My sent emails XVI

Hello UseMeForAnything,

You read my profile, yes? For an MBA level educated man, reading a couple of sentences shouldn’t be too much of a stretch.

“…have been involved in submission for over 25 years.”

If this is true, then why didn’t some kind Domme teach you in the first 5 minutes that women really hate it when strangers offer themselves ‘to be used’? What we hear is ‘I have an itch and want someone to scratch it… you, oi you, lady, you, yes you… you’ll do!’ It’s hardly surprising that it feels objectifying and very offputting, is it?

If I am not looking for a submissive, as of course you read in my profile, and you do not actually want to discuss anything like normal human beings, then what is it you want from me?

Ferns

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Thoughts on casual play

I have a dilemma about casual play and it’s the reason I stopped doing it, haven’t done it for so very long, and don’t do it as a rule.

In play, I need and *want* to create the bubble, you know, ‘the bubble’. That intimate, hot and lovely space that exists between me and him, that place that I describe, well, all the time. For me, play is about creating impossible intimacy, about opening him up and shoving my fingers into the wet stickiness inside. It is about those moments when there is nothing else, when all that noise is gone, when all the voices in your head that question and doubt and incessantly talk are made quiet, when it’s just the two of you. That.

When I play, I want to create that bubble, shove him into it, and then I want to climb in after him and be all over him in it, to rub it all over my body and wallow in it with him.

I *need* to create it to get what I want out of play. I reach for it, I work for it, and when I get there, I adore it, it is what makes play amazing for me. Without it, it’s really just ‘stuff’ and it doesn’t work for me: *Thwak thwak… hiss whisper… shove push… yawn*.

In casual play, being in the bubble makes me feel an intimacy that doesn’t quite fit, and when I have created it, it is half done because I can’t fully get in it, I hold back because I know that what I feel in it isn’t real and I can’t give in to it. But I reach for it anyway, I want it and I push for it and then… and then…

Getting into that intimate space with someone casually hurts and confuses me. It doesn’t seem to matter that I know this, that I know exactly what it is, how it happens, why it happens… it makes not a whit of difference. Despite the knowing and the reasoning and that strangeness, I think I fall a little in love in those moments with a boy who can give me that, and I find that sad making.

I know this sounds melancholy, and it is, a little. I wish it wasn’t like this, I wish I could do casual with nary a thought about it, enjoy it for what it is, turn off those parts of me that make it swim around in my head (for fuck’s sake, just stop fucking thinking!!). In the end, it reminds me of what is possible and how incredibly sweet it can be, it reminds me of the point, which in turn, makes the play kind of pointless.

He asked me if I would like to do it again.

I really don’t know.

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e[lust] #25

Welcome to e[lust] – Your source for sexual intelligence and inspirations of lust from the smartest & sexiest bloggers! Whether you’re looking for hot steamy smut, thought-provoking opinions or expert information, you’re going to find it here. And in this edition you can read all about the best sexuality conference of the year (ever?), Momentum, in a one-time-only Editor’s Choice anomaly: I couldn’t choose just one, so I chose them all! Want to be included in e[lust] #26? Start with the rules and subscribe to the RSS feedfor updates!~ This Week’s Top Three Posts ~Where We Are It was only supposed to be about the fucking. I don’t know how I convinced myself that it could be. I fretted before we began, about how I could ever possibly separate sex from emotion.

The Edible Slut His hand made an audible crack as it connected with her ass, loud in the dim bedroom. Did he really sink his hand into her hair, turn her head to face him, and shout, “Stop being such a brat!”

Beyond BisexualI don’t identify as bisexual, because I am interested in so many more people than just two of the variety of sexes or genders out there. Except, that is a word that a lot of people understand.

~ Featured: Momentum Conference Posts (Lilly’s Picks) ~

An Extraordinary Gathering (and a Gathering of the Extraordinary)
Finally! A Real Momentum Post
Inspired by MomentumCon
#mcon Rehash
Momentum
Momentumcon, Part One

~ e[lust] Editress ~

To Be or Not To Be….Anonymous, That IsIf you’re out or decide to be out….you’re not just outing yourself. You’re outing them all. And did they give their consent? Probably not, I’d guess. And even if they did give their consent could they even have a clue what consequences there will be?

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Rope play

He wears black boxer briefs, also a rope corselet in white, a rope pentagram harness in white and red, a collar, wrist and ankle cuffs, a ball gag, a blindfold, he is kneeling.

I clip his wrist cuffs to the rope at his belly, I examine the ties, the loops, the smoothness of the rope around him, reach between his legs to pull the ends forward, through his legs and up to attach it to the d-rings on his collar, I pull it tight, I am touching him, exposed skin, my knee pressed against his groin.

I stroke the rope that slips around and around his body, tug on the knots to watch him react, I see something change when I put pressure on the rope attached to the collar and pull his face towards me, he reaches for me, I feel it awaken.

I pull his sightless face to me, his mouth stretched silently open around the ball gag, I touch my cheek to his gently, then explore his face softly with mine, his breathing changes with this intimacy, I brush his skin with my cheek, I nudge gently at his nose with my nose, I let my lip catch on his, he leans further into me, moves his head to find me as I change positions, as if he would kiss me if he wasn’t blind and mute. I can smell the desire in him rising, he shifts on his knees, a shuffle, leans further forward to reach for me, he is hard up against my knees now, I place a hand on his chest to stop him toppling over. His almost imperceptible movement, his unseeing search for more contact sharpens my focus, makes my heart beat a little faster.

I do this for a long time, travelling his face with mine, inhaling him, drinking in his reaction, it is a silent exploration, feather touches, tender, subtle, almost nothing at all, I can feel how it gets inside him, he is sending me waves of want, it crackles between us, it is a gentle and powerful hotness.

Finally I whisper in his ear, “How are you doing there?”

He tilts his head to press his cheek against mine, nods, and the moment slips away.

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I only…

You and me, we come from different worlds
You like to laugh at me when I look at other girls
Sometimes you’re crazy and you wonder why
I’m such a baby ’cause the dolphins make me cry

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Introduction…

I shall call him richie.

We have caught up three, maybe four times in the last few months. We eat, we drink, we talk. We have spent quite a few hours together, we get along well, but we are not a romantic relationship match.

He is a pretty boy, who thinks he is not. He doesn’t look in the mirror and see who he is, but who he is not.

He has no experience, is scared, his trust in me is a gift, it feels tentative. As much as this play is about me exploring some rope play, it is also about gentleness, warmth, safety…

I want him to come away feeling like he has been in a space with infinite possibilities, a starting point where the next step to reach some of them is doable and positive.

I want him to come away feeling better, stronger, more confident, perhaps to believe that what he seeks is ok, is achievable.

I want him to come away thinking that maybe he is that pretty boy, maybe, just a bit.

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