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snowylinenlandWell, 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.
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.
