I Am an Attention Slut

That’s right, i am an attention slut.  i fully own that – revel in it actually.  My body craves caresses; i love being stroked and patted and smacked on the butt.  You may have guessed that about me.   And maybe it’s just another sub trait.  But today –  

My kitchen is filled with the scent of roses, and my body is still tingling.  The roses traveled better than i expected, carry-on luggage, wrapped in a wet washcloth.  My body –

O, my…

My body’s been rubbed and polished til i feel like i shine.  He stroked my mind too, while He stroked my pussy, probed my head and heart as thoroughly as the wetness between my thighs.  Caressed me with His words as He cruelly tugged and pinched my nipples.

But let me go back – back to Friday morning, back when i thought i was almost ready to get dressed.  Complacently thinking i had plenty of time,  i got an IM from Him. 

“Do you have a blouse that’s low cut and buttons down the front?”  He asks.

i have to run check, but i discover, yes, i do.

“Wear it,” He say.  “No bra.”

“No bra?”  i’m appalled.   “But – but…”  i try to talk Him out of it.   After all, i have a new bra for the occasion – it’s really cute –  puh-leeeeese – i’ll look soooooooo much better.

He is unmoved.  No bra. 

So then i have to scramble around and find something to wear over the blouse that still opens in front but covers the fact that i’m not wearing a bra.  Trying on outfits, running up and downstairs – no time to be nervous.  

At last i find something that works reasonably well.   There is a moment of anxiety at the security gate when i think they might make me take the jacket off, but it passes.

So i get on the plane in my short black skirt, blouse, and jacket.  O, and my off-black thigh hi’s.  Yep, that’s it.  i snatched up a long shawl – a cape-like thing – at the last minute in case i needed to cover myself.

Sigh.

That seems so long ago, when i was still nervous, not sure if the trip was a mistake. 

Now, i would not trade a minute of it for anything.  Not the anxious rush to find the clothes He wants me to wear.   Not the moment in the restaurant when He lifts my skirt, casually rubbing my bare ass.  Not the moments in the parking garage –

After the airport, on the way to a restaurant – He pulls into a parking garage.  i know what He is doing.  He had warned me.  But i had not been sure He meant it.  Now, i see that He does.

He pulls into a dark corner of the garage – the overhead light is out.  There are no cars parked around our space.  He turns to me – “I want you to get out, and meet me in the back seat.  Can you do that?”

i nod.  Yes.

The back seat is almost big enough for me to stand upright, He’s sitting of course.  He puts a sunscreen over the side window so .passing cars can’t see in.  He directs me to straddle Him.   i obey, legs stretched open over His lap. 

He kisses me – many times we kiss –  gently, tenderly, deeply, passionately – til i am warm and comfortable and happily turned on – and then –

“I want you to take your clothes off, and lay over my lap,” He says.

My breath catches – O – He had told me He would do this, but – o, my – but – “Really?” i say.

He smiles, but o, yes, He is quite sure.  

And i do.  You knew i would – He knew i would – and i do, i take my clothes off – well, my skirt and blouse, He lets me leave the thigh hi’s. 

I want your head here,” He gestures, “and your ass here.  i want to be able to reach your ass.” 

And i catch my breath – and for just a moment, i wonder if i’m insane – if i’ve totally lost my mind – and then –

i do it, i lay my body along the seat of the car, draped over His lap.   His thigh presses against my pussy, raises my ass.  He rubs it, gently caresses –

i sigh into it – it seems like so long since i’ve been touched like this – patted, petted, and stroked.  His hands are large, one hand almost covers a butt cheek – he strokes and rubs –  and then –

–  i feel his hand raise, sense it – wait for it –

WHACK!  He brings it down on my butt. 

Mmmmpf. 

And again.  O, my.

And again.

He pauses to rub and caress, then His hand falls again, stinging, heating my skin, making me cry out, making me moan.

“Yes, that’s good,” He says.  “You can make noise here, spanking’s too loud for a hotel room.”

And i know – lying there across His lap, naked in the back seat of an SUV, i know i’m in the right place.  i know this is just the beginning of a weekend of heaven for an attention slut.

 So i’m changing what i call Him.  He’s not BR anymore – that was kind of a private joke anyhow, probably amusing only to me.   A while back, He commented on my blog, and He called Himself, “Master of the Revels.”   It’s the perfect name for Him, so from now on, that’s who He is.  MoR for short.

Anyhow – i’m way behind on answering comments on the blog, and reading OP’s blogs, cause i really spent the whole weekend naked with Him and we had lots of other things to do, some of which i’ll tell you later.   And i’ll catch up on everything as soon as i can… 

Hopefully i can do that while the endorphins He stocked me with are still filling my body with warm, fuzzy feelings… 

A Picture’s Worth…

I’m Here

Important things first – i decided to go with a pair of flat, casual shoes and pack my CFM shoes in my carry-on.  As it turned out that was a good plan.  In my excitement driving, i got distracted and took the wrong exit.  Got caught in rush hour traffic.  Of course, envisioned missing my plane, even though that was pretty unlikely.

But by the time i got to the airport, i was all freaked out, and then i had to park in long term parking, so i had to walk miles.  That was when i knew i’d made a good shoe decision.

The flight was uneventful – always a good thing.  And when i got off the plane and tried to call him – it went to voice mail.  Fortunately, he had text’ed me where he was.  So i stopped just long enough to put on my CFM shoes and headed for baggage claim.  Walking a little slowly, but steady enough.

He had told me he’d be wearing a purple shirt.  And he was – barely purple, but enough that i could tell it was him.   And –

—- he had roses.

A couple of dozen beautiful red roses.

i actually saw him before he saw me, so i had a chance to take it in, and to fit the reality to the voice on the phone for a moment, and then he looked in my direction.

i was walking slowly – no carpet and 4 inch heels – and he looked uncertain for a moment, so i smiled and then –

– he smiled back, and i knew it would be ok.

But beyond ok.  Way beyond ok.

So, you know, there’s lots to tell, and not much time –

Cause he’s waiting for me.  In bed, behind me.  Waiting not too patiently.

i’ve had a small spanking to start the day, little love taps, but there is more to come, and {laughing} i wouldn’t want it to turn into punishment.

But i can tell you – the thing he said about the booth in the restaurant?  He was right.  He couldn’t actually get a finger inside me at that angle.  He could, for sure, keep me distracted while i tried to eat.

And all my concern about safety?  So far the biggest danger is that i’ll overdose on endorphins.    i’ve been stroked and caressed and spanked and stroked some more… more touching than i’ve had in a long, long time.  And more waiting for me.

So don’t worry about me – like he said, as he was pressing the vibrator against my clit -he says, “i know this is tough – it’s a lot – but i think you can do it…”

Yep, i think i can…

In a Few Hours…

…i’ll be in Where-He-Lives, or at least at the airport.

Yikes.

Have still not resolved my shoe dilemna.  After talking to him last night, i was all set on my black heels, which youall have already seen pictures of, but it’s cold and rainy today.  Boots would be better.  Or not.

 Maybe i’ll wear my boots and put my black heels in my carry-on, change after i get off the plane. 

i’m wearing a really cute black skirt, which is kinda short, and i thought i was wearing this one sweater, but i tried it on last night, and it doesn’t really  work.  So i’m back to the drawing board, just trying not to make myself crazy.

The good news is – i only have to worry about one outfit.  See –

– He decided He wanted to pick something for me to wear.  Have me change at the restaurant – yeah, like my fantasy… and he ended up buying a couple of things – so –

So i don’t actually have to pack any clothes.

Well, He actually directed me not to pack any clothes.

{laughing}  How cool is that? 

i’m delighted, and maybe charmed.  

It’s not that he bought me clothes – it’s not about the clothes, you know.  It’s the – the gift of it.  Does that make sense?  He spent time picking stuff out.  He put time and energy into thinking about what He wanted and what i might want and what might work, and i think it’s incredibly sweet.

And exciting.

i know – they might not fit. 

He says we can exchange them.  

If things go well, i won’t be wearing a lot of clothes anyhow.

And the worst thing that could happen is He stands me up and i end up in Where-He-Lives with only the clothes on my back for the weekend, right?    i’m pretty sure He won’t do that, and if He did –  that’s why God made thrift shops.   So even that wouldn’t be the end of the world.

i’m taking a suitcase though, and i need to go put something in it, i spose.  And it’s time to exercise.  And shower.  And all that. 

Sadly, it’s raining today, which does not do good things for my hair, but there’s no point in fretting.  BR has been IM’ing me off and on all morning, so i’m calmer than i might be otherwise.

And i woke up to the nicest e-mail from Donna, sending me off with a blessing.  So i start this adventure just the way she said  “With an open mind and open heart…” 

The Day Before

So this time tomorrow, i’ll be throwing the last items in my suitcase, leaving my cats plenty of food and water, and trying to decide what shoes to wear.  Cute shoes or boots are essential, i think, but it could be a long walk through the airport…  decisions, decisions, decisions.  i shopped for some new ones last night, but didn’t find anything.

And then, as i was trying on this adorable pair

Like this, only i think they might have come up a little higher

even though i knew they wouldn’t work, I looked at my cell phone to check the time and realized i was running late for an important appointment.

***********************************************

Warning:  i’m about to go into details of personal grooming.  If you don’t want to read it skip down to the next asteriks.

True confessions – i hate to shave.  Hate to.  With a passion.  i don’t shave my legs – haven’t for years.  i epilady.

“What’s that?” you ask.

The epilady is a diabolical little device that rips the hair out by the roots.

Yes, it hurts like hell when you first start using it.  The only reason i started was because my husband had bought it as a gift and i didn’t want it to go to waste.  And at first, it took forever to do and was pretty painful – not in a good way.

But after the first few times, it doesn’t hurt so much, and you don’t have to do it more than once every couple of weeks, and the hair grows back soft instead of stubbly, and less and less grows back all the time.  So i’ve been doing that for so long it only takes about 5 minutes to do and doesn’t hurt at all.

i have not always shaved my pussy.   That wasn’t – i don’t know – let me ask youall – did women do that much back in the day?  Back when i was young – 30 or 40 years ago – i don’t think they did.  If they did, it was another one of those girly secrets that i wasn’t in on. 

i mean – i shaved enough that hair didn’t show with a bathing suit.  And i’d done it completely a few times over the years to add a little excitement to things.  But my first husband wasn’t into it enough to make it worthwhile.

{i warned you this would be TMI, didn’t i?}

Anyhow, so it’s only within the last 6 years or so that i’ve done it halfway regularly.  And MM, my first domly type, and B, my dom husband, both did it for me. 

B particularly would make an elaborate ritual of the process, involving hot washcloths, and me laying on a blanket in front of the fireplace in the winter, which was fairly exciting all by itself. 

But then i got divorced, and there i was.  On my own that way too.

Sigh.

So i shaved, when there was occasion to.  And didn’t do it very well, i’m sure, because i hate to do it. 

Finally, in desparation, i decided to try getting waxed instead.   i thought about using the waxing stuff you buy yourself, but i’d tried that on my legs before and i was terrible at it.

So i let my fingers do the walking, and ended up in a beauty salon in a fancy shopping mall with a little dark-haired woman who promised a 15-minute Brazilian wax.  

Yikes.

i’ll skip the most intimate details – let me just say, the first one was a little bit over 15 minutes, and yes, when she rips that wax off, it hurts like hell.  But it was bearable.   The second and third times hurt much less. 

It’s not a perfect solution because it doesn’t really last long enough inbetween, but it works if you’re not seeing someone all the time anyhow, and it lasts perfectly for a couple of weeks.

So i was pretty content with that solution, even though it was an additional expense.  But – the woman i was going to talked the entire time she was working on me.  Which would have been ok, but almost every thing she said grated on my nerves.  She shared her political views, her opinions on tattoos, and warned me about urban legends with all the intensity of a prophet.

i couldn’t take it.  i didn’t want to argue with her, right?  She’s working on this sensitive part of my body; i don’t want to annoy her.  i tried going away in my head, but really, that just made me lock in to the ripping sensation she was creating.  It was just annoying.  

So i decided to try someone else this time.  Made the appointment.  Got off work – went shopping – start to try on shoes – realize i’m running late and race over to the salon. 

So – ‘Nilla, this might be a scenario for you, athough not the one i was thinking about telling you yesterday.  

i get to the little neighborhood mall where the salon is.  It’s mostly dark – the stores and offices i can see are almost all closed, except for a restaurant that’s doing a nice business.  i have to go around back to find the entrance to the mall part of the building – if “mall” isn’t an exaggeration.

So it’s just a little strange.

The salon is the only thing open in that part of the building, the lights are even dim in the hallway.  There’s a young woman, all by herself, on the phone.  She tells me she’ll be right with me, and continues to describe a payment plan for electrolysis – or something – to whoever’s on the phone.

But soon she’s with me.  We are alone in the office.  She tells me to take off my pants, lie on the table, and cover myself with the towel.  

She leaves the room for the 30 seconds it takes me to do that.  When she comes back, she says, “Now, you know, we’re not doing wax – we’re doing sugar.”

Huh?

She goes on to explain – wax has harsh chemicals, this sugar process is natural, leaves your skin softer and healthier, blah, blah, blah.  But at this point, i definitely thought of you, ‘Nilla, and wondered what would happen next if this were a ‘Nilla story…

Fortunately for me, it wasn’t a ‘Nilla story, so no men came in to take advantage of my helplessness on the table and she didn’t choloform me and have me sold at auction or anything.  {laughing}

She did, however, torture me with this combination of sugar, lemon, and water, which supposedly rips the hair out by the roots – at least, she said it does, and it sure felt like it.   She says it’ll be easier next time…  i would hope so.

And she didn’t make toxic conversation, so that was worth a lot.  And i’m – you know – waxed and ready to go.  {laughing}

************************************************

Ok, the grooming part of the story is over, thank you for your patience…

Since some of the comments yesterday reminded me to stay safe, i wanted to assure everyone again that i have safety precautions in place.  i have an elaborate system of safe calls that i use with my family, which i won’t describe here because that would kind of defeat the purpose.  And i know someone who lives in the area who would rescue me if i needed rescuing.

 i feel safe with BR.     He’s been sensitive to what i need as we talk or IM, and for a lot of reasons, i feel good about this.

AND i’m not so locked into thinking it’s safe that i won’t pay attention.  i will pay attention, and will do whatever i need to do to be safe.  So i reallly appreciate the concern – and can say “don’t worry about me too much.”

You know, there’s a blog post a young woman wrote called Schrodinger’s Rapist.  Addressed to men, it lays out the harsh reality that for women, every man is potentially a rapist.  She highlights the ways that men can reduce our risk – and ways that they – and we – ignore the fact that we are so much at risk. 

It’s an intense piece, and funny too – if you want to read it, let me know, i’ve got it as a word document and would be glad to send it.    In fact – here’s the first part of it: 

Guest Blogger Starling: Schrödinger’s Rapist: or a guy’s guide to approaching strange women without being maced

by Sweet Machine

Phaedra Starling is the pen name of a romance novelist and licensed private investigator living in small New York City apartment with two large dogs.  She practices Brazilian jiu-jitsu and makes world-class apricot muffins.

“Gentlemen. Thank you for reading.

Let me start out by assuring you that I understand you are a good sort of person. You are kind to children and animals. You respect the elderly. You donate to charity. You tell jokes without laughing at your own punchlines. You respect women. You like women. In fact, you would really like to have a mutually respectful and loving sexual relationship with a woman. Unfortunately, you don’t yet know that woman—she isn’t working with you, nor have you been introduced through mutual friends or drawn to the same activities. So you must look further afield to encounter her.

So far, so good. Miss LonelyHearts, your humble instructor, approves. Human connection, love, romance: there is nothing wrong with these yearnings.

Now, you want to become acquainted with a woman you see in public. The first thing you need to understand is that women are dealing with a set of challenges and concerns that are strange to you, a man. To begin with, we would rather not be killed or otherwise violently assaulted.

“But wait! I don’t want that, either!”

Well, no. But do you think about it all the time? Is preventing violent assault or murder part of your daily routine, rather than merely something you do when you venture into war zones? Because, for women, it is. When I go on a date, I always leave the man’s full name and contact information written next to my computer monitor. This is so the cops can find my body if I go missing. My best friend will call or e-mail me the next morning, and I must answer that call or e-mail before noon-ish, or she begins to worry. If she doesn’t hear from me by three or so, she’ll call the police. My activities after dark are curtailed. Unless I am in a densely-occupied, well-lit space, I won’t go out alone. Even then, I prefer to have a friend or two, or my dogs, with me. Do you follow rules like these?”

She goes on from there…  and i share it here only because i want to assure youall that i’m as aware of the risks as anyone.  Super aware.   i work with people who have  had really bad things happen to them.   

So enough of that for now – on to exercise and shower and so on and on – til tomorrow…

 

And Now…

…there are only two more days before i get on the plane and fly off into the great unknown.

Mick’s concern yesterday that i might be putting too much pressure on BR with my fertile imagination has already proved to be completely unfounded.   BR sent me an e-mail yesterday evening with a set of instructions for my arrival – believe me, our fantasies are feeding each other at the moment.

i won’t go into a lot of detail – i’ve hit that “omigod, i’ve got a zillion things to do before i leave” point, have been working late, and need to be back in early, so not much time.   But –

  – He says i’m to call him as soon as i get to the airport, and talk to him as i come to him. 

It took me a minute to realize that those instructions mean that he could – theoretically – give me instructions as i’m coming toward him. 

O, my. 

And –

– i’m not to wear jeans, he wants to see my legs as i come toward him. 

You know, just him saying that sends little shivers of thrill through my body.  Yikes. 

And that’s just a bit of what he’s said.   Trust me, he holds his own in the developing fantasy realm.

He also reminds me frequently that i can say no, and that i can walk away at any point.  So i don’t feel pressured or uncomfortable in the least.  

And all i gotta do is get through today and tomorrow, do my zillion things i have to take care of, pack (more on that another day) and be at the airport Friday morning.

But throughout the day, i’ll find myself wondering  –

  Why does he wants me to talk to him as i approach?  Do youall think he has some plan?  Or does he just want to make sure i don’t get lost? 

i can’t wait to find out…

 

Soon…

In just a few more days – three, to be exact – i’ll be getting on a plane and flying to Where-BR-Lives.   What an adventure that’s gonna be – no matter what happens.

For starters, i haven’t flown since – omigoodness – since maybe 2002.   A long time ago.  So that’s kind of exciting.  i like to fly. 

But yes, i expect the adventure will really begin after landing.  And i’m trying not to anticipate too much.  After all, i could meet him and think – “ummmmm, no.  Bad idea.” 

But really, it’s hard to imagine that happening at this point.   Not just because of the time-and-energy investment.  Yes i will have just flown to a different state to meet him.   And i could still walk away.

But i’ve come to know him over these last weeks.   He’s funny, and he can be cranky… and – there might even be a touch of romantic in him.

He turns me on, and he makes me laugh. 

With three days to go, i’m amazingly calm.  Haven’t started packing.  No panicky sense of “i’ll never get everything done that i need to do before i leave” yet.  And i’m trying not to anticipate too much.  Trying not to set up expectations that neither of us could live up to.

But you know me – i still have to imagine.

***************************************

We finish breakfast, which i can barely eat, distracted by His hand between my legs.    At times, he just lets His hand rest on my pussy, and that quickly became comfortable.  But as soon as i takw a bite or two, a sip of coffee, He begins again,  exploring my hot, wet pussy.

Fingers pressing, rubbing, caressing – it’s all i can do to chew and swallow my food.   Trying to keep my face impassive so everyone who walks by won’t know what’s going on.

And talking – we’re talking at the same time, so i’m in this constant state of change – listening, chatting, thinking – turned on, about to moan, omigod, omigod – listening again, trying to answer, omigod…

And it’s familiar, cause this is how He is when we talk.  i recognize this man.

He turns to me.  “So, whatdya think?  Do we go on from here, or do I leave?”

i’d almost forgotten that Him leaving was an option, since i’d discarded that idea in the first half hour.   So i shake my head no.  “Let’s go on,” i say, adding politely, “If You want to too.”

“O,  I want to,” He says, “There was never any doubt about that.  So let’s go – can you walk in those shoes ok?”

“i think i can.”  i laugh, an image of me like The Little Engine Who Could flashes through my mind.

He stands, i scoot out of the booth, which is more complicated than it sounds.  Normally, i scoot like women were taught to do back in the early 60’s, before the sexual revolution {laughing.}  But seriously – you know the move – you scoot your legs,with knees together, then slide your butt, then you legs, and so on.

Only today, um, my butt doesn’t slide so smoothly, cause there’s no skirt between me and the booth, only flesh.  So it feels strange.  And He’s watching, acting like He’s being helpful, ready to offer me His hand, but watching closely.  Which makes me self-concious anyhow, and it feels like it’s taking me forever to just get up, and then He says,

“Don’t keep your knees together like that.  Open your legs as you come out of the booth,” and that makes a flash of heat run through me, my pussy throbs and clenches and i lose all concentration on what i’m doing.  Omigod.

And i pause – i’m hanging right there, frozen for a second – open my legs?  Glancing around, who’s gonna see this?   And then, yes, of course i do it, and finally –

i’m out of the booth, standing, getting my balance on what feels like 9 inch heels.  Yikes.  Ok, yes, i can do this.  Weight on my toes, one step at a time.

And once i get into the rhythm, it’s easy.  i make it to the car without any problem.  He opens the door for me, a gentlemanly gesture, i think, until He says,

“Open your legs wide as you get in.  i want to see your pussy.  Make sure your skirt’s up so i can see.”

– and omigod – yikes – sheesh – i’m looking around – really???

 Ok, the car door and His body are blocking the view for the most part – sure – what the hell – i don’t know anyone here anyhow –

          – so as i start to sit – my ass on the seat – instead of swinging my legs in together –

                            i open them.

                                   Wide.

One foot in the car, one on the ground –

i pull my skirt up just enough –

               to show my pussy – exposed –

                         – open –

                         for Him.

Posing, i wait – wait – and then –

“Good girl,” He says.

Smiling, i pull the other leg in, and He closes the door.   

 

It’s my Birthday…

…and a holiday!  Well, it’s not actually a holiday for me, my work doesn’t close for President’s Day, but i took the day off, so now it’s a holiday for me.

This time last year, i was just beginning to talk to The Man i First Called Sir (FS.)   Have i told youall that story?  It’s a great story.

FS and i met on a vanilla dating website.  i don’t know what i thought i was doing at the time.   There i was, divorced for a while, and spending my time on vanilla dating sites.   O – but i didn’t even know fetlife and collarme existed back then.  Ok, so i didn’t even know about the options.

Anyhow.  FS messaged me and we exchange messages, although his tend to be brief.  i’m not sure i’m interested, so that goes on for a while.  Then we talk on the phone, and i discover that he’s smart and funny and never at a loss for words.   After a couple of conversatons, we agree to meet for a drink, possibly dinner. 

He picks a restaurant in the part of town where i live, which was sweet.   And i dress with great care, although i’m also really sure nothing will come out of this.  But – 

– we have had a conversation about boots.  My boots.  O!  And it’s boot week on Mick and Molly’s blog!  Hmmm.  Let me see if i can get a picture of the boots…

  

Taking that picture was a little tricky, but there they are, what i think of as my cute boots.   i have other boots, but i love the corset-like laces in the back of these. 

Anyhow, i didn’t actually wear those boots the first night i met FS, i was saving them for a next date, if there was one.   i only mention them because at that point the only thing remotely sexually intriguing about him was the interest he’d shown in my boots.  O, and a little brief message exchange we’d had about lingerie.  But that was it, and he’d apologized for the lingerie discussion.

O, wait, one other little moment.  He sent me directions to something – for something?  i don’t remember now.  Some kind of directions.  And after i followed them, he’d messaged me, “You take directions well.”  And something about that –

i thought on it for a while, before i messaged back, something like  “But good directors are hard to find.”  

And  that was it – just the tiniest tingle there. 

So we meet for dinner in this middle-of-the-road restaurant and have a pleasant meal.  And i begin to wonder – am i attracted to him?  At this point, it’s been a really long time…  And –

– the guy i told youall about, the one who lived about 12 hours away that i’d talked to for a long time and then he came to visit and there was no sexual spark at all – none – that had already happened.  So really i was starting to worry just a little bit that maybe i’d lost it…  Maybe there was never going to be any zing in my life. 

So i decide to check. 

i know, i’m an impatient slut – your point?

We are sitting across from each other in a booth for two, so the table between us isn’t that big.  And his hands were on the table.  So all i did was –

i say – “i have a favor to ask you.” 

He says, “Yes?”

i say, “Is it ok if i touch your hand?”  

Well, you know, he wasn’t going to object, that was ok with him, so i did it – i just touched his hand, lightly.  And kept touching it.   Sort of exploring it, so to speak.  

And pretty soon, i can tell he’s having some reaction to that.  And i am too.

So that goes on for a while, and then he returns the favor.  It’s incredibly sensual and erotic. 

Later, JM, the amazing analyst, would say that we’d blessed each other with touch, and really, we did. 

But that night, just to make it even better, we talk about it. 

“I didn’t know what you were looking for – what you expected.”  He says. 

“Well, i needed to know if you had any reaction,” i say.  “i mean, if you didn’t, better to know now.” 

“Yeah, but that could have gone the other way,” He says.  i raise an eyebrow, questioning.  “You could have gotten offended if I reacted.  Some women might have been testing to see if i reacted and then gotten pissed off, like, well, that must be all he’s interested in.”

“That would never have occurred to me,” i say, laughing.  “But i see what you’re saying.”

“It really wasn’t fair,”  He says.

i lower my eyes, trying to look demure and repentent, but totally teasing, i say,  “i’m sorry.  “i’ll never do that again.” 

And he says, “Yes, you will.”  His tone of voice grabs my attention, time slows down, and i look up.  He’s looking directly at me.  “You will,” He says, “when I tell you to.”

And while i’m still reeling a little bit – i notice my heart beating faster and – omigoodness, is my pussy wet? – he changes tone and goes on to talk about something else. 

Whew.

Then we realize the restaurant is closing – they’re about to start vacuuming  around us.   He walks me to my car, kisses me good-bye, and sends me on my way. 

Leaving me with those words in my head, “Yes, you will.  When I tell you to.”  Wondering – is he?  Could he possibly be?

****************************************

Well, that seems like a really long time ago, even though it was only a year.  My life has changed so much.  Birthdays are a good time for looking back – and i have so many wonderful memories…

Thanks, FS, for all the paths you started me on.  We had a lot of fun.

 

 

More on Mainstream

The comments on yesterday’s post gave me lots to think about.   For what it’s worth, any urge to “come out” to B, my hairdresser, was mild and fleeting.  As thesubmissivebf pointed out that might simply make me the next topic of gossip.  Plus, i’m just not likely to do that anytime soon.

I really found myself wondering what it would be like to be able to casually do it, like the slave that B met.  To disclose it, apparently without a thought.  

Sin’s comment sounded appalled – or maybe it was a challenge –

“Yes I do think it’s becoming more mainstream. And I also think that a secret shared isn’t a secret anymore. How much of your secret would you not mind being common knowledge. How much really needs to be secret? That’s something to think about isn’t it?”

i don’t know.  For now, it’s all secret – well, except it’s not because there are people in real life that i know who know “about me.”   Mick and Molly, of course, but beyond that, there’s at least one person who crosses over with my vanilla life.  

Donna,  Mick’s “Southern Correspondant” and my friend, had a lot to say.  I’m going to put it here so you don’t have to run over to “comments” to look for it: 

“In many ways, it’s a dangerous game. With the conservative wing and religious right growing longer and stronger talons politically, this may be a time to enjoy one another, but lay low. If there happened to be such a creature, I would probably be a card-carrying member of conspiracy.com. In that vein, I would say it is easier to shoot down a flight of birds once flushed from the reeds by what seems to be a friendly sound. My Hubs and I are open to a degree, but we are in a situation where neither employment nor children would be impacted.

We recently became aware of a legal situation in which a woman’s partner was arrested. She needed emergency room care for a kidney stone and some bruising across her back and butt were noted and the police called. Had she mentioned to her physician earlier that she was into a bit of BDSM, the doctor could have produced those notes and probably halted the situation. So is it the right thing to tell your physician, or is keeping quiet there, too, important. It is way past confusing for me.”

She’s right, i think, and for the most part i am laying low.   But i think it’s important for our health care professionals to know, to avoid situations like the one she describes.  Not that i’ve told mine…

The same goes for therapists, i  think.  If you can’t tell your therapist about your kink, you’ve put up some barriers to really doing the work of therapy – in my opinion. 

Which is why i intend to be on the Kink Aware Professionals list.  Being on the list doesn’t mean that you are kinky, just that you’re aware that being kinky isn’t necessarily a problem.  So i’ve been mentioning that to people i know who might know people who could use that kind of therapist.

And have gotten interesting responses.  One woman wanted to take some of my cards – which of course delighted me – but it seemed like she was  looking at me with a new eye.  Speculative, if you will.

Another friend commented, “That community is really laying low.  I mean, I’m sure they’re around, but you never hear anything.  They must be really secret.”  That made me laugh, inside, not out loud.

i totally think Donna’s right – there is danger in being exposed.  Lots of stigma.  Risk of all kinds of bad things.  And yet –

 – For me, that’s always balanced with a pull to openly be who i really am and to gently say “fuck you” to anyone who doesn’t approve.

Sigh.

i know.  Not a good idea. 

But i also won’t be held hostage by the idea of being discovered.   Fortunately, i don’t have enough money for anyone to think they could blackmail me.   i’m not a politician or a public figure, so there’s no big pay-off there.  If it made the news, it would be a one-day wonder.

If it happens, i promise not to take anyone else with me.      

If it were to happen, it would not be the end of the world. 

It might be embarrassing.  There might be unwanted consequences.  Still.  i’d brazen it out, one way or the other.  

i might say,  “Well, of course i’m into a little kink – aren’t we all?  What’s your point?”

Or i might say, “That blog?  O good grief – that’s all fantasy.  You don’t really think that stuff happens, do you?”

In any case, i believe that the vanilla world conspires with us not to know what’s going on.  i think it would be easy for people to dismiss the information,  and pretend they didn’t know.   

But i’m not seeking out exposure, no.  And i won’t.  i will lay low and enjoy what we have…

****************************************************

Sitting next to Him in the booth, with my skirt hiked up and my legs spread, naked ass and fresh shaven pussy pressed against the plastic seat, i feel His hand move up my inner thigh.   The server is there beside the table, smiling, and He orders coffee and a glass of water for me.  Milk for the coffee, not creamer.  

We have not looked at the menus.  i don’t know that i can eat anyhow.

The server moves away and His hand moves further up my thigh.  He’s talking at the same time, chatting about what we’re going to do next, asking me if i want lunch or breakfast.

i can’t think, can barely answer. 

His hand is on my pussy now, His thumb pushing at the outer lips, spreading them open.   i am wet and slick so it’s not hard to do.  A finger presses at the entrance to my pussy.

i’m trying not to moan.

i will NOT moan.  Not in this restaurant, with people around us.  i bite my lip. 

His hand explores.  Fingers sliding in the folds of  flesh, slipping in and out –

        – slipping in and out of my pussy,

                                     of my hole –

                                                 hot and dripping

 and i think i’m going to die from pleasure.  Right there on the seat of a booth in a family restaurant.

“Are you thinking about what you want to eat?” He asks.

And it’s all i can do to answer, “No – ” and i laugh a little – “No, i’m really not.”

“What are you thinking about?” He says, and He’s smiling.  He turns toward me in the booth, and one hand brushes my breast, just touches the nipples, which are hard, pressing against my bra.

i laugh, to keep from moaning.  “i’m thinking,” i say, almost gritting my teeth, “thinking about what Your hand is doing to me.”

“My hand?” He says innocently.  “What’s my hand doing?”

Ok.  Fine.  i can do this. 

“Your hand between my legs,” i whisper, “Rubbing my pussy  Making me sooooo hot.  Driving me crazy.  That’s what Your hand’s doing.” 

He grasps my clit between one finger and thumb, and tugs gently. 

Omigod.

i think i will come out of the booth – i think i might cum right here in the booth – i think if He keeps this up, i’m going to embarrass us both. 

He releases me, and i giggle.  “Omigosh.”  His hand is resting lightly on me.   “Do we have to eat?” i say.

The server arrives with drinks.  i wonder if i’m blushing.  i wonder if i’ll make it through this meal …

************************************************

 Had to come back and edit this after an IM from BR.  He says:

the angle is not quite right for getting a finger in you when sitting side by side…laughing…sorry to be such a disappointment…but unless you are built differently than most…the angles not right…not that we wont try…still laughing

Sigh.

Ok,  fine..

{Laughing}

 

Heading for Mainstream?

i was getting my hair cut yesterday – well, cut and colored actually.  So there’s lots of time for conversation with my hairdresser, B.  B’s been doing my hair for about 15 years now, and we’ve been trading life stories most of those years.  She just broke up with someone so we were discussing dating options, on-line sites, and facebook.

A while back – several hair cuts ago – she and her then-honey had gone to S. Carolina to meet a group of people that she’d connected with on FB.  As far as I could tell, the only connection was FB and that they wanted to get together,  about 20 of them from all over the country.

So yesterday, referencing that gathering, she says, nonchalantly “And this one girl said that she used to live with this man and that she was his slave.  Really. It was like he owned her.  He could do anything he wanted with her.”

I manage a non-committal, “Really?  Hmmmm.  Interesting.”  

B goes on, “O, yeah.  Carol Ann was all over her.  She said, ‘You’re worth more than that!!  Don’t you let them treat you like that!’   But this girl didn’t see it like that at all.  I think she really liked it.  And you know, that’s ok.  If that’s what she wants…” 

My mind is reeling just a little – trying to imagine saying, “O, yeah, i’m into that too.  I like that Master/slave stuff too.”  

But i don’t.   Instead, i listen as B goes on to tell me about “dominatirixes” she’s met on FB – and in real life.

This is all going to be mainstream,  totally commonplace someday, isn’t it?

*****************************************

On a whole different note, i imagine:

Sitting beside Him in the booth, my skirt hiked up so my naked ass is on the seat feels a little unreal.  Of course, His body hides me from being seen by customers and staff walking by.  

We’re chatting, as if this is the most normal thing in the world.  Talking about my flight, and his trip to the airport, and the hotel and whether or not we might go to a museum or not.  He had tasked me with finding out where the nearest Starbucks is, and i’m able to report on that.

Then, right in the middle of this comfortable flow of conversation, just as the seat is warming up and i’m forgetting my naked ass, He says, “Open your legs.”

O.

Yes.  Of course He had warned me this would happen.  But really?  i swallow hard.     

My legs feel heavy.  Can i even move them apart? 

My hands are resting on the table, He takes one between His hands, rubs it gently.  “Open.”  He says.

And i do.  i don’t even know how i do it.  Overcoming my awkwardness, my own discomfort, i focus on lifting my feet an inch, moving them further apart –

– which spreads my legs open, and my pussy throbs.  In closer contact with the seat now, my pussy lips are pressed toward the bench.     

He smiles.  “Good,” He says.  He’s looking casual, glancing at me or not, as if we’re just sitting there.  As if His hand isn’t on my thigh.

“I’m going to touch you,” He says.   

“I’m going to touch your pussy,” He says.

“You need to look normal, like nothing’s happening, right?”

Omigod, omigod, omigod.

“Yes, Master,” i say, but my heart’s pounding and i can’t imagine how i look.   i hope i look impassive.

His hand moves farther up my thigh, and i spread my legs wider to give him easier access.  i want His touch. 

I want…