sunshine

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Craftsmate and I were in the middle of messing around when I heard the door to the common room open. It was around lunchtime and I figured my roommate, Sunshine, would be having lunch somewhere.

This was, apparently, not the case.

“Ivy?” She called toward my room, “you home?”

I was blindfolded and gagged and bent over the end of my bed. I managed to wriggle my hand out of the scarf that bound my arms behind my back and yanked the ballgag out of my mouth in a mess of drool.

“Yeah,” I said, trying to keep my voice level. “Just hanging out in my room with Craftsmate.”

“Oh,” she replied, apparently oblivious to what was going on. “Hi, Craftsmate.”

“Hi, Sunshine,” Craftsmate called back, trying not to laugh. He shoved the ballgag back into my mouth and retied my wrists, leaning down and whispering, “better keep quiet, then.”

Outside of my door, I heard Sunshine take out her phone and call up for a taxi. Inside my room, Craftsmate reached around and clipped a clothespin onto my clit. I bit down hard on the strap of the gag as I heard Sunshine list off her address and her name.

“No, no, it’s Sunshine,” she clarified, “S…U…N…”

Craftsmate pinched my nipples hard and I squeezed my eyes shut behind the blindfold.

“No, S. S. S…U…”

I managed to keep it together until she left. After telling me that I had been good, Craftsmate left me seated on the floor, wrists tied tightly (but not so tight that I couldn’t get myself out), his cum dripping down my back. 

Powerless

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A little over a month ago, Craftsmate and I got into this really uncomfortable argument in a semi-public setting about what we were doing. Basically, he sort of just dropped the bomb out of nowhere about not wanting to do kinky stuff anymore and I was upset because he wouldn’t provide me with an explanation. 

There were a few explanations. It was a little awkward that I had just returned from Penthouse Land. He wanted to see if we could actually just be normal friends. He wasn’t sure what to make of our dynamic. And, he topped it all off with a “you make me feel powerless”.

“Oh yeah?” I replied, taken aback, then added with more than a little bitterness. “I am so sorry that I make you feel powerless.”

Although I had never considered it in those terms, I felt the same way. He had seamlessly worked his way into my life. My friends like him a lot. My roommate adores him. And the whole shame episode still felt fresh to me and the fact that he was suddenly living in a world that I had tried to keep completely separated from my blog had made me feel entirely powerless.

So, I think, in an effort to try to retain some power in the midst of being too vulnerable, I put up a bunch of walls. I thought he had seen too much of me already and as a result I wasn’t really being open with him at all. Sometimes I even got a little mean. I realized, in feeling like I was the victim, I assumed I was blameless and that I would be justified in taking whatever moves necessary to protecting my vulnerability. Especially after the really awkward kissing debacle, I did not want to show any of my hand or let there be any way I was more invested in this than he was (or even at all invested).

After I had expressed this to him, he came over that night. I was stressed out about other things and we were going to attempt to talk further, but Sunshine was home and awake. At one point, I walked out to go move some laundry to the dryer and he came with me. 

“I didn’t know you felt that way,” he said. “But it makes a lot of sense.” We hugged.

We wound up falling asleep on the couch together, my head on his chest, his hand on my hair. The next day, he tied me up while Sunshine was still asleep in the other room. With my arms pulled back stringently, I realized that kink was very much a controlled outlet for my vulnerability. I could shut it down at any point I wanted with a safeword. There was power in this sort of powerlessness. 

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There are moments where I stop and reflect on things.

At this particular instance, I am chilling in bed with Craftsmate.

“Do you know why people like to fuck around with you like this?” he asks.

I am tied up and blindfolded.

Craftsmate is lying behind me, one hand threaded into my hair. His knife is on my throat, teasing over the skin.

Outside my door, I can hear Sunshine open the door to her bedroom, step out in the common room, and walk off to the bathroom.

I suck in my breath and try to stay quiet.

In a few hours, I will need to be up for a meeting with my thesis advisor.

Craftsmate reaches the end of his explanation.

“And being pretty is such a sin.”

I try to reflect back on what the argument was in the first place, but my mind is the fuzz between radio stations.

I could be at the library or asleep or at some other school, living some other life, writing some other entry about something entirely different.

But this, in its triumphs and its embarrassments, is the way my life fell together.

And, one day, I won’t be ashamed.

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So, I have been procrastinating making this post since the beginning of the summer because I am super lazy and also I have a lot of feelings, but Roommate took the year off. After some crazy home/family stuff that really doesn’t belong on my sex blog, she called me and told me that she needs the year off of Ivy University to straighten that stuff out.

“My biggest regret, honestly,” she said, “and my biggest worry about the whole thing, was having to tell you this. Because I so wanted to have next year with you.”

It stung and we both were very sad, but I called up a friend of mine and she took Roommate’s spot in our place instead. So, Roommate is no longer my Roommate. I guess, because it’s her drink and because it just seems right for her, I’ll call her Corona now.

She and I have made sure to find time to talk to each other and I absolutely love my roommate, who I’ll call Sunshine for personality-related reasons. But, there are some nights where I really miss her and when I look around the place and wonder what it would be like if she were here, how it would look, what would be different.

She left a little coded message on facebook for me the other day. Something only I would recognize. I know she did it to be sweet and to let me know that she was thinking of me, but God did it sting like crazy.

I guess there’s something there, tumblr. I don’t know. Regardless, I miss her.

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Photo by Gennady Tarakanov