Posts tagged ‘desire’

Digging

In the past five months, my life has taken quite a turn. Met a man, fell in love, moved in together, merged our lives in all the messy ways couples do.

He’s given me a garden. A bare patch of dirt that we weeded together and have been busy filling in with herbs and flowers. On weekends he takes me to nurseries and buys plants with me, then we come home and get our hands dirty. Digging in, putting down roots.

On Sunday I found a soft silk halter top I’d forgotten about after my move last year, and wore it out on our most recent garden outing. The sun felt good on my bare back, and I felt liberated and free in the open air. Common sense told me to put on sunscreen, but I seldom listen to common sense. The result was a mild sunburn, but nothing so bad that I worried about it too much. Monday night after we’d had dinner and late night showers to wash off the dirt and sweat, he tackled me on the bed and bit into my shoulder. I gasped at the sensation, and relaxed into the pain. He bit more, harder, all around my back and shoulders, eliciting more gasps, sighs and shudders as I found myself happy to be at his mercy.

My first official night as a resident of his house, we both fell into bed exhausted after midnight. I assumed he’d be too tired for much more than snoring, but he surprised me by flipping me on my back and getting down to business for the next half hour. We spent several days adjusting to being around each other more often, and sex slowed down again. Sometimes the rhythm works for us both, and a break is good. Other times I find myself moody and withdrawn, wondering what it’s going to take to rekindle his interest. He’s learning to let me work through things on my own until I’m ready to talk to him about what’s bothering me, and he listens. “I can’t read you mind,” he reminds me, “so if you’re upset, you need to let me know what I can do about it.”

While washing dishes together yesterday, I dug down into what was bothering me, and broke my silence of many hours to let him know that I needed more sex, please. My body is tuned to a higher sex drive than most women, it would seem, and without it I can get seriously irritable and unpleasant to be around. I also mentioned missing some of the rougher aspects of our early sex life. The tender stuff is wonderful, don’t get me wrong, but the pain, rough handling and domination that we’d be dabbling with before was more enjoyable than I’d ever imagined or experienced with other partners. He leaned over the sink and looked at me, still withdrawn, as I stared at the pan I was drying. “Okay,” he said. “See? That wasn’t so hard. Just talk to me.” He wiped his hands on a towel, took the pan out of my hands, put it on the counter and took my hands in his, then kissed them. A few hours later we lay in bed, tumbled and bitten, but very happy.

Communication is a wonderful thing. So is being honest with myself so I can be honest with him. The deep stuff can be disconcerting to look at, but it’s necessary to dig through it to see the other side.

 

Advertisements

sweat

Not really sure what to write about these days. We’re still finding our footing with this runaway train of a relationship, but it’s been good so far. Word geeks that we are, New Guy and I spend an inordinate amount of time on our iPhones playing Words With Friends, even in bed. Words such as unbelted, vagina, and dom elicit giggles, if not high scores.

Where several of my previous relationships were secretive and kept from the public eye for various reasons (mostly having to do with my stupidity in actually BEING in said relationships), he and I are often running into people we know when out in public. It’s getting to be a bit of a joke how often it happens, but I can’t complain. It’s wonderful to be with someone who is proud to show me off as his chosen partner. Every time I hear one of my friends say “he’s such a nice guy” I smile and nod, not mentioning how the “nice guy” wants nothing more than to tie me up and make me scream. He often fondles the cuff on my wrist, knowing it’s just a small mark of his possession of me. He has bigger plans in mind.

Last night was a cold one, but we managed to sweat enough to soak the sheets around us. I lay on my back with him inside me and above me, his forearm across my neck, keeping me firmly in my place. Leaning in close to whisper in my ear, he gave me my orders for Friday night, including what to wear. When he tells me to say it out loud, that he is my Master and I am his slave, I always feel a flutter in my belly as I say the words. It feels amazing.

In the morning I was in the kitchen cooking up breakfast, dressed only his bathrobe. An hour before that, I’d woken to find him hard and ready for a different sort of work, which suited me fine as I was already wet just from being near him. This time I was on top, but he asserted his dominance by encircling my neck with his hands, gently and with a look of wonder in his eyes. He’s still fascinated by his new toy, and is finding different ways to make it do what he wants.

I wonder what the weekend will bring?

wrist

Because he told me to.

The new man in my life and I have been developing our relationship at a speed most of my friends find a bit dizzying. No matter. It’s like he can read my mind sometimes, asking if I’d be willing to try something that he wants to do or see me do, as if he’d somehow crawled through my head and found the little secrets I’d stashed away in little boxes, tucked under the rubble of my day-to-day worries and concerns. He finds them, each and every one, and opens them up to see inside, then asks, “would you do this? Would you do it for me?” Yes yes yes. I would. I will. I open up to him as I never have for anyone else, and welcome the intrusion. He takes no more than I’m willing to give, and is grateful for all that I share with him.

We’re apart during the week, living in different cities in the same region. It’s a 45 minute drive (we often do it in much less, traffic permitting) from his house to mine, and we both have day jobs. Arriving at his house last Friday, I carried my things upstairs to his room, and he watched me from a few steps behind, his desire palpable. After dinner downtown, he pulled me into a shop on the main street to inspect mattresses and bed frames, looking for a frame that would allow the use of restraints. Two weeks. It’s only been two weeks and already we’re looking for beds. The weekend before we’d gone browsing for restraints, so maybe it’s not all that surprising after all.

Last week during one of our daily phone conversations, he told me had questions he wanted to ask, but only when he could see my face and how I’d react. Saturday morning as we dressed for a luncheon with friends he wanted to introduce me to, he said “I want to see you dominate another woman. Is that something you’d be interested in?” I blinked at him, slightly unsettled not by the question, but by the fact that it’s always been a huge desire of mine to do that. “Yes, absolutely,” I smiled. “Good,” he replied, showing me the 3 x 5 card he’d written the question down on a few days before. “Got anyone in mind?” he asked as I wrapped my arms around him. I laughed.

Dominance and submission seem to flow easily between us. He finds it attractive that I’m a strong, independent woman, and I find it attractive that he can call a room to order just by saying something in his assertive, deep, resonant voice. While it’s gradually developing into a Master/slave relationship, I find myself feeling more empowered than ever before. Being dominated by him, possessed by him, I can let go. I’d always had an iffy grasp of D/s thanks to previous partners who didn’t care about me as much as he does, so I didn’t think I was really all that willing to try it. Now I can’t stop wanting it. He opens every door for me, plays the gentleman in public–because he truly is a gentleman–then in private holds my wrists and makes me say it, that I want him to be my Master, and I feel a lurch of fear in giving myself away to someone, mixed with a rush like falling out of a perfectly good airplane.

Saturday afternoon we found a sturdy metal cuff bracelet for me to wear, something non-fussy, light enough not to weigh me down, but heavy and solid enough for me to know it’s there. He put it on my left wrist, giving it a little squeeze to assert his authority over me. Looking at the gold ring on my right hand, he said “I hate that ring. I can’t wait to get it off your hand.” It’s an antique that I bought for myself as soon as my divorce was final back in 1999, the same year of his own divorce. “Why?” I asked, surprised at his statement. It’s my favorite ring, the one I never take off. “Because it reminds me that someone made you so unhappy. That you’ve been alone. I want to replace it with something that shows the world you belong to me.”

He doesn’t know it yet, but I took it off this morning as I stepped into my shower. I don’t need it anymore.

hold that thought

It’s been a while, I know. Last post I mentioned a date I went on and the nice man I met but wasn’t interested in. Let’s back up a bit, shall we? What really happened was this: after three hours of post-party sleep, I met up with a stranger from teh interwebs for a Sunday afternoon hike in the hills with our dogs. I was feeling what I thought was residual arousal from the party, but it never wore off. By the time we’d finished with the hike, gone out for lunch, and sat around in my kitchen, I didn’t want him to leave. Yes, I said it wouldn’t work out, he wasn’t what I was looking for, etc., but damn it all… By Monday he’d invited me out for Wednesday night to see a film I’d mentioned on our hike, and I agreed. What’s one more date, right? Nice guy, good company, I’ll give it one more shot and then say goodbye.

Not so fast, cupcake.

After dinner, ice cream, and a movie, we ended up parked in the dark, making out in the car like a couple of teenagers. Did I mention we both have teenagers? Wednesday’s date turned into another meet up on Friday, then Friday stretched into Saturday, Sunday, and he left my place late Monday morning. Looks like we’re doing it again this weekend, for which I have no complaints. I told him about my escorting idea because I’d already decided at that point that I couldn’t do it if I had him. I even told him about my romp with Married Man. He listened patiently, then talked about finding me a collar and cuffs to wear when he’s not around, to remind me and everyone else that I belong to him. Sounds possessive, perhaps, but to me it’s a massive turn on.

So what happened? How did I go from relationship cynic hell-bent on getting paid for my fun time, to happily fucking a man I just met who probably couldn’t have afforded my services if I’d gone ahead and worked pay-for-play? I’d often been told that when it’s right, you just know. I’d fallen for other men before, but not for one who fell for me a the same time. It’s surreal, but deeply wonderful. I like it. Discussing our fantasies and mutual desires has been an eye opener, too. We’re moving into territory neither of us has traversed much, and it’s fun. He’s amazed by how my body responds sexually, and I’m amazed at his openness and honesty when it comes to talking about desire. He’s also a total gentleman and romantic, opening doors and bringing me flowers. We’re both switches, so while I get to be treated like a lady most of the time, I also am expected to play to my strengths now and then and be the stronger one. I love it.

The benefit of having looked at escorting seriously even for such a short time is that I allowed myself to move into a different mindset and be open to new experiences involving my sexuality. I bought new clothes, for example, and tried them on for him. He sat on my bedroom floor, watching me change, then pulled me close and lifted each skirt, tasting me for a few moments before letting me go to try on something else. After the second dress, my hands were shaking. By the forth, I could barely stand up as my knees had gone weak. After the last dress came off, I donned a little silk slip and we landed back onto the bed for another marathon session.

Things here will be moving in a different direction from now on, but not entirely away from where it was going. We’re two of the most outwardly vanilla people you might see on the street, but like so many others, we’re keeping things clean only on the outside. There will still be plenty to blog about, I’m sure. I’ll keep you posted.