Actual thing I’ve said to Pup: “Gonna give my pussy a rugburn on your beard later.”
pup
Pup and I do this thing where we have bath conferences, wherein we reserve important conversations for when we have time to take a bath together and talk them out there. It’s kind of key.
I’ve got this new kink for that thing when Pup fucks me while I’m still wet from someone else fucking me. Ever since that night we fucked right after I had sex with Rex for the first time, it’s something I’ve really, really enjoyed.
After Leo left the other day, Pup and I lazed around in bed for a while. He was a little hungover from the night before and I was about ready for a nap, but our fingers defied our bodies’ otherwise insistent exhaustion. I backed up against him and we egged each other on with furtive brushes of fingertips. Before I knew it, he was asking to enter me and I obliged, my pussy wet and ready from his touch and, more likely by how easily he slipped in, from Leo as well.
It made me feel like a sex toy, almost, the fact that my body had yielded so easily to him, the fact that I’d taken someone else not long before. I told him so and he chuckled. “You are, then,” he said as he fucked me in sharp, urgent thrusts. “That’s exactly what you are.”
I felt myself climbing towards orgasm and his hand clamped onto my shoulder, as though to steer me away. “Don’t you cum now,” he murmured against my neck. “Hold back, baby.”
For a bit, I succeeded. Until he reached down between my legs and I felt the muscles in my thighs quake as he stroked my clit. “No,” I protested, my words choked by a gasp. “Why would you…”
Even though he was behind me, I could hear the smirk in his voice. “I want to,” he replied. “So keep holding it.”
“I’m happy for you,” Leo whispered against my skin, trailing a line of kisses across my clavicle. It was Saturday night and we were in my bed.
“Hm?” I asked. “Why’s that?”
It was late; I was just teetering on the precipice of sleep, a little drunk and otherwise exhausted. Oh top of having a long week, my apartment was packed: Pup’s and my roommate’s boyfriend hanging around and planning to sleep over, Leo was spending the night. Prior, he and I had taken a long hike and had a really nice dinner together, all accompanied by one of those vast, all-day kinds of conversations I love. We’d returned to my place to join Pup, our roommate, her boyfriend and another friend of ours for a silly night of boardgames and beers. He’s met my friends a few times before – and he and Pup get along famously – so the entire evening was an absolute blast. We’d all had a bit too much to drink, so Pup opted for the pullout couch (honestly, a poly lifesaver and one of our best investments, it’s more comfortable than our actual bed) and Leo and I took the bedroom.
“Your news. I’ve been thinking about it tonight,” he explained. “I’m happy for you, but I’ve decided I’m allowed to be sad.”
I’d been saving up the news that I am moving to a new city with Pup in six months for when I saw him in person. Though I’ve been slowly but enthusiastically getting around to sharing the news with people close to me, I noticed that this was the first time I actually felt a little twinge of melancholy in relating it. It was bittersweet. I’ve been a bit too busy to update you all on my life, but things have been going really, really well for us.
“I feel the same way about myself,” I admitted. “If that makes any sense.”
That night, I’d looked around my tiny kitchen and saw, packed in around our little table, a cohort of some of the most important people to me. And I realized that, four years ago, I didn’t know any of them.
In one of my favorite songs of his, David Bowie sings: “My brain hurt like a warehouse, it had no room to spare/I had to cram so many things to store everything in there.” It’s a sentiment I’ve felt a lot lately, in taking into account the four years I’ve spent in this city. For as excited I am to move onto this new phase and the opportunities it holds, I have often become overwhelmed by the depth and breadth of the little life I’ve created for myself here. So much of my life here is no longer comprised of the things I brought with me when I first moved to this city.
“I never knew I’d need so many people,” Bowie laments a few lines later, and I absolutely get it. Because, fuck, I am going to really miss all of this.
Pup just got some incredible life/career-related news and I am the most excited ever for him. I’m waiting in an airport right now barely able to hold it together – I can’t wait to see him. I’m so proud.
However, this news means we’re probably moving to a new state. There’s the side of this that makes me a little anxious. Over the last four years in this city, I made a life. I lived alone for the first time. I fell in love with a place and with a person. I formed a circle of friends. I graduated from grad school and started a job I like (but am also kind of prepared to move on from and go into the next phase.) I made meaningful connections with partners.
So there’s the part of me that wonders if I’m willing to leave it behind and start again. And there’s the part of me – that is yelling louder, that feels right – that it’s time to start this new chapter of our lives together. It’ll push me to ask for more in my career than be complacent with my current situation. I can decide with my partners what feels worthwhile to keep going from (not all that) afar. (It is not as big of a move as it was from where I went to college to this city, not by a long-shot.) I never wanted to put down roots here. And I am young still and more in love with Pup than I am with this city.
And maybe, secretly, a little ready to move on.
We’ll see.
Pretty average Tuesday night in this household
ChatPup: I’m thinking of stepping out for a bit.
Me: *pulls him close*
Me: *proceeds to make out with him*
Me: Bring back Doritos.
Synecdoche, New York (2008) dir. Charlie Kaufman
The Firsts, Part One
We were sitting on an air mattress at a friend’s. It was arranged in a rough circle with a couch and a few armchairs around a coffee table. On the table sat the cards. I’d played with them once before, at another one of these parties, and the results were pretty damn interesting. Despite my previous success, I was nervous.
Compared to last time, this was a rather small crowd. There were nine of us in the room, and it was Pup, Leo and I on the mattress. I was wearing a tight, long-sleeved crop-top and a short velvet skirt. Because, y’know, velvet is my power fabric.
The game thus far had been pretty tame. People were drawing milder cards. It was all swapping of sexy stories, cuddling, kissing. There had been one tiny awkward snag for me when I first arrived and a guy asked:
“So, you’re Ivy, then? Not Ivory.”
“No,” I replied, furrowing my brow. “My name’s not Ivory.”
“Well, uh.” He gestured to a pretty girl talking to the hostess. “Her name is Ivory.”
(This is my attempted translation of this name thing from my real name to the name I use to write this blog. But, yeah, there was a girl there who basically had my name. But like, one letter different. It was a thing.)
Anyway, Pup decided to be a little daring and drew a card from one of the braver piles. It was something along the lines of biting a volunteer on the spot of your choice. He had been away a few days for a work trip, and had returned that afternoon. I’d missed him, I was craving him, so I raised my hand.
He slid in front of me on the air mattress and pushed my top down one of my shoulders. “Shame you’re working on Monday,” he said. His lips brushed over my neck and settled right beside my shoulder. He bit down and I tilted my head, lowering my lips to his neck to kiss it.
I wanted him. So goddamn badly.
So I laid back on the mattress, but Pup just pulled back and stood. He grinned down at me before taking a seat again.
So, a friend of mine is hosting a small, intimate naughty party at her place tonight. I was already excited to show up with both Pup and Leo, in the hopes of recreating this photo but also in the hopes of just showing up at a place with two really hot guys.
But I also found out last night that the girl I went out with yesterday will be there as well.
So, uh. It’s looking like it’s gonna be a good weekend all in all.
Pup keeps a butter knife in our freezer for knifeplay.
(Tip for those who don’t know: if you freeze a butter knife and blindfold your partner, it feels 100% sharper and more dangerous. Which can be incredible.)
Our roommate – an incredibly open and supportive and fantastic vanilla friend – was cleaning out the freezer the other day when she came about the knife. “How’d this get in here?” She wondered aloud.
"Oh, no, leave it there,“ I said. "Don’t worry about it."
She stared down at the knife for a minute before replacing it and saying, "this is some kind of sex thing, isn’t it?”
The other night, Pup tied my wrists with rope, secured them to the headboard, and proceeded to fuck me with my knees bent up to my chest.
The knots were rather loose. So when we finished and Pup said goodnight, turned off the bedside lamp and rolled over without untying me, I wasn’t remotely worried about not being able to get out. But I decided to pursue it. “Hey,” I pouted.
“Yep?”
“You’re going to leave me this way?” I asked.
Pup snorted. “You could get out of that in a minute or two. I’ve seen you get out of much worse.”
“Yeah, but…”
“Do you want me to let you out, then?” Pup asked.
“No, but…”
“Damn it, woman,” Pup joked. “Make up your mind.”
I hesitated. I didn’t want him to let me out, but I didn’t want him to admit it would be so easy to get out. I guess I wanted him to gloat about it, maybe? But it’s weirdly hard for me to communicate the whole “I want to adamantly pout and say no even though I’m really enjoying this” thing.
Which I think might tie in with the fact that I struggle to ask for what I want and just end up hoping that my partner will just, you know, guess completely accurately. Which is incredibly unsustainable, I know, but sometimes I’m just entirely too shy or embarrassed to articulate what I really want.