It’s been three days since I had an orgasm and while I’m not yet at the point of desperation; I’m wandering around in a permanent state of low-level arousal with kinky mind-porn playing almost continually in the back of my mind. (More so than usual, that is).
My libido woke from its temporary hibernation and delivered this dream, alongside my writing mojo. Welcome back to both. Please feel free next time not to drag That Guy up out of my subconscious along with you.
like all good parties, most of the action has coalesced in the kitchen. Guests lean against the counters, drinks in one hand, the other draped casually around nearby waists or scrabbling at tortilla chips. Robust opinions mingling in good-natured rowdiness against the backbeat of the nostalgic 90s Britpop blaring from the corner speakers.
I’m standing alone by the back door, trying not to sneak too many glances at him in case he notices. It’s been a long time since we split up, under not-entirely-amicable terms (for which I must accept my share of responsibility – which is most of it). He’s changed little, his long blond hair showing evidence of recent highlighting; handsome, boyish – almost delicate – Nordic cheekbones and wide blue eyes, tip-tilted nose a startling contrast to the sandy goatee and black leather clothing. My stomach flutters when I look at him. Admiration, for he is as pretty as I remembered. Apprehension, in case he is still angry or worse – disdainful. Hope. A tiny, flickering butterfly of hope. For what, I’m not exactly sure. Something.
There’s an instant when the expression in his eyes turns from adoringly playful to speculative intent. That look, as he sideslips from boyfriend to Dominant; hunger turning to command, sparks heat and a flood of wetness in response. My legs part of their own accord, my breath hitches in my chest, my mouth parts in anticipation. Signalling to him my willingness – my eagerness – to be owned and used and taken by him.
He cuffs my ankles, fastening them to either end of the spreader bar so that they are held wide apart. I’m forbidden to come until he gives permission, he tells me, his voice low and calm. Naturally, at this ominous news, I moan and squirm in excitement. It’s going to take a long time, he warns with a smirk. Unnff.
I know lots of stuff. On some specific (niche and uninteresting-to-most) topics, I know loads. I’ve learned a lot about myself too over the last few years; my character, my sexuality, my triggers and vulnerabilities, blind spots and biases. Sometimes this all gets in the way, meaning that I fall back on the knowledge I have already collated. rather than learning and adapting. There’s a small window of learning opportunity between fear and arrogance; sometimes I sidle through that window, other times I get stuck and flail about until I panic or get angry and fearful and sad. When that happens, Things I Know get filtered through Things I Feel and a vicious circle can develop.
On Friday night, I and the Fella with new and old friends, went to a fetish club. I looked and felt blatantly sexy. I wore revealing clothing, something I haven’t done in public for many years. I writhed and undulated…