Same.
Um are you saying you found something cute for us to play with when I come visit?
sir
Me, in the middle of dirty talk: Well, there can’t be any other girls, because women are a commodity in this situation.
Sir: You just want all the attention.
Me: No! It’s just…
Sir: You just want all the boys fucking you.
Me: No! Shush!
Sir: I caught you. You just want all the dick.
Sir just introduced me to Mr. Pete, my newest porn crush, who is like if Jason Segel were a mean, tattooed dom.
Hell yeah, now you can’t unsee it, either.
In the kink community, I don’t go by my real name. There’s a number of reasons. But, one of the strongest is the fact that several of the people who regularly attend munches are undergraduates at the institution I teach at. While I feel relatively safe with this group, I’d rather not put my job at risk.
A lot of people in the community don’t use their names either, and there’s no issue with it. But, one tiny problem is the fact that people like Pup have met me under a real-sounding but totally false name. I just felt better going by a normal name as opposed to Sprite or Dolly or something. So, it can be easy to just assume that the name I use is my real name.
After the whole Jenga fiasco, Pup asked me out to get some lunch and try to diffuse the awkward. That afternoon, I was running a little late (I couldn’t pick out an outfit, sue me) and he ended up showing up while I was half-dressed. I managed to throw myself together and let him in, but then I couldn’t find my keys and as I was wandering my apartment I said, “get your shit together, Ivy” except by Ivy I mean I used my real-ass name.
We just kind of stared at each other for a minute before I said, “so, yeah, that’s my name.” I then told him Sir’s real name, which was a relief and made everything easier because the name Sir uses in the scene is Pup’s real name.
“Well, now we’re both assholes,” I said as we walked to lunch, “you bled on me and I used a fake name. So, we’re even.”
Pup laughed, “don’t worry about it.”
We had a nice lunch, and afterwards Pup asked if I wanted to go back to his place. I sent Sir a text making sure it was all right if I played with Pup, and the two of us walked back to his apartment.
When we got to his bedroom, he asked if I wanted to have sex, and I explained that Sir and I had a whole arrangement about that, I’d like to get to know him better first, and that it would require me discussing it with Sir in something longer than a text.
“That’s fine,” Pup said, “I’ll just take some time to learn you.”
What he learned pretty quickly is that I’m super sensitive to biting, even though I like it. The next day, I’d found a few tooth imprints on my shoulder.
And what I had learned, or at least was pretty surprised to discover, was that Pup could make me cum surprisingly fast with his fingers. Which is strange, because usually I have a little trouble cumming with new partners because I get nervous. But, somehow, I was suddenly cumming before I even was aware that I was going to.
Was Selfie a triumph of television? On one hand, no. Its writing was trite, its portrayal of a generation was more or less archetypical, and its episodes left a lot to be desired.
But it’s probably the first time I’ve ever seen a relationship that looks like mine on television. I fussed so much about when I saw porn like that, and then to see that sort of representation on mainstream television meant a whole lot to me. To the point that I watched this fairly average show just to add my head to those demonstrating to sponsors that, hey, yeah, you can make an Asian man complex and sexy and give him a white woman as a love interest and we’ll watch it. Because representation is fucking important.
So, I’m disappointed to see it go. Especially since things were heating up last episode.
(Look at that grab, yo. That intense stare. That nervous swallow. Hell yeah.)
As much as I’ve loved exploring playing with other partners out here, I miss submitting to Sir so much. Nothing compares to it.
Can we discuss the fact that the real (ok not really) casualty of the accidental bloodplay Jenga evening was actually my famous semi-sheer dress?
I wore it with some really cute lingerie underneath (gotta be prepared) that blended in with the pattern just enough and Sir kept joking about what a little slut I was.
Well, during the whole mess, my dress wound up getting irreparably torn.
So, yeah, Pup has a scar on his thumb and the see-through dress is now a dishrag. Siiigh.
One of my favorite things about tumblr is the fact that I’ve made some really amazing friends on here. And one of which, the lovely mirrorscape, got into a cute conversation with me about a dirty version of Jenga inspired by Ashe Maree’s adorable Jenga gifset. Over the summer, I received a package from her, only to find she freaking MADE ME A DIRTY JENGA GAME.
Every block had a special task to do (she’d even consulted Sir for ideas!) and there were cute punishments for toppling the tower. Of course, the rules required consent, but in the absence of having fun consenting partners when this arrived back in the spring, it ended up just sitting on a shelf.
That is, until Pup and his girlfriend came over to hang out with Sir and I, and we ended up pouring some drinks and playing Dirty Jenga.
At the time, I’d only been out on two dates with Pup and I was still rather shy. What’s more, I’d never introduced Sir to one of my partners in my new city before, and I was totally worried about people actually getting along. And, on top of all that, I was fairly sure Pup’s girlfriend and I were on all right terms, but I was still kind of nervous navigating a friendship with a potential partner’s primary.
But, the game ended up being sufficiently fun and only about 15% awkward. A lot of the time, it was just the couples doing stuff to each other because we’re super boring and shy like that. At one point, I had to suck Southern Comfort out of Sir’s navel which is disgusting and honestly if you’re going to take a body shot out of somebody’s bellybutton pick something a little less saccharine and awful.
However, by the time we restacked the tower and went in for another round, we started getting a little braver. I got to slap Pup, which put this glint in his eyes that made me get all scared when I had to get slapped in return, but thankfully Pup’s girlfriend did the honors. I ended up getting spanked by Sir, then bit-gagged (wah), and Pup wound up getting blindfolded (but I think he was totally peeking whatever).
The third time around, I toppled the tower and got hogtied. I was super bashful about the whole thing and ended up hiding my face in Sir’s lap, and I wish that this is where stuff got majorly hot but instead this is where stuff got weird. Sir had used a ziptie to attach my wrists to my ankles, and Pup went to slice it off with his pocketknife when I started to get a little sore.
Suddenly, I felt something wet and warm on my back through my dress and I heard Pup’s girlfriend start freaking out. I wasn’t sure who’d been hurt, but we’d all been drinking a little bit and a knife legitimately should not have been brought out at this point (yes, this post is now a lecture on BDSM and safety).
Bottom line: Pup cut his thumb and had to get a couple of stitches. My dress somehow got ripped in the chaos that ensued. There was blood on the floor in my kitchen and, yeah, it was kind of the weirdest night ever.
So be safe, guys. Seriously.
There’s this guy I know who gets a little too excited when I wear yoga pants.