cuddling – Ivy

Playdate with Popcorn, Part Seven

I made her cum with my fingers. I was on top of her, fingers hooked into her pussy. She had been sort of mewling the whole time and when she came her moans had gotten throaty and uninhibited. Afterwards, her eyes were glowing.

Penthouse joined us on the bed and we all talked. I was a little worn out and I pulled one of his sweatshirts on and curled up in his arms. Slipping in and out of sleep, I listened to them talking until Penthouse told me to go cuddle up with Popcorn.

I crawled across the bed and snuggled up against her, closing my eyes. She reached up, petting my hair. “She’s so adorable,” she said to Penthouse, as if I wouldn’t be able to understand if she had said it directly to me. In her defense, I was tired and mostly mumbling out meek little statements. But, I appreciated the line that was drawn.

Later on, Penthouse had me on my knees beside the bed while they were talking. He outstretched his hand and told me to worship it. Without hesitation, wanting to impress Popcorn, I leaned up and started to kiss his hand.

“She’s such a good girl,” Popcorn said.

Penthouse smiled, “want to see what you can make her do?”

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.”

I was supposed to have a sexy night with her tonight.

But, some stresses in her other relationship, the one with her boyfriend, kept her feeling less than sexy. I realized that there were really two choices that I had about the evening. I could just go do my own thing or I could go over there and see if I could help. I was aware that, basically, the difference in these choices was that one indicated that we were on purely sexual level at this point or if there was something deeper.

At the very least, she’s one of my very close friends. A bit deeper, I don’t know, I think there’s something.

I went over to her room. I held her in bed, played with her hair, let her talk it out. I listened. We ate cookies. It felt nice to care for her and take on that sort of role. It was something people on a purely sexual level don’t do, I’m fairly sure. She called me sweetie.

Sweetie.

I am finally testing the waters of polyamory this year after a long time of really wanting to scratch the surface but being afraid and just not knowing what I wanted. And I’m really starting to get what it means now, what it implies.

“Not a word was spoke between us, there was little risk involved. Everything up to that point had been left unresolved. Try imagining a place where it’s always safe and warm. ‘Come in,’ she said, ‘I’ll give you shelter from the storm.’” – Bob Dylan, “Shelter from the Storm”.

“Like you’re riding a train at night across some vast plain, and you catch a glimpse of a tiny light in a window of a farmhouse. In an instant it’s sucked back into the darkness behind and vanishes. But if you close your eyes, that point of light stays with you, just barely for a few moments.” – Haruki Murakami, Sputnik Sweetheart.

“The tragedy of sexual intercourse is the perpetual virginity of the soul,” – W.B. Yeats.

I’m one of those people who, in the profound words of Malcolm in the Middle, “casseroles”. It takes me a while to get used to something that’s new or changed. It happens, I don’t process it, and suddenly: ding!

This is especially true when people stay over or I stay over with someone. Even when I was a child sleeping over my grandmother’s. I’d be in this kind of limbo state where I felt neither here nor there.

Suddenly, I’d have this moment where I’d be like, “oh, I’m here now.” And then it feels like it’s been forever.

This is, of course, especially harsh when the separation occurs. Not saying I get separation anxiety, but I just “casserole” all over again.

keepingitinthefamily:

She won’t believe he’s home until she wakes up where he is.