kiss – Page 8

Corona came to visit this weekend.

We got to hang out with each other and talk a little bit on Friday. Upon seeing each other again, we hugged for an inordinate amount of time. She’s doing well and, knowing what kind of a girl I am, told me not to worry about her. Which is hard, but seeing her made me so immensely happy.

On Saturday night, in the middle of a crowd of people, she kissed me. Quickly but ardently. Her hands lingered on my waist and we chuckled as I rubbed off the smudge of my makeup had rubbed off onto her.

As I went to go find someone, she gave my ass a squeeze and smirked. “Missed this.”

I realized that I never actually mentioned what happened with that guy from my frat beyond a sentence in some post. Mostly because I was a little conflicted about it, but I feel sort of equipped to share now.

Simply put: it was a really hot but really confusing encounter. And most of the people I have told about it agree with the hot stuff and don’t totally understand why I’m all hung up on random details.

Call me a traditional sap, but the asshole don’t kiss me.

To be fair, it didn’t fit in completely with what we were doing. He came home with me and one of my friends had fallen asleep on my carpet. So we were sort of quietly sitting up on my bed and talking.

It’s been a while, so I forget the context, but I remember telling him that I didn’t know how to place him because I didn’t know what he wanted.

“You know what I want,” he said, “but it’s more fun not giving myself that.”

And he held me down, eased my skirt up, and proceeded to edge me like I never have been before. He was firm but still sensual. The whole time I was desperately attempting to stay quiet and, just as I was teetering right at the edge, he stopped. He grinned, pulled the sheets up, and tucked me in.

“See?” I could see his smirk in the darkness. “It’s a lot more fun when I just tease you.”

And he left. I laid there in shock for a while, frustrated and awed.

On a ton of levels, I find that whole interaction incredibly hot. But I guess there’s still part of me that’s stupidly hung up on insecurities that he must not respect me, even when I know that isn’t true.

“Love, I realized, is something your spine memorized,” Lorrie Moore, Anagrams.

I would very much like the opportunity to be very, very mean to a boy again.

Please and thank you.

A few times, I would just lay down like this and make Switch worship me. And read a book. Or check my email on my phone.

He always kept at it with sincere dedication. For as good he was at dominating me and how much he enjoyed making me submit to him, we both sort of knew that this was his favorite place.

Trapped, Part 1

It was a trap.

The lights were out in his bedroom. I was three steps in, hand over the switch, when he grabbed me from behind. I gasped as one of his hands twisted my arm up on my back and he nudged me against the wall with his knee. He pressed himself against me and his other hand wandered upwards, grabbing my face between his fingers and forcing my lips to purse. His breath was hot against my neck and the light scruff below his lips tickled my skin as he spoke in a voice that gave away his grin.

“Hi there, pretty girl."

“You know, you’re very pretty,” that guy from my frat said as we waited for drinks.

I chuckled and looked over my shoulder at him, “that’s it? You’re not terribly poetic, you know.”

“Oh, come on, Ivy,” he feigned dismay. “I do science. I don’t do overtures. You want a metaphor, fine? You’re as pretty as a Diels-Adler reaction.”

“A what?”

“A Diels-Adler reaction. It’s when…” From here, he explained something scientific that went completely over my head. Noticing my confusion, he cut himself off and said, “it’s really pretty. There. There’s your metaphor.”

I moved up closer to the bar and shook my head, “that’s a simile.”

“Okay, Ivy, okay, a simile,” he placed his hand on my hip. “You’re pretty like a barium cloud.”

“That’s another simile."

"It’s beautiful, I promise,” he said and used his free hand to grab me a drink.

I smiled, “I’ll take your word for it.” I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

I guess we all have our own sorts of poetries.

Control isn’t always manifested in the most obvious ways. You can slap, sure. You can pull hair. They work just fine and they have their place.

But sometimes something a little less obvious is good. Because violence doesn’t always have to be so…violent. You can make me feel owned by shoving my face down into the bed, but you can do it by doing something kids on the playground do, too.

Kissing: The new slapping. Maybe.

I like and am simultaneously completely intimidated by the prospect of being shared between two men. I know it’s super silly to be like “damn that’s a lot of penis”. But, really, damn. That’s a lot of penis.

I guess it’s totally the same as a man and a woman in terms of having two people to pay attention to. But I guess I am just vaguely overwhelmed at the prospect of how much penis that is.

This 2 am penis anxiety brought to you by the people at thinkivykink.

This is actually some of my favorite stuff right here.

I’m small in stature and I like having someone’s arm across me like that, emphasizing how holdable and moveable I can be. I feel held, possessed. I like the strength behind being pulled into someone that way, even if it is gently.

That spot on my neck is my sweet spot, especially from the back. I melt. I absolutely melt. I give over to it so quickly that I barely even put up any attempt at a fight or a last effort to maintain some sort of dignity or composure. I literally can’t help it sometimes.

And together? Well, I guess you can imagine.