Month: November 2012

Gallery

“I think I want to kiss you,” Craftsmate said one night about a month ago while in bed with me.  

The last time that I had happened, there was a little bit of an episode, as you may recall. So we had agreed to be play partners and not kiss or be emotionally intimate. Which was all fine and good until there would be nights he would sleep over and we would wake up curled into each other and I would feel some little pang of something growing in my throat.

That night, the lights were already out and I couldn’t see him. “Are you sure? I’m not sure my ego can handle you freaking out over this again.”

“Yeah,” he replied, “yeah, I’m sure. I want to kiss you.”

I climbed over him to get out of bed. “I’m going to the bathroom. Think it over and when I get back if you want to, maybe we will.”

When I returned, he confirmed that he was still on board about it. I was a bit embarrassed at how nervous I suddenly felt. It was too dark in my room and we bumped noses. The entire kiss was awkward and reminiscent of a middle school playground. 

Somehow, that felt about right.

Flash Forward #1

Standard

The fact is, tumblr, that in writing about my visit to Penthouse, I set myself back a month in terms of posting. Which is definitely not a bad thing, usually. Except, this was an incredibly eventful month. So, since a lot of my favorite movies involved fucked up presentations of time (Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Memento, etc.), I’m doing some flash forwards. Essentially, I’m writing about the present time sans context. Posts from the past are forthcoming, but I thought it would be fun to intersperse some stuff from the present.


It’s movie night.

That guy from my frat and I are on Craftsmate’s couch, waiting for the Redhead to arrive. Craftsmate is in the kitchen with two of my other friends, making popcorn. Apparently, this is a three-person job.

“You should thank me for tonight,” that guy from my frat says.

I roll my eyes.

He presses. “Ask me why you should be thanking me.”

I humor him. “Why should I be thanking you?”

“I leant Craftsmate my whip for tonight,” he reveals with a grin. The night before, the two of them had been discussing this stuff. After that guy from my frat had left my room, he had sent Craftsmate a text offering the whip. Naturally, Craftsmate showed me and we had a laugh about it.

“I know,” I reply. “Craftsmate showed me the text. So, thanks, you weirdo.” I give him a playful nudge.

He smiles. “Just being a good neighbor.”

The Redhead arrives just as the popcorn is finishing. She sits on that guy from my frat’s other side and starts up another round of our mutual complaining about applying to grad school. 

Craftsmate emerges from the kitchen with my two friends and sits down on my other side. I curl up into him as my friends sit down on the other couch. 

As the movie plays, I look up and down the couch over The Redhead, that guy from my frat, Craftsmate. Things feel strangely good, like all the pieces were thrown up in the air and have somehow fallen into some pattern that works. Craftsmate leans down and kisses me. He tastes like popcorn and ginger beer.

After the movie, that guy from my frat has to make a big deal out of showing me the whip. The two friends, who are pretty vanilla, are kind of intrigued.

“Oh,” I reply, putting on some fake dismay to mess with him. “That’s a flogger. Craftsmate already has a few of those. But I guess that makes sense since you also thought all the random people in Public Disgrace weren’t actual paid participants and just literal randos on the street." 

That guy from my frat starts trying to bust my chops and saying he’s going to sign me up to model for Kink behind my back. The Redhead reaches behind him to pull on my sleeve. "Don’t worry,” she mouths, “I make him pay for it when he messes with you like that." 

We both start laughing hysterically. 

"And for your information, young lady,” reads a text from that guy from my frat after he and The Redhead have left. “I’m usually a top.”

I chuckle and send back, “have fun biting the pillow.”

Gallery

Can this happen soon, please?

TAG. YOU’RE IT. The rules are to state 5 random facts about yourself. Then, go to ten favorite blogs and tell them they are it. :)

Standard

Welp. Here’s another one, I guess. 

1. I had a stress dream last night that included my mother thinking she had found my tumblr. However, she was strangely proud of me until I realized she had found a different person’s tumblr. She had put these selfies taken by the real proprietress of the tumblr up on the refrigerator because she thought they were artistic and I was like, “wow, Mom”.

2. I started weight-lifting about a year and a half ago and I love it. No, I don’t mean I just do a bunch of bicep curls.

3. My drunk food is usually Twizzlers. 

4. I fluctuate between periods of impeccable cleanliness and just leaving everything on the floor. Right now, my room is more representative of the second category. 

5. I’m turning 22 in a month and ten days and that’s just like whaaat. 

Gallery

It was this really lazy Sunday morning and Craftsmate had slept over my place after a party. We had fairly tamely shared the bed and besides some cuddling that degraded into groping, nothing had really happened. 

We had started to mess around a little in the light that filtered through the slit of window not covered by blinds. I had worn a pair of my gym shorts to bed without any panties and Craftsmate had started to tease me through the material. Eventually, I was rolled over onto my stomach, my ass pushed up into the air, his fingers rubbing through the fabric, my body quaking gently against one of my pillows.

They were the kind of gym shorts that were a sort of mesh material so they could “breathe”. This translates to, eventually, my wetness literally leaking out of the shorts. Craftsmate leaned in and I could hear him chuckling as he looked at the growing wet spot on my shorts. He brought his hand away from my cunt and I whined.

“Look at that,” he said, dangling his fingers in front of my face. They were wet. “You’ve soaked right through.” He pushed them into my mouth and I licked them clean. His fingers returned to my gym shorts once more, but only long enough to coat his fingers again. He sniffed his fingers and commented that they smelled like something he likes to eat (yeah, we’re that far back in the timeline).

Eventually, he had gotten me pretty close to the edge and just flat-out stopped. As I squirmed and whined about him being an asshole, he climbed off the bed and replied, “I’m getting a glass of water. I’d change those shorts if I were you.”

Gallery

On Monday, the doctor said I looked a lot better but that I had to keep at taking care of myself and going easy.

Tonight, at dinner, The Redhead looked up at me and said that the color was back in my face and that I looked like myself again.

Thank you, all, for your well wishes.

And, yes, I’ve learned my lesson.

Gallery

Teehee.

Powerless

Standard

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. 

Gallery

Sweater weather is upon us.