He had a work function one evening.
Academia: he and his fellows were meant to be grabbing new creative talent and sizing them up for their faculty. He had shyly asked me if I wanted to go. I didn’t, of course. He knew that well enough, but he asked me anyway.
“Of course!” I said.
He beamed at me. It wasn’t just that I would provide moral support: I knew that he wanted to show me off and I love that, truly.
And I was happy to be asked. It would be the first ‘public couple’ thing we had really … Continue Reading
The first time I had him inside me. I was lounging low and careless on the couch, legs wrapped around him. We had been kissing, desperately and passionately grabbing at each other. I don’t remember our clothes coming off, or even if they were off.
He knelt before me, pushed himself excruciatingly slowly into me, joined at the cock and cunt.
He closed his eyes, his head went back, a blind prayer offered to the ceiling. He moaned. He pulled back, thrust forward again, slow, all sensation and pleasure, hands on my hips holding me steady.
I watched him lose … Continue Reading
Once upon a time, in a land far far away, my girlfriend and I were play partners with a male dominant. My limits were no kissing, no sex, no oral. He was allowed to touch me, but I wasn’t interested in touching him.
My girlfriend had no such limits, and was astride him when I walked into the bedroom we were all sharing.
He beckoned me onto the bed.
I said, “No thanks.”
He tried to convince me. I can’t even remember what he said, but I remember thinking “What a patronising bunch of bullshit”.
I said, “No thanks.”
He … Continue Reading
Laying back in the bathtub, having my hair washed and conditioned, strong fingers massaging my scalp while I close my eyes and think of others.
I see myself as an indelible mark on those I’ve loved, stronger and deeper probably, than what is really there because my imagining is borne out of arrogance and ego, and yet I think it’s true, even while I admonish myself.
The first boy who loved me did so at 16, resentfully in the end when I didn’t do what he wanted, a want that I didn’t even realise he had, and which … Continue Reading
Journals are kind of strange.
I’ve kept a journal since I was made to write one for grade 10 English class. I was fifteen. My teacher said that we could mark parts of it private, and he wouldn’t read it. He lied. I know this because he put encouraging remarks on the heartfelt teenage angst that I had marked as private. I had lamented about my small breasts when other girls had wonderful, beautiful breasts (oh, 15 year old me, you silly girl!). I remember feeling conflicted when he handed the journals back and I saw that he had commented … Continue Reading
The first boy I ever loved and I are still in touch. He lives in the UK, we catch up when we are anywhere in proximity, which of course isn’t often.
A recent situation reminded me of a sweet moment with him, of which there are many. Sweet moments, I mean.
He had invited some of his friends over for dinner. He was cooking. I was hovering in the kitchen with him, sipping a cold glass of white wine, avoiding having to socialise.
He was madly busy; chopping, mixing, checking things on the stove, in the oven. I always enjoyed … Continue Reading
Dear cute kilted boy,
I have a terrible memory for things both big and small, but I remember you.
We were at a BDSM event: I knew one person there, and nobody else. But I am pretty good at flitting around, pretending to be social.
You wore a kilt. Of course I remember you. I mean, *you wore a kilt*!
You were standing with two other men, I suspect they weren’t your friends, on reflection. They looked as vanilla as the day is long, jeans and t-shirt types. And yet there you were with them. In your kilt.
I approached … Continue Reading