I knew he was into rope. I’d warned him that I have no skills with it, but that I was absolutely happy to learn with him if this went somewhere. In that way I’m like some ‘fantasy Domme’: kinks in and of themselves don’t interest me much, but HIS kinks do. Because that’s how I get reactions and that’s where I enjoy playing.
We played some with rope this time. I have a couple of books, youtube videos, even a video of myself doing a chest tie that I learnt in a shibari class (takate-kote, TK: I had to look that up, did I mention ‘no skills’?).
He stood patiently, while I carefully and tediously followed the instructions to do the takate-kote.
He didn’t mind my slow fumbling.
People react to rope differently of course. He flopped face down onto the bed once he was tied. It wasn’t clear to me at first that rope makes him languid and relaxed: that he likes to just ‘be’ in it.
I let him stay in the first tie for a short while, checking knots, stroking the bonds, touching him gently, shoving him around a bit, and then I was keen to try something else.
I undid the first tie and tied him a second time: A dragonfly sleeve. His hands behind his back, multiple loops down his arms, then my rope running down his arse between his tight little cheeks, around to the front, cupping his cock, and then over his sensitive nipples, making patterns on his chest. So beautiful.
He made a show of escaping, not from the rope, but from the room. He backed up to the door handle like some James Bond villain, quickly opened the bedroom door and scampered (an odd word for a huge, built man, but scamper he did) into the living room where he flopped backwards onto the couch, a huge smile on his face. Funny.
I put cushions under his head and he lay there, content. I petted his beautiful body and he drifted off, not quite asleep, but blissfully dozy, his cock paying attention when I played my fingers against it. I kept checking the circulation in his hands, not just tied now, but with the weight of his body on them.
I’m not sure how long we remained there, but his pleasure in relaxing in my rope was palpable.
When I untied him, the rope marks were vivid and distinct, less because they were tight than because he’d been lying on them. The photos I took are so pretty, I wasn’t sure which to post.
My goodness he’s lovely.
6’3 of very very pretty…
I’m good at remote communication. Probably better than in-person. I can write thoughtful, funny, intimate emails. I adore someone who does the same, who fires me up, who is able to bring something to our exchanges that makes me excited and fascinated, that feeds me. That thing where I can’t hit reply fast enough: I need that.
I’m also good at doing long distance. I seem to do it a lot. Not because it’s a thing I choose as such (though self-examination makes me wonder about this), but because the men I really like seem to have an annoying habit of not living anywhere near me. To me, distance is a logistical and financial problem, and it can be overcome if we want it enough.
But I’m not good at maintaining interest over distance when the communication isn’t excellent. And largely that’s a matter of style and taste and proclivity, and whatever anyone thinks, frequency and type of communication CAN’T be mandated. Making a chore and an obligation out of it will not work. Ever.
And to put it bluntly: The cougarling is not good at it.
In person, he is a beautifully built bundle of affectionately-sweet viking-beast. He shows his interest and affection with physical touch which I love. But remotely, he is simply… absent.
We had a lovely voice call last Friday night after my weeks away. We reconnected, we flirted, we talked about our time together. We agreed that there is something worth pursuing here. I told him that our communication wasn’t working and that I can’t make something out of this long distance if this is how it was going to be. That I would drift away. He understood, but also explained that essentially ‘this is how he is’. I understood.
I suggested I come and visit him as soon as possible since I have the flexibility. He wasn’t keen on that idea: small town, not pleasant, he would be working.
“What are you doing next weekend?” he asked me.
“It’s a long weekend, I’ll come up…”
“But it’s a 12 hour drive… that’s pretty much the entire weekend gone…”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
He did. He’s arriving sometime Friday. He will go home around midday Monday. So we will have three days and three nights.
I’m really pleased and excited, and I do love a man who sees a problem and takes action.
Even if this doesn’t work out in the longer term, the more I can get of him, the better. I feel like I have only just scratched the surface and I wasn’t anywhere near ready to let this go yet.
The rising sun was still low over the horizon, a warm morning, the promise of a bright day. An early swim and play in the surf. I leapt at him full force, trying to take him down in the churning water. He held me lightly, amused. Could easily lift me overhead. Playful silliness.
I left the water first, drying myself on the beach. I watched him stride out of the surf towards me, the towel forgotten in my hand. The sun behind him turned him into a glowing god-like silhouette, unconscious loose-limbed grace: Tall, broad shouldered, tiny hipped, strong, beautiful. I wished I had a camera, instead I took a mental picture: it’s still a vivid image.
When we first met at a local bar, I was wearing heels. I point that out only to say that I was perhaps 6’1 to his 6’3. We sat, talked, had wine. An early little communication hiccup was quickly sorted, my reaching across the table to touch his hand to make sure we were still okay, the physical contact a small sweetness.
When we went out for dinner that first night, I was also wearing heels, now 6’2 to his 6’3. He seemed dismayed that the table was between us, I encouraged him to move his chair closer. We ate only a little of our meals, bird-like snacking, lots of talking. That night when we got back to my place, he picked me up and carried me into the bedroom as if I weighed nothing. It was hot and it made me laugh. I never get to feel petite and it’s totally a thing. Kissing and light exploration. I sent him home late.
The next morning when I answered the door in my bare feet and finally stood toe-to-toe with him, I had to look up for real, now a full 5 inches shorter than him.
“Well, look at you,” I said in wonder, tipping my head back. The height was part of it, but the man is all wide shoulders and lean muscle: delicious.
He smiled down at me. Both of us amused by the height difference. Me by the novelty of it, him by my delight in it. I seemed to say it every time I saw him and had to look up. “Well, look at you…”
He’s beautiful and he towers above me, which I just love and will never get over.
“We both know who’s stronger…” I said that a lot also when we tussled. Though I surprised him once when I managed to immobilise his legs with little effort, his comical look of surprise that he couldn’t just shift me still makes me laugh. It didn’t last long, all he had to do was lift my entire body off him to end that little stand-off.
We walked, we ate, we drank, we biked, we talked, we explored. We sat out on the deck eating, drinking, chatting, my feet nestled in his lap. He’s an impressive man, in all senses of the word.
He was keenly and wonderfully affectionate. Unexpected and lovely. I haven’t had that for a long time and I loved it. He would move his chair close to me when we sat, lean in for a kiss whenever we found ourselves paused out in the world, reach to touch me just because, drape an arm around my shoulders, seek out my hand to hold. I had almost forgotten how warm and sweet that feels.
We played: kissing, petting, teasing, denial, restraints, orgasm control. He complained about the denial. A lot. Just writing that makes me laugh. But in truth the ‘crying wolf’ is difficult for me with someone new (obviously “Oh it’s so terrible-hot” is so very different from “I’m really not enjoying this at all”) and it can be hard to tell one from the other if I can’t get a straight answer.
I asked him for impact play (he is not into pain), he asked me for arse play (after a bad experience): both were gentle explorations aimed at reassurance, not intensity. “I trust you,” he said, an offering that I don’t take lightly.
There were some stunning hints of vulnerability behind the cocky arrogance he carries in the world. Triggered by my hand around his throat, my foot on his face, moments that hinted at much more hidden underneath that I hadn’t come close to touching. The kind of glimpses that make me curious to see more.
I asked him to make me scrambled eggs one morning, and he made them for me each morning after that. Wanted to learn how the coffee machine worked. Washed dishes unasked. Made sure I had water. But oddly, he would also say ‘no’ to random things I asked of him. Things of no consequence. Perhaps pushing back just because. Perhaps wanting to be pushed. I didn’t push though, I didn’t know him well enough for that.
He was here for 5 days. Staying with me for the last 2 nights, I gave him the second bedroom. “That’s your room,” I said. He laughed at me. We played and kissed and he slept in my bed. I slept also, with this relative stranger in my bed. Unusual for me.
“I’ll leave at 9 in the morning,” he said to me the night before. When he left at 3pm, after breakfast and play and more talking, we kissed sweetly, didn’t speak of what might follow.
“You’re a good boy,” I said as a goodbye. He seemed surprised whenever I said it, no different this time. I assume he thought I meant ‘obediently submissive’ which he wasn’t, and which I wouldn’t expect from someone I’ve just met. But I didn’t mean that, I meant ‘I see you, you have been sweet and lovely with me, I appreciate you, and thank you’.
We spent about 112 hours together all up. That’s about 5-6 weeks worth of dating condensed into a very short time frame, but I still I feel as if I have barely touched the surface, skimming instead of diving deep.
I left the country almost immediately after he got in his car and started the 12-ish hour drive back home so there has been very little contact since. I feel adrift, he feels distant.
We haven’t talked about ‘what next’ yet. We will do that this week.
I enjoyed him a lot, I see potential and I don’t think we have even touched the edges of it yet. I absolutely think he’s worth the challenge of distance, but we have some communication issues that I think are going to be difficult to sort out remotely. They were evident in person, but physical proximity makes them less important, easier to deal with. They are going to be much bigger problems remotely. Sometimes distance is an opportunity, and sometimes it’s a barrier. In our case, I think it’s going to be the latter.
So, we will see where we can take it from here.
I know a lot of you are waiting for an update on the cougarling’s visit, and it’s coming.
I blame him for the lack of posting: He ended up staying until pretty much 3 hours before I had to pack up and head off on the first leg of a trip overseas, and I will have NO time to myself for another couple of weeks.
So you will just have to wait.
I know: waiting is the WORST!
In the meantime, have this photo of my hand on his beautiful arse as consolation.
All going to plan, the cougarling will arrive here on Saturday afternoon after a million hours of driving. He will stay for a few days (not with me: that’s waaay ‘too much too soon’). How long exactly depends on how it goes.
I sent him an outline of my expectations:
What I expect from the visit is that we will date like normal people dating, though obviously we will be spending far more time together than would be usual because you aren’t local so we don’t have the luxury of catching up once or twice a week over a period of time. It’s difficult not to place some pressure on this because we’re trying to decide if there’s something worth pursuing, but I want our time together to be really relaxed and with as little pressure as possible.
So we will have time together doing normal things (lunch out, a picnic, dinner, walk on the beach, drinks at the surf club, swim in the surf, a bike ride, a drive, kayak on the river, the gym (if renovations are done), a movie etc). And we will talk. A lot. See if we can keep each other’s interest, see if our relationship styles align, see if there is attraction, see if there is chemistry (both vanilla and D/s), see if it’s flirty and easy and hellishly fun. In between those things, we will go back to our respective homes and regroup, reflect on how it’s going and etc (that is, I don’t expect this to default into some 24/7 thing: it’s too much too soon even if we get on famously, I will need time to myself).
I hope there will be kissing: in fact, I might demand that early on just in case it all goes to hell *smile*. Because kissing!
IF the chemistry is right, I’d be expecting to explore some D/s to see how it feels (frankly, if the chemistry is right, I expect this to happen without any effort at all because I will be comfortable to relax and push at you a little and you will be comfortable to acquiesce), and I’d be happy to explore some play (we will talk about what kind beforehand: what I might feel like depends entirely on how we relate). I looked to see if there was a rope workshop to go to on the weekend because I thought that would be fun, but there’s not. Boo.
Let me know if that’s in line with what you were expecting and if you have any concerns or things you want to raise with me.
It was indeed in line with his expectations and he didn’t raise any concerns.
So now I just have to wait for him to show up and hope that we set the world on fire.