Lubricity

Because I didn't log it earlier, a revelation:
The Canadian got me off! On Monday night. Himself as well, of course :)
And it was splendid.

Things that did it:
- Fucking in three sessions, spread out of the course of an evening together at his.
- Lots of discussion about how he wanted to be touched, how I wanted to be touched. What turned on us on. "So when I do this, this does something for you?" "Oh yes, yes, that does". This led especially to my directing him ("you should play with my nipples now, and feel how I get wetter"), and to him trying things that I told him would get me off (biting me already).
- Ferocity. I don't know if it's our dynamic, or something he does more broadly, but my basically roughhousing with him - fighting him off, blocking him, trying to flip him over - totally totally a turn on for him. Specifically, he gets off on pinning me down and physically controlling me...which I'm totally okay with. Which he now *knows* I'm totally okay with as well, which may help.
- Equally, he's finally understood viscerally that I do have *quite* something to contribute - my arms on his body, grabbing his ass, guiding him in, setting the pace and changing the angle when he's on top. When I've said I wanted him, I meant it. That does mean buried deep as possible in me; that does mean he can pick me up and shift me, and I will stay on his cock. Not a problem (and totally hot).
Interestingly, I think I may have taught him something new (or just discovered with him something new about us) - that my riding him, a sexual position he stated didn't do much for him, totally does do something for him. It's just a question of finding angles that work well for both of us, of pinning him down and kissing him, biting him, of getting his hands on my breasts. So yeah, he does like being fucked by me, despite him thinking he didn't...
- Experience? I'm probably more experienced than him (despite him having 9 years on me), and certainly in better physical and emotional shape than him. When discussing endurance/the experience afterwards, he noted that he'd figured I could 'go longer' than him, and it's true. I do think he's got a better sense of what the advantages of that are now, though... (That the longer he can draw it out, the slower and sweeter I'll fuck him, and the better it will get. This became very, very clear Monday night.)
- My coming. Only from his cock, and from being held very tightly to/around him, and from being partially crushed by his body - pushing my constraint buttons. It bodes well, especially if it's repeatable. He said he was daunted by the notion of my needing two points of contact; I hope it becomes clear that's not something to be daunted by.
- He thinks my touching myself while he fucks me is hot, which is good, because I certainly think it's hot.
- He babbles inaudible fierce sweet nothings about how hot the experience is, how hot I am, when at the heights of ecstasy. I'd love to have been able to hear the details of what he was actually saying... (Hurrah for finally breaking his own emotional control, though.)
- When asked what especially worked for him, one of the things he specifically mentioned was feeling emotionally close (beyond my being physically glued to him, wrapped around him, holding him as tightly/closely as I could.) This makes sense; we have an easy, comfortable relationship that's never been discussed or acknowledged as an ongoing relationship (which is my problem with the next point), but it's clear we care quite a bit about each other. We send each other 5-30 emails a day; we don't keep our hands off each other when we're together. We're not in love, but I don't see any reason for us to stop doing what we're doing. I'm certainly still comfortably fascinated with him and the way he interacts with the world.
- no condom. Wonder how much that actually affected this; it's certainly my preference, but slightly worrisome doing that with two people. (Need to have a chat with D about this.) Also only something I do with partners I'm in an ongoing relationship with with huge amounts of trust. (Will need to point this out to the Canadian, probably leading to a relationship discussion.)
- New factoid: spanking. For him, it's the sound that he likes. I'm fairly apathetic, but since he clearly responds well to the opportunity to produce this sound, I will be encouraging him.

He's back in the country on Sunday; I leave for three weeks on Thursday. I would be thrilled if we got at least another night like this in before I go.
My other conclusion is that my boy is quite possibly just kinkier and more emotionally conservative than I was expecting - vanilla sex alone doesn't distract him enough (drive him sufficiently to a fog of lust) to avoid a freakout, while casual sex may just not be a thing he's interested in or capable of doing at the moment.

Weekend of exhausted sexual glory with my Oglaf boy
New insights:
-we seem to have similar food/sleep/fucking rhythms. Crowning joy was a mutual nap Saturday afternoon, post lunch - to bed at 13.30, awake again after 17.00. Curled up against each other, drifting off together.
-D has proclaimed "I'm not ashamed to say that this is the best sex I have ever had in my life". He's one of my best, for sure, but this also make me worry for his fiancee.
-He's discovered, which I didn't know either, that jamming one or more fingers in my ass while he's fucking me with his cock the size of my wrist (so astonishingly beautiful, this boy) that I come, pretty much instantaneously. That I flood him, despite his size. That I lose all my studied control of my volume, and mewl and whimper and growl. And that if he keeps it up, I'll come over an extended period of time.
This is a massive turnon for both of us; he gets off on feeling like he's fucking me in both holes (and the way I pull him in) - I get off on pure sensation, including a very thin edge of pain due to his size. At this rate, he will be spoiling me for sex with anyone else, ever...but I just don't want him to stop.
-I've worked out that one of the things I find really really attractive about him is a core of intensely understated self-confidence. He doesn't really ever reference it, but it's there. He has one past tense story of a career choice failing, and a lot of past tense stories of his body failing him (he has a chronic illness), but right now, things are going really really well for him.
-The boy makes me happy. I love his self-entertaining take on life, his efforts to interest me in Eve, to share things with me he thinks I'll like. (Japanese binocular football? Pandemic 2? Yes.) And I love how turned on he is by me, how beautiful he tells me he finds me, how fucking hot.
-We didn't count this weekend. It wasn't going to be necessary or pretty...after we reached 4 (or was it 5?) the first night, after I picked him up from the trainstation at 19.00
-As described to a friend tonight, "Oh, I wore this coat to go out with D. I love this coat (which I don't wear very often); it makes me feel like a rock star. Actually, D makes me feel like a rockstar."
-Yuppie breakfast together on Saturday. So so wonderfully domestic; I've missed this pace of life, the joy of fresh bagels together with your lover on the weekend.
-Comedy show on Saturday night, where we made out nonstop, and got a photo of us flashed on the main screen at some point.
-I like walking through this city hand in hand with him. I like checking him out on the bus; this most gorgeous man who's going to come home with me.
-Next up: seeing him soon. More quiet contentment, horrendously awful jokes, and a boy who brings out the darkest humor I can muster, and raises me one. And sex that leaves me incoherent jelly, exhausted but smiling furiously, the sheets ruined. (Sleeping on them still tonight as a trophy.)

The Canadian just said I "must be made of magic".  I guess that's a compliment...
(Even if he still hasn't said anything about liking me personally in any way at any point; though people who've seen us together assure me that 'oh, he's massively into you.  You can just see that.')
He has been exceptionally attentive since he came back - it feels a bit like he's decided he's going to give this a go, or maybe even like he missed me...except he hasn't said that either.  Even my "I like the way you touch me" got a "I like the way you feel[?] my touch" in response.
Sex with him continues to be not functional - two attempts yesterday (but with a good turnaround time!)  The first, he came in <5 min (disappointing, though our discussion around it was quite funny); the second, he had to stop because of pain from cracked ribs (can't say I blame him, really.)  But he really is the best snuggler ever...so I guess that's what I'll settle for.  Too gentle a kisser, too gentle in his touching of me, except when he picks me up and moves me to somewhere.  (Feels like he's been very oddly socialised, which we might actually have to have a chat about at some point.  Who both pins a partner down, pulls a partner's jaw into a kiss, flips them over...and then gives head that I can barely feel at all?)
For his part, seems he gets off on being touched very very gently, especially around his neck (oh, his ears! licking them does amazing spasmy things to his breathing), and that's as far as I've gotten in learning about his body.  Oh, and likes having his ass grabbed, for sure.  His back stroked, too.
But yes: we peoplepile together very, very well.  We kiss and nuzzle very, very comfortably.  We fuck...less well. With chemistry...but perhaps with no context?  I don't know if that's the problem.
Conclusion of last night: he's fun (skilled!) to cook with.  And he thanked me repeatedly for having him over, that he'd had a wonderful time. So I guess that's okay...

The Canadian has left a thumbprint bruise on my upper arm - I'm sure completely accidentally. It might even cause him worry, were he to know.
But:
I'm really really enjoying it.
I like the visible mark he's left on me. Visible spoor of where I've been and what I've done. He's touched me emotionally, this is just a visible manifestation.* Like a transient tattoo, a physical symbol of something intangible in the other aspects of my life. (Who I choose to spend my time with, and how.)
My view on marks, written out for D on Twitter following the December party:

(Also, someone's left deep scratches on my ass-loving the way I feel them each time I sit, stand, climb stairs, etc. Loving feeling marked.)

My marking love stems from long distance relationship: journeying back to your real life w/ physical markers is the best possible feeling

So yeah: bring on more D marks this weekend, and let's see where the thing with the Canadian goes.
(He's emailed me from day 2 of his ski vacation - my first response is to get giggly - but it's with a photo of a snowy hill, and a factual reply to a work-related link I sent.)

*Lest that sound a bit metaphysical: left to my own devices, I leave my partners exhausted and bruised. Your body is a map to how you spend your days; I prefer mine be filled with joyous fucking, on a regularly basis. Ferocious fucking, with teeth and heedlessness. Muscles you didn't know you had being sore, bite marks and bruises? These are good things to discover afterwards. No precision, no holding back. (I would say no restraint, but that's not actually true...)

don't say you need me/don't say you love me/it's understood...

Date with the Canadian for last Monday: cancelled due to illness on my part. Crashing at mine Thursday night, and date Friday night: very much achieved.
Points he has conceded:
We snuggle very well.
We sleep together very well.
And "thank you for making me feel comfortable", after he broke off sex midway to somewhere interesting, supposedly because his body was done. ("The spirit is willing, the flesh is weak.")

State of play:
Me: still fascinated. Felt midway through the week that he was human enough* for my fascination to be ebbing; actually seeing him, my fascination continues. The poor man must be acutely aware that anytime he gets close to my crotch, I am by that point dripping for him, though neither of us have discussed sex.** We have discussed how much we enjoy kissing each other, how well we fit together spooning. I'm still being slightly more aggressive than him - I'm the one complimenting his appearance, his smell, narrating my enjoyment of him. I feel a bit like I'm still easing him into the idea of having a relationship with me, of liking me, of spending time with me - that, and like there's some baggage I know nothing about, but where being gentle and understanding and patient is helpful and appreciated.***
He still hasn't said anything about liking me (in enormous contrast to D, my Oglaf boy, who thinks I'm liquid sex and tells me so), but has replied in response to my fishing for his turn-ons that so long as I keep being witty and charming with a great ass, there shouldn't be any problems.
But despite the lack of second person singular pronouns, he initiates emails and responds to them; he asks how I'm doing and tells me how he is. He's grumpy about my only being available late Thursday, and grumpy he has to work late Friday. He screwed up his schedule Saturday because "I could sit here and make out with you all day", though eventually we left (him thoroughly late.) He'd rather talk/kiss/fondle me than sleep, even on a schoolnight.
Since Friday, I trust that he's not going to disappear without an explanation, this stranger off the internet I met for the first time 14 days ago - and have met up with three times since, each time for a full night.
We've fucked so he came once now, Thursday night. Very vanilla, not very interesting to me, and he came quite quickly. I didn't at all, and he neither asked nor really tried. My enchantment with him waned significantly because of it...and then Friday, things got more interesting. When he's not being very very gentle, when he's given permission to be rough, or even when he tries something just to see how I'll respond - things feel like we could learn and build astonishing sexual chemistry. He puts hands on my neck near my windpipe. Pulls me over. Picks me up. Eats me out with wondrous patience, roving fingers. His arms are long enough he can reach my clit comfortably while kissing my lips, which is an interesting phenomenon. Before he broke off, it seemed like we'd found a way to fuck that really would have worked for me - he's small enough his cock will never hurt me (unlike D, who's mathematically difficult to contemplate) but still big enough to be meet my minimum requirements. This cock size means that he can grab me, shove me, move me WHILE FUCKING like a metronome. I so want more of this, especially the application of his (wise, methodical, deeply humorous) brain to both of us getting off. I suspect my getting off will not be a problem in the future.
He's gone - vacation, offline - for a week now; he's promised he'll give me a call when he gets back. 'Ciao bella', he signed his email with. So impersonal, so tempting to read as something special, meant for me.
And I'm still full of longing and lust; I want this man viscerally, even if it makes no intellectual sense and I'm not sure what I'll do with him if I get him.
Depeche Mode's 'It's understood' was stuck in my head Weds-Fri; it feels very very accurate, including the slightly creepy bits.

And at some point, I need to tell him about D, but I feel like that should come when he and I have a discussion about the ongoing and iterative nature of our interactions, the acknowledgment that we are having a little-R relationship.


*The boy has some interestingly masochistic, dumbfuck remove-yourself-from-the-gene-pool traits. Not things normal people would think to embark on, or tolerate once having embarked on the course of action. Stories that would case worry in anyone sane. The boy has also been (is still?) far far far more of a stoner than I have ever been, wanted to be...or have patience for. Adventure Time? (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Adventure_Time) Not at all something I can deal with sober.

**This is not quite true. We have talked around it. We have talked about rough sex, and his awareness that I quite like it. I have pointed out to him that I enjoy biting; he has agreed that he does as well, and referenced his (outrageously cautious, gentle) nibbles on me as an indication. He's worked out that I respond well to his repositioning me - his ability to pick me up, move me, brute force me to where he'd like me to be (though I don't think he realizes yet quite how much I like it...and realistically, I probably don't either. He's that much bigger than me or any of my other partners that there's probably all sorts of potential here that I will like A Great Deal.)

***I'm going to guess it's related to other current or past partners; there's definitely something holding him back. Whatever it is could still very much be a problem for me, as well, depending on what the problem turns out to be. Trust issues 101?

So the thing with drunk boy has been building since November; it's been planned since December, with great joy. The other thing ongoing since November, but seemingly not building, but rather not going anywhere at all:
My Canadian penpal.
First emailed on OkCupid on November 5, because he looked larger than life, and like he would tell amusing travel stories in return for a nice beer. It seemed like an obvious transaction. Maybe a new friend. Someone to hang out with casually. At the very least a boozy night out with someone who'd been places and done things. I can appreciate that. I'm good at that. I'm good at being fun to hang out with.
...and he didn't bite. We exchanged 43 emails between November and January. Each time I gave up on him in frustration, planning to let the exchange die, because clearly he wasn't going to meet up with me for a beer, at all, ever...he got back in touch. "Hey stranger, how've you been?"
When I persisted, I persisted out of stubborn curiosity, because of the absurdity of having acquired a local penpal I wasn't actually interested/invested in. He even became a running joke amongst my friends - he was clearly married, children, the lot.
And then the first week, he finished an email with:
"If so send me a text and let's finally seal this deal lol." (No comment on the internetspeak.) And so we starting texting. And then, out of the blue - he started flirting. "Well yay! Putting it up front: I may try to look down your top. Benefit of being tall." So I ran with it - I am a *good* flirt. I can flirt with anyone, including ridiculous tall Canadians who won't meet up with me. (Cue: 'I will /win/ this game').
What also became clear from the texting: he doesn't answer direct questions. And I'm more verbose than him. But he's very funny, and we had good conversational chemistry, in multiple languages. That was okay; I enjoyed that. I was even pretty excited about it, albeit skeptical he'd actually show, right up until the moment I actually met him.
That was seven days ago.
We met. My first response: "I'd hit that". Tall, shaved head (two rather big buttons of mine), otherwise presentable...and warm. Such warmth. Bear hug in hello. He speaks slowly, but in a way that makes me want to hear more. Hanging onto his words. That first long afternoon and evening: touches while talking, fun over food, surprise discovery of great wisdom in the good humor, easy loping fast walking together, sensible approach to my requiring my bicycle come along, a second pub, more beer, more talking, my touching him unnecessarily, my needing to leave to go do something, us kissing. Fun. Slightly strange position to be in. Enjoying this stranger, but was the kissing necessary? Fun anyway. Afterwards: impressions of great height and great comfort, intense warmth and wisdom, and so easily stereotypable. Canadian country boy. Jock. Absurdly tall. A laundry list of attributes, some amusing to me, some attractive, all entertaining. Probably significantly more socially conservative than me.
The next day was Monday. Somewhere, amidst some emailing in the course of the day, I was very direct and asked if he'd like to meet up again. The answer: for sure.
Tuesday-Wednesday. Emails have grown to 20+ a day. Such banter. The next day I'm available is Monday again (tomorrow) - which is eons away, when on Tuesday he suggests we meet up Wednesday.
20+ emails a day, Thursday and Friday. He's not a stereotype anymore, but 3D. And someone I like. Someone I find fascinating. Potentially dangerous to me. Pushed a lot of my buttons, and with interesting, considered perspectives on topics discussed...including both of us being poly. And single. He continues to be a brilliant penpal.
By Friday, 'smitten' seemed like a perfectly reasonable word for me to use. Certainly fascinated. Enthralled. Obsessed?
This is out of character. Unusual, to say the least.
By Friday, it was clear that I was still leading this discussion (as had I the OkCupid emails), but that he was responding very, very appropriately. Asked him at some point for an explanation of what he currently found attractive in females, and the description does suit me...but he has not once said he finds me, personally, attractive and compelling. The occasional comment about cute women. This is still a point of concern.
By Friday, I've found that by pointing out pointblank that he's evading direct questions, he can be provoked into answering them, though he doesn't spontaneously do so of his own accord. (But perhaps my interest is just that much greater than his - likely, as my interest seems to be limitless.)
His Friday night plans fell through, so he was added on to mine. Cocktails with friends - he behaved superbly. A gig with friends. He was snuggly and attentive. Funny or broodingly quiet. Lots of grinding dancing, lots of kissing. Constant touching. Caring, solicitous, cute. And I went home with him, abandoning my bicycle (terror and anxiety), for a very short night of storytelling and making out. Some sleep in each other's arms. Still no compliments, or statement of interest on his part, but an explanation of him being purringly happy to have me there, of not wanting me to go in the morning, of him feeling very comfortable with me there.
Warm fuzzies in my stomach even now, writing about it. It seemed like deep mutual contentment.
Memory of his face in mine, making muted growling sounds while nuzzling me. Memory of how intertwined we spent the night, the different ways we fit together, given the difference in our size. Memory of his story of the art on his walls, his story of an experience that nearly killed him. Memory of him insisting on walking me to the station so I could make my early Saturday appointment, walking hand in hand in sunshine. Memory of us stopping so he could explain the type of frost the street was covered in. Memory of the coffee we'll have some other day, because I no longer had time.
Dear reader, over the course of the last week, I have hurled myself at this man. I don't have a clue why this man, why this week. And he's taken it with seeming pleasure, except that I am still unclear whether it's just the attention, or me specifically he's enjoying. This is a source of concern to me; he's a serious emotional liability at this point.
The current plan is to see him tomorrow night; we'll see if he cancels. We'll see if we spend the night together somewhere. I would like that very much; I am for some reason utterly infatuated with the tall Canadian, and I don't have a clue why, or what course I am trying to maintain speed on.

The drunk boy is telling me the sexy dream he had about me (last Monday!)...in tweets. 140 characters, scheduled to be published once an hour until the story is over. It's an astonishingly effective way of focusing my attention on each passing minute, turning time into molasses, and completely interrupting any concentration I have near 5 past the hour (when the next one appears.)
Hottest use of Twitter ever.

So while I'm here anyway, some thing that have caught my attention recently:

-Party last night, where I kissed the drunk boy, I also had a really interesting discussion with a woman who was a pro-top, not a pro-dom. The distinction really really resonated - I'm a bottom, but I am emphatically not a sub. I'd even say I'm an easily bored and bossy bottom - if I don't like what's happening, or it's not working for me, then I'll absolutely intervene and make it more interesting for me. It's best when my partner is also getting off on what's going on in some way, and I'll do everything possible to accommodate them getting off, but my interest in either psychological power play, and especially humiliation, is pretty damn non-existant. It's phenomenal to finally have words for my little corner, as I experience it. So while I'd love to find someone to play with who will, say, tie me up and fuck me (or even not fuck me), I've no interest in being told I'm a naughty schoolgirl who's pissed off daddy while it's happening. Cue righteous feminist rage at that...

-Texting with the drunk boy! Very exciting, even if it's unlikely to lead to anything, as he lives far away, and is as complexly partnered as he is. And I know nothing about him. But he's stated that future snuggles could be available, which is very attractive in my current frame of mind.

-Poly. Ran into Kitty Stryker's post on poly people (http://ht.ly/7FMDg), and specifically the quote "I was polyamorous for a while, until I realized that I'd have to date poly people, and I don't have enough Vicodin for that". That does sum up my problems with the whole scene - most of my love life has been carefully organised to avoid all drama, and especially in people I'm emotionally attached to. I've got so many better things to do with my time. So her definition as non-monogamous, rather than poly - that makes so so much more sense. Equally, I've recently met a couple that describes themselves as 'classical swingers' - they're both allowed to play with other people so long as the other partner is involved in some way. That's also way more attractive to me conceptually than conventional poly relationships (certainly as I've experienced them. I tend to be fairly single-focussed when in love with someone, while still being up for random sexual adventures. It just fits with my wiring so much better. And I'm much happier with there being some discretion in my sex life - an open poly label would probably bother me immensely. It's been one I've avoided in the past, no matter how many people I was dating.)

-Absolute horrified two weeks ago to discover that when I dumped L, I put all of the fantasies that he'd slotted into (basically anything involving a sexy, willing, adventurous partner I liked and trusted) in a box and slammed the lid shut. No wonder I was so adrift, especially in my masturbation, the last few months. I wouldn't/couldn't enjoy my own favorite fantasies. It took going on a group bike ride with a bunch of dedicated cyclists to force my attention to the fact that 'Oh, yes, I do perve on cyclists' (and one guy very much in particular. Gorgeous gorgeous ass and legs, gorgeous titanium single speed.) I'm appalled I'd jettison nearly all of my fantasy life as part of a damage limitation exercise *without even noticing it at the time*. I've been slowly letting cyclists (and the sorts of adventures I, um, enjoy) back into my fantasy life the past two weeks.

-This slamming shut of my sex and fantasy life as a damage limitation exercise also explains my current fuck buddy, who is wonderfully satisfying in bed in an ultra vanilla way, but who I only jumped into bed with because he's deeply deeply emotionally unthreatening to me, going so far as to be really unattractive to me. But he's enthusiastic and adept in bed, and plugged into a mature and happy swinger's scene, which seems to have socialized him in ways I appreciate for a fuck buddy of mine. (Heck, he even used one of my lines on me: "Now, you're not allowed to fall in love with me". No chance, buddy, but it's very sweet.)

-And finally, so long as I'm reviewing all of my previous assumptions about my sexuality, I'm now also reconsidering my bi-ness. I'm definitely more attracted to men, at least so far. There's a reason I've never slept with a lady (and not just because I find them intimidating). I really really enjoy men, however. I've been invited to an orgy in two weeks that will be largely ladies, which will definitely be my first, into the deep end exploration of the lovely times available with ladies...and I have to say I'm really really looking forward to it. I'll report back when it's over...
But for now, maybe some variation on hetero-flexible is a more useful label...or queer, since I do find androgyny hotter than most other things, and I do have those 3 years of dating genderqueer people, without being bothered by it. (I'd do so again, except that I'm not currently interested in supporting the probable mental health issues that will come with that, which makes me an utterly horrible person.)

This morning's epiphany? I'm starting to get skin hungry, finally...and it's a problem. My basic (quite high) physical contact needs aren't being met, and it's turning me into a vector for social chaos. Kissing the cute drunk guy at the party last night, for instance. He was very cute, very drunk, and very insistent. Slightly creepy, much more flattering. And lovely to kiss. But I asked the wrong question beforehand - I asked if, given his social relationships with the other people at the party, anyone would mind us kissing. He said no. What he didn't tell me til afterwards (til she came and sat next to us), was that he was there with his girlfriend, and that his girlfriend was also dating the hostess, who I don't know very well. Will I ever get another invite from her? I doubt it.
Fuck this.
So I have a perfectly lovely fuckbuddy who works for me, but who I deliberately don't see very often (for to keep that relationship on the right footing, and because he's sufficiently wrong for me that it grates after a bit.) I need more contact. Upping the amount of time I spend with him isn't a solution. More cuddle piles? More people to curl up and sleep with platonically? More people to fuck? How does one procure these again? I haven't had to since, oh, 2002-2004. Hopefully I'll have more social skills now to do this functionally; or know more people who can assist.
In the meantime, I am absolutely 100% going dancing on Thursday; that should help a bit...

Well, dear readers, I have now broken the seal on sleeping with someone else post L. The person in question: B, my date of two weeks ago off OkC. I emphatically wasn't planning to, but it was a great decision from a skinhunger/getting laid/feeling powerfully sexy perspective. Our two dates so far (plus two chats) each saw us spend far longer than intended with each other - the first, a museum trip, became nearly 9 hours of museum, lunch, a long walk, a train trip back to the city center. The second, yesterday evening, was meant to be an evening of dancing, and instead became 22 hours of: dancing, late night fried food, talking til 4am, snuggling, kissing, making out, heading to the bed to 'go to sleep', massage, topless massage, more making out, and as the sun was coming up, I decided I was comfortable enough (most important) and did want him badly enough for penetrative sex, despite having said no earlier in the evening/morning (I was dripping by then, though, and the line between what we were doing, naked as we were, and having him in me was very fine.)
Like L, he's a talker - and I'm enough of a listener to get off on it. Words have power. Consider this a newfound appreciation of people who narrate how the sex feels, what they want to do to you next time, how they hope to come. You learn about them from all of it; I need to get more comfortable doing it back for them, since they both appreciated it enormously when I do.
On the sex itself, he's sufficiently well hung, outrageously enthusiastic, and pleasingly experienced. Wants to learn all about my body. So clearly grateful and delighted to find himself being ridden by me - it left me feeling like a force of nature, a goddess, something that was happening to him. Dear readers, I am a good lay. I am a damn fine lay. And I do know it - I can and will knock the socks off of anybody. That's what rebound sex should be about.
He doesn't come easily, nor do I (though I did come the first time, purely from his cock, so hurrah), so I foresee lots of delicious fucking in our future - playful rather than purposeful.
The way he finished himself off is not one I've encountered before: he wanted to kneel straddling me, feeling me fingering myself ("your knuckles pressed tight against my balls"), while he jacked off all over my stomach and chest. I suspect his trouble with orgasm comes from decreased sensation from condoms, but that's the parameters within which we're playing - if he wants skin, then he's going to have to find himself a girlfriend.
Speaking of us playing, what I learned while lingering at his house yesterday and today, snuggled up with him on his sofa: he goes to playparties. He even hosts play parties in his house, with his main casual sex partner, A. He's invited me to join him on any of them, and I probably will. I first got excited about going to play parties in 2002, always intending to go with Bear in fall 2003, but never quite making it. Hurrah for a trusted tour guide to a new world.

By the time we were finished, his sheets were wrecked. His brand new mattress, which I've now helped christen, is far too squishy to properly fuck on - it's almost at waterbed levels of wobbly. We christened his new sofa today - also slightly too squishy for sex (disappointing in new furniture, really), but still very nice feeling overall.
I now have sore muscles at my hips from keeping my legs in the air, sore muscles on my back from being ground into the edge of the sofa, I'm still dripping wet, and a completely fucked sleep schedule. But I'm content, even pleased. This was very nice. I now have someone I can call for guaranteed entertainment and ferocious enthusiasm, the next time I want to get laid, the next time I want to feel worshipped like the sex goddess I am.
And in the meantime, I'll flirt with lots of other people, just because.

Reasons we shall not ever fall in love:
--physically ugly to me. Does not tickle me aesthetically (dressed or undressed, though he's better when I'm not wearing my glasses.)
--very geographically rooted in a specific neighborhood of this city. He owns his flat, he's just renovated it, he's not going anywhere, and would never want to. This boy does not understand wanderlust.
--fiercely dedicated to his career/passions. He's built and sold companies; he's competed at the national level in his hobbies. It shows in his social life, and a bit in his social skills. I'd like to think I work to live, not the other way around.
--Politically deficient. Seems to be completely apolitical (or carefully didn't discuss it because we have opposing politics)
--Aesthetically deficient. His newly renovated flat is a hodgepodge of gorgeously executed ideas with no stylistic coherence. He dresses like he's going on 65; dressed, his body looks like he is, too.
--No food in his house. Seems to live off of junk food and prepackaged sandwiches from the supermarket. Instant coffee.

And just as importantly, I'm not his type. I'm not what he falls for. He asked a couple of times, unprompted, to confirm that I wouldn't fall in love with him, and wouldn't want to marry him. Unless this was some sort of weird reverse psychology, then that's 100% where I'm at. Those are *my* usual stipulations; it's refreshing to hear them come from someone else. Per always, I'm allowed to fuck him because he won't take it seriously - it's a joy to be back in such a situation.