Have You Been Naughty?

July 16th, 2015

She fidgeted with the hem of her short skirt. Too short, by strict reading of the rules, but no one ever bothered her about it. No one minded that she showed a bit too much leg, kept her shirt unbuttoned a little too far, flirted a bit too easily. Not until today, that is. Today she had been called to the headmaster’s office of this private, all-girls college, that her parents had shipped her off to last fall. She would be safe there, they had thought, safe from the temptations of boys, and the dangers of alcohol. She wondered sometimes, if her parents had any clue about the real world.

“Excuse me, Miss.” The sharp tone pulled her out of her thoughts and she glanced up. From the thin, tight lips and the narrowed eyes, she was certain it was not the first time the secretary had tried to get her attention.

“Sorry.” She mumbled and stood up, as the woman motioned her towards the office.

“Close it.” The headmaster did not look up as she entered, and she pulled the heavy wooden door shut behind her, cutting off all sound from the outer offices.

She hesitated by the door for a moment, then straightened her shoulders and walked forward to stand before the large wooden desk. He still had not looked at her, his eyes focused on the computer screen on the right side of the desk. She clasped her hands behind her back to keep herself from pulling at her skirt again, and waited.

She focused on the edge of his desk, not wanting to stare at him, needing to keep her mind from wandering too far afield again. Why was she here? The professor had not said. He had been given a note in the middle of his lecture, and, when it was over, had told her she was to report here immediately. She had not broken any rules today, nor yesterday. Sure, she had broken a few over the weekend, but why summon her today, then? It wasn’t like she had done anything new last weekend, and she did not remember being seen sneaking back into the dorm. Had someone else gotten caught? She hadn’t heard about it. Did someone rat her out? Who would…

“Miss Gruenwald.” She managed not to jump when he finally spoke, startling her out of her ever deepening spiral of thought.

“Yes, Sir.” She raised her eyes to meet his.

“Do you know why you’re here, today, Katherine?”

“No, Sir.”

“Are you sure?” He arched an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

“No, Sir. I mean, I don’t know why, today, Sir. I mean…” She stopped short and took a breath.

“You mean that you’ve broken so many rules over the last six months, that you’re not sure which one has brought you here today?”

“Yes, Sir. I mean, no, Sir. I…” She flush bright red and dropped her gaze to the floor as he laughed.

“Katherine, you don’t seem to know what you mean. But I do, I hear things, you know, all sorts of things. Being the headmaster of an all-girls college, I’d wager, is the best place to hear the most interesting stories. Most of them I ignore, girls out on their own for the first time, having harmless fun. But sometimes, Katherine, it goes over the line, and I have a responsibility to the parents who pay my salary, to protect their daughters from themselves. To correct certain behavior, and yes, sometimes to… punish… the girls under my care.”

The way he said punish, with a pause before, and again for a breath after, sent a shiver down her spine, and her flush deepened. He had stopped speaking, but she could not bring herself to look at him. Not yet. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, let it out slowly. Then lifted her gaze back above the desk, to his thick hands clasped before him, his tie, his collar, up to his face, and then met his eyes.

“That’s better. Now, why don’t you tell me about last weekend? Ah! Don’t drop your eyes. Look at me, and tell me about Saturday night.”

“I… Yes, Sir.” She cleared her throat, and began again. “I went into town to see a movie, Sir. Alone.”

“Alone?”

“I mean, I left here alone, Sir. I was meeting someone, a boy, Sir.” He nodded and she went on. “We met up at the theater, had popcorn and soda, and after he walked me most of the way back to campus. It was late, so I climbed up the fire escape and in the window to get back in.”

“I know all of that, Katherine. Tell me what I don’t know.” The flush had been receding, and now came back full force. “Yes, that’s it, those thoughts are what I want to know.”

“The movie was boring, and there were only a couple other people there, all the way at the bottom row. We were up top. So, we made out some…” She trailed off, glancing away.

“Look at me, Katherine.” She pulled her gaze back to his. “Go on…”

“Yes, Sir. We, I mean, he… I…” She stopped and took another breath. “The movie was really terrible, Sir. We did more than just kissing. Eventually, I even went down on him.”

“You sucked his cock in the middle of a movie theater, Katherine?”

“Yes, Sir.” She clenched her jaw to keep from looking away.

“Say it.”

“I sucked his cock in the movie theater, Sir.”

“Did you swallow?”
“Yes, Sir, what?” She was so flustered, she answered without thinking about what he had said.

“Good girl.”

Her mouth fell open, but she could not think what to say, so she closed it again.

“Then what?”

“He…uh… we left after the movie to come back here.” He nodded, and she was glad he did not want any more details of their movie make-out session.

“What happened on the way back here?”

“We… he… He wanted to thank me for the blow job. So, we stopped for a bit in the softball dugout on the edge of campus.”

“And…” He prompted.

“And… first he put me over his knee, and spanked me, Sir.”

“Spanked you?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Why?”

“Because I like it, Sir.”

“Tell me about the spanking, Katherine.”

“He pulled me over his knee, lifted my skirt up, and yanked my panties down. Told me I was a very naughty girl for sucking his cock in a public theater. And that I needed to be punished. Then he spanked my bare ass with his hand. He spanked me until I begged him to stop.”

“If you like it, why did you beg him to stop?”

“Because I wanted him to fuck me, Sir. And he did, Sir, we had sex on the dugout bench.”

“I see. Well, he was right, you are a very naughty girl, and you definitely need… punished.”

He did it again, that pause for emphasis that made her shiver, this time it also made her a little wet.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Say it.”

“I’m a very naughty girl, Sir, and I need to be punished.”

“Good girl.”

“Would you like it if I punished you, Katherine?”

She bit her lip, not sure how to answer, but nodded anyway.

“I won’t fuck you like your boyfriend did, but I do want to spank that bare ass of yours.” He stood up and pointed at the front of his desk. “Bend over and brace yourself. Count for me, and say thank you.” He came around the desk and she spread her legs for balance and bent over.

He lifted her too-short skirt, laying it over her back. Then hooked his fingers in the sides of her panties and pulled them halfway down her thighs. Placing one hand on the small of her back, he left out a soft noise of appreciation.

“Ready?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Smack.

“One. Thank you, Sir.”

Smack.

“Two. Thank you, Sir.”

Smack.

“Three. Thank you, Sir.”

Smack.

“Four. Thank you, Sir.”

Smack.

“Five. Thank you, Sir.”

Smack.

“Six. Thank you, Sir.”

Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten… on and on the smack of his hand against her bare ass. She counted and thanked him for each one. Moaning out the numbers by the time he reached the teens. Dripping wet by the time he got to twenty. Desperate by the time he got to thirty.

“Oh, please, Sir.”

“Please, what?”

“May I orgasm, Sir?”

“No.”

Smack.

“Thirty-one. Thank you, Sir.”

Smack.

“Thirty-two. Thank you, Sir.”

Smack.

“Thirty-three. Thank you, Sir.”

Smack.

“Thirty-four. Thank you, Sir.”

Smack.

“Thirty-five. Thank you, Sir. Please, Sir.”

“No.”

Smack.

“Thirty-six. Thank you, Sir.”

Smack.

“Thirty-seven. Thank you, Sir.”

Smack.

“Thirty-eight. Thank you, Sir.”

Smack.

“Thirty-nine. Thank you, Sir.”

Smack.

“Forty. Thank you, Sir.”

He stopped, pulled her panties back up, and her skirt back down. Then went back around to his chair and sat down.

“Miss Gruenwald, you will return to your room now, you will not masturbate or orgasm for a week, and you will not leave campus again without permission, is that clear?”

“Yes, Sir.” She reeled away from his desk, stopping at the door to gather her balance and her composure. “Thank you, Sir.”

Share

Just Hands

November 8th, 2012

Blindfolded. Eyes closed beneath the cloth. Waiting on her knees before him. Listening to his breathing while he strips then sits.

“Okay, you may touch me now. Hands only.”

She reaches forward, fingertips brushing his legs. She slides her hands around his calves, running her palms up the sides of his legs to just below the knees. Her fingers massaging the tight muscles, as she works her way back down to his ankles, thumbs tracing the shins, finding old divots from childhood soccer games. She works back up the calves, like play scales on a sticky keyboard, trying to work the knots away, as he sighs softly.

She wants to lean forward, add her lips, kiss his feet, or his knees. No, hands only this time. Just touch and explore.

Running her hands over his knees. Fingertips tracing the cap, running over it to press her palms flat. Up and over his thighs, straight to the hips, and back down, dragging knuckles to troll for stress. Squeezing massage from knee upward, thumbs working the inner thigh, fingers kneading the outer, heel of the palm back down the center. Listening to his breathing to hear the tension melt.

Kneeling up, she runs her fingers up his chest, tracing the skin and trailing through the hair. Hands pressed flat, she explores every inch of his hips, stomach and chest. Pausing to roll his nipples with one finger each. Runs her hands up to his shoulders and down his arms, teasing his own fingertips, and then back up again. Fingers, arms, shoulders, chest, belly, hips.

Massaging again, she slows down. Working up his sides to his pecs. Gentle circles, pushing the stress away. Up to the shoulders, pushing the knots down the arms and out the hands. Fingers and knuckles digging out the pain. Neck, shoulders, arms, wrists, hands.

The energy buzzes. Light touch, fingertips just above the surface, barely brushing the skin. Exploring him anew. Every inch of skin exciting and full of energy. Pushing deep into it, running her palms over his chest, down his stomach and over his thighs. It feels so good.

Starting at the bottom, fingertips on his feet, up his shins, over the knees, across the thighs, she pauses, but not yet, up his chest, over his shoulders, up into his hair, fingers trailing through his hair, down his checks, a light touch across his lips, down his chin and throat, chest, belly, to his cock.

 

Share

COPE 2012 was Amazing

September 17th, 2012

What an amazing weekend! I didn’t get to do everything I wanted to do, but that’s the nature of life, and what I did get to do, more than made up for anything that we didn’t manage to squeeze in. The best plan falls apart upon encountering the enemy, and that was the case for several of my friends, but for me, this time, nearly all my plans survived, and some of them far better than I ever anticipated. A lot of people are saying it was the best COPE yet, for me, this is entirely true. I have never had so many scenes, I have never stayed at the hotel, let alone with my partner during the event, and I’ve also never been so well fed at an event. About the only thing that was “on par” for my other experiences, were the classes. They always bring in great presenters to teach really fun classes. I had an incredible weekend.

What happens at COPE stays at COPE, they say, no outing other people by talking about their scenes. But that’s not what I do here, as you all know, I talk about what I did, and my experiences. So let’s begin at the beginning.

Our con began with meeting up with friends, helping out, and getting registered. We found quite a lot of our usual crew and gathered up for a nice dinner at Buca di Beppo. We even got to sit in the Pope Room, because there were so many of us. We talked about crew and the con ahead and even about the upcoming Trauma. Enjoying time together as a family, and then we took food back to feed the rest of our family who couldn’t make it out. Being a group with the volunteering spirit, many were working the con, too.

Back to the hotel, I had a scene right up front, so I didn’t even change, but went and found my ex-Lover, and we took our place for my requested “challenging, transitional suspension.” That, will be a post later on. Afterwards, I went back to the room, got on my shiny kimono and boots, and went in search of him. He was bringing down a suspension, so I knelt nearby, helping clean up rope until he was done. The engineer was nearby scening, too. After that, we sat with friends for a time, until he retrieved us, stun gun in hand, to go back to the main room for our suspension scenes with him. Another post to come. He tormented us both with the stun gun while we waited for the high point, but the battery died out as he tried to keep tormenting me as he began to tie her. We played on the rig in the corner until they turned the lights on that night, and then headed back to our room to take care of each other, with massage and orgasms, and cuddling to sleep.

Morning dawned quietly, but I was awake early. I really wanted to attend class right from the start, so I was up, rinsed off and dressed in a sari while they were still gaining consciousness. They said they’d catch up, so I headed out, grabbed an apple(I was too late for bananas), and found a seat in Bondage for Punishment and Pain. They joined me sooner than expected, but before the class changed rooms in favor of a high point, and we knelt beside him, as much as we could manage, for the entire entertaining class. I found myself able to manage for 15 minutes or so at a time, not wanting to distract myself too badly from the presentation. 4mm rope, a high point, and a flexible bottom, made for quite the class. Stopping by the vendors on the way out, he found some great new toys to buy, a dragon tail and three leather “cocks.” The latter being woven leather cylinders of various widths, with rounded ends, that work great to bludgeon your partner with. We headed back to the room to test them out, and were quite happy with the results.

We then headed off to brunch at First Watch. The second class session not holding our interest more than finding food did. Waffles, bacon, pancakes, eggs and coffee later, we were satisfied and heading back to the afternoon classes. I did wear my bratty shirt, and very short skirt, but I took my sari as a wrap to stay warm, as well. Extreme Bondage was up next, with more kneeling from us, though the presenter invited folk to come close and watch, so he was up in front away from us most of the class. This time, I found the tops of my feet beginning to hurt much faster than I was losing circulation. The class itself was quite interesting and entertaining in its own right, with a handful of really restrictive ties. The next class period, the engineer headed off to a latex class while he and I wandered back to the vendor area, this time picking up a book, a new suspension ring, swivel and two hanging straps. The final class of the day, Predicament Bondage, was the same couple as our first class, we all sat in chairs this time, and had a blast watching (and helping with) the crazy stuff the presenter came up with. Electricity, water, rope and weights and everything else he could grab from his bag of toys. Such fun.

We headed off to dinner, then, Fish Market our destination. Got a seat quickly in the bar portion and, though it was noisy there, we had quite a nice meal together. We he asked us if we’d seen anything that day that we’d like to try, we grinned and said all of it. I took my leftovers back to the event, but couldn’t find anyone in need this time. We attended closing ceremonies, complete with lube-tossing, auctions, NCSF and gratitude. And then the final play party began.

We headed back to the room to get dressed, the engineer donning her blind contacts and me my straitjacket over lacy bodice with garters to red fishnets and shiny boots, he even wrapped my pleather skirt around my waist. I was to be her eyes, and her my hands. We headed back to the dungeon, all grins and giddiness. He showed us off down the hall, through the social area and all around the dungeon. Then we headed to the back rig for him to do his scenes and assist in others. I tried to keep her informed of the things going on around us, and once he sent us to fetch water and candy from the adjoining room. After his scene, she wrapped up the rope for him and I returned it to his bag. When these scenes were complete we headed back to the room for more private fun.

Back in the privacy of our own hotel room, the engineer and I stripped down, but she kept in the contacts. We rearranged some furniture, and sat down side by side, facing him, for an incredible needle scene. Post to come. How I didn’t freak out or pass out, I’m really not sure, let’s just say I’m stubborn, and they were incredible in supporting and encouraging me. We thanked him with massage and curled up for a well-deserved, good night’s sleep.

The engineer had to head off early the next morning for school, and we hung around to help tear down and load out the dungeons. After many good conversations and goodbyes, I headed home to check on the internet, crash for a couple hours and then went out to dinner with hubby and friends. Home again for the last two episodes of BSG, some Lactaid ice cream and then crashed out completely for at least twelve hours. Amazing weekend of awesomeness. Thank you to everyone who made it possible and who made it great.

Share

Introverted Social Networking

October 7th, 2010

Blogging, writing, screaming to be noticed – silently. Watching the numbers on the stats graph rise and fall, seeing them fall more often than rise. What am I doing this for? Who and I doing this for? Why? Every Thursday I spend hours staring at the screen, wondering what to write about, wondering how it will be taken, if anyone will even read it, will even care. Last week someone asked to reblog a post I made and I was shocked, especially given the topic. Today I’m at a loss, after spending the afternoon rambling at him over a variety of topics, none of which is “fit to print,” as they say.

I wonder about this blog, this weekly posting on a random topic. A lot of the books I read on blogging suggested posting every day, at least a few times every day, if you really wanted to have a successful blog. I have a hard time getting one post written a week, I couldn’t imagine posting every few hours. Isn’t that what Twitter is for? Let’s not even go into how I don’t even begin to use Twitter correctly. I’m not a social person, an introvert trying to join the social network.

And I’ve got this blog in two different places, splitting my audience between a WordPress sponsored blog and my personal website. It isn’t much of a site really: the blog, a bio and a couple of pictures, but I like the theme better, and some day, maybe I’ll have a book to promote or I might review products in the sidebar. Technically, I’ll have a book to promote come November. The first of my flash fiction pieces is due out the first installment of a year long anthology on October 31st if all goes as planned. They’re looking at publishing three months worth at a time, instead of it all at once.

So what do those social people talk about, those ones who blog all the time, or use twitter correctly? Their lives, details and stories taken directly every day from what they are doing currently or did last night. Sharing far more in depth than a shy anonymous blogger like me would consider safe. Safe? I share a lot of details, and while I say this is anonymous, people who know me could probably figure it out, and I have shared it with people I trust. But to share more, would feel like an invasion of privacy, and not just theirs, but mine as well. I don’t have enough to say to the public at large to fill a blog every day. I hardly ever update my non-kinky Facebook status more than once a week.

I’m not sure why I’m sharing this strange and non-kink related ramble with you, my dear readers, other than to say it’s been a scrambled kind of day. I want to share with you more often, but I don’t know if that’s possible. Though I feel that after this post, I owe you at least one over the weekend, if not a handful of tweets as well.

Let me leave you with these thoughts. Winter is coming, I need stockings and a warm coat. It’s hard being sexy when your teeth are chattering. And no one in his right mind is going to offer his cock to distract and warm you if it looks like you’re going to bite it off involuntarily.

Share

Facing My Fears

August 5th, 2010

Phobia – an irrational, intense and persistent fear. I have three. Two have been tested recently. The third, needles, I am still working towards. Sparklers were used in the most recent scene. A snake was used some weeks ago. I knew these fears were strong, but I didn’t know how much.

The Snake

We were moving flats in the backyard. A small garter snake was curled up under one and I quickly moved away.

What’s wrong?

I pointed at it and he picks it up, bringing it towards me. I circle in the opposite direction, keeping the distance between us. He gets to where I was and looks up. Arms crossed, heart pounding, I grimace back at him. The snake is running through his gloved hands and he starts towards me again. I try to be still, but I keep backing up, whimpering and twitching my eyes between him and the ground.

Come here.

I shake my head, harder than my body already is.

Come here.

I whimper and take a step, but only one. He steps forward and I back.

Stop.

Another step towards me and I tense my whole body to stay still. Another step and my foot slides back.

Stop or I will throw it on you.

I force my foot a step towards him. Eyes tight to the ground, filling with tears. Overflowing as he walks towards me. Sobbing by the time he is beside me. But I stay still. Then he takes it away. He puts it near the woodpile. I calm some – enough to move the last flat to the pile. He frees me and checks in. With the snake gone, I can breathe again and the terror melts away.

The Sparklers

Stripped, handcuffed and tossed to the ground. Ankles tied together. Lover is counting and spanking and fucking.

I know you know the box score.

I cannot stop the laughter.

I know you are keeping track. At least the third box.

The laughter continues.

I know you are know the answer. At least a good guess. I have these sparklers here.

The flick of a lighter and I twitch away.

No.

The lighter flicks again.

They’re old. Might not light.

I writhe, trying to throw him off me.

No!

Yes, unless you know the number of 3’s.

I laugh again, desperation, now. More flicking of the lighter. I whimper and squirm. Lover has mercy.

How about a deal? Plus or minus two if you agree to sleep in your straitjacket with my cock in your mouth.

It won’t help. The straitjacket is okay.

Yes or no?

It won’t help.

Alright, how about plus or minus four? You’re a good guesser. I’m sure you have some idea.

My answer hasn’t changed.

Then I’ll just have to light the sparklers. Here, hold it for me.

Lover puts it in my cuffed hand. I writhe and try to let go, breaking it with my other hand to get it away. He plants it in the carpet in front of me.

Look at it. I’m going to light it if you don’t give me an answer.

No.

Lover pulls my head up, and I look at the sparkler.

Don’t burn my carpet.

Laughter, not mine this time.

What’s your answer?

It hasn’t changed. The straitjacket is okay, but it doesn’t matter, I don’t know.

I’ll have to light it then.

No.

He picks it up and flicks the lighter, while I squirm beneath him. The flare of the sparkler lighting and I scream and cry, face in the carpet. Trying to force him off my back, but helpless.

The sparks are dropping on you. In your hair.

No, no, no, no, no.

Fizz of water and it’s out. Gasping for air and shaking beneath him.

So? What’s your answer?

It hasn’t changed. It doesn’t matter, I don’t know the number.

Another one then?

No!

Yes, or agree to the deal?

It doesn’t matter.

The flick of the lighter and the second is burning above me. Lower this time the sparks hitting my bare flesh. Hands brushing at the sparks. Sobbing into the carpet. Struggling to get away, to not get burned as he tells me where they are falling. Sizzle and it is out. Lover lets me sob for a little while, until I can breathe and speak again.

So, what’s your answer, or do I light another one. I have four more.

No. Sure. Whatever, it doesn’t matter.

Are you agreeing? Agreement needs to come with a number.

Sure. 60.

Oh, very good. Good girl. Very good girl. If you had guessed just a little higher…

Thank you, Sir.

Fears faced, but not diminished. The terror is still there, deeply there. I have faced them and sobbed my eyes out. I have faced them and been overwhelmed. I have faced them and surrendered. But facing them has not made them less.

Share

Joy in Pain

July 8th, 2010

Last night was an wonderful scene. It started out as teaching a new person about how we flog. He dragged me up from kneeling by the hair and asked if this piece of meat would do. She agreed and I was tossed up on the cross, shirt pulled up and targets drawn on my back. She had very light flogs and he had a set of heavy rubber ones. It was a good warm up, heavy hits between teaching and light swings. Hands as well as flogs. I enjoy helping teach new people, even if I don’t have the skill myself, I’ve learned to give feedback as a bottom. She went out to smoke and he took back the scene.

He used his hands, the heavy flogs, the really big deerskin flog(mmm… oh how I’ve missed that one), some slappers and paddles and a cane, the dragon tail, the stun gun and the electric fly swatter and a leather strap – on my back, my ass, my legs, my breasts, my feet, my arms, my crotch. It was a heavy scene, but not a full throttle flogging. He let me react to the hits – scream, jerk, fall, twitch – however I wanted to. He waited for me to return to position. I love that, I love holding myself on the cross, and getting back up to offer my body to him again and again.

He often came around in front of me, behind the cross to look at my face, to smile at me, and ask if I was crying yet. I was almost always smiling. He commented on it, he was not hurting me enough, I was still smiling. Where were the tears? It was such a joyous scene for me.

I was happy. I was not looking for a cathartic release, it had been a good week. I wanted to play with him, I wanted to submit to him, to give him my body for our pleasure. I did not need to be moved to tears, beaten to a pulp so I could relax. I always enjoy our scenes, find joy in our scenes. But last night it made me smile from start to finish. The kind of smiles that once drove a photographer crazy.

Even when I cried, triggered by a painful strike and continued by fear of the stun gun, it did not last very long. I was too happy and the energy was not the kind for tears. At the end, when I Sir-ed him, and said I wanted to please him by pleasuring his cock, and forgot the Sir. I was, even then, grinning and happy and full of joy and love for him.

Share

Turn Ons

July 1st, 2010

A short post today. It’s been a busy week and I have more things still to do.

What turns me on? I’ve posted about my fantasies. I’ve posted about my kinks. But what really turns me on? The simple things. What gets me going?

A deep kiss, full of passion.
The joy in his eyes and the smile on his lips.
A tight grip on my hair, right against the back of my head.
Light sucking and nibbling on my earlobes.
Harsh bites on my neck; inner wrists, elbows and thighs.
Hard pinching of my nipples.
Hard rubbing and sucking on my clit.
Naked bodies pressed together.
Sucking on a cock.
Open hand spanking on my bare ass.
A knife blade on my skin.
The smell of hemp and leather.
Rope holding me tight.
Pain coursing through my body.
Fear rumbling in my chest.
Giving up control, giving up completely.

Share

Let’s Talk About Sex, Baby…

April 8th, 2010

Sex was never discussed in my house growing up. Mom never had “the talk” with me, I had it at school from a silly video. It was mentioned by her twice in my life. Once, when a friend of hers had been embarrassed when her 8 year old daughter told her not to have sex if she didn’t want more kids and described the act very poorly because I had misinformed her, being only 9 and just previous to the talk at school when she had asked Me about it. So Mom asked if I knew how it really worked now, and I said yes and that was that. The second time was when we were out buying flowers for my wedding and she wanted to know if I had any questions and to tell me the first time might not be great. I rolled my eyes and said Mom… in that tone most of us perfect as teenagers. My Dad never discussed sex when I was growing up, though as he’s gotten older he’s discussed a lack of sex due to the ineffectualness of Viagra… thanks, Dad.

I only dated one boy for one weekend in High School, and that was only a couple phone conversations, so I’d never even been kissed before I got to college. My first three boyfriends freshman year took me from kissing through oral sex at a not-too-fast pace. It was not until the summer after my sophomore year that I had sex for the first time. Subsequent first visit to OB/GYN for birth control was a godsend as far as period control. I am now nearing 30 and have had a total of 8 sexual partners, 9 if you count 3 seconds of penetration as a sexual partner, I generally don’t. Only 4 of which were/are continuous sexual relationships. I had a few STD tests a couple years ago at the request of a life insurance company and in the past couple weeks, my new doc ran a full panel for me, results still pending, but I’m not expecting any surprises. (That’s why they’re called surprises, eh?)

So that background is all well and good, but what am I really on about? One of my hard limits is sex in public. Public generally being defined as more than two other people(other than the one I’m having sex with) being present. I blush when talking about sex, avoid using sexual terms in public and even in private sometimes. I’ll swear like a sailor, but ask me to say cock or admit I’m thinking about oral and I’m suddenly shy and flustered. Sex, to me, is a private thing, but even more than that, it’s something I find it difficult to be forward about.

One, on the private matter of sex. It is a personal thing, a private thing. Sex, to me, is an expression of intimacy shared between two people, maybe three. It’s a special kind of energy and I don’t fancy the intrusion of other energy into the mix. The excitement of having sex somewhere inappropriate and public has its allure, but the thought of other people watching and the threat of being arrested most often kills it for me. That’s not to say I haven’t had sex in a public park at night, but only when those two factors have been reduced to almost nil.

He asked me to go without panties recently and it was a huge deal. Let my most private and intimate bits be exposed under my skirt? Proper girls just don’t do that(when the hell did I become proper again?). What if someone sees? What if someone grabs me randomly? What if I get pulled over? It took some very serious conversation for me to get past the fear and realize that I was in control of myself, my safety and my personal space. Not to mention, my friends would be around me to protect me should anything go wrong. It was a very freeing experience, and the edge of fear kept under control was wonderful.

Two, on not being sexually forward. Communication is key. I’ve learned, though my journey in kink, that I have to ask for what I want, be clear about what I want and to accept what I want without being ashamed or embarrassed by it. Why hasn’t this transferred to sex as well? I looked back at my posts, even my erotica, I only mention fucking once at the very end. I don’t write overt sex scenes very often and it is even rarer that I share those that I do. I could blame my parents, I could blame my sheltered early life, I could blame being an introvert and generally shy, I could blame a Puritan society. Excuses, excuses, excuses. These are excuses I have let run my sex life.

How do I stop that? How do I let go of fear and embarrassment? Why am I afraid? What am I afraid of? Rejection? Do I think that if I suggest sex or oral or say I’m thinking about your cock, he’s going to say “No, how could you? What kind of girl are you?” How ridiculous is that? Seriously, I can asked to be beat, set on fire, tied up and swung from the rafters, and yet sex, that pretty much everyone on the planet has, trips me up. How silly and neurotic is that? Talking about sex is my Boggart in the closet (yes, a Harry Potter reference). Laugh at the fear to make it go away.

Share