not your best

Something happened last night that did not feel good.

I was on a date, at a man’s apartment. Things had heated up and I asked him if he had a condom. He said he did not like wearing them. That they made him go soft. I told him I was ovulating. This apparently meant we were at an impasse.

He tried to go down on me but soon stopped all activity and just wanted to cuddle. Then he said he wished I had told him sooner. He would not let me go down on him or try to do anything else. He wouldn’t even talk. So I just laid there with this guy’s arms clamped around me until I fell asleep.

Except then I had to wake up a couple hours later, because he doesn’t do sleepovers. Or condoms. Or god knows what else.

I got crushed by a wave of sadness that had been lingering with me for the last few days. He kept apologizing – he was sorry if he had upset me.

I left in a sad cloud. He texted in the morning and apologized again. Sorry if he’d upset me, not necessarily sorry that I was sad.

Now my sadness is starting to melt into anger.

adventures at the poly mixer

The other night I went to a poly party with a married guy I’m dating. It was extremely fun.

I paid for all his drinks because he asked and because I was his sugar momma. That was delicious. He knew several people at the party. I was nervous but still enjoyed meeting (and flirting with) everyone.

Then my date went to the bathroom. The second he left, another guy I’d been sleeping with appeared with his girlfriend. It was the first time I was meeting her. They were both shockingly awkward and introverted. She glommed onto me and said it was hard to talk to people. She was not wrong.

The last time I’d seen her boyfriend, I was sucking his cock in my apartment and feeling weird about it.

He had told me stories about her. That she would bring women over to their apartment for them both to sleep with. That she’d alert him about this with a text that said “yay daddy, sluts!” The first photo of her I saw was of her asshole. What can we say, her boyfriend is a charmer. No he isn’t.

Now I was meeting her, and she was wearing a long black turtleneck, talking about how terrible alpha men are, holding onto my arm.

We are multidimensional.

When my date re-emerged, E and his girlfriend disappeared. My date suddenly needed to leave because his wife had texting saying she was sick. He did not seem happy about this. I mean why would you. But apparently he had wanted to invite himself over to my place. Instead we snuck in some kisses at the subway.

When I got home, I felt like electricity was sparking out of me. Adventure and potential. Who knows.

full moon trance

I am back from paradise and last night I had sex.

It had been several months since we had seen each other. An entire summer. And yet his voice purring out “I missed you so much” was enough. Like velvet.

It took me 85 years to finish. Some moments felt like shooting out into space and leaving my body. Then I would slingshot back and worry that I had left that body too inert while skyrocketing through pleasure.

Every time he exhaled, his moan vibrated all over me.

The sweaty sheen that appears over you. Even if you don’t think you’re doing anything. But in reality my entire body was pulsing, thrashing with periodic electric shocks. Feeling everything so deeply for hours.

Toy after toy. He had one that vibrated and one that mimicked a sucking sensation. I think they made things a little too sensitive. Eventually my own hand was enough.

There’s a strange trance to sex. And he seemed intent on building it. With the music in his apartment, and the various rhythms of his mouth and fingers and body. I guess it was my role to melt into that trance and become the instrument he played and pulled pleasure out of. But sometimes I snapped back into the moment. Felt guilt. Selfishness. Anxiety. Until his mouth did something new and I melted back into the trance.

When it was over we stared into each other’s eyes and he ran a hand through my hair, softly, over and over.

“I want to pull out everything any shitty boyfriend ever did to you.” he made a motion like he was pulling it out of my hair. “Any moment that ever made you feel small. I want you to know that you are beautiful.”

His voice melted on the last word and I felt tears in my eyes. I just nodded and said thank you.

And then I learned he is monogamous. Who knows what will happen here. But the moment was beautiful.

whatever the opposite of horny is

I told him yes I’m a voyeur. That I like to watch. He took that to mean I like to send naked pictures. I was more thinking that I like to secretly watch people touch each other from my window across the street.

He asked for a photo and I sent one. Not naked. The stakes are so much higher with these things for me than they are for him. He sent me a ridiculous photo of him with a towel barely covering a set of abs. Instead of slobbering over them, I felt anxiety. As if I was waiting for the other shoe to drop and for him to not find me attractive.

No that is not healthy but at least I’m recognizing it.

It was a few photos later when I realized he is not good at sexting and I wanted to stop talking. I had made myself anxious over seeking the approval of someone who wasn’t even turning me on.

It took me until I wrote that down just now to realize how weird it actually is.

a tale of two ghostings

Sometimes I am stubborn.

…often I am stubborn.

Yesterday I went scrolling through my matches on this kinky/poly dating app. I landed on a man I’d met over a month ago. We had a fine date and sex (except he was too big and his dirty talk was too much like baby talk for me personally). He told me he was going to Denver but would text me when he came back about having dinner. Then I never heard from him again.

According to his profile, in a little over a month he went from being single and unsure about non-monogamy to being poly and partnered. Which is fine, of course. But after being ghosted by this person, seeing that felt weirdly painful.

So I did something passive aggressive. I “disconnected” with him. The app tells them when you’ve done that. I’ve had it done to me and it doesn’t feel good, even if I didn’t like the person to begin with. But doing it to him felt great.

I felt emboldened. So I decided to do it with someone else. Even though we’d only met one time, the sex was so incredible that it had driven me a little crazy.

But then he also disappeared.

So I called him out in a text.

…no I didn’t.

“It seems like you’re really busy. I’ve missed you.”

12 hours later, a response about being busy with family things. Something about his mother. And also,

“I’ve missed you too. But know that I really look forward to seeing you again.

And tasting you.

And feeling you cum all over me.”

Makes it hard to get too mad.


yet another sexual misadventure

God I don’t even know where to begin. In the past 2 weeks, I have had more sex, with more people, than I had previously had in the past six years.

Wow it sounds dramatic when phrased that way.

I’m just going to write about one of the sexual partners for now. Wow, this is a multi-chapter story.

Chapter E.

E met me at a bar in a white line suit and immediately gave my a look like he wanted to fuck me. He is in an open relationship so I felt like the stakes were low. All this made me feel at ease. I’d told myself I didn’t even want to sleep with him.

Cut to me naked in my apartment, and him holding me by the hair and telling me how fucking pretty I am.

E invited me to a sex party that was happening a couple days later. I giddily said yes. Oh my gosh yes.

The next morning I woke up hungover, beating the hell out of myself. Oh so you’re just a straight-up slut now huh? But nothing bad had happened, no one got hurt, and I was doing what I wanted.

I was so nervous in the lead-up to the party. But curious too.

On Saturday night he showed up in another linen suit and a straw hat. It was a 20’s-themed sex party. He was nervous too. But he had taken a beta blocker and brought joints.

The ride over to Brooklyn was surprisingly sweet. The sun was setting over the city and it looked beautiful from the bridge we drove across.

He looked at my knee, bare under my dress, and asked if I’d had surgery. I said yes and he gently traced circles over my knee. I sighed.

The party was a lot. I was anxious and almost bailed before we even got there. There was food and booze and gorgeous people. E wanted to fuck me in front of all of them, and it was freaking me out.

In the basement, several beds were pushed together like a stage, full of people fucking while other people (me) watched.

One woman looked like a blonde, strong, tan porn star. She looked gorgeous even while getting her face pounded into a mattress. While she was getting railed, the strand of pearls she was wearing broke and scattered all over the bed. It was just beautiful.

Oh my god I can’t do this.

E kept pawing at me, kissing me, trying to get me to have sex with him right there, and I kept saying no. We found a semi-private corner (that still had tons of people walking by). His member was out and I stared at it for a long time, then with a sigh I knelt down and… well, you know.

We moved again, to a red room with restraints and a bed and another couple fucking fight next to us. E pushed me onto the bed. I was starting to feel better, possibly even comfortable. He got on top of me and we kissed for a while.

“Were you scared that you were about to fuck me out the window?” said the woman next to us, to the man who was inside her.

And that’s when E admitted that he couldn’t do this either.

We left the party and went to my apartment, where I went down on him for much longer. He growled things at me in a much deeper, primal voice than how he usual sounds. That growl called me a cocksucker, and I was surprised by how deeply I enjoyed being called that.

Who would’ve known. The night you go to a second party, the hottest stuff happens in your own apartment.