double trouble

“I want to fuck you while someone is watching us. I want to watch them, too, and I want to see how excited it makes you…”

These were your words. Remember?

In truth, I have been planning something like this for some time. It all started with an advertisement:

A thousand scenarios run through my mind as I type this…

Yes, it is true. I do have so many ideas of what this is supposed to be, what it may feel like. I am nervous, surprised I even ran the ad, wondering what you think of me for actually doing it.

We are real. Somehow it seems even filthier, more exciting with people who could be your neighbors, or your colleagues. Much hotter. Write and tell us what you like. Be real. This could be a one-time adventure or an ongoing situation if we all enjoy it.

It is filthy, isn’t it? It is hot. I am nearly shaking at what I may have unleashed.

But we are never less human.

I arranged to meet her. And finally, after many mishaps, we did. She is quite attractive, I’ll say, delightful. The bartender appreciated our presence, tried to persuade us to stay, offered us free drinks. The excitement buzzed through us, making us glow, I am convinced of that. But no, we did not take the free drinks. We all have lives we drift back to.

We are ordinary people, dreaming, feeling. She wants to bring a man. I want to bring you.

I wonder what I have done. I am dizzy, surprised, frightened, exhilarated….

garters

“You could be a real dominatrix with that get-up on.”

“Oh, but then I would need boots…”

“And a whip.”

I like to dominate you. I am wildly free in this role–on top–feeling the way you relax when I sit on your cock and ride you, hard, until your world goes away for a little while. I take your cock into my mouth and hold your legs down, so you are at my mercy, wanting. You let go of the world as I turn you over and push my slick fingers into that sensitive and aching hole that no one else enters.

—————

I see it afterward, you see, that faraway look and the hidden concern… not so hidden. I don’t think you mean for it to show, not now when this is supposed to be a safe place away. I understand. You have told me enough of your world, and I see it, know it, the way you carry the world on your shoulders most of the time and pretend not to mind. And indeed, you don’t mind, I am sure–I cannot imagine you any other way. You tell me that I deserve pleasure after taking care of everyone else, and I fight back tears when I read those words in a moment when I am home from a taxing work day to pick up something.. No one ever says that to me!… but I also think that it is some sort of projection–you are not aware of it. It is you, you who watch out for everyone else, you who needs this at least as much as I need it from you.

So, we find a world in pleasure. We ride, and lose our sense of self in the passion of it, the fun. We switch, let one another get lost. And I dress up.

———————-

The get-up is black and scarlet, hooked to black lace-top stockings. I feel you shiver when you run your hands up my legs on the stairs and feel the bumps of the garters. I imagined you doing this all day, imagined your delight. You push me up the stair ahead of you and stop me to push my skirt up. I turn, and kiss the top of your head while you push my jacket up and release my breast from the scarlet bra. “What is this you are wearing?” you ask, and I cannot answer because all attention has gone to my nipple and what you are doing to it with your mouth.

“Up now,” you whisk me up the stairs. I wore the lingerie to work, knowing all the time that you would have something to discover. A garter dress. Despite my fairly broad knowledge of lingerie, I had never seen anything quite like it.

I am wearing no panties. Yes, very naughty, and I knew you’d slap me for it. I wanted you to. No panties, not to work or here now, and I had no time to put the plug in my ass, and that was naughty, too, because you had asked me to do that..

“If we had gone to the party together, this is exactly the way I would have taken you,” you tell me as you pull my legs off the bed and lean me against the bed, holding me down, ramming your hard cock into my wetness.

“Oh…”

“I would have taken you up to an empty room and fucked you just like this, and you’d have to be quiet, wouldn’t you?”

“Oooohhh…”

“I don’t think you could be quiet.”

No, no, probably not.

I feel insatiable as you enter me, more so as you fuck me hard from behind, then push me back up onto the bed and flip me over and slide in and out of me slowly. So gentle, and yet so effective.

I wanted you..  I wanted you during those phone conversations, during those moments that you made me think of your cock so hard and ready and yet waiting for now..

Now, I want to explore you, want to explore the limits of all that we might find in this world, this sensual world, in this trust and understanding.

“I want to fuck you while someone is watching us. I want to watch them, too, and I want to see how excited it makes you…”

“I want to tie you up.”

Ah yes.. Yes!

And in the midst of this ecstasy, it is amazing that I like you, too. I like to talk, to plan things, to change the world… affirming life, affirming ourselves.

ring ring

“Where are your fingers, right now?”

My fingers were wrapped around the telephone when you posed the question, but at your insistence, I unzipped my pants and slid my fingers beneath my panties. As I already knew, your words had made me wet.

“I keep thinking of licking you, licking around your nipples slowly until they become hard. I would suck them for a long, long time, then work my tongue down your belly. I would push your legs apart and lick everything I found there. I would hold you down while my tongue flicked your clitoris and licked up all your wetness. You are wet, aren’t you?”

How could I think when you were doing things like this to me? I was late, but yours was not a conversation that I wished to abandon quite so easily. Let them wait, I thought. And so they did.

“Where are your fingers now?”

“Circling my clit. Oh.. fuck.”

Your deep voice changes when you want me this badly. Your voice penetrates each detailed description of the various and sundry ways that you imagine fucking me. Your voice served as adequate distraction from the traffic and the noise and the hurry of the early evening. These distractions fed me, though: my secret thrill as I wandered in among friends, smiling though I was tired, and yes.. I did flirt. You knew I would. I flirted shamelessly, and every so often, I imagined your firm hand on my shoulder, you whispering behind me that you want me to take you to an empty room upstairs.

But not tonight. Tonight, you sit, cheering on someone you love. And I’ll talk talk, loving children and life, too. Just a little more thrilled, a little more laughing, a little more to tell you later.

division

I thought that when you said goodbye, you meant goodbye.

Well, sort of.

It came in a storm of your depression, though, and I am used to the drama, sad to say. But gradually, I also realized that you were never kidding when you told me that you feel your fantasies are the only thing that will save you. And me? What do I mean to you? Well, I am not sure: perhaps in this context, real human beings do mean so very little. I had never wanted to believe that.

So instead of goodbye, it continued. What was it? A friendship? I thought, maybe something like that, perhaps with ex-lover benefits. But no. There were no benefits. It was the same series of long, drawn-out conversations. My elation; your grief. My bad day; your tragic life. It was not always so apparent. There was a time that my joyous spirit could bring you higher. But not now, not for some time now. So you said goodbye. And I considered it, after all, a breakup. You may not have thought of that, my love.

But nothing about our relationship has ever been so ordinary. As long as we have been together, we still have been distinct. I always loved that. But apart, we are still bound in some sense. Perhaps this is always true.

And still, I think of it. Love. I am not sure I can say that now, not sure that it is the appropriate term to use now that I no longer want to climb into your bed or tell you my secrets. I did tell you my secrets, and I fear that this is what ended it all.

So, I came to see you. We walked along on a beautiful day. The most beautiful day. We were headed one direction, but I did not realize that you would keep walking so far without telling me you never knew the way. With the tears streaming down my face as we walked the wrong way far, far too long, it hit me.

We had been walking the wrong way for a long time. We had been walking, and I never cared–just enjoyed seeing this new world with you. We were walking the wrong way. And still, I could look up and see the sky, my blistered feet aching, I could still want this life. And you, you look at it all so sadly, wanting to end it all. And if you did now, it might give you some relief.

After all the wonder in this world, the world you see so grandly with your artist’s eye, I hoped always for more. I hoped for the world as you create it, making that magic with your words. This is what felt so real, so beautiful about you. But your reality really does rest on the shelf. You fear life, I believe, as you told me you did. I just thought that you would want someday to dip your toes in the water, swim. Ah, delight!

You say that sharing misery is not what you want, but I scarcely believe you. I reach for the stars and grab one, and you smile, sadly, then retreat to your corner to cry. I could feel guilty. I used to feel sad for you. But I know too well how it is all going to play out.

And where were you when I needed you? When I was sad? When I needed more than anything to have the world drift away while you held me?

Well, of course, your suffering has always been greater. You feel distanced from this world. You tell me you are an alien. You imagine yourself excluded from the world, and you lament… And yet, when the world comes for you, you back away, retreat, hide.

Others will love you now. I am happy, happy for them. Happy for you. It deflects the suffering for you, perhaps. It makes me see clearly. You said that I was not interchangeable, but I wonder in my cynical moments.

I never expected to be happier without you. But I am. I cried last week, I think, for the days spent wanting your happiness. I cried for the joy you refused to share with me, when joy is such a gift. Ah! My fantasy! I spoke of it, and you began to cry. Was it because I could never fulfill yours?And all those erotic words, dreams, moments we shared.. they really meant so little?

I never wanted to believe that, but no… I think it is true.

Depression can rob a person of so much, but to wish for it, to hold onto it… I thought I saw the sublime in you when you were at your most miserable. I felt the terror and the ecstasy, and saw you pull away into it. I cannot be a part of your death wish. I will not.

You said goodbye, perhaps in haste. Perhaps you wished that it would force me to do something to make your fantasies real. Perhaps you thought I would beg you to stay. Sorry, though. I cannot beg you. I love you, but I cannot beg for love.

So, this is the end of this chapter, my love. This is where I get off. I have loved you, and loved you well, loved your kisses and loved what part of me you would let me love. Fantasy plays such a rich role in my life.. but not fantasies that means more than the real connection with the people who have them. So, love, this is where I say goodbye.

farce

“So you are saying that I either need to leave in five minutes or wait another half hour?”

“Well, you could stay even longer, just as long as I can manage to…”

Yes, of course the doorbell rings then, and of course we are naked and still in bed.

I obviously have not quite mastered the art of timing these delicious sexual encounters around the busy stuff of life, but I do know that having you wander out into the hall with no clothes on would probably create a good deal of confusion, considering that my teenage son has not met you.

Of course, it is not my son at the door. It is his therapist, who has arrived early and is talkative. I kick your shoes away from the door and open it. The therapist does talk, talks about my son and the weather and the world and the plans for the day, which to my relief, involve leaving with my son as soon as the bus arrives. And it does arrive, and my son is tired, annoyed, but then pleased to go out. To my surprise, they head upstairs to fetch the hard drive out of a computer. I go up after them them, apologize–“.. just in the middle of a project.”–shut the door to my son’s bedroom and sneak back in to whisper and giggle with you like a teenager myself, then out again as I hear them on the stairs, then down, goodbye. Off they go. I fly back up, at last, at last..

——–

Yes, I am still laughing about it, laughing about finding you lying on my bed, now fully clothed, reading Just-So Stories, or Women In Love, or the Italian cookbook that were all sitting on the nightstand that day.

“Really, I don’t mind a bit,” you smile. And I do believe you, through my frustration, and still…

You ask me where the door from my room goes, and yes, it does lead to a balcony. The other door holds yet other surprises. The possibilities are endless for these sorts of games, but no.. I did not plan this, did not expect that you would be in the corner of my bedroom laughing, nor that I would be downstairs discussing behavior plans and suggesting that my son really needs to get out of the house–he has been so stressed. And I am completely serious, would have suggested it regardless of the circumstances.. and yet…

——–

You make me laugh. I cannot explain why I need that laughter so much, but the week has been long, difficult, fraught too much with the realities of my world that make me want to escape it. Love does linger throughout my real world–oh, I am so lucky for that–but lust lingers in ours, and I need your wanting, your spanking, your eager desire to make me come quickly right off so that you can keep me going for what feels like an eternity.

“I like to make you happy,” you say. You have just held my legs apart, admiring my panties, now wet, wetter. “Do you have a vibrator?”

I pull out the industrial strength Hitachi, and you smirk at me, “Your toys are all big.”

It is true, they are, and you tease me with that toy, with my panties, as you pull at them. The buzzing hits my labia, my thighs, everywhere except where I really want it, despite my squirming.

“So, where do you really want it?” You don’t wait for an answer before you push the vibrations down onto my clit as I squirm now to get away from the searing intensity of it. I cannot, I cannot, and I realize that I can–you have handed the vibrator to me while you are sucking my nipples, biting, yes yes yes yes.

You send me into quite a state with that vibrator–you know it, don’t you? You pull me on top of you, and smile when I pull off my panties and push your cock deep inside, riding, galloping, deeper, farther into a world that I only know like this, so rare.

And now you push me off and over, roll the condom down your hard cock, lube my ass. I did nothing to prepare for it this week–“This is where you really want it? isn’t it?”–and you squeeze in, as I feel the burn, then the release, and finally the melting thrill of it. You fuck me there, nicely, dig your fingernails into my buttocks–me, completely vulnerable and fulfilled. Yes, this is what I want. I should be spent after sitting on your cock… so hard–I still cannot quite fathom how you stay hard for so long–and you tell me you like it as you reach up to grab my breasts, tell me you like it as I grind my hips down farther onto yours, when I am in complete control, so that I decide when your cock hits me in the spot that makes me completely lose control of myself and of you and of the world.

My toy? I hardly consider you that, though I like to play with you. I like to push your buttocks apart and find you more relaxed still than last week. I push my slick fingers gently into your ass, feel you sigh and pant as I push one finger, then another, up, higher, as you get used to this, to what it is doing to you. “That’s enough…” but I do it again later when you have fucked me well, when you have held back for long enough, when you need–badly need–to come.. I lick your balls and finger you, feel your legs tense tenser, then relaxed, your body throbbing as come spills out over your hands and belly, your cock still shaking.

“This started out as a purely intellectual conversation, and now it has become purely physical, filthy screwing.”

“Well, you can still talk to me, if you like.”

So we talk. And talking is nice with you, too. I like it when we screw, when we talk. I like it when we talk about ordinary things, and then your voice becomes deep and you remind me that you can completely overpower me if you want to.. I am surprised to feel myself melt when you say this. I want you to overpower me, want you to tie me up and push me to the edge, over it, want you to do everything, if only for a few minutes of my life.

I like it when you slap my ass hard and watch me bury face in the pillow, near tears but not making you stop… only to wait a moment before you roll over onto your back. “Your turn,” you seem to say. Yes, my turn, and I want to take the reins from you, tell you filthy stories and think of how far I might take you, how I might let you let the world slide away, as well..  I think of what strange and glorious place I might take you to soon with the toy you brought today.

I wonder sometimes about this, what it means. It means splendor. It means wonder. It means I like to see you wander back into your life a bit happier, too.. dappled sunshine illuminating the color in a sometimes-grey world.

limits

In my wondering last night, I stretched out on my bed and wondered how far I could go in my fantasies, where my limits are…

I found one.

Disconnection. I cannot fuck a man whom I cannot care about.

I arrived last night, walked into the Thai restaurant that he had chosen. Not quite like his picture, but he recognized me immediately. We talked. A businessman from another country–he commutes from halfway around the world… a few weeks here, more time home. But in this world he grows lonely. Horny, too, evidently.

Did he make me laugh? Not so much, though he was the laughing sort. It was hard to find the appeal of the situation, as I felt an icy chill at the thought of fucking in a hotel room and going home. He said he liked to have these relationships, that he remained friends with many of the women he had known this way. And he said he didn’t want to hire prostitutes.

I asked him if he was cheap.

Then, I left.

There is no point in pursuing something that cannot bring joy, that will not bring love.

evolution

Love, love.. I worried so for you as your tears soaked me and the letter that you sent.

But all is not despair now, days later. You seem calmer, and my world has seemed to expand in ways I never could have dreamed possible.

I missed you, but I never cried. I somehow knew we would stay connected. And indeed, it seems we do. We always will, I think.

How does a person explain love if it is true? No convention can define the wonders in it, and yet we try. We try to make it all fit neatly into something that our friends and family understand, but this could never work with you.

I want to tell you to fuck me, but no. For now, just hold my hand. Listen. Speak to me. Somehow, now, we need a bit of quiet space, time to reflect.

Time to grow.