Friday, 25 January 2008

Hello Darling

I'm in the Secret Garden internet cafe just off Poppies Lane. It was odd walking up from my hotel and walking past the cafe where we ate cheese sandwiches yesterday; little moment of missing you and the kids.

So, anyway, this was just to confirm that you are the only other person who has access to this blog. I think I may as well just delete it; there's no point in keeping it now. It was interesting to have people I'd never met leave comments but I guess I'll just keep anything I write to myself from now on.

Saturday, 5 January 2008

A good day

R said:

"Today I ate a lot of sugar, traveled on National Rail, had a scotch egg and fucked you with a butt plug."

"Obviously it was the best day of my trip."

"Apart from seeing the Spice Girls, that is."

Friday, 4 January 2008

Learning the hard way

Jefferson and Marcus have posted stories from Molly of her experiences with them last month. These were the adventures which caused me so much anguish and which were the fulcrum for so much change and the catalyst which lead me to start this blog.

I met her at a conference in a small town in the Canadian Rockies in the summer of 2005, a spirited Australian in green glasses who approached me after I'd given a presentation. She told me of a project that she wanted me to participate in and invited me for a drink. In the conference centre bar, over weak gin and tonics, she introduced me and a friend to the 'Table of Truth' at which we were to be completely honest and to own up to the most outrageous or extreme sexual experiences we were prepared to discuss. By way of demonstration, Molly gave an account of a workshop on sexual awakening she’d attended in New York lead by Barbara Carrellas. I don’t remember what I talked about but I don’t think that I was ready to discuss my fetishes; perhaps I talked about going to the Sex Maniacs Ball and coming home with a beautiful young tranny.

Two nights later Molly and I were sitting on a window sill outside another bar in town. We’d been drinking and had danced a little. She turned and looked up at me. Looking into her eyes I lowered my head and we kissed. It was unexpected deep, passionate. Our lips parted and we smiled at each other, pleased, surprised and aroused.

We went to bed together and although we didn’t fuck that night, we did start a journey into kink from our first encounter. I told Molly that I liked to give pleasure, to serve a woman sexually; I stripped completely while she remained clothed and lay on top of me, opening my legs thrusting at me as if I were the woman and she the man. I knelt by the bed, slipped down her jeans and panties, lowered my lips onto her sex for the first time. Over the past two years I have become well-acquainted with Molly’s cunt, her vagina, labia and clitoris, the places she likes to be touched and the ways which give her pleasure. I have learnt to hold my tongue firmly just above her clitoris at about one o’clock and to push gently, perhaps moving slightly to press against her. She had taught me to trace a figure of eight with the tip, running slowly around her clit and labia.

Two and a half years later I am still leaning the secrets of Molly’s cunt and how to give her pleasure through it. The journey that started with that kiss outside a bar in the mountains has taken us down many pathways, not all of them easy to tread. We have opened many doorways and made some exquisite discoveries together. I have no sense of a destination and I think we will be fellow travellers for many miles to come.

Fast forward to December 2007. Molly and I at another conference, this time in New York. In the past 30 months we have been friends, lovers and, for a prolonged period, Mistress and slave. I have split up with my long-term partner, Molly has had the key to my flat, we have considered living together, we have argued, parted, made up (more than once) and we have worked together, successfully. Within the past week I have discovered the submissive in her, put her over my knee and spanked her with force and meaning, twisted my fingers in her hair and thrust my cock into her mouth. There was something new in her that I hadn’t seen before: a slut hungry for spanking, fucking and use as a sexual plaything. I discovered something new in myself, the strength, focus and power to dominate her.

And yet, here in New York, just three days later I am in turmoil. Molly’s voyage into personal sexual awakening has left me bewildered and in considerable pain. I don’t understand how she can be behaving in the way that she does. She is ostensibly attending the same conference as me but in fact she has come to spend time with people she’d met a few weeks previously at the five day festival of polyamory, bdsm, tantra and every conceivable form of sexual intimacy called Dark Odyssey. First it’s two days with Jefferson, then two days with her mentor Barbara Carrellas and Lolita Wolf a professional expert in the use of the cane and other exotic, erotic toys. Then a week with Marcus a professional sex worker in Washington.

Molly made it clear that she did not want me in any way involved in any of the games she would play nor did she want me to meet any of her new friends. And, to tell the truth, I can understand why: I had become needy. I longed to be with her and was threatened by these exciting newcomers who seemed to offer her experiences beyond my imagination or prowess. The more pain and frustration I felt, the less attractive I knew myself to be.

I hadn't thought that I was possessive and, in theory, I didn't object to her polyamorous exploration (well, I tried not to). But the reality of her doing this in the one week we happened to be in New York attending the same conference was too hard to bear. I couldn't understand why she didn't want to include me in any of the play sessions she'd arranged. I didn't seem capable of feeling love without feeling pain. I had no idea how to develop the emotional capacity not to feel jealous or rejected when the person I loved was embarking on a polyamorous path which she did not want to share with me.

Not easy this polyamory thing, is it?

I think the thing that first broke the spell for me was anger. It wasn't easy to get any kind of perspective on what Molly was doing or my own response to it; I'd never experienced anything quite like this. I did feel that she was being unfair and unnecessarily inconsiderate towards me, almost at times appearing to get off on my discomfort. I also became convinced that she was lying to me. It was this which finally enabled me to move on: our first contact had been at something she called "The Table of Truth"; at one point I'd said to her that the most important characteristic of our relationship was that we could be completely honest with each other. It now seemed to me that if we didn't have honesty, we didn't have anything worth holding on to.

I figured that the best way to overcome a longing for someone who had moved on was to do so myself. I'd seen the Pleasure Salon listed on a website somewhere and decided to go.

It was there that I met R.

Wednesday, 2 January 2008

How I met R

R arrived from New York early on New Year’s Eve.

I had met her at the Pleasure Salon in the basement of a bar in the Bowery in December and found myself kissing her almost before we’d spoken. It was her friend’s fault.

I was at the bar next to a tall, funky brown woman wearing black leather boots with impossibly high heels. I admired them and suggested that they were the kind of footwear that many people would be happy to kneel at and kiss. I asked whether they’d ever been serviced in this way and, if not, to christen them myself. She said that she’d consider my offer and agreed that the boots brought out the dominant in her.

To demonstrate this, she starts to issue some commands. She tells me to introduce myself to her friend R, then to kiss her. After demanding to be kissed herself, she redirects my attention to R.

“No,” She tells me. “You can do better than that. Kiss her like you want to fuck her.”

The kissing spreads; I find myself in a passionate embrace with Sandi, a gay guy I’d met earlier in the day. I had never understood that stubble could be erotic and it’s something of a revelation that in some circumstances it’s ok not to shave.

As the evening progresses I lose touch with R but as I’m leaving the bar I find T, the tall woman, looking for me.

“There you are,” she says. “I was worried you’d gone”. She pulls me into the upstairs bar where R is nursing a glass of white wine. “I want you to take her home with you”. I look at R. She thinks it’s funny but she’s not saying ‘no’.

“Of course I will”, I say. “If you insist and R wants to”.

“I do and she does. Go.”

It’s freezing on the streets of New York and we take a cab the three blocks to my hotel. The cabbie clearly thinks we could have walked.

In my room, we undress quickly. I kneel by her on the bed.

“Tell me what you like,” I say.

She speaks so softly, I can barely hear the reply.

“I like to be spanked”, she says.