Posts tagged ‘love’


Yes, it’s been a while. I moved in with the Boyfriend, things got busy (see previous post), he got a new job, I didn’t, then I did, and I’ve been trying to pick up more work so I can pay the bills. Sex fell off the radar. It happened on occasion (usually the weekends when he could get enough sleep and actually relax), but nothing as amazing as we’d had in the beginning. I got disappointed and frustrated, had a PTSD-induced meltdown, then recovered and we moved on to better days.

I’d pretty much forgotten about this blog until two people mentioned it. First was an ex-boyfriend to whom I’d sent a link (probably ill-advised, but at the time I thought… never mind. I have no idea what I was thinking). He told me it was somewhat uncomfortable to read, and I totally understand that now. There are times I just want to share everything that’s in my head with everyone around me, but it’s generally considered a bad idea.

The second person to mention it was the Boyfriend himself. After a night of particularly exciting and fun romps between the bedsheets, we stood in the kitchen, me sashaying around in a bathrobe, preparing breakfast while he prepared a pot of tea and got ready for work. The look on his face was one of happy contentment and a little bit of something like, I don’t know, glee? We talked about my work, how much writing I needed to get done that day, and he pointedly asked if I was going to be posting the previous night’s escapades to “that blog you’ll never let me read?”

I didn’t have an answer for him, but I sort of figured I might post something, and here I am. Details? No. Not really. No handcuffs were involved, although he did pin my wrists at one point. No D/s occurred, and I was on top for most of it. I joked that he should count himself lucky to have found a girlfriend with an oral fixation, and he chuckled. “That’ll be my next facebook post right there,” he said, and I smacked his shoulder.

Most nights I fall asleep with his arms around me, or mine around him. It still turns me on when he hints at dominating me in any way, but most days he just wants me to find my footing and be independent. He finds strong, smart women sexy, so I find it one hell of a compliment that he’s with me, especially on those days (like today) when I don’t have enough work to pay my bills and I end up apologizing for being such a lousy girlfriend. He just shakes his head and holds me close when I do that.

It’s funny how this started out as a blog about my foray into escorting, only to evolve into a blog about a relationship. I didn’t mean for that to happen, nor did I expect it. I’m certainly happy about it, though.



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.



He certainly is a man true to his word.

Friday evening I arrived on time, dressed as commanded, and was led upstairs to his room where he sat me down in a comfortable chair and told me to “sit there and look beautiful. Shouldn’t be too difficult,” while he cleaned up and disassembled his old bed. “The new mattress will be delivered in an hour, then I’ll change and we’ll go out to dinner.”

Flashback to a month ago when, tangled in sheets, sleeping dogs, and each other, I told him we’d need a bigger bed. Later he’d told me he had to put that idea on hold so as to afford some home repairs, and I let the matter drop. Now I know better.

There I sat, demurely watching him clean his room while he grinned at me and asked how my day was. He vacuumed, dusted, and even scrubbed spots off the floor while I held my hands in my lap, somewhat entranced by the sight of a man who wasn’t afraid to admit the sticky spot on his floor next to the bed was from a spilled bottle of lube he used to use on himself. “Funny that,” he mused, “I haven’t wanted to jack off for the past, oh, six weeks or so.” His eyes crinkled as he smiled at me, reminding me that we’d both found our need for self-pleasuring greatly diminished since we’d started enjoying each other’s intimate companionship.

Cleaning done, he led me down the hall to a large closet where he kept his “good” clothes. Considering that he prefers to spend his waking time dressed as comfortably and casually as possible, I wasn’t sure what to expect of his more formal wardrobe. There were some nice dress shirts, and bundle of decent ties, a sport coat, leather jacket, slacks, and a suit. He pulled me close and purred in my ear, “this is one area where I want you to be in charge. I know nothing about clothes. Dress me.” I picked out a silver-gray shirt, black pants and the black leather jacket. He chose a pair of black sports shoes. I said no. He dug around and found a nicer pair, to which I said yes. We both agreed a tie was not necessary for the evening, then hung the clothes up in his room and waited for the mattress to arrive.

The delivery truck was a little later than expected, but the two men hauling the new mattress and box spring up the stairs seemed to know what they were doing and were quite pleasant. Once the bed was set up, New Guy went upstairs to check it out and sign the invoice. Except… wrong mattress. Ours had gone to the previous delivery stop, so the men repacked it and hauled it all back down the stairs and into the truck. We sat. We waited. He apologized for things not going according to plan. Twenty minutes later the correct mattress was being hauled up the stairs, and we became the happy owners of a brand new queen size pillow top mattress and box spring. “Now we need new sheets!” he said with another wide grin.

I leaned over the bed to get a feel for it, face down and arms spread wide. Buttoning up his shirt, he turned to stand behind me and placed his hands on my hips. The height was just right, and I squirmed happily. He leaned in, holding my arms down, grinding against me, then moved away. “If we don’t go now, there won’t be any dinner,” he admonished. I stood, smoothed my skirt, adjusted my stockings, and stepped away from the bed. My stomach growled. Dinner, please.

Dinner was followed by a trip to his favorite local ice cream parlor and a drive across town to find bedsheets that would fit the new bed. Once the sheets had been run through the washer and dryer, we put everything together. Sheets, pillows (including a fancy new one just for me) and comforters were layered on. Where once had been broken-down bachelor’s bed with red plaid flannel sheets and rumpled old blankets, now appeared a rather inviting bed big enough for two (plus dogs) with crisp sheets and soft blankets topped by a clean duvet in my favorite shade of sage green (where that had been hiding all this time, I’ll never know).

Of course we christened it a few minutes later… and again in the morning. “You slept well,” he said afterwards. I asked how he came to that conclusion. “I watched you,” he said softly, “this morning before you woke. You were absolutely still.”

I hugged him close, thinking about how much this bed meant to both of us. It was a financial commitment as well as a social statement. The bed isn’t just his, it’s ours. I burrowed my face into his chest. “You did good, honey. You did good.”


“I’m sorry,” he whispered as I lay beside him in his bed. “Why?” I asked, wondering what I’d missed. “Because you’ll have to tell your readers about the first time we slept together and didn’t have sex.” Considering New Guy had recently been told his mother might be dying, I figured it was just fine that I wasn’t getting laid. I snuggled in closer and kept my hands to myself.

Earlier in the week he’d gotten word that his mother was in the hospital and things looked potentially grim, and I’d offered to watch his dog while he went to visit her for a few days. He called to ask if I could come by the next day to pick the dog up after he’d headed out, and I said screw that, I’m coming over NOW.

“It’s raining and it’s late. Just come by tomorrow. I want you to be safe out there on the roads,” he insisted.

“I can drive in the rain. It’s only ten o’clock. I’ll be there in half an hour,” and I was. We curled up on his sofa together, saying as little as possible. Occasionally he talked about his childhood and family memories. I listened. He held me so tightly I feared he might crush a rib.

Around midnight he got up, took my hands and stood me in front of him. “Are you going or staying?” he asked. I didn’t need to think about it. “Staying.” Up the stairs to his room, then under the covers and wrapped around each other. Sleep came quickly but was over all too soon. Before first light we were up and I was making breakfast while he finished packing.

After a milky-white, dreary damp sunrise, he was off to the hospital three hours away and I was heading back to my house with his dog in the back seat. That was a week ago. I didn’t feel comfortable writing about it until now, as his mother has somewhat recovered and he’s returned to claim his dog. And me.

The first few days away were mostly quiet while he sorted things out with his siblings and the doctors. As his mother’s condition improved, text messages between us went from worried to wistful, peppered with longing and innuendo. One of his Masterly edicts is that if I play with myself, I have to tell him about it, which I did. I described what I was thinking, and where and how I did it. He did the same, texting me one morning at the very moment I was getting myself off thinking about him. It’s nice to be tuned in to each other like that.

Soon after his mother was well enough to be moved out of intensive care, he made plans to return to work and school. I had assumed that his first thought would be to head home and sleep in his own bed, but no, he wanted to see me before anything else. While he had me pinned to my bed and covered in each other’s sweat not long after arriving at my house that evening, he told me “you know, most Masters wouldn’t allow their slave to have an orgasm without permission.” I smiled at him, saying “I do it for you. Besides, I can’t stop coming once you’re in me.” He withdrew a little and held himself back. “I should make you ask for it. You’ll have to say ‘Master, may I?’ before I let you come again.” I think I must have laughed then, as I’m so extremely orgasmic that being touched just-so can sometimes set me off, and he knows it. But I did ask, twice, before we gave up on that idea and went with catching up on more than a week’s worth of sexual tension and releasing all that pent-up stress.

It’s good to have him home again.


Week three with my new man, and things have slowed down just a bit. But not too much.

The weekend was a jumble of family projects, obligations, work and other diversions. Most of our discussions revolved around family and relationships. Making dinner last night in his kitchen, I had to laugh as yet another conversation went by with both of us saying “so I was dating this person before I met you, and…” We tend to bring up past relationships and talk about what we learned from them, which seems to be a healthy thing to do.

The start of the weekend was rough for me, coming out of a stressful work project that wasn’t completed until early Sunday morning (under his watchful eye, I might add). I found myself holding back, feeling out of sorts and wondering if maybe this was indeed the right relationship for me to be in. He could tell I was tense, and asked me what I was thinking. “I’m wondering when I’m going to find our you’re a serial ax murderer or something,” I ventured. “Why is that?” he laughed. “Because it’s too good. I can’t help but wonder what’s going to go wrong. I’m not used to this.” The thought made me squirm. “Don’t think. Just be,” he counseled.

Each morning for three days, one of us would wake up just before dawn and ravage the other. Taking it in turns, I found that while I enjoy taking him, I much prefer it when he takes me instead. It doesn’t matter if I’m on top or bottom, when he’s in charge, he is In Charge and there is no doubt about it. I’m told what I can and cannot do, how I may move or not move, and I submit willingly. We share an abundance of trust between us, and I know he would never hurt me unless I specifically request it. Several times while he had my wrists pinned, he played with the bracelet he gave me last week, pleased to know I’d not had any cause or desire to remove it. No mention was made of the ring, but I’m fairly certain he noticed it was not on my finger anymore.

There was a level of softness between us that wasn’t there last week. Between the stress of my project and his own family-related stress (which I choose not to discuss here), we were a bit subdued, but no less randy. I think we were craving more comfort than anything else, and spent a lot of time simply holding each other, confirming that yes, we both plan to stick around and see things through. A few times one or the other of us attempted to start a conversation around sex play, but it never got off the ground. Real life intervened, and we both stepped up to the task of dealing with it. I’m okay with that.

Sometimes simply feeling your lover’s heartbeat against your own is enough. Sometimes it’s more than just enough; it’s everything.

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.