hesitation, without volition even, waiting for him to touch me, whether it was with his voice or his fingers.
    • And the feeling of him being in my mind, just there at the edge, and my own mind opening up to him, waiting for his instruction. “Cum for me – now,” and I do. Whether or not he’s been touching me. My body just…reacts. Convulses, as the orgasm washes over me.
    • Later, after Adam finally makes it to the lake, and we are in the bed, all three of us. We have just co-slept for the first time, and it was natural and comfortable and I couldn’t believe we were doing it – I was there in the bed with both my men. And they are both teasing me, and then Ad is slapping my pussy, not hard, just enough to arouse me, so that when he stops I say no, keep doing it, and he does. And K is on my other side and he starts pinching my nipple. And I am riding between pleasure and pain, my brain and my body trying to process both at once, but it can’t, and finally I beg them to stop, because I can’t, I just can’t.
    • And oh – when did this happen? in the bed or in the car – K pushes back the hood to my clitoris to expose its sensitive nub and then he rolls and squeezes it between his thumb and finger, pulsing, gently and maybe not so gently. And it is painful and pleasureable and somehow makes me feel vulnerable and so very exposed and he makes me cum again.
    • Or another time, his hand around my throat, squeezing, and I am gasping, gulping for air, and I fight, staring into eyes, until I don’t fight anymore, I just … surrender. And it is okay, because surrender is what I want. Every time. And the way that he gets it, the way that he gets me there is such a bewildering, delightful mixture of mind and body and sex and kink and desire and submission, and…damn it…falling in love. But that’s for another post, isn’t it?
This was the vanilla portion of the weekend.

I feel good.

I feel good, and excited about the future – romance, sex, kink, friends, family and travel. I feel like things are rounding a corner, and round that corner it’s easy to peek into a future that looks brighter, less-traumatizing, healthier, happier.

Maybe having (hot) sex on the regular helps with my outlook, lol.

But it’s so much more than that. Ever since getting back from Utah I have felt my inner and outer world shifting, coming back into alignment. And a lot of it is due to a releasing of expectations, a sense of letting go and letting be.

Not to say that I am not very actively pursuing my needs, wants and desires. Or that I am letting life “happen” to me: as always I am the architect of my life. But I am also not trying to force life to be what I want and I am allowing myself to flow along with it, which has garnered some surprisingly pleasing – and pleasingly surprising – results. (See: hot sex.)

But also so much more than that.

I feel good in my head and in my heart and in my body. I feel ready and excited about what comes next – without placing any expectations on it. I like who I have become, who I am becoming.

There was a pool party this past weekend. It was at the house of a lover/play partner/FWB of K’s, someone he started seeing right about the time we started going out. Since then he and I have developed a D/s dynamic and have established much more than just a “play partner” relationship, but still…I had some insecurities about going.

I sat with that feeling for awhile. Acknowledged it; let myself feel and accept it. I told him how I was feeling, but in a measured, non-confrontational way, and also in a way that did not expect him to “fix” it for me: this is on me. This is work I need to do for myself. I gave myself the grace to not be up to the work though; allowed myself the out of not being comfortable with it enough to engage: I don’t have to conquer all the anxieties and insecurities today. And he was perfect and lovely: “I’d like you to go,” he said. But he didn’t insist, he didn’t push.

I am infuriatingly indecisive though. “Should I stay or should I go?” Staying I would despise myself for not facing my fears; I would imagine so much more than would probably ever happen; I would resent the situation. Going…well, going I could be found unlovely, unwanted. Ignored or treated with disdain or disinterest. Perhaps he would compare us, side by side, and realize…what. I don’t know. All the demons in my head brought to life: you are unworthy, uninteresting, unsexy, unloveable.

But: “I want you to go,” he said. And I don’t know if he realizes how much power, how much influence, that has on me, on my submissive heart. We’re new to this D/s together, he new to being with someone like me. So maybe he didn’t know what a profound effect those words would have on me. But they did, and I realized that, regardless of my own anxieties, if I am to be his – his submissive – then I must do as he desires. His desire becomes mine.

And so it did.

And I went. And it was a lot of fun. None of the scary things I had imagined came to be. A lot of really nice unexpected things did. I was so glad that I went. Somehow, submitting to the power that his will has over me, allowed me to…find my own power in the situation. Created a safe space for me to go, regardless of all the things in my head. Because I wasn’t there for anyone else, or even myself – I was there because he wanted me to be.

Here’s a little additonal aside though, and one of the achingly beautiful things I love about poly (or at least good poly): I told Ad how I was feeling. Didn’t expect him to be onboard with going because of his work schedule, but he didn’t hesitate: “Of course I’ll go!” So I got to be there with both my guys. And (huh) with lovely marks from an asked-for caning. And I flirted and laughed and got to snuggle with a warm, soft girl and hung out with our hostess and didn’t feel any of the weirdness I had expected. An afternoon of win.

Weekend Happenings

This sunburn, on top of these bruises…

These cane marks…

And this smile…

All happened this weekend.

I planned to do an actual write-up on the actual happenings, but my laptop died and I’m too lazy to go downstairs and get the cord – so I’m writing on my phone. Yay for phone apps, but it’s still a chore to compose on the small keyboard. Maybe I’ll follow up with more story? I never seem to have enough time to write it all down…

It’s been a few heady days.

I’m up at 5 a.m. because I realized, late late last night, that I haven’t written or posted anything since…Sunday? I’d say I’m just crazy busy (and I am!) but it’s not entirely that. I had time last night when I could have sat myself down and written something. And I have a lot of somethings to write about! But I get distracted, or veg in front of the TV wih Adam instead (that happened last night.) And no writing gets done.

That’s lack of self-discipline.

I have spent the last three weekends with K. Adam has been a part of that time off and on too, dinners and hanging out, but a lot of that time K and I have been pretty focused on each other. Which is good and normal, especially in a newly-minted relationship, but which can lead to some pretty intense NRE and even some droppy feelings when we aren’t together. I wrestled with that last week even as I looked forward to our weekend away, and now I am dealing with it as I resume my (normal for now) life of needing to do things to help out my parents, and he does his normal social stuff. I don’t actually want to spend every minute of every day/night with him (okay there is part of my brain that says, “yes! every minute!” but that’s a result of the chemical soup my brain is simmering in – lol.) But I definitely have a healthy dose of FOMO, especially when he spends time with mutual acquaintances who have maybe not yet seen us as a “couple.” Now that we have acknowledged that – couplehood, and a formal D/s dynamic – to ourselves/each other, I want others to know too. I’m sure most of that can be attributed to some weird leftover biological/societal programming, and I need to resist it, but… *shrug*. It is what it is.

All this is mostly by way of musing…figuring out the why’s of my head. Yeah, navel-gazing, more-or-less. But it’s what I do. I think he might have said, “Don’t overthink things,” at some point this last weekend. And I just cocked my head and thought (or maybe said) “Do you know me?” lol This is the woman that has taken the art of thinking out loud, of at-times overthinking out loud, to the nth degree, having been doing so here and in my various other internet spaces fairly faithfully for over 20 years. Hah.

But seriously. It’s all really really good. Being “out” with his friends will come. Being together at social functions will come too, though I will have to make myself not throw myself into all the activities he takes part in, as he is far more social than I am. I need to set boundaries for myself and honor my need for space away from other hoomans to recharge. Otherwise I will burn out eventually. And don’t no one want a burnt-out Jade.

On the flip side of that, however, is the reality of coming out of the past two years, and finding a need to be more social, to reestablish friendships and more-ships, to make up for lost time. I really took to hermitting pretty hard, and for awhile I thought that would be the way it would always be from now on, but the recent forays I have made into being a social creature again – hiking, bowling, game nights and play parties, going out and about in the world again – have been really positive, and not left me drained and feeling depleted.

I think balance is the key. Now I just have to figure out where that balance is, what it looks like in a post-pandemic world for me.

Gah. Here I have blathered on and on without sharing any of the fun juicy stuff, even though (judging by the title of the post) that was what I had intended to write about originally! Apparently my head had other words to get out first. I’m going to wrap up here for now, and maybe try to get to the fun stuff the rest of this week. ;-)

Anticipation 3

Being poly/having multiple partners – if one doesn’t live with both/all – is (often) a game of anticipation. It can be both sweet and, while maybe not bitter, at least frustrating: a delicious ache of longing for the one(s) you aren’t with, even as you enjoy the time you are spending with the one(s) you are with. I’ve balanced on the edge of these seemingly disparate emotions for most of my adult romantic life (wow, it seems weird to even think that, but it’s true, I have been poly now longer than I was mono.) And I have managed them in a myriad of ways, sometimes effectively, sometimes not so much. Being in the present and enjoying the company of one partner and yet savoring the thought that I will soon be in my other’s presence = good; too much alcohol and too much pining, not appreciating what I have right in front of me = not so good.

In my two longest relationships of this type (both with Ad as one of my partners), these feelings manifested themselves differently and elicited different actions/interactions accordingly. I believe a lot of that had to do with how secure I felt in the relationships themselves. I almost always felt secure in my relationship with W; I seldom – even in the very beginning – felt that kind of security with V. Part of that could be the fact that V had a partner, and interactions with her – both mine and his – informed my anxieties and insecurities. The fact that he (V) was also prone to anxieties and insecruities, and his way of interacting with the world (and me) often fomented same, really exacerbated the situation. These aren’t excuses for my at-times poor behavior, but they are reasons that influenced my ability to cope with grace and an even temperment, or even to view our time apart as anything other than a misery.

It is too soon to know how our by-neccessity separations are going to play out in the long run in my new relationship. Right now it’s an ache hightened by the excitement of knowing we’ll be together over the weekend, and punctuated by remote playtime, texting off and on, and a good deal of flirting. It seems to be a healthy – and at times heady – mix. Not too overwhelming, but not so little that I begin to fret. Also, even when he is with another partner, I don’t feel…forgotten or neglected. He’s good at finding the right balance there – not catering to my sometimes-insecure side, while gently reminding me that I am important to him.

Whack Board

I promised I’d tell the tale of my red bum. Well, my first red bum. There’s since been more bottom-reddening events, much to my immense pleasure, but this is a fun story that I’ve been meaning to share.

So. Let me preface this by admitting that I have the worst memory on the face of the planet, and, as this is now a couple weekends ago, and it seems like a LOT has happened in these last couple of weeks, I may have some of the details wrong. (I’m pretty sure K will tease me about any errors I have made.) ;-) But as I recall, it was a Saturday night, the weekend after K had gotten back from a weeklong trip. He’d stayed over Friday night, and we had reacquainted ourselves with each other until quite late that night, and then had spent the next day together too. I believe it was the Saturday he agreed to go shopping with me and I got patio furniture and we brought it back in his truck and put it together while Ad napped after getting off work… though I could be confusing it with a different Saturday.

Ad had worked until 2:30 that day, and though I hadn’t planned it originally, I ended up asking them if we could all do dinner together and go see the new Top Gun movie. We wound up at a local bar & grill that Ad and I like, and, as is our habit, Ad and I brought along a bar game to play while we waited for dinner to arrive. We usually play cribbage, but since there were three of us, we brought Pass the Pigs instead.

Pass the Pigs is a simple enough game where you roll two “pigs” to earn points, and the first one to 100 wins. But, to make it more interesting, I suggested we play for whacks – specifically, whacks on my butt – based on how many points I won or lost by.

Either way, I was a winner.

This is where the details get hazy. I think it was decided that whatever amount of points they each won by would be added up, and that was how many whacks I would receive with whichever implement they chose. There was some other magic formula (I believe) if I won, but I don’t recall how exactly that was supposed to work. I think I lost, anyway.

As Ad always does, he decided to have the math-challenged girl keep score – that scrap of paper up there is where I did the “whack totals” after the game. Grand total: 119 whacks. But the math wasn’t over yet. Because there were two of them I had to halve the total, to equal 59 1/2 whacks each. And naturally I had to keep track while they were smacking me – Ad with a wooden spoon, K with a rattan cane.

I thought I was clever and putting one over on them by keeping track in twenties – counting 1-20 and then keeping track on my fingers how many twenties I counted so that I didn’t have to count clear to 119, which can be a challenge when endorphins hit. But apparently even in that I wasn’t clever enough – K said afterward that I had forgotten or missed a whole set, and so ended up with 139. Or so. And then there was also something about counting the half twice…

Or something. I’m still not entirely clear on that.

It was all very confusing and hilarious and great fun. We laughed and I squealed and wriggled and yelped and tried to keep count, and, in the end, ended up with that lovely red bottom.

Viva la pig-passing-counting-games!

Collage

I already almost forgot to post today – that’s how out of practice I am! But I was saved by K, my…I don’t know what to call him, yet…reminding me to do so.

So what is this that K and I are doing? We’re seeing each other, and kind of more than “just” seeing each other; playing and gradually moving into something D/s-shaped; doing a lot of talking and texting and Marco Polos and having lots of sexy rainy mornings and stormy nights in my bed, as well as just hanging out and well, being relationship-y (I think that was his word).

We haven’t made any pronouncements about who we are to each other, either to ourselves or anyone else yet, though I think most in our crowd and families know we’re involved at least in some capacity. I’ve met one of his daughters and he’s met Adam (and Fee) and in fact we – Adam, he and I – have all spent time together, doing dinner and drinks and going to a movie and playing games. (I might tell y’all a bit about the one night the game involved whacky toys and my bum one of these days.) But meanwhile, yeah…there’s someone new and he’s occupying an awful lot of my thoughts.

The D/s that we’re exploring the edges of comes very naturally – at least from where I sit. He said at the outset that it’s not a role he has played for a while, at least not in the way that I am used to, and wasn’t sure he wanted to, but ultimately decided that it is something he is willing to explore with me, to see where it goes. It is going very, very well, as far as I can tell. He is being cautious, and talks about not rushing in, and about doing things in a sustainable way; about managing the NRE that we are both pretty much awash in. Of course I am my usual diving-in-head-first, check-for-rocks-beneath-the-surface later kinda gal where my heart’s concerned. Yeah I could get my head (heart) smashed on the rocks, but damn that dive is glorious, isn’t it? And I can’t help but be me. If I feel a thing…

Well. There we are.

So anyway. Thought I’d share that little bit about this new part of my world, and also this collage I made, mostly to show off how long my hair is, and also because I feel…sexy and sensuous and desirable these days, and these images reflect those feelings. And I simply adore that Ad took the hair picture of me so that I could send it to K.

Then this happened…

My travel day from Mexico was something of a clusterfuck. The morning had started nice – M (my Canadian) and K and I had coffee and snuggles and played a little and talked and it was, truly, a lovely goodbye, if one can say that about saying goodbye to people you know you won’t see for probably another year. (I hope it’s not that long, but you never know.)

But it quickly went downhill from there.

The plan was to take K to the ferry to go on her own little adventure to Cozumel before taking me to get Covid tested and then to lunch, and then to the airport for the start of my 10-hour travel day. But we dawdled too long (none of us wanted to actually start the goodbye process, I think) at the apartment and K ended up literally having to run to catch the ferry. M and I knew where the ferryport was from the drop-off point, and pointed it out to her, watching as she hurried away from us. But as she disappeared into the crowd, I suddenly asked M to pull over so I could run after her to make sure she made it on. I ran all the way down to the port, looking for her, but finally had to give up, hoping I hadn’t seen her because she had got on okay. We did tell her to message us as soon as she was aboard, which, five minutes after I got back to the car, she did. Mission accomplished – but that sense of anxiety was to stay with me the rest of the day and night.

It started with an overweight bag at the airport, and the super-friendly-trying-to-be-helpful ticketing agent insisting I “just repack” some of my checked bag into my carry-on (10 lbs worth) to save me the $100 overweight fee. Right there at the check-in counter, with hundreds of people in line behind me. In a mask, my glasses fogging, and already feeling the anxiety from the morning and from having to rush around to find a Covid-testing station. And from knowing that when I opened my bag it might not rezip (the zipper had been off the track that morning and had taken 20 minutes to get sorted out) and that I had BDSM implements and sex toys in my bag that very easily could fall out. Right there in front of hundreds of people. I was more than willing to just pay the $100 – she was more than willing, insistent even, to help me save the fee. I capitulated and reorganized, amazingly not dumping whips and canes and a Hitachi on the floor, and managing to rezip the damn thing. (The airport personnel were not as lucky, I don’t think, as when I got my bag back in StL it had been thoroughly rifled through – but at least they didn’t confiscate anything, as they had in Cuba – I lost a Hitachi there.)

Anyway. The rest of the day was a jumble of not being able to charge my phone in the airport or on the plane, having to go through customs, retrieve my bag and recheck it as well as go through the TSA lines in Miami again, and then traverse the entire Miami Dade airport, lugging my now-20 lb carryon bag on my shoulder. All this cost me so much time I almost missed my connecting flight, even though I had a two-hour window between one and the other, and had planned to get a bite to eat in that window. As it was, all I had to eat all day was a bag of M&M’s and some pretzels on the plane. I was harried, exhausted, stressed out and starving by the time Adam picked me up in St. Louis at ten o’clock that night, and so so sick of my mask, that had been on since arriving at the airport that morning.

And, hanging over my head this whole time was the certainty that I was going to have to tell Q, my Sir, that things were just not working for me.

As it was, he was the one that brought it up in a phone call a couple of days later. It was amicable enough. There just wasn’t the spark between us that there had been early on. I’m guessing that the spark flickered out because I set off on my Mexico travels too early in the “bonding” phase of things, and he didn’t know how to create and maintain a long-distance connection. But that was valuable information to learn sooner than later, as any partner of mine does need to have that skillset – and desire. If I can travel, I will. Often spur-of-the-moment, and often with – or to – someone, but on my own as well. Working remotely has given me the ability to do that, and now that I have the bit in my teeth, I can see it happening again. Maybe not for three weeks, and maybe not to Mexico…but. It’s a possibility. I had thought – hoped – that he would be a lovely kinky hiking partner, and that we’d have three or four day weekends hiking, playing and cabin-ing, but during my trip I had come to realize that it probably wasn’t going to be. Still, I held out hope, until that last travel day, when he was too busy to text or call me for even ten minutes all that long, torturous day, when I was having a mini-meltdown and needed a strong, calming presence – preferably my Dominant’s – to help anchor me. I realized in that moment he had already checked out of the relationship, and probably had weeks before. I had known it, felt it in my gut, but hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it.

That’s one lesson I hope to have learned from this experience – trust my gut. My instincts had said he was just going through the motions a lot earlier, but I held on, hoping that when I got back, we’d put things to rights, and that it had just been the distance between us that had stalled things. After all, I was still really invested in the daily habits and tasks he had me do, even if none of them were sexy fun. I like having a Dominant. I crave it, really, and love being a submissive. I like having tasks, being told what to do, accomplishing the things I have been tasked with. Obeying, and feeling that I have pleased my Top. I hoped that once we had time together again, the sexy part of things would be there as well. But I think I knew, even before I left, that his heart wasn’t in it the way mine was. Not “heart” as in love, but as in the desire to form a strong, sexual D/s bond. And if I had been honest with myself – if I had listened to my gut – I would have admitted a lot earlier that I wasn’t feeling that pull to him, either. I do think he will make a good Dominant to someone – just not to me. I need obedience, but I also need heat, and it just wasn’t there for us.