“What did you get on your SAT?” The Southern Gentleman asked me the other day.
I sighed, “let’s please not get into this. It’s so silly. It was like three years ago.”
After some badgering, he finally got it out of me.
“Fine,” he conceded, “you have the higher score. But I still control the sex.”
We’d struck a balance of sorts.
The struggling is all for show, really. She wants it, she asked for it by name. But when she gets what she wants, she simply can’t hold still.
She’s been told before that these things are wrong, perverse. To accept them in practice would be to accept them in principle. And she couldn’t do that. She’s a woman of principles.
And so she squirms. And she gasps. And she begs please don’t. Usually, she’s given it anyway. But, sometimes, the action stops. And she has to beg for it. Admit it. Claim it.
She has to give it a name again. And by naming it, she makes it hers.
So, I hit a really major milestone work-wise in school. While it’s totally knocked the energy out of me, I’m very proud of myself.
As a reward, I’m spending tonight in and getting some well-deserved rest and relaxation.
Unfortunately, my life isn’t this glamorous.
Take, for example, the fact that I can’t sleep.
“You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.” – Mary Oliver, Wild Geese.
Jack and Jitters: Epilogue
You know those infamous thin walls I talk about in my description on this site?
Well, I’ve got a “neighbor” who I cannot stand at all. I knew her before I found out that my room was next door to hers and I wasn’t particularly thrilled. She’s bitchy, she’s closed-minded, she’s from one of those areas that are incredibly homogenous, racist, sexist, etc. I’ve also heard she talks shit about me sometimes about how some noise comes from my room from when I have people over, for reasons both sexual and nonsexual. Whatever. I try to be considerate, but a girl has needs.
Not to mention she has her very loud friends over almost every night since the beginning of the year, so I think it’s a fair tradeoff that I get my rocks off every so often in my room. I really do try to avoid taking people back to my room, but sometimes it happened.
By coming back to campus a few days earlier than most people, SG and I had assumed that she was out and we could do whatever we wanted.
After the ordeal, SG and I found ourselves cuddled up on my bed. I had washed up, pulled on some sweats, and was riding the endorphins. Suddenly, we heard my neighbor’s door open and her footsteps entering in the hallway.
“Oh my God,” I whispered, “she’s been in there the whole time.” She had most likely heard the entire thing.
SG shrugged and brushed some hair off my face, “she probably enjoyed it.”
Jack and Jitters, Part 5
“You know I can’t multitask.”
The Southern Gentleman had pulled me up onto my hands and knees on the bed. While I was busy sucking his cock, his hand had wandered down to my clit. Still sensitive from my orgasm and fast-careening toward subspace, I could barely concentrate on his cock when he touched me.
He chuckled, “well, you’re going to have to learn. Or I’m going to have to teach you.”
I tried to shrink away from his hand so I could focus on sucking him off. He sighed, “looks like I’m going to have to teach you, Ivy.” Before I could process this, his hand practically clamped over my cunt as he started to rub my clit violently and his other hair gripped my hair firmly as he started to fuck my face roughly.
I was totally and completely overwhelmed.
And it was perfect.
Jack and Jitters, Part 2
(Note: What is to follow here depicts some consensual nonconsent. In no way was I ever actually not consenting to what was going on this evening, nor was I coerced into these acts by physical force. While certain acts depicted can be completely considered to be illegal and wrong in a very different context, SG and I are two consenting adults with a mutual understanding about the dynamic of our relationship and the fact that I could have terminated these actions anytime I wanted. While alcohol was involved, I was coherent and completely aware of the situation, not to mention I had the equivalent of what you’d rub around a baby’s mouth when it has a toothache. Seriously. Sober, safe, sane. Consensual.)
I was feeling a little bit bratty by the time I pulled the nightgown over my head. I wasn’t entirely thrilled with the fact that he’d made me go through the formality, so I decided I wasn’t going to make anything too easy for him either.
I took the glass out of his hand and took a sip. Then another. I set it back down on my bedside table. He reached for my hand, I took a step back and cocked a brow, lowered my head, raised my eyes. He reached out again, this time grabbing my arm, and swung me over to the bed.
SG has a sort of favorite way he likes to hold me where I’m bent over backwards on the side of the bed. The bed is on risers that put the mattress about a yard off the ground, so really just my shoulder-blades and up touch it. This time, he pushed me hard and I pushed back. He tried to pin my arms down, I struggled against his grasp. The second he reached down to pull the nightgown up, I used my free hand to try to shove his away. He gathered both hands above my head under one of his and proceeded to try to use a sheet to tie my wrists. Obviously, that’s just way too much fabric.
“My stockings are in the second drawer from the top,” I said, briefly breaking character. He smiled through his, reached in and grabbed a pair of black stockings. He secured my wrists together impossibly. Freaking Eagle Scouts.
He held onto the ends of the stockings with one hand, yanking my arms up further across the mattress to the point that I was forced onto my toes. He reached down between my legs and his fingers brushed over my lips and I closed my legs. “No,” I breathed. (Once again, dear readers: safe, sane, consensual, sober.)
“What did you just say?” He shoved my legs apart, holding one open and trapping the other between his.
“No,” I groaned again and tried to close my legs. He reached down and smacked my cunt. Hard, sharply. I cried out.
It’s strange. I wanted him and because I wanted him I wanted to refuse him. I know it doesn’t entirely make sense. But it’s like every time I said “no” and every time I refused him, I was bringing more of him out and into this. And the more of that part of him came out, the more of that part of me came out. It’s carnal. It’s completely and totally animalistic.
And it was also a demonstration. It was a trust fall. And as he pulled the stockings harder, pulling my body taut and arching my back more dramatically, I knew he’d catch me.
