Posing for K so he can decide what I’m to wear tonight at our first play party together. Excited/nervous!
I recently saw a tattoo that’s been going around Pinterest: “Accept nothing less than butterflies.” I love that saying, and not just because I vacillate so often between being a butterfly and having butterflies, either. It really does epitomize how I feel about life, and how it should be lived: full on, baby. I enjoy that feeling of contentment and comfort that home and my steadfast loves bring me, but I always want to know that there are butterflies still to experience, whether they are from a new adventure, an exhilarating challenge, a crazy, wonderful new idea, or simply thinking about my men and the joys and intimacies and depth of the connections that we share.
Oh, and the butterflies that come from flirting with a new lover aren’t bad either.
I got to experience all of those things this past weekend, as well as be a (social) butterfly.
The weekend started Friday night when someone I have dated a couple times, and with whom I have begun to negotiate a play relationship, came over to hang out with W and I. I had had to cancel our previous date, and when he asked me if I was available Friday I talked to W and then made a suggestion: why didn’t he come over and watch (and possibly join in) while W and I played? I didn’t think we’d ever played around him before, and although I talk about what we do here, and have tons of pictures on Fet of us playing, there’s nothing like getting a feel for how someone plays than by actually watching them do it. I am always a little anxious when I start to negotiate a play date with someone who’s only seen my pictures or read my accounts of what we do, because that is such an incomplete picture. I’m nowhere near the painslut/crazy maso that it might appear – W just knows how to get the most out of me. ;-) So this date would serve a couple uses: W and I would get to play; I’d get to spend some time – out of the public eye and ear – with my friend; W would get to talk to and know him a little better and he W; and he’d get to observe our dynamic firsthand.
It was a blast, all the way around. They both beat me up a bit, I had a couple explosive orgasms, we talked and laughed and drank and had chocolate martinis at the Chocolate Bar afterward. And I got the sweetest follow-up text later, indicating that there is a distinct possibility that we may actually move this into the “play-partners” realm! So I am quite thrilled.
Saturday morning I had an appointment with my hair lady. I’ve been playing with colors for the past few months, and she had done some “corrective” work last time, because I had decided I wanted to go back to reds as opposed to the fun blonde forelock I had been sporting. But as the time came to go back and get my hair redone, I started missing my sassy blonde, and I knew I was going to have her redo it all over again. But she is a better hairdresser than anyone I’ve been to previous: she wouldn’t just do what I wanted, the condition of my hair be damned. She is willing to get there, but she wants to do it in a way that will cause the least damage to my hair. So we worked out a compromise, and in doing so settled on some really vibrant red highlights that I ended up LOVING.
And that also gave me an idea for the party that we were going to that night.
Here’s the thing: in all our planning and talking about and anticipation of the swinger party, I had forgotten one tiny detail: it was billed as a themed party, with the theme being “Gods of the Arena.” Costumes were not required, but were encouraged.
So, maybe I hadn’t exactly “forgotten” that part. I just sort of…ignored it. At most of the swinger events we’ve attended, very few people actually dress to the themes of the parties. ~shrug~ And besides which…togas? Seriously? So…I decided I’d wear something sexy and slutty and sultry and we probably wouldn’t be the only ones not dressed in costume.
Boy, was I wrong! Of the 20 or so couples there, a mere handful were not costumed.
But, in an odd bit of serendipity and last-minute ingenuity and inspiration, I wasn’t one of them.
It was all my hairdresser’s fault. That gorgeous red that she put in my hair reminded me of a length of shimmery, sheer red cloth that I had sitting in a drawer. I started thinking about what it would look like wrapped around my body, with nothing on underneath…and a costume idea was born. I’ll have to find some way to thank her, without having to show her the picture of my “toga.”
Because honey, this wasn’t your mama’s (or Caesar’s) toga! (Maybe Caligula’s, though.)
The party was a huge success (for us at least. I haven’t heard/read any other accounts of it yet.) The venue was amazing and the size of the party absolutely perfect. We met several new couples, I practiced handing out our “swinger calling cards,” W was amazingly adept at introducing us to new people and not letting me sit on the sidelines and watch, we had a little bit of fun in a sex swing (no, I didn’t get the public fisting I had hoped for from my Kinky Bucket List, but we were no slouches, lol) and had some yummy sex (with each other) in the “play” room. I think I might have gotten flirted with by some lovely ladies (a couple that actually read this blog, a joy and a surprise in and of itself – hello there!!) ;-) and maybe a boy or two as well! And with W “opening up” conversation with people (my least favorite part of any party) I swung (pun intended!) into full social butterfly mode and made W proud of me (I think) by flitting about and talking to lots and lots of people. And best of all (to me)? He knew exactly when I was peopled out. No, he didn’t give in and let me go home right then (he is MUCH more the cocktail party animal than I am!) but that was good. I need to be pushed a little beyond my comfort level at these sort of things, and he knows it. That’s how well he knows me, and how well we work together. We really were a smashing team.
And my costume was a huge success!
And then there was Sunday. Hard to believe I had scheduled myself so heavily over the weekend. I know myself well enough to know that I need time and quiet to recharge. But really, it couldn’t be helped. I didn’t want to miss my Friday date, the party on Sat was something W was totally looking forward to, and the NaNoWriMo Pre-Kick-Off party was something I had never attended and didn’t want to miss.
Except I almost did.
First I tried to weasel out of it by just deciding I was too tired, but Ad was having none of that. And truthfully, I know he would have been disappointed in me if I’d bailed on the writing thing because of a swinger party. W was also insistent that I go, and furthermore, he knows me well enough to know that I was feeling anti-social enough that I might go and not speak a word to anyone except the one friend I was meeting, which would have been a shame. So he gave me the imperative that I was required to meet and talk to two other people besides my friend T that I was meeting there. So, I got ready to go…but realized as I was getting out of the tub that I was running behind. I arrived 15 minutes late…and, for a moment, almost let myself use that as an excuse not to go in.
Really what made me go in was the fact that an old friend, whom I hadn’t seen in more than five years, but who had recently moved back to town, had said she was going to be there. I couldn’t just not show up! So in I went, and was surprised and delighted to finally meet Malflic after having chatted back and forth on Twitter and our blogs for some time. And it’s a good thing I did, because my friend never showed up herself! I was bitterly disappointed, but…such is life. I ended up having a great time (even when the subject of 50 Shades of Grey came up because I said I was writing erotica.)
But oh yeah I was ready for something different when I got done! And that different turned out to be meeting the Guys at the Zoo to play with the Letter Z. We had a great time (and I am so sad to see the Alphabet Challenge going away!) We continued on our merry way to supper at a favorite pizza dive here, and a pitcher of beer later, we were at W’s, playing with rope. There was something I wanted to do, and I talked the Guys into giving it a try. Unfortunately, for whatever reason, it didn’t come together the way we had hoped…but never fear, the next night it did (more about that in another post!)
And that, my friends, was my weekend playing Social Butterfly! How was your weekend?
Check out the rest of the Wicked Wednesday players by clicking below!
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?
(Continued from this post.)
We’d talked about parameters, limits, desires, fears, boundaries & hopes, and then I put it all in W’s hands to arrange: a “kidnapping,” or “abduction” scene at Fusion. The year before he had set it up, but I had injured my shoulder just before we went, and we were both leery of allowing others to manhandle me, even with prior knowledge of the injury.
And we both wanted me manhandled.
Actually, thinking about what I wanted to happen in the scene, I don’t think I used that exact word. I had a hard time verbalizing what exactly I wanted, to be honest. Not quite a “take-down,” but not a gentle leading-by-the-hand, either. I wasn’t ready for an all-out battle, emotionally or physically. But I didn’t want to go down without a fight.
W and I often engage in resistance play, usually during sex, with me struggling against him, resisting but not actually fighting, and him pinning or holding me down with his hands, rope, or the weight of his body. It always manages to get my motor running, my body reacting and responding instinctively, even if I wasn’t all that revved up to begin with. If we wanted to get all psychological about it, I could talk about it being a “safe” place and way to fight back – and it is. I’ve been in a position where fighting back wasn’t an option, because it would mean being seriously hurt; so yes, this is cathartic and hot.
But I wasn’t thinking about that on that afternoon. What I was thinking was that I wasn’t all that bothered by watching W with this chick as he played his part in (what I thought was) her abduction scene. I wasn’t sure how exactly I fit in to this game, but since W had told me he wanted me there to be a fluffer, I assumed he would let me know when he needed me.
I was also checking out the 8 or 10 or 12 other men there, thinking about how I had told W once that I’d like to be the mouth in a glory hole, and wondering if maybe I’d be required to fluff more than him, and how would that work, and how would I react to that? Little did I know that in moments I would get to find out – but not as a fluffer.
As I stood on the sidelines, kind of keeping an eye on W but also making sure to do self-care by not making myself pay too close attention, as that might trigger some of my more negative, knee-jerk responses, Jr approached me.
“How does it make you feel when you watch W play with someone else?” he asked, apropos of nothing except what was in my head (which I assumed he couldn’t hear, so it was kind of odd to hear him ask me about it.)
I paused, thinking. If people haven’t read my thoughts and the processing I do here on the topic, to say outright that it makes me uncomfortable – especially in a situation and place where being uncomfortable with this kind of thing could cause issues for W later if he did want to play with others, would be unfair to him. I was still castigating myself over my earlier failure to deal with things in a non-destructive way when I had set up the situation with K, and I wanted to be very careful not to give any hint of a poor reaction again. But JR was (on the way) to becoming something of a friend, and I wanted to be honest. Also, perhaps getting to talk it through with someone “outside,” someone who I understood was familiar with sharing dynamics, would bring clarity to my own mixed emotions.
“Honestly, kind of uncomfortable,” I said. I paused again, then opened my mouth to expound a bit on it, especially on my burgeoning realization that I wasn’t as bothered by what he was doing now–
I never got the opportunity, because suddenly JR grabbed me by the shoulder and a handful of hair and pulled me around to face him. “You won’t need to worry about it,” he said. “You’re going to be too busy to worry about what he is doing.”
I stared at him, stunned speechless. I am sure I must have had the “deer-the-headlights” look, because I had no idea what was going on. Had W arranged for JR to play with me while he did the abduction scene? If not, would he be okay with me playing with JR? I couldn’t even remember seeing JR play before, so I had no idea what he might be interested in. But this didn’t feel like a “negotiation” anyway, this didn’t feel like getting “asked” to play. And, knowing what I did about this group that we had fallen in with at DO, it seemed really odd that he would be handling me like this if he didn’t have prior consent. A moment later he cleared everything up: I wasn’t going to be watching because they had other plans in mind. The other woman/abduction was a decoy, and this was actually my abduction.
At that moment, thinking about getting dressed and rushing W down to the barn, I almost laughed out loud. I had dressed up and hurried W along to my own abduction! He must be getting a good laugh. But then I looked around, and saw all the men that had been standing around converging on JR and I. And I realized that every one of those men was going to use me, either vaginally or orally, or both. I knew that they weren’t there to watch. My stomach clenched at that thought, but not in lust or excitement – not yet, anyway.
I looked around wildly for W. Was he sure he wanted this? I didn’t see him, and suddenly I was afraid. What if part of it for him was leaving me there? We had talked about parameters, sure, and I thought we had agreed that him being there, watching, was part of the hotness for us both, and something I needed to feel safe. But maybe he’d decided to make it scary for me. Maybe he had changed the set-up. Even while I was rejecting that thought, fairly certain that he would be there, somewhere, I couldn’t see him. I needed to see him, to know it was okay.
By this time they were dragging me to a bench, where they started to tie my arms and legs down. I struggled and grew more frantic. I didn’t want to be pinned, I didn’t want to be unable to protect myself (and my rings) if W wasn’t there. There were hands everywhere, and men’s faces looking down at me – so many of them. I started to feel real panic then. What if they actually hurt me? What if W didn’t know they were hurting me? What if he wanted them to hurt me? Again, I didn’t know what he’d told them was okay and what wasn’t.
And there were so many of them. Looming over me, crowding me, staring down at me. My breath started to come harder, in frantic little pants.
Later, I would realize that that uncertainty – the not knowing what was going to happen, what specifically he had told them – was what made the scene hot. But at that moment, I really needed W there to tell me what to do, so that all I had to do was to obey, and whatever happened after that would be all right.
And suddenly he was there, grabbing me roughly by the chin, holding my face still so he could lean down and look into my eyes and speak very quietly to me. “You’re a slut, and these men are going to use you exactly as I want them to. I’m going to let them fuck your cunt and your mouth, do you understand?”
I gulped air and stared up at him. Yes. This was what he wanted, this scene, this way. This was what I had agreed to. I nodded; breathed in his calm. It was okay. This was the game we were playing.
So okay, I know I said I wasn’t going to get all psychobabbly, but I do have to take a moment to parse out what was going on in my head, before W came over with his calm, controlled presence. How, as sometimes happens, even when we know it’s a game, that it’s all in fun, that it’s what we want, sometimes our lizard brain takes over, and all that logic flies out the window.
I alluded to, and have talked in other posts about, having been in situations where I couldn’t fight back, and that is why being able to do so, safely, is something that I often seek out. That it also trips a sexual trigger is another interesting aspect. The person that this happened with was my first husband, someone I have talked about here occasionally (this is not “the Ex.”) I believe that I subconsciously sought out someone to fulfill my sexual and kink inclinations, that were even then – without me knowing it – deeply rooted in a desire for rough sex, for being overwhelmed, overtaken, manhandled, coerced. Unfortunately I didn’t know the difference between what we do and abuse, or rather I knew what he did was abusive, but I was still excited by it (and deeply ashamed of my excitement), and so for a while (almost two years) I lived on that roller coaster that is an abusive relationship.
Now I don’t pretend or intend BDSM play to be therapeutic. I don’t use it to chase away or conquer any demons. But if those demons happen to be in my way – and if I am able to use those demons to fuel my own and my partners’ heat – I am more than willing to use them. For some people, fear and anxiety can be a powerful aphrodisiac, and I’ve long since passed the stage where I am ashamed of those feelings/associations. They are as much mine as any other emotions and feelings, and when I can use them for something positive, well, that only increases my own power. One of those left-over demons involves an image: my first husband, so much larger than me (6’3″ to my 5’3″ and twice as heavy) looming over me, pinning me down with his gaze as I cowered before him, waiting for – whatever was to come. I never knew if this time he would lose control, or turn away and leave me alone. He used his size to intimidate me, and, I think, he enjoyed that power over me.
That was the image that crowded out reality when those men were crowding around me, looming over me. And in that moment of panic, that was where I went. Until W was there, who is always in control, is always calm, even in the deepest heat of the moment.
In thinking about it, I realize what a heavy burden that is for him to carry, and I am grateful all the more for his wide shoulders and bravery in being willing to accept that burden. And even more grateful to have found someone that likes to play on those same edges, because in him I found someone that allows me to play there as well, and return safely after doing so.
And so to continue on…
For the next hour or two they all took their turns with me, one after the other. Most times I had a cock in my mouth and in at least one hand while another was shoved into my cunt; sometimes I even managed a cock in each hand, in my mouth and in my cunt. That was a little frustrating, to be honest, because I have been trained to be a good fuck – and I like to fuck – but I couldn’t concentrate on any one cock, on giving any of them “good service.” But that is exactly what W wanted: I wasn’t there to fuck, I wasn’t there to pleasure them, I was there to have my holes used and be used in the most base way by these men. Any time I could get my head into that space, I got excited, and was able to come several times that way.
The afternoon, and all that happened is a little hazy. I lost count of the men, the cocks, the different times they used me. Occasionally I would get overwhelmed by it all, all those men, and JR or W would have to talk me into calmness again, into acquiescence, into remembering that that is why I was there: I was just a fuckhole, there to be used. Once it started to feel almost vanilla (except for the fact that there was a line of them waiting), and JR turned up the heat by manhandling me, by slapping my thighs open and then by putting me on my hands and knees on a mattress on the floor. This little bit of degradation, it turned out, was good for my twisted mind, because I was soon back to panting and grunting like an animal while they fucked me from behind. W even fucked me at some point, his fist in my hair and his nasty words in my ear. And, surprisingly, a girl with a strap-on joined in (the same one who had been the decoy) and I was surprised by how much I enjoyed it.
And then, finally, it was over, and I was handed back to W, a little (or a lot) used, but not broken.
I had succeeded at my first gangbang.
Whew, what a crazy weekend. Sooo much fun, starting with this, and continuing on to fun and games and play Saturday, and still more fun and games and play (of a different sort) Sunday.
This was the kind of fun we had Saturday:
And then, after we got home from a lovely dinner with our new-found play-friends Saturday night, Ad, W and I had our own fun, pics of which I’ll share at some future time.
As for Saturday, I don’t even know where to start. I guess from where I left off on Saturday morning, huh?
So there we were, waiting for the couple, Lyn & Carl – longdistancesub and her Master – to arrive. They were people we’d met through blogging. I had followed longdistancesub’s blog for some time (submission & shoes -what could be better?) when we met in person at Kinky Kollege about two years ago. She had mentioned, either in her blog or on Fetlife, that she was wanting to get a few women together to do a “shoe photo shoot” in their hotel room while there. Well THAT was a no-brainer! This post of hers (and several after) is from that afternoon. We became friends after that, and kept in touch off and on through our blogs, email and IM. We often talked about getting together again, but it didn’t happen, for one reason or another, until this past Saturday.
As I’ve mentioned before, W isn’t a big planner, and prefers to just go with the flow of things, but after some discussion with Carl, he had a few things specifically in mind for this play date. The first was that I would be tied and gagged upstairs when they arrived (safety measures in place.) At the last minute, in spite of the fact that I could release myself from the bondage if needed, he decided not to gag me. It was the right decision, as we were playing with people we didn’t know well and who might not realize how very meticulous and careful of safety that he is, but I was disappointed: being denied the ability to “chat” with them would have put a whole different, more objectifying, spin on things, and would have started me out in an entirely different headspace, a headspace I have been craving, and had been especially looking for in this scene. I wanted to be an object, a plaything, with no voice or volition – not his girlfriend or the hostess.
But I was determined not to make this about me. I had cost W a good deal of pleasure when I had reacted poorly before, and I wanted this to be as perfect for him – and for them – as I could make it. So, I relaxed into the situation, even if it wasn’t exactly as I had fantasized.
And it turned out that even with the ability to converse, it was still hot. W brought her up in handcuffs and a gag and proceeded to “inspect” her, while inviting Carl to do the same to me. I think my inspection was a bit more cursory, as both he and I were focused on the two of them, but he found and explored my rings a bit, and ran his hands over me, and we talked quietly as W continued his exploration of Lyn. I did not feel the slightest twinge of jealousy, tho I do recall at one time wishing he would at least notice me standing, tied up, over in the corner. You know, come over & pull my hair, slap me, growl at me about what a little slut I was, and was watching him fuck her with his hands making me hot? (It was.) But one thing I so love about playing with W is his intense, single-minded focus. How could I deny her that? So I was (mostly) quiet and patient, knowing that eventually his attention would turn to me.
And it did. And oh my, when it did…we had the most incredibly hot flogging and singletailing scene. I was revved up and turned on by watching him with her – and ecstatic to once again be the focus of his attention. Every stroke of the whip was a caress, a kiss, that drove me higher and higher. I can’t think of a time that I have wanted to be fucked so badly after a severe whipping. Alas, that was not to be…but I was okay with that, as we moved onto other play, play that allowed me to attack her with my mouth while W and Carl worked on her with floggers and the singletail.
And by attack, I mean exactly that. She had on fishnet hose that were entirely too much in the way – so I bit through them with my teeth. (Hey, ya work with what ya got! I’d have pulled them down with my hands, but they were tied. So…teeth it was.) Things really got hot when W grabbed a fistful of my hair and shoved my face into her, grinding my mouth into her pussy as he smacked me over and over with a belt, telling me not to stop licking her.
At some point they stopped things and we took a breather, but then it was back to playtime. Carl likes clothespins, so W tied Lyn up again and Carl used them on her breasts. I know I was supposed to be just watching and waiting patiently, but we all know patience has never been my strong suit when it comes to play.
“Please, W, a zipper?” I begged.
After that, while we were resting and W was noodling on what he wanted to do next, Lyn mentioned that she had never been fisted, but that my hands looked small enough to give it a try. So we did.
I love fisting a woman. I love the feel of her body opening up to me – and then clamping down. All the delicious hidden spaces to explore! I had forgotten how hot and sexy – and deeply, deeply intimate – it is.
But there was still more. Lyn said that she would like W to flog her. I was so glad that she said so. I did not know what kind of play she liked, in terms of impact play, etc., but I was hoping that she would want W to do an impact scene with her. I was so comfortable with the play so far that I was curious about how I would feel to watch him play – really play – with someone else.
So Carl and I settled onto the floor pillow to watch.
Truth is, I didn’t get to “watch” much, because Carl occupied a lot of my attention, which was a lovely, delicious, surprise. It was the first time that I have been fucked while W works another girl over – and it was freakin’ HOT. Being fucked by her partner, while catching glimpses of W’s intensely focused face as he whipped her and hearing her whimpers and cries and moans, was intensely erotic. Later W said he had much the same reaction, knowing Carl was fucking me while he whipped Lyn (so I guess he was aware of me.) Somehow it bound us all together in the scene and made it one scene that we were all in together. And when I came, it was in tandem to her cries, my own echoing hers. Apparently, just as the sounds of sex are such a turn-on, in the right circumstances the sounds of pain are too.
And this was the right circumstance.
I still don’t know why this time, as opposed to others, worked so well. I have a few ideas that I am still noodling on. But the bottom line was that I had no angst, no twinges of jealousy, no anxiety. It was wonderful, and such a relief (I’m sure to us both.) And watching him do what he does so well – to her – made me hot and made me proud to be his.
Also, in a weird way, making the scene about him and them, working so hard to make it good for him and making her the center of attention, was deeply satisfying to my lil subbie soul, in spite of being such an attention slut. It felt a little bit like…service. No, I wasn’t the mindless fucktoy to be used and abused as I had fantasized about, and the scene really wasn’t even about me, but I still got a good deal of pleasure from it.
There really is a submissive lurking in there somewhere.
So there is lots more to tell about the weekend. It was our first weekend home in a quite awhile, in which we could just hang out and be as kinky or vanilla or a mixture of the two as we wanted. It was soooo nice to just…be. Be us. Relax. Talk. Work on the computers.
Get ass-fucked about 10 or 12 times.
Oh, was that my outside voice? Ooops.
I did have my ass used hard though. It was all because Little Sister, that bitch, decided to start her monthly bitch-session Saturday morning. I had a hint Friday night, and since I knew that W had something cooking – tho at that time I thought it had fallen through – I felt it was only fair to give him a heads-up. I fully expected him to let me out of the scene with his friend.
“I might be on my period tomorrow.”
He didn’t even hesitate. “You have two other useable holes.”
It was…in spite of my squeamishness and anxiety…kind of hot. That he didn’t back down. That he was framing it that way: my holes were to be used. I was a collection of holes to be used as he saw fit. It’s a huge turn-on to me when he treats me thus.
And that was to be the tenor of Saturday night. I was to be a hole for his friend – and possibly his friend’s friends – to use. As before, he was offering me up as fuckmeat, because he wanted to see me fucked in every hole possible by his friend’s huge cock. And that was exactly what he got.
I looked over at W several times that night to see that…look…he gets on his face when he is especially pleased with me, and I knew that in spite of my nervousness before the event, I was glad that I had done as he wanted and not backed out. Though we talk a lot about consensual non-consent, I do have the actual ability to say no, and he will honor it. But…I have begun to wonder if I have the emotional ability. Perhaps…not anymore. I get too much out of pleasing him to risk disappointing him, to risk letting him down.
This wasn’t exactly easy for me, though. I’ve talked about my difficulty with bodily functions, my period in particular. It took me almost three years to be okay with having sex with W while I was bleeding, and even so it is still difficult for me when it happens. (But hot. Fuck it’s hot. ~sigh~ I’m just so twisted. LOL) So just the possibility of spotting with a stranger freaked me out a bit.
He knows this, but he was firm that he was going to make me do it. I could call off use of my cunt, if I chose – he allowed me that choice – but I would go and let T use my mouth and my ass. My ass! With that huge cock!
It turned out I was only spotting a bit by Saturday night though. I took a deep breath, popped a Xanax, and said, “Okay.”
I know, I know…I shouldn’t deal with this shit with pharmaceuticals! But I figured hey, if the doc thinks it’s a good idea to take one when I am nervous about flying (they were prescribed for a specific situation) then I am sure she would agree that “having sex with a stranger when I was bleeding” would also be deemed proper use. Whatever. It took the sharpest edge of my anxiety off, leaving only the good kind, the kind that comes from W using me this way, from obeying his orders even when I don’t want to, from being made to be a “dirty girl.” (And then being told what a good girl I am, how pleased he is with me, how proud of me he is.)
Fuck I love this shit that he does to me.
So we went, and I was his fuckdoll all night. Mostly, it was fun, even the ass-sex. Though W hadn’t been able to “prep” me (he’d planned on ass-fucking me before we went over and sending me over with a plug in, but I guess we ran out of time) I was still able to accommodate T quite well. Lubrication makes all the difference! LOL There was only one tricky moment, when T decided he wanted to piss on me. Okay, I can deal with that. I somehow knew that it wouldn’t have the same emotional impact that it does when W does it, so I barely hesitated. But in the middle T told me to “open my mouth.”
Way back when, when all this started, W had told me that his would be the only piss I would ever have to drink. Now I know it is a fantasy of his to have me be some kind of piss-and-cum girl for a Superbowl party. A nasty, dirty fantasy that I know is just that: fantasy. So I don’t mind him talking about it, and I can even get turned on by it, too. But in reality, when he told me that I would only drink his piss, I took it to heart. As much as I hate drinking it, somehow that has become something “special.” I know, fucked-up. But there it is. So when T said, “open your mouth,” I immediately turned to look at W, who was watching and taking pics. I expected an immediate, “No, she doesn’t do that.” What I heard was, “Do it.”
I am sure my shock registered clearly on my face, and he realized what he had done, because he retracted it almost immediately. T didn’t push it, and the moment was smoothed over. But I was hurt for just a moment. Logically I knew even as it happened that it had nothing to do with what he had told me before. He was excited in the moment, and maybe even had visions of his own fantasy in his mind. We are all human, and sometimes we let our little heads rule us in the heat of the moment. It even kind of turns me on that he could be ruled by lust, by simply wanting me to do it.
But there’s more to it even than that. In the moment between him saying “do it” and retracting it, in that endless moment, I had already made up my mind to do it, if he told me to. I took a breath and was about to obey, in fact, when I heard him say no. I wanted to obey him, with every part of me, even though it was absolutely something I did not want to do. I would have been unhappy with him after, I know that. But I would have obeyed.
It is moments like that that later make me cock my head and contemplate what this thing is that we do. What I have become, who I am, what I am.
I do not want to be anything else. I do not want it to be one bit different.
As we drove home that night I turned to W. “Will you come inside me, please? And…a cupcake. Will you buy me a cupcake?”
He did both.
And used my ass all day Sunday, over and over, and my mouth, and tied me in rope and made me crawl up the stairs and wear heels all day and he put Hello Kitty clamps all over my back and tits and ears as he ass-fucked me.
Oh, and made me wear them under my dress to retrieve my car that night.
Oh, you don’t know what Hello Kitty clamps are? Well, some time ago, just prior to going to Tryst, this happened. After hearing about it, Ad decided it would be most hilarious if I was to put Hello Kitty stickers on W’s toys for when he opened his toybag at either Tryst or Fusion. The only place I was able to get one stuck on was at Fusion, on a plastic bag of clothespins that he had brought.
He never saw the sticker.
Of course we had all kinds of fun at Tryst playing on the theme, but it wasn’t exactly what Ad had envisioned. Sunday morning the bag of clothespins lay out on the floor, a remnant of our trip to NOLA. He still hadn’t seen the damn sticker on the front of the bag. It’s kind of hard to throw oneself under the bus when the bus driver has such poor vision. lol So…I pointed it out. What the hell. I kind of had this attitude Sunday: You got what you wanted (me fucked), now I want to get what I want (me beat up.) So I tried to…you know, “facilitate” it.
It actually led to a lot of fun play, in fact so much so that by the time we got home from picking up my car and W offered to beat me up, I was too worn out.
But it was a good worn out, so I can’t complain too much.
But now…it’s Tuesday, he has family in town until they leave for a family thing over the weekend, I am going out of town with the Boychild Friday, and I have plans until next Wednesday when I get back. So I will have to wait again!
But maybe – just maybe – I’ll get a good beating then.
Especially if Hello Kitty shows up in his toybag again. :-D
The prompt this week was a drawing by Francisco José de Goya called “Caught in the Act.” While my post this week doesn’t exactly fit the theme, W did “catch me in the act,” so to speak, so I’m gonna count this one as “theme-worthy.”
(Continued from this post, in which W takes me to his friend’s hotel room to provide “entertainment” for a friend of his in town for the baseball game.)
At first it appeared that it might actually be three of them (plus W) but it only ended up being T, someone W had allowed to use me before. (Interestingly enough, I never did write much about that time, but I posted some additional pictures and a tidbit or two of that night here and here.) W’s friend has a massive cock, and it was a challenge to get it deep enough in my mouth the first time, but I’ve been practicing and did much better this time.
I think W was proud of me!
For more Wednesday Wickedness, click the link below, and come back Friday for my favorites from this month’s e[lust] and the past two week’s Wicked Wednesdays and Sinful Sundays!
We actually managed several Scavenger Hunts while out and about in New Orleans.
This is the first of them: Balcony.
Flashing may be the order of the day on Bourbon Street, but I have never really been comfortable with it before, nor ever done it! This made me feel especially wicked, as well, because I had to ask one of several young men sitting at a table across from us on the balcony if they would take the snap.
“Sure!” he readily agreed.
I could see his eyes go wide when he saw my “accoutrements,” but he never asked about them. Later, as we were leaving, though, I heard him whisper to his friend. “Did you see those things she was wearing?” I like to imagine that curiosity about them will have him thinking and wondering about them long after the other run-of-the-mill tittie flashers have faded from his memory…
Check out the rest of the Wicked Wednesday crowd at the link below!
We’re back! Safe and sound, and in (mostly) good repair. ;-) The swingers didn’t manage to convert us to vanilla, but we didn’t do anything to corrupt any of them, either. ;-) We met some new people, ran into some old friends, did some dirty dancing and a lot of eating and drinking, enjoyed some sight-seeing, some Scavenger Hunting, a little Rope on the Run for the letter N (New Orleans – we had to!), had a lot of sex, I dressed slutty and W was the epitome of a sharp-dressed man. We didn’t take many pictures but we did manage to make it to the sex floor this time – twice! I got kissed by girls (twice!) and felt up a few times by random men, but we didn’t have sex with anyone other than each other. We also didn’t do any kink to speak of: the “dungeon” was a joke, and while the sex rooms were opulent and sexy and sensual and a voyeur’s and exhibitionist’s dream, we realized that swinger sex is just too…well, too damn tame for us.
And we’re a whole lot of too kinky for them, that’s for sure.
We ended up going down to NOLA earlier than we had originally planned, leaving Tuesday night and staying over in Memphis before driving the rest of the way Wednesday so that we could arrive in time for the Naughty in N’awlins parade down Bourbon Street, and that night’s party at the famous New Orleans sex club, Colette. I’d hoped for an intense BDSM scene at the hotel (I think I mentioned my “brave new me” in asking for what I want) but we were both too tired by the time we got to Memphis to do more than crash. The next morning, I realized W was already in vanilla/swing/travel mode, so I asked again, and we had a bit of hot rope-and-sex (and yes, of course there were pictures of it – yumm!)
W really is in either vanilla or kink mode. I am just going to have to accept that when he’s in vanilla mode, if I want to play, I gotta ask for it, because he just won’t think of it. Sometimes he still doesn’t switch over, but at least there’s the possibility of doing something if I ask. And I’m getting better at it all the time.
In a new game, while he had me tied on the bed while he fucked me, he told me I couldn’t make myself come. He said he wanted me horny and thinking about sex on the drive down. And it totally made me think about it (!), though since he had switched back to non-kink mode for the drive down, I don’t think he realized how well his plan had worked! LOL
We got checked into our hotel in time to head down to one of the private parties. The hotel is right on Bourbon Street, but at the end near Canal, so it isn’t in the heart of all the noise and drunkenness, for which I was glad. The hotel is really nice, and kind of an oasis from the madness that is Bourbon Street, which was good for me too. I’ve never been on Bourbon Street, and it was a little overwhelming! And damn, but I wasn’t dressed nearly slutty enough for that crowd! I also realized I am just not as much fun as some of those women. They can party! But we had a good time, and then we walked in the parade down to Colette. Later my friend Mj, who happened to be down in NOLA for a professional convention, said that the parade itself, and the swinger convention, was the talk of her colleagues at their cocktail party the next night.
It’s fun to be the talk of the town. ;-)
We had a lot of fun at Colette. W had been there before, and knew what to expect. I had been in a sex club before so I had some idea, but this was much wilder than what I had seen before. Also, this time – as directed by W – I was an active participant.
He knows my triggers so well – and his own.
After we had a chance to take in the scene downstairs a bit (bar, social area and dance floor) he took me upstairs and right into the “porn room,” where people were already fucking and sucking on the couches in front of the big screen porn movie. He ordered me to my knees so I could blow him, and then he bent me over the end of a couch where two other couples were having sex and fucked me from behind, encouraging a guy that was watching us to feel me up while he did so. It was surreal to have him fucking me and hear them introducing themselves above me, and W treating me like a commodity: “Sure, grab her tits. She’s got some nice ones. She’s a good little fuck.”
It was pretty freaking hot. When he let me up I sat on the floor and licked him clean (Him: “You know what to do,”) then zipped him up while three or four men looked on. I stayed on the floor like that for a few minutes, loving the feel of being at his feet, discombobulated, a creature of sexual service and nothing more, while the men stood around and talked. For the first time I wondered if we might actually be able to mix our kink with this scene.
Next we headed over to a hallway where there was a two way window and you could watch people having sex on the massive bed inside. He decided to give the voyeurs another option than the window, and, holding me standing against him, finger-fucked me to multiple orgasms right there in the hallway. I recall opening my eyes at one point and seeing rows of feet & shoes ringing us as people watched. I couldn’t bring myself to look up into their faces, tho W did tell me that one particular pair of women hadn’t been able to take their eyes off us the whole time – one of whom was a woman that had leaned down and kissed me in the theater after I had complemented her on her shoes.
Then it was back downstairs, where we chatted with a guy whose girlfriend or wife was showing off her hood piercing. He asked me if I’d ever seen anything like it. Yeah, well, you know I couldn’t resist, and soon he was staring open-mouthed at my pierced cooch, and waving people over to look at it. I think mine were a bit much for most of them, and his wife/girlfriend was decidedly cool to me after, though he mentioned wanting to touch them several times during the course of the evening. I was glad that W didn’t hear him asking to touch them though, because I really didn’t want to go there with him. W had a lot of fun though, grabbing, pinching and pulling on my piercings until I came right there on the barstool while our new friend looked on. Him: “You’re doing that right here? Right now?” Heh. Contrary to my earlier thoughts, that was my first clue that we might be a little much for some of this crowd.
I mentioned it to W the next day though, because while we understand our dynamic, of course, (he was in “Jade as fuckmeat” mode) and it’s a turn-on for he and I, I realized that it had confused the guy we were talking to (his gf was obviously very much the one in control in that relationship, as many swinger women seem to be, at least in regards to who gets to do what to whom.) We had some good discussion about that. I don’t want people to see him as domineering or an asshole, but I also don’t want to lose our dynamic either, because that is what turns us on. But in certain instances – in the theater earlier, for instance – I could see that it turned on many of those men too. It’s kind of a dichotomy, I think. The women are in control (and often the instigators) of the sex play, but many (of the men, at least) seem very intrigued by, and turned on by, women like me. Women that want to be controlled, that they can use, that they see being used the way W uses me. W is very cautious not to make waves in that community by showing that side of ourselves (and himself) but I have a feeling that there would be a whole lot of those men that would get off on it. I am less certain of the women’s reactions in that situation, and maybe that is part of W’s (understandable) reluctance. The women that might be curious/excited by it would possibly be fewer/farther between, and he doesn’t want to ruin his chances by scaring off some potential playmates. Though, in my opinion – if they aren’t into this kind of play, then I’m not interested in them. I really have no interest in vanilla sex – unless W is making me do it, which, by definition is not vanilla sex. ;-) The guy with the hood-pierced gf is a prime example though of the sometimes contradictory situations this places us in. I could see he was intrigued by something unusual he sensed in our dynamic, but he was also uncomfortable about it, because he didn’t understand it and what he saw/sensed flew so directly opposition to what he knew about the swinger dynamic/his own dynamic. I didn’t want him to think ill of W in that situation, but I also didn’t want to encourage him (or encourage W to encourage him) because the very discomfort I sensed in him (I believe there was a submissiveness in him) was unappealing to me.
So, it’s a bit of a conundrum, but one that conventions like this are allowing us to feel out, explore, and discuss, as we figure out what works for and what doesn’t.
As I said, W knows my triggers and his own, and we had hit on more than a couple there in the sex club. By the time we got back to our room later that night, he was revved to go, as was I. He drug me into the room and pushed me to the floor.
Me: “I have to pee.”
Him: “No. Drink mine first.”
Me: “No!” Even as my cunt twitched.
Him: “Either do it first, now, or while you’re on the toilet. Your choice.”
I took him in my mouth and drank his piss while I voided my own drinks into the toilet. When I gagged, he pulled out of my mouth and pissed all over my cunt as I sat there. It was nasty, and wrong, and warm and sensual all at the same time, and I loved him for making me his piss whore.
Then he drug me into the bedroom and fucked me senseless.
And that was our first official swinger sex party.
Hello from The Big Easy! We’ve had a couple of fun-and-sex-filled days and nights here in New Orleans, both at the convention and playing tourist during the days. Today I came down with a migraine, though. :-( I didn’t catch it in time, either, so it laid me up for awhile. Drugs and nap and it’s eased a bit, but I am still in bed, trying to kick it completely so we can go up to the dance party later, and hopefully go do something outrageous up in the hospitality (sex) suite after. By “outrageous,” I mean something other than vanilla sex. While the swinging folk like to get it on in groups and with others watching, I didn’t see one bit of kink (nor, for that matter, even any sex toys.) They have a “dungeon” room but it’s…weird. I feel like we ought to just go in there and use the damn space the way we please, just to shake things up.
Who cares if we get banned from the convention next year.
I am at least hoping to get fucked rough, with maybe a little bit of rope, and if it squicks some of these people, well, they don’t have to watch. I’ll let ya’ll know how that goes. ;-)
I have lots more to tell you about, but my head is not up to the task currently, so I’ll leave you with a post I started before we left, and hopefully will feel up to detailing the past few days a bit more in the next couple of days.
Here’s a fun little factoid I had (conveniently) forgotten: swinging = dating. At least, if you swing where you live it does. Swinging out of town is a whole different animal, I assume; more like going out to bars and picking someone up. A very brief “date” that all parties recognize is only for the sake of determining whether all are agreeable to jumping in the sack. “Date” over, sack jumping commences. (Hmm, much like BDSM “dating” – a distinction I’ll touch on later.) But I digress.
I discovered this fact yesterday, after our second lifestyle meet ‘n’ greet at a local bar Saturday night. Two of the men that had displayed an interest in me, and who had asked for my number (a first for me – I have never, ever been asked for or given my number out to someone at a bar before) had started the “dating pursuit.” Text messages. Voicemail. Flirting. Initial inquiries to ascertain my openness to meeting again – to go on a date.
I hated dating the first (second and third) time around. And in fact quite assiduously (and adroitly) avoided more than was absolutely necessary and unavoidable, simply by coupling up as soon as it was feasible to do so.
Yeah, I was one of those girls. Always in a relationship. I don’t think I have been “on the market” for more than a month at a time since I started dating. This is my dating/relationship history:
- I liked boy; he liked me. We “went together.”
- I liked boy; he liked me. I moved in with him.
- I liked boy, he liked me. He moved in with me. We had baby. We got married.
- I liked boy; he liked me. We lived together. We had multiple babies, marrying in between. This one lasted 18 years – score! Eighteen date-free years. Sort of. (Explanation to come.)
There were minor dating skirmishes in between, but those were (thankfully) short-lived. And also largely unsuccessful, because seriously? I suck at dating.
At the end of my last dating-avoiding relationship, I did actually do a bit of dating, but it was married-dating and BDSM-dating. We dated girls. I dated a couple of boys. It was still suckage, but less so, because there was always my married partner in the wings, right? And BDSM-dating is also its own special category, because it’s more like the bar pick-up scenario mentioned earlier. A brief intense date-like ritual of determining if you two are gonna jump in the sack (going to scene) and then the scene itself, which is, now that I think of it, like a very elaborately planned date, with none of the inane small talk that so often goes along with dating.
Especially if you’re gagged.
That initial interaction, if you go on successive “dates” with this person, changes and informs the whole dating process and environment into something a bit less painful than vanilla dating. I like it quite a bit better.
But now, here I am, about to embark in swing-dating. Because we are going to local parties, local men/couples might want to enter into the dating ritual with me/us. Because that’s what people do when they want to mate. They date each other first. A distasteful, painful ritual that I thought I was through with, possibly complicated by and fraught with even more potential discomfort because now there’s the possibility of couples dating.
Oh Jesus. Spare me.
The obvious solution is to swing only out-of-town, at conventions like this one in New Orleans, where you do the bar meet ‘n’ greet and then get it on if all are willing (for several intense, compressed days/nights) and then you never have to see them again. And certainly not date them!
That said, however, being sought-after, and even (gasp) pursued is an interesting phenomena for me. I find one of the guys interesting and cute and…hell, a date with him might even be – dare I say it – fun. The other guy is attractive, but a much more an unknown quantity, as we hardly spoke at all. His voicemail indicates that they host “get togethers” of what he calls “like-minded” friends and thinks that we might fit in well with these people. Since the only context in which he knows us, and the only thing he knows about us, is that we attend swinger events, I have to assume that he means these are swinger parties. but it will take a phone call to determine that.
Ugh. The dreaded phone call. That may be the real reason I hate dating. (LOL)
Only doing this out-of-town does limit us, however, in ways I don’t particularly like. I love going to the swinger bar parties. Dancing, drinking, flirting with W, being watched, seeing his pleasure in the attention I receive – I love love love it! As does W.
So…bottom line…maybe I will have to learn the art of dating, and maybe – maybe – even learn to enjoy it.