HNT: Satin III

This is the last of the HNT photos The Pilot took when he was here last month.

I suppose that's fitting. I haven't written about it, but my Relationship with The Pilot is... well, it's over. We're negotiating our way back into a friendship, but that is a process. It's a process I think we're capable of accomplishing... but it will take some work.

So, mention of The Pilot will likely be somewhat more sparse. It isn't his fault, and it isn't anything terrible. It's just the way it is.

But here is another shot he took. And I know it's similar to another I've posted before, but the angle is a little different, and I think it's rather beautiful. So is he.



HHNT!

Adventures in sexting

I've written before about how I'm kind of awkward trying to say anything coherent or sexy during sex. I don't do phone sex because I'm afraid of sounding like a cheesy porno. But sexting (or sex messaging)? That I can do. I posted a series of sext messages from The Scientist a month or so ago.

Well, because I'm a lucky girl, (and, who knows, maybe you all are lucky readers,) I have more super hot sext messages that I got permission to post. The Pilot sent these to me a few weeks ago. He was mentioning that he was proud of them, but didn't really know how to show them off. I, of course, willingly offered him a place to do so. He made an effort to keep each paragraph to the 160-character limit imposed by his phone, so I'll post them as such.

Which makes me think, perhaps we should start using Twitter to post erotica. Yesss... TwittErotica. Maybe this means I'll be getting a Twitter for this blog. We'll see. Not sure how many I can consecutively handle.

Anyway, without further ado, The Pilot's sext fantasy:

The sun still lights the sky from behind the mountains, casting a warm glow on your white-clad form as you cross the yard to meet me.

You're wearing the now-iconic dress and the heavy glass pendant but I'm more interested in the smiling lips and gorgeous dark eyes that are now radiant with joy.

You grab me in what must be the hardest embrace you can and whisper "I missed you" into my shoulder. "You too," I smile, pinned against the car

as I return the hug with equal intensity. "I hear there's free drinks downstairs..." I quip, and you smirkingly take the hint.

Your roommates know what's up and keep the greetings brief and in minutes I'm listening to the pavlovian click of your door being locked.

Not even a breath later, you're against the wall with my hand on your neck and my lips pressed to yours. After a long kiss, I let my hand slide down between

your perfect tits, ending with one finger on your chest. "Stay" I quietly command, and move your chair sideways. "What...?" you start to say, but I'm kissing

you again as I guide you to the chair. "Ohh." You smile coyly as you wriggle onto the arm, your hips moving suggestively to meet the wall behind you.

"I knew you'd figure it out" I say, and kneel in front of you, slowly running my hands up the insides of your legs coaxing them wider and pulling your dress

along for the ride. I narrowly miss the hot mound between them, teasing a desperate whimper out of you as I stop at your hips and dig my thumbs into the

secret buttons I know are hidden there. Gradually releasing pressure, I begin to slide back down your silky legs, this time "accidentally" hooking

my fingers into your panties. With a little cooperation on your part, they're soon sylistically complimenting the rug behind me- leaving your pussy deliciously exposed.

You're already wet, and I can feel the heat radiating from you long before my fingers touch your soft flesh. You let out a moan and hurredly fumble

with my pants. My belt thuds to the floor and we share a chuckle before lapsing back into heavy breathing. My pants and underwear join your panties,

and before I know it, your beautifully feminine hand is caressing my raging hardon. Conscious thought momentarily pauses and I find myself gripping your

neck to keep from falling over. You choke out a gasp and forget to jerk me off just long enough for me to refocus on you. I let your hot cunt go and move my

hand behind your hips, pulling them away from the wall and towards my desperately erect cock. Moving slowly closer, I move the hand at your neck down to my cock,

guiding the head to just barely touch your cunt. "Hey" I get your attention with a lustful kiss and your dark eyes lock mine as I slowly lean into you...

Inch by inch my cock disappears into your hot, lathered hole. The feeling of your muscles tightening around me makes me growl with pleasure and I have to catch

myself with your neck again. I want to stop for a moment, to savor the feeling, but your hips drive into me as your hands find their way to my taut ass,

pulling me into you. I pause for a second and you dig your nails in, forcing me deeper and making me squeeze your neck indignantly. Not that I can resist for long.

Our rhythms begin to sync; my hand behind your hips and your nails on my ass lock us together and I fall forward, biting your neck around my tightened hand.

By now we're both panting with animal lust, sweating and grinding against each other in the frantic throes of lovemaking that's been denied for months.

As the room shrinks to only you and I, I start to feel the rush of the impending explosion building at the base of my cock and my thrusts take on a new urgency.

I can tell you're as close as I am from the short, gasping breaths that you're stealing through the hand on your neck and the palpable pulsing of your cunt

muscles. It's finally too much and my whole body tenses as I shoot hot cum deep into your clenching, dripping cunt.

My hips thrust rythmically of their own accord, driving my pulsing cock as deep as it will go. I can feel you gripping me with every movement, encircling my

solid erection in slick, throbbing heat. Your own frantic motions drag a breathless "ohfuckohfuckOHFUCKFUCK...FUCK!!!" from your lips. Your back arches

and my skin burns behind your raking fingernails, proving without words that Oh yes, it WAS good for you. Our breath comes in ragged gasps and through the tingling

semi-blackout of our shared orgasm I am only dimly aware of the juices soaking both of us from the hips down. Breathing slows, muscles relax, and after a few

breaths, I slowly, languidly slide out of you, lingering with each tiny sensation of skin on cum-slicked skin. I smirk and murmur into your neck

"I think we're gonna need a towel." A euphoric "Ha!" is all you can manage before sighing deeply and slouching into my arms. "But first, let's do it again," I grin.

HNT: Hardwired

I'll let you in on a little secret: my neck is one of the most highly sensitive erogenous zones on my body. I've known it for a long time, and so have my partners - it's a pretty clear indicator when I begin melting as soon as someone starts kissing my neck. Start biting, and you'll have me whimpering.

And, as The Pilot has learned recently, the fastest way to turn me into a puddle of desire? Put your hand around my neck. And start squeezing. Because, as it turns out, my neck seems to be pretty damn well hardwired directly to my clit. It's a fun tool for things bordering on orgasm control, too... because it's such an incredibly effective way to tease me.

There might be an entry forthcoming about how The Pilot learned to use this to his advantage to an extent I've never experienced, but we'll see. That memory might be just too juicy to share.

In the meantime, though, enjoy this preview:



HHNT!

HNT: Satin II

I don't have a special reason for posting this one this week, but it is one of my favorites. Again, compliments of The Pilot - he arranged this, also, what with the positioning of the satin and what not.




HHNT, everyone!

We're here, we're queer, we're fabulous, don't fuck with us!

This past weekend was Pride here in my hometown. It's always one of my favorite times of the year - I love summer here in general, largely because there are so many festivals. And Pride, of course, is like one of those festivals... taken over entirely by teh gehys. Really, it's a queer takeover of downtown. And while I do love the festival and the parade, both seemed a little tamer this year than years past. The festival, in particular, felt more like any other fair held downtown, just with more rainbows.

In any case, though, Pride this year was no bust. My favorite part is the parties, and there was no shortage there. Friday night found myself and my roommate at a women's party, where I'd gotten comped admission so I could interview New York-based lesbian hip-hop and soul duo God-des and She. They were friendly, talkative, and, oh yeah, really sexy. I was so excited to meet them, and even more excited to watch them perform. They put on a wonderful show, and the crowd really seemed to love them. My roommate and I had a great time at the party, and she seemed genuinely glad to get out of the house for a girl's night on the town. Oh, yeah, and she got hit on. And kissed. It was a good night.

Saturday I covered the state's first-ever Dyke March, interviewing attendees (and Dykes on Bikes), listening to speeches, and running into the lovely Essin' Em and her partner, Q. I always love seeing her, and I've been looking forward to meeting Q since Em is always speaking so highly of her, I was just sorry that I had to cover the event as a journo and therefore couldn't really hang out with them.

That did make this year's Pride an interesting experience. Everything except for the party on Sunday was part of something I was covering for my magazine, so I felt I had to maintain a relatively professional demeanor. That meant just one drink at the party on Friday night, and wandering around awkwardly and approaching random people at the Dyke March. I wouldn't say it exactly hindered my enjoyment of Pride this year, but it certainly changed the way I experienced it. But the money will be much appreciated when it comes in a few weeks.

Sunday was my day off from professional capacities. I made it downtown just in time to watch the entire parade and meet up with The Pilot's younger brother, who had never been to Pride before. It was fun to show him around, and we got along more easily than I thought we would have. We knew each other casually from years ago, but haven't spoken in easily over a decade. I know he, like The Pilot, can have a tendency to be a little shy (as, actually, can I), so I made an effort to be a little more outgoing than I usually am. I think he had a good time - he also joined me for a BBQ back at my and my roommates' house. Where, lo and behold, Friend also stopped by! (I say this mostly teasingly because he and I have a tendency to go several weeks without seeing one another, despite living only a few miles from each other.) The BBQ went well, although I had to leave early to go to the official Pride afterparty, where, thanks to my fabulous coworkers at the magazine, I was VIP, as was my date, The Scientist.

The afterparty was, like last year, held at a club downtown with a great rooftop bar. As VIPs, we had a cordoned-off area, complete with bottle service. A few of my coworkers were there, and they seemed so genuinely happy to see me that I was really quite flattered. They said incredibly nice things to me, and insisted that they're sure I have the full-time job I've been gunning for at the magazine. (I have a meeting with the editor-in-chief and publisher next week to discuss my salary... so it's promising, but I'm not willing to believe anything until I sign some paperwork.) The party started early in the evening, and being that the sun doesn't go down until nearly 9pm lately, sitting on the rooftop probably didn't help my sunburn, which I began work on earlier that day, standing in the sun for nearly an hour and a half watching the parade. People kept commenting about it, asking if I'd ever heard of sunscreen. I have, of course, and I usually don't burn quite this badly. Oh well. It's already tanning out in all but the worst areas. I'll survive, I think.



In any case, The Scientist and I had a nice time at the party - it was mostly laid back, and we got a chance to talk, he met my coworkers, all around good things. Of course, being that I was in a good mood, I was due for something to screw it up. Cue...

Edward.

Yes, you read correctly. Edward. Of 70+ phone calls and twice as many texts and a few emails and facebook messages. I swear he has some sort of radar for when I'm happy. Since all that insanity back in March and April, I have blocked his number, blocked him on facebook and any other social networking sites, and I hadn't heard from him until about a month ago.

It was the night I was meeting The Scientist's friends, and about halfway through the night, I got a phone call from my mother. She told me someone had broken into her house (where I also used to live). Nothing was missing, but they were still calling the police. And the only things they found rearranged were in my bedroom. And whoever it was made their entry through the basement, which was where Edward used to spend most of his time when he was at our house (which was often... As I said, he's been in my/my family's lives for 10 years.) It seemed like too much of a coincidence. Edward had sent me a facebook message about a week before (I hadn't realized that I hadn't blocked his sending messages), which was about the same time frame as when he showed up at my mother's house right before I graduated. So we don't technically have any proof that it was him, and since nothing was stolen, we couldn't do more than file a report, but I can tell you that it terrified me to be back in that house the next day. (I stopped by to assess the situation, I don't live there.) I am essentially convinced that it was him, because there's no one else I can think of who it could have been. I was hoping that when he went in my room and saw that it is very obviously not lived in (no clothes in the closet, bed covered in cat fur, nothing on the dresser), he would give up and at least believe that I really don't live there anymore.

And I didn't hear from him again until Sunday. He called me four times in the course of an hour. He was calling from someone else's phone. He left a message each time. In the third message, which was the nastiest, he actually implied that perhaps I just didn't have his number anymore, so he left it again. Of course, that also functions as evidence that that was NOT the number he was calling from. He didn't say anything directly threatening, but did swear at me some more and tell me how it's so obvious that I never gave a fuck about him. And he told me he was coming into town "pretty soon here." Which is just vague enough to be rather terrifying.

And I hate that I get so skittish when he calls. I didn't answer any of the calls, because thanks to him, I don't ever answer numbers I don't know. If it's someone who knows me, they'll leave a message and I'll call them right back. But just hearing his voice on the messages (which I've copied onto my digital voice recorder, as evidence should I need it), hearing his tone change from pained to angry to that sleazy, faux-pained manipulative tone I recognize all too well, really throws me. I was Skyping with The Pilot last night, and I eventually had to hang up because I was just so upset and I didn't want him to see me all curled up and teary-eyed and pathetic.

I'm not really sure what to do at this point. I am a little scared to do anything active, like get a restraining order. I'm worried that would provoke him further, and it's not like my holding a piece of paper in his face is going to stop him from hurting me if he wants to. My current address isn't listed anywhere, and the only people who know where I live are close friends and family, all of whom know about the situation and understand the need for secrecy. But I was reading over some resources The Pilot looked up for me online, and one of the recurring themes about how to deal with being stalked was to tell people. So, dear readers, I'm telling all of you. I've kept some of the details and events quiet over the past few months, but I felt I should update everything now. I would be lying if I said I wasn't scared. I can rationalize that he probably isn't really dangerous, but his persistence makes me nervous. And I hate that. I hate being scared in my own city, where there are so many great things and beautiful people who I love so much.

And there's only so much anonymity I can assume. I'm a writer. I refuse to publish under a pseudonym (well, aside from here, but I mean for paying jobs), and I refuse to let my fear of Edward totally run my life. It helps that he doesn't know where I live. But I hate that he seems so fucking determined to contact me. The Scientist and The Pilot have both suggested I change my phone number, but, again, I have contacts, professional and personal, who have my current number. Changing it would involve calling all of those people and explaining the situation, and it's so fucking frustrating. And terrifying.

The night Edward called, I got sufficiently sauced (The Scientist and I took a cab back to my place), and The Scientist stayed with me, so sleep wasn't as nerve-wracking as it sometimes is. Last night, I took some Tylenol PM to knock myself out so I could sleep without freaking out and waking up at every car that drives by my window. But if this continues, I'm really not sure what to do. It's draining and I don't know how much longer I can tolerate it before it takes an even more significant toll on my life, my happiness, and my ability to trust people.

On the absence.

I apologize. Once again. For my absence of late. I can't really explain it. I just haven't felt up to blogging lately. But I HAVE been thinking a lot about sex. Yes, I know, what else is new.

The week The Pilot spent with me was particularly emotional, for both of us. We did a lot of talking, a lot of drinking, and, well, a lot of everything. All of it was needed, and I think we're in a good place now, but it was hard for me, in a lot of ways. Don't get me wrong, it was also wonderful, and loving, and sexy and a million other things, but I guess I wasn't entirely prepared for the emotionality that came with his visit. I learned quite a bit about The Pilot, but also a lot about myself. I don't know whether to say I've totally recovered from all of that yet. So I'm just going to list some of the things I've discovered as of late. I'm sorry for the lack of inspiration here, but I guess these are things I need to get out of my system before I can move forward, and hopefully get myself out of this funk in time for Pride celebrations this weekend.

I am not broken. At least, not anymore. I've written before about the fact that, beginning a few years ago, I've had a particularly difficult time climaxing with partners. It didn't seem to be something physical, as I could get myself off, but there seemed to be some kind of emotional block or something. It hasn't been as pervasive lately, but I've still wondered if I would ever regain the ability I used to have to have several orgasms in a given session.

Answer: Yes. Oh. My. Fucking. God. Yes. Perhaps one of my favorite things about The Pilot is how willing he is to indulge and experiment with me and just roll with the result. In this case, he found a few of my buttons, and learned to press them long enough and in the right ways to get me off. Five times. In a row. I'm pretty sure that's never happened before. He seemed pretty proud of himself, and I think he certainly had good reason to be. Needless to say, I was an illiterate, malleable puddle of girl by the time he was done with me. I couldn't even form a sentence, let alone any of my signature snarky, self-confident comebacks.

But, as we learned another night, there is a limit. And my being unbroken doesn't mean I don't also freak out sometimes. I freaked out HARD. It wasn't particularly anything he did, but my head was somewhere else. And then I just stopped and floated away. My head wasn't in the moment, and my body doing something my head wasn't up to speed with just shut me down entirely. The Pilot was good about asking me what I needed and listening when I finally was able to speak (or even acknowledge that he was speaking to me) again, but it was a scary experience from me, just in how disconnected I could be.

Which lead me to start thinking about being disconnected from sex in general. Not especially from my partners, because they are an important part of my life, but from sex itself. I'm well aware of the cliched woman who, while her man is having sex with her, is counting ceiling tiles or going over the grocery list, but I've never been that woman. And I like not being her. And while I wasn't bored with The Pilot when I freaked out, I just realized I wasn't really there with him. And I didn't like it. I don't like feeling disconnected from what I'm doing, especially in the bedroom.

There are certain things in my past that have taught me how to disconnect what my body is doing from what my heart is feeling. I know this. And I've known I was capable of doing this. But I haven't done it lately. Or at least I didn't realize I had been doing it. But thinking about it, I have been, for years now, disconnecting relationships (little r or capital) from sex. Not that I don't have sex in my relationships, I certainly do... and good sex at that. But I don't often equate that action with being dependent upon the relationship at all. I was talking with my roommate the other night, and she said she'd never had sex with someone she really didn't like. I have. I've had sex with people I couldn't stand outside the bedroom. On repeated occasions. Because it was just sex. Sex itself has been so inherently separated from relationships, or even love or real feelings, that I had forgotten there was any other way to do it.

Talking to The Pilot about this, he was pointing out his philosophy, which is absolutely at the other end of the spectrum from mine. He ONLY has sex with people he really cares about. And as such, sex is intense with him. It was an interesting reminder of philosophies about sex that I haven't had, really, since I was about 16. I think there are valid reasons why I haven't felt that way in such a long time, but it was fascinating to be reminded that not everyone does that.

And it made me wonder if it was something I could go back to. I don't know if there's been too much... everything... in my life to think that way any more. But I want to give it a try. I'm not resorting back to monogamy, but I am pulling back a little bit. I don't totally know how to do that, so I'm fumbling my way through it. It has already started with pulling away from a few people - one being Jacob. I ended things with him... Romantic, sexual, and platonic. It was a selfish decision on my part, but he is somewhere where he needs me in a capacity I can't provide. And it wasn't fair to either of us for me to try to string him along in hopes of sparing his feelings. I should say that he handled it well, and like the grown-up I so want him to be. But there's always a little heartache involved.

It also involves not actually having sex (intercourse, although I hate that word) unless I really want to. Maybe that seems overly simplistic, and I don't have a brilliant explanation for why I'm holding out on penetrative sex, but it's a big deal to me. I want to see if it's something I can make special again. I don't necessarily want it to be the end-all, be-all, and to be honest I don't think I'll ever be at The Pilot's level of intensity about it, but I'm working on that as a model. And appropriating it for myself, and my personality and my history. And we'll see how it goes.

And finally, perhaps the scariest part among all this re-evaluating, there are things that have remained the same. Things I'm letting myself feel instead of quashing them like I usually do. And I must admit, they're driving me a little crazy. It's hard for me to not stop myself, convince myself what I'm feeling is wrong and unreciprocated and silly. It's kind of a losing battle.

But at least no one can say I didn't try.

HNT: The Pilot's shirt...

To continue the series of photos The Pilot took while he was in town last week, here's one of my favorites. I think I look even better in his shirt than he does. (Something about my boys' shirts seems to go over well...) Good thing he left it with me... 



HHNT!

HNT: Satin I

Now that I'm finally settled back home, and have my room set up, and am writing regularly (for money!), I can focus on other things. Like buying new sheets. And having The Pilot come stay with me for five days. More details to come on that. But he very kindly offered to take some HNT photos for me... That's right, folks, that means photos NOT taken in a mirror, or one-handed with my camera.

And I figured the satin sheets made a nice background, so I could justify the extravagance. So, compliments of The Pilot...

Sunday mornings...

...are sometimes my favorite moments of a week. Last week, Sunday morning found me lying on the grass, sun dappling my skin as it shone through the tree leaves above me, my head on The Optimist's shoulder, one hand in his, and my other arm around The Scientist, who's head was resting on my chest. We weren't saying much, because nothing needed to be said. We were tracing lazy, delicate circles across one another's skin, running fingers through hair, gently kissing foreheads. After the emotionally charged night we'd just completed, it was the perfect come-down. In fact, it was very nearly perfect regardless of how the night before or any other night had been spent. It was one of those beautiful Colorado summer mornings, that powder-blue cloudless sky, sun warming us just as a gentle breeze rustled the grass and cooled our faces.

Perhaps this Sunday morning isn't as epically romantic or exceedingly perfect. But I still find myself very, very happy. I am the first one awake after coming back to my mother's from a very late night singing Karaoke and flashing back to last summer with Roomie. It's just myself and my cat, and we essentially have the house to ourselves. I've dressed myself in one of my boys' T-shirts, which hangs off my chest and just barely covers my ass, showing off just a little bit of my uncharacteristically blue underwear. Wearing this shirt, which belonged to P once, makes me realize that I have managed to end up with T-shirts (or a button-down) from every old lover, but have none from any of my current partners. I decide I need to change this. I will need to stealthily acquire shirts from my partners. And by stealthily, of course, I mean asking if I can sleep in his shirt, and then asking if I can keep it in the morning. I do love the way a boy's shirt smells like him. It's good for helping me to not feel so alone on those nights when I am, in fact alone.

But this morning, as I have the house to myself, I boot up my computer, and go straight to the playlist I created when The Optimist and I were together last. (Yes, I saved the playlist.) It's mostly pretty acoustic songs, with a mild dose of mush thrown in there. I remember making the list as he and I were lying in my bed and him (at least humoring me) that we have strikingly similar taste in music. In any case, all of it is beautiful. And it makes me happy. And so I decide to start dancing around my empty house. In my T-shirt and underwear, dancing to Matt Nathanson and Joshua Radin and Jay Brannan and Angels & Airwaves and Regina Spektor and Citizen Cope.

And I realize how exceedingly happy I am. Without complications. I am, very simply, very content. I have been so incredibly lucky as of late with several things. Some of them are material and haven't quite materialized yet, so again, I'm hesitant to jinx them. But it's so much more than that. I am realizing how incredibly lucky I am to be surrounded by so many beautiful, giving, incredible people. I honestly believe I am one of the luckiest people in the world. I have so much love in my life - already more than I think most people ever get to experience. And, as I wrote about earlier this week, I feel like it's even warranted. That doesn't feel like being conceited, though. It really feels like, now that I'm so keenly aware, I want to make sure I appreciate it and let these people know how wonderful they make my life.

See? Look at how mushy I've become. It all started with last weekend, with The Scientist, and yes, meeting The Optimist. I do blame some of this optimism on him - it's definitely contagious. But all of my friends, my New Family have had a part in it. C certainly had a major role with her revelation. And it's just kept spreading. The Pilot is coming to visit next week. I've come to some conclusions about other people in my life and am able to be so much more zen about it. Not hoping to find things from partners that they simply aren't able to give me. And just being able to appreciate them for that.

And there will be some changes. All of this optimism has come with a new kind of self-awareness on what makes me happy, and what it feels like to be so happy. I will be moving away from those things that don't make me happy, spending more time around and doing those things that do make me happy. And things are just going to keep getting better.

I'll close with one of those songs The Optimist and I both realized we love. Thank you, Ms. Spektor.

There are worse things I could do...

So, first off, I apologize for the absence of late. My computer is completely dead, and I'm graduating in a matter of days, so I'm relatively incomunicado. But there's nothing wrong - I'm just busy and frustrated with my computer situation. And it's hard to write smut in the communal computer labs on campus. Which doesn't stop me all together, but still... yknow, it complicates things.

There are things to write about, including the Viking pulling a kind of dick move a few nights ago. (This is what happens when I admit to myself I like someone... I find a way to screw it up. And end up walking home alone in the rain at 4am. Sigh.)

Anyway, in my effort to, I don't know, put off studying for my law exam - my last college exam EVER - I found myself watching Grease last night. Like the Pilot jokingly tells me "You know you're queer when..." you do silly things like LOVE cheesy 70s musicals. Well, yeah. It's true. I know most people love the classics like "Summer Lovin'" and "Greased Lightnin'," but THIS has always been my favorite song. From my favorite character. I've always kind of identified with Rizzo. Is anyone really surprised? I mean, c'mon, the opening lyrics to this song are "There are worse things I could do than go with a boy, or two..." Yeah, welcome to my life.

So, for your viewing pleasure, enjoy today's musical obsession.



Rizzo's rather misunderstood for most of the film, and that's what this song is really about, and maybe why I identify with it so much. But I should mention a warm-fuzzy conversation I had with one of my best girlfriends back home the other day. We were talking on the phone, which is a little unusual for us (it's usually text or facebook), and we, of course, got to talking about our lovers. She knows nonboyfriend as well, and at some point the conversation turned to him. And I mentioned that I hope I get to see him when I get back - something I'm not sure about, because he gets jumpy around me when he's got a girlfriend. So do some other people, in regard to he and I - like I'm going to jump him, in total disregard for the exclusive relationship he's chosen to be in. Aside from the overly assertive confidence and predatory credit this belief gives me, it's rather ridiculous. And my friend said that - she even phrased it like it was something she's said to other people about me. "What people don't seem to get about you, Sasha, is that you would NEVER do that. It's like, Sasha wouldn't screw around with his relationship. She's too honest for that." Or something like that. And it was just this really lovely moment, and made me feel so wonderful that someone understands it. Understands where I'm coming from with all this, and that just because I'm not monogamous doesn't mean I'm automatically a man-eating, insatiable whore. And then, of course, it was nice to know that my effort to be honest and open in my relationships hasn't gone unnoticed. Because I really have been making an effort, and I think I've been doing a decent job, even if sometimes it means I'm alone more often than I'd like to be.

Sigh.

Anyway, she reads this blog, and I just thought I'd write a post about it and let her know how much I appreciated what she said. I miss you, sweetie! And will see you soon!

flashback

I had lost all concept of time, but had a very keen sense of place and every other physical sensation coursing through me. Friend had situated himself between my legs, his fingers working in and out of my cunt and curling inside me as his tongue circled and sucked on my clit - my hips rising to meet his mouth as I sunk deeper into that alternate universe where, again, things like this actually happen.

The Pilot had pulled himself up next to me, his hands strong as they grasped at my waist, my tits. He'd alternate between kissing my lips and my neck - that spot right at the base of my collarbone that he'd figured out makes me shiver and whimper and melt all at once.

My world was fast condensing into a very specific tunnel vision consisting of only the three of us as Friend continued fucking me with his mouth and the Pilot tightened his grip on my body. As the Pilot moved one of his hands toward my collarbone, instinct took over. I brought my hand to his and placed it across my neck, and I swear I caught him smiling out of the corner of my eye as he tightened his grip.

And then I absolutely lost it. With the Pilot's fingers around my throat and Friend's inside of me, my bucking hips moved faster and I didn't even have time to feel that heat starting at the base of my spine. Pleasure just ripped through me as my back arched and my vision became just a white light and some unconscionable stream of profanities flew out of my mouth. I couldn't tell you exactly what I said, but I'm pretty sure it resembled

OHFUCKHOLYSHITJESUSFUCKINGCHRISTFUCKGODFUCKINGDAMMITFUCKFUCK

And then I was panting and only vaguely aware of both Friend's satisfied smirk and the Pilot's eyes looking me over as I started shaking from the aftershock. Friend chuckled to himself as he got up, and I just started giggling incessantly, still trying to catch my breath and unable to move any of my limbs more than they were already quivering. Had the light been better, I'm sure you could have seen my entire body flushed. Someone, the Pilot I think, said something, in reference to me coming hard and loud or something, and I tried to put words together to make a response and utterly failed. Which induced more giggling. Because it was really all I could do, as my breath finally started evening out and the tunnel vision widened back to include at least the room the three of us were in.

Comfort food, without the calories.

Walking home a few days ago after a solid 12 hours spent on campus (doing work and in class the entire time), I was dragging my feet and feeling utterly exhausted. On a side note - why is it that it feels my entire collegiate, more, my entire academic, career is coming crashing down on me in these last few weeks of college? In an effort to combat the exhaustion and the depression that always seems to accompany it, I called the Pilot. (This has become a regular occurrence.) As we started laughing and nerding out about sci-fi and dinosaurs and grammar, I felt myself calming down.

Thinking about it later, I realized that usually, walking home feeling like I was, what I'd really want would be comfort food - for me it's usually chili or Mexican food... Something warm and filling and most likely greasy. Of course, there's always the guilt that accompanies eating those kinds of things, knowing how full of unnecessary calories they are. But talking to the Pilot had the same kind of soothing effect. In fact, I've realized I basically associate hanging out with him with those feelings of being on vacation, and very truly so, where there are no professional, academic or social worries on my mind. It's a very happy place. I am relaxed and happy and very silly - midnight giggle-fits are a regular happening. The same thing happens when I'm with Friend. Being around either of them is like a much-needed refuge from my hectic life and even from my neuroses. Even after a no-good, awful, downright rotten day, just talking with the boys salves the wounds. They're comforting.

So they're my comfort food. Without the calories. And I'm very lucky to have them.

Sex as music.

I am STILL obsessed with this band. The Pilot introduced me to them while we were on break (or shortly thereafter, I guess). It's euro-metal, and I think it's sweeping and epic and incredibly sexy.

Enjoy.

flashback.

As I turned to face the Pilot, I put my palm squarely on his chest, pressing him down to the bed. In a move surprisingly smooth (for me especially), I threw my other leg over his hips, and he muttered "yeah, that's one of my favorites, too." I leaned down and kissed him squarely on the mouth as I lowered myself onto his cock. I kissed along his neck and collarbone as I started moving my hips up and down, slowly at first. As he began moving his hips up to meet my motions, those movements got steadily faster, our breathing heavier. I kissed him once more before pushing myself upright, my hips still moving faster, my panting louder. As I sat up, a delicious fullness overtook my senses. My hips were moving without my command, grinding into him harder and faster, and I threw my head back and let my whole body rock. If he had his hands at my hips, I didn't know it - I wasn't aware of anything but the pressure building at the base of my spine and the heat spreading from that same spot. My hips were rocking back and forth at an almost frenetic pace - I can't even imagine how my naked tits must have been bouncing with my none-too-subtle motions. The force of my thrusts I know were moving his body beneath me, and I didn't care. I was entirely on another plane of existence. He pressed his hips, his cock, into me a time or two more and I felt him come. I tensed my nearly-spent muscles around him and folded my body back down on top of his. "Oh, that's just not FAIR," he exhaled.

The corners of my mouth turned up in a smirk, I looked over at Friend for the first time. He was looking at us, smiling. And stroking himself. My smile broadened as I slowly pulled myself off the Pilot, whimpering just a little as I did...

The end of Edward.

Yes, the end of him. I'm not doing this anymore. He went too far. At least, I believe he did. I don't think I deserved what I got last night.

I usually don't post texts and messages in their entirety, but I think in the interest of fairness, and in me trying to see if I really did ask for this, I'm going to publish the whole interaction. It stretched from about 330 in the afternoon, when he started texting me about my facebook status - which were song lyrics from the emo song "Almost," saying "Sasha...Almost had you, but I guess that doesn't cut it - I almost wish you would have loved me too."

Edward: Almost had who... may I ask.. sorry, just read your facebook.
Sasha: Oh, they're just song lyrics. But they could apply to a couple people in my life, ha. Why?
Edward: Nothin...
Sasha: No, what's up?
Edward: So... no biggie, just a little jealous.
Sasha: Ha. Jealous of what?
Edward: idk, nothing I guess. nevermind, just me being silly.
Sasha: Ha. Don't worry, you're my only almost lover. hehe.
Edward: only almost lover?
Sasha: More song lyrics. Look it up - it's a pretty song!
Edward: whats that mean for me as an almost lover... sorry for my mild jealousy but i kind of consider you property of Edward... in a way. ;)
Sasha: What do you mean by that? Elaborate, please.
Edward: mine... maybe.
Sasha: Repeating yourself doesn't count as elaboration.
Edward: your my baby, my love, my dream girl, my sex goddess, and in my mind my one and only.
Sasha: (silence)
Edward: ...maybe.
Sasha: Wow.
Edward: ...sorry :(
Sasha: No, no. Nothing to apologize for. It's just... intense.
Edward: almost a decade of being in love with someone does that.
Sasha: (silence)
Edward: ... wow i feel dumb now. :(
Sasha: No, you're not dumb. It's just me. You know I'm weird about people telling me they love me slash romanticism.
Edward: even slash a person who's in love with you... kinda stings knowing my feelings for ya aren't mutual... oh wells i still do love ya. cant change a heart.
Sasha: I wasn't trying to. Really, these are just my issues with people.
Edward: i didn't think I was just anyone. i figured after so many years doing nothing but love you would put me a lil bit higher up on your list. but ok i understand.
Sasha: No no, don't do that.
Edward: ...yeah... nevermind forget i said anything. at all.
Sasha: I will not! I just wish I could make you understand.
Edward: what, i get it. no worries just forget i made an ass of myself.
Sasha: Shit. Why do I always do this? Please don't be mad at me.
Edward: im not mad at you, just upset with myself for acting like a idiotic jack ass.
Sasha: Don't do that. These are my issues. Sometime I probably should walk you through my theories on relationships and how i live my life now. Might help explain me.
Edward: no, trust me i understand. after all its me, not really a great catch to go loving all willy nilly... or something. idk whatever.
Sasha: That's not it at all.
Edward: yeah... well im just a sex toy. i get it.
Sasha: Dammit. How can I make you understand that the issue here is me?
Edward: yeah, of course. no worries i understand and ill be fine. and im not mad at you so everything is fine.
Sasha: Goddammit.
Edward: yeah, its fine. you cant love me back. thats fine.
Sasha:This seems like a shitty way to have this conversation. But yes, I have ridiculous issues w falling in love. It scares me shitless.
Edward: ill just have to learn to share... or something... idk i dont feel too good right now.
Sasha: I'm sorry. I wish you'd let me explain.
Edward: no need to explain or any need to stay tied down to just one person. you just cant love me back. i completely understand. but i cant see a future with me, you, and whoever else may be tossed into the mix. im not a fan of sharing someone i genuinely care for. obviously too much for my own good.
Sasha: Well then i'm sorry that my view that monogamy has no bearing on affection or relationship success or importance isn't something you agree with.
Edward: ... yeah... in other words just me isnt enough. forget it. im not feeling so good so enjoy whoever with whatever. bye now.
Sasha: OK. This obviously isn't something you can deal with. I understand that. When you want to have an actual grownup discussion, let me know.
Edward: actual grownup discussion about what, how i love you and want yo be only yours but me alone wouldnt be enough for you, or even capable of caring back for me?
Sasha: No, a grownup conversation about realistic relationship possibilities that make people happy, where everyone gets what they need WITHOUT all the drama that destroys people and relationships and love.
Edward: there's nothing really to discuss, you dont want just me, or even me at all really. i love you too much to allow myself to be in any kind of multiple partner relationship. so yeah.
Edward: so i want and love you, you want more than love me, and cant love me back... pure and simple. so i understand, and im sorry im not ok being just one of your many toys.
Sasha: No, I never said I can't (or even don't) love you back.
Edward: yeah, and where i get to sit around while you fuck around with other guys. sorry but no.
Edward: simply put me, and my feelings for you are not what you want... at least not only what you want. so fine, ill pick up the pieces from you once again, and try to move on. i hoped id be the only you wanted but oh the fuck well. not gonna let anyone, especially you hurt me again. not again.
Sasha: Stop that! Goddammit how can I have a conversation w you if you just jump straight to the guilt trip? You make me so fucking angry that I can't see straight. Swear to god were you here I would scream at you then kiss you until you got over yourself long enough to shut up and listen to me.
Edward: listen to what, i got everything youd try and tell me. fuck monogamy and all that right... ill take your advice then. Edward the whore is back... yay.
Sasha: Fine. Do what you need to to make yourself feel better. And blame me or whatever you need. And maybe when you're done being angry at me again you'll want me. Because I will still want you. I want you and I want you to be happy. Sometimes those seem like mutually exclusive things.
Edward: but you dont want just me, so thats the point... i give the fuck up. no amount of caring for anyone makes up for being hurt. not again.
Sasha: I never set out to hurt you. And I am sorry if my honesty did that. And I'm sorry that I don't want an exclusive relationship right now. I fuck those up too easily. Altough it looks like I've done a bang-up job on this one, too.
Edward: i dont blame you. your just incapable of producing the same feelings i do. i only blame myself for being such an naieve ignorant jack ass. sorry. bye.
Sasha: Tell yourself whatever you need to. Like I said, when you want to give me a chance, or at least make an effort to know who I am, let me know.
Edward: yep. shouldve known it would come to this. you have no reason or right to give an ounce of shit about me. so enjoy who ever with whatever. hope its fun and fulfilling for you. goodbye sasha.
Sasha: OK. Just keep going ahead with the guilt-trip. I'll fall back on those people who don't make me feel like shit for being who I am. Good luck with everything.
Edward: ha... i cant believe i thought you actually cared about me. what the hell was i thinking. hahaha.
Edward: i think i got ya figured out. cant believe i thought you wanted me. ha.
Edward: yeah you too. enjoy your other lil toys. hope none of them fall for ya.
Sasha: Yeah, me too. Maybe they won't get such a kick out of trying to make me feel like a whore.
Edward: whatever. all i wanted was to be cared about like i do for you. but just one dick apparently isnt enough for Sasha. yay.

And there is where I threw the phone across the room, and it broke into five pieces. I think I terrified my roommates. Nevertheless, I slammed the rest of my drink, picked up the phone and went back to my room. When I came back a few minutes later, I asked my roommates if I could have some of their vodka, they both just stammered out "yeah yeah yeah of course, whatever you want!"

I didn't respond to Edward again throughout the rest of the night. But I didn't quite have the self restraint to not open the text messages he kept sending me.

Edward: god, i wasted fucking years on someone who i never be "good enough" for... fuck this shit im fucking done. ill just go do what you do.

Edward: none the less, i promise to never bother you a fucking gain. no need to be guilt trip for no reason.

Edward: god damn it Sasha why'd you have to fool me for so fucking long into thinking i mattered to you. god damn it!

Edward: what? you dont think i deserve a response as to why you bullshitted me for these past couple of years? or are you too busy fucking around with your other toys?

Edward: HELLO! ID LOVE TO KNOW WHY BULLSHITTED ME SO MUCH FOR SO LONG! HELLO!

Edward: PULL WHO'S EVER COCK OUTTA YOUR MOUTH AND ANSWER ME PLEASE!

Edward: yeah, didnt fucking think you had a reason.

Edward: just one more regret in my life. goodbye then Sasha, enjoy your life without me guilt tripping you or burdening you again.

Here is where he started calling me. I didn't answer. He called at least once between each o the following texts.

Edward: hmph. guess i didnt matter that much then. fine.

Edward: ... so ignoring me. fun. and here i was trying to salvage something, but i guess not then. enjoy yourself now .

Edward: my last attempt at salvage sasha. tonight or never. and seriously you will never hear from me again unless i get some kind of semblance to an explanation.

Edward: i merely wish to know why ive been bullshitted by the one person i actually trusted. why? if no answer then a permanent fairwell.

Edward: well then, you have fun now. goodbye sasha and take care, sicne you only want one... no wait many things. use a condom now. bye.

Edward: ill be sure to erase any way of us contacting each other again. facebook, phone number, everything. enjoy yourself now.

Edward: I KNOW YOUR BUSY FUCKING AROUND BUT AFTER EVERYTHING WE'VE BEEN THROUGH AND YOU'VE PUT ME THROUGH I DESERVE AN EXPLANATION! I DESERVE CLOSURE OF SOME SORT!

Edward: so when your done getting your fill, it be at lest decent of you to explain. if you gave even an ounce of fuck about me... ever. then at least give me that.

Edward: do you really not give a flying fuck about me enough to at least give me that?!? id like how you hurt me to not destroy me more than necessary, so how bout it?

Edward: fine, ill just do the one thing i knoe will curb broken feelings. forget i asked anything of you. ever.

Edward: could you take who's ever cock out of your mouth for a second to fucking talk to me? im hurting here in more ways than one.

The last message was left at 2:48 am.
And then he abandoned the text messages in favor of voicemails.

"I still believe I deserve some kind of fucking explanation from you goddammit. I mean, fuck, I poured almost a fucking decade into trying to be with you, just to have you fuck me over, hell, worse than you've ever done. And why? It's nice to know how much you actually give a fuck about me. Yknow I really thought if anyone would be honest and not bullshit me, it woulda been you."

"Could you stop being a bitch for like five fucking minutes? Maybe? Or not, which fucking ever. God... damn. I cannot believe you did this again. Oh I am so fucking stupid. Wow."

When I threw my phone and went into my room, I couldn't hold back the tears. I was so angry. And so hurt. And felt ridiculously alone. They were the exact same feelings I used to have when ex hit and/or screamed at me. I just wanted to curl up into a little ball. I could tell myself, intellectually, that he was being childish, that he was just trying to get a rise out of me, but emotionally, he was beating me down. It was working. I sent out a few frantic texts and clung to my computer, hoping I'd find someone online who I could talk to who might not think I'm a life-ruining whore. Thank god, the Pilot was on. I had to reboot my computer, but then we started Skyping.

I still feel bad for unloading so heavily on him. He actually saw me crying (and the requisite coping mechanism, drinking), and I'm sure I was blubbery and not making any sense as he tried desperately to reason with me. But he was amazing. He stayed on Skype with me for well over two hours. Making me laugh, plotting Edward's demise... and telling me not to answer every time Edward called me. The final count was 26 times, the last one at about 315am.

Roomie also happened to be online in New Zealand, so she repeated the things I'd said to her the night before about our pasts not defining us and there being nothing wrong with being who we are. Again, it's one of those things I knew, intellectually, but my irrational emotions were winning over. At one point, she asked me how I was feeling about the whole thing, and I just said "i feel like a whore who won't ever be loved." This was her response:
"I admire you so much for how comfortable you are with your sexuality and how fearless you always are. Like you said, you shouldn't let anyone make you feel like shit for the things in your past. They're just things you've done, they're not who you are. As for never being loved, I love you, so you know that's not true. I know that there is someone out there that is amazing and worthy of you, and you'll find them because you are amazing. You have this energy that sucks people in. You deserve to be happy, and I know you will find overwhelming happiness."

And it helped.

A couple hours after the Pilot and I had started talking, Friend logged on to AIM as well. (I'd texted him asking if he was around.) The three of us chatted as they made more plans for Edward's destruction, and did their best to convince my intoxicated, emotional ass that I wasn't a whore and that I was loved. They did an amazing job. Some of it was reason, some of it was emotional appeal, mixed in with a lot of reminding me that they both love me. When it was becoming apparent that Edward wasn't going to let up (and I, in my stubborness, wasn't going to turn off my phone), the Pilot suggested he call me and we take a walk together. (Virtually, of course.) I put shoes on, but then remembered that it isn't particularly safe to walk around alone at 3am in my neighborhood, not to mention it was 45 degrees and I was already shivering from the drinking... But I still called him, and then we dialed in Friend, and I curled up in my bed.

It was so soothing to hear their voices. And hearing them together, it was like we were all actually together, back with the witty banter. The only thing that could have made it better were if they were actually there with me, because if they were, I know I would have been getting more cuddling and love than I'd even know what to do with.

Bear checked in periodically through the evening, although he was out doing things and so didn't get the worst of my meltdown. He did, however, send me the song he said he chose for me (after my selecting "My life would suck without you" for him. Here it is:


The Pilot and Friend stayed on the phone with me until 4am, when I promised I'd go to sleep. I thanked them, not knowing how I would have coped if I hadn't had them there for me. I told them I love them, they reminded me they love me, too. And I believed them. And didn't feel so worthless anymore.

I got up to get ready for bed and couldn't help but look at my facebook. Edward had sent me a message, but this time, reading it didn't make me crumble. I think my boys got through to me. In any case, here's the message:
"... Thank you for helping realize how fucking ignorant i was over you. Its been so long since i've had my heart broken i almost forgot how much it really hurts. Hope this whole thing makes you a bit happiier. Enjoy your life sasha, without me. You didnt lose me, i lost you. Goodbye and thanks again, i promise i wont allow myself to be so fucking naive again."

And the only thing I could think, was how much more I WILL enjoy my life without him. And how incredibly lucky I am to have so many people who love me. And are willing to give up their friday night to console me, thousands of miles away though I may be. The Pilot called me this morning to make sure I was alive and in one piece (he'd seen the worst of it... I think I scared him a little. I'm sorry for that, dear.). Edward called me again right after the Pilot did, and just left me an empty voicemail.

So I've published everything here as a way of purging it all. It's deleted from my phone, from my inbox... He's deleted from my life. It feels good. I have more than enough love in my life, and thanks to those people, I even think I might deserve some of it. And I'm pretty confident I didn't deserve how Edward treated me. I didn't lie to him, although he begs to differ. And actually, reading through all this, I can't exactly find the point where I did anything wrong. Where I lied to him or broke him or anything. If anyone else can, I'd love to know.

In the meantime, though, I'm going to go back to revelling in my wonderful life, full of incredible people who make it worth living. Thank you to all of you. I love you very, very much.

Sasha.

I am a greedy whore.

No, really.

I hadn't been able to sleep on the second leg of my flight. I was too jittery and excited and just couldn't stop smiling. I must have looked like an idiot, a shit-eating grin on my face as we touched down at the airport just after midnight. But I knew Friend was waiting for me at the airport and that the Pilot would be there momentarily to pick us up. I nearly sprinted off the plane and to the train to baggage claim. (Wow, that was a lot of unintentional rhyming.) I found Friend sitting on a bench, a giant backpacking pack at his feet. As calmly as I could (as if he didn't know how excited I was to be there and seeing him), I walked up to him and said something stupid like "hey, don't I know you?" There were hugs, and we called the Pilot, who rolled up shortly thereafter. We decided midnight meals were in order, and after an unsuccessful effort to find an open Village Inn, settled for Denny's. (Which, by the way, were springing up like weeds... I think the final count was 8 or 9 in the same stretch of state?) The snarky, witty, nerdy conversation ensued basically immediately. I've known both boys for years, and while they've kept better touch with one another consistently than I have, I feel like I fit seamlessly into their friendship. It's a nice feeling. Of course, we tend to be very silly when we all get together, and most conversations eventually end up reduced to naked and/or sex jokes. Which is also awesome.

We had to drive for about an hour to get back to the Pilot's apartment, meaning it was somewhere around 2am. For some ridiculous reason, we decided to nerd out and watch Firefly. And drink rum. The Pilot is part pirate, and as such, LOVES rum. He was starting to devise some kind of drinking game involving taking a drink every time a character swore without really doing so, but he was basically the only one playing. Friend and I each had maybe a glass of rum by the time the Pilot had three and was relatively sauced. From some kind of semi-fateful misunderstanding, I'd told the Pilot ahead of time that we could all just share his bed. And, seeing as how both Friend and the Pilot are straight (or at most hetero-flexible, to borrow Friend's phrasing), and because, yknow, I'm a cuddle whore, I climbed into the middle of the bed. And then things got interesting.

I should mention that, in general, Friend and I are very silly with one another. Especially when it comes to sex. It's one of my favorite things about him, not only does he make me laugh, but he does so at exceedingly appropriate times and is excellent at diffusing a tense situation and helping me put things in perspective. As such, the sex we have is lighthearted and fun - which doesn't make it any less hot or memorable, but does set it apart from most other partners I've had.

In classic fashion, as I was lying between the two boys, Friend made some comment about how it was silly that I was wearing a shirt, since I had perfectly good breasts that shouldn't be hidden. Or something to that effect. I just giggled, and without much convincing, shed my shirt. At which point, I had a hand on each breast - one belonging to each boy. Friend made another joke, and started kissing my neck, biting my earlobe... pointing out to the Pilot that he should do the same and see what kind of reaction it elicited. They made the requisite snarky, cocky comments when my breathing became audibly louder. Hands started running up and down my body. Friend and the Pilot have very different touches, and it was electrifying feeling the two sensations simultaneously. As I've come to expect, Friend's touch is softer, more sensual. The Pilot, running his hands up and down the right side of my body, had a stronger touch - it seemed more urgent, hungrier. Even before anyone had moved his hands below my waist, my body was buzzing. Friend turned my face to his, both his hands on my jaw, and kissed me. So began my first boy-girl-boy threesome. And the fulfillment of a fantasy I've had for years.

(On a side note, I've started noticing that perhaps having one's lovers read one's blog is a good plan. It's a good way for them to take note of what you do and don't like, without having to burden oneself with actually telling them... *snicker*)

The Pilot knew Friend and I have been together, and I'm not sure he was originally sure how he would fit into the scenario. So I turned to him, and kissed him, too. And I have to say that in that moment, I started to feel a little like a sex goddess. That's probably an entirely unearned title, but it's how I felt. Understandably, I think, given that I had two men basically worshipping me. It's hard not to feel pretty fucking hot.

Friend, for his part, kept the tone characteristically light, which I think sometimes bugged the Pilot, who takes sex much more seriously. (Again, something that was evident even in the way they touched me.) My style is probably something of a combination of the two - I can certainly roll with either, and it was a fascinating experience having the two combined. I'd love to say I played some crucial role in mediating between the two, but the truth is I was so flabergasted by what was happening that I probably wasn't much help at all. I just kept floating higher and higher, existing on some other plane where things like this actually happen.

Throughout the entire encounter, Friend emerged as the kind of leader, or perhaps the director. He and I don't do much with a dom/sub dichotomy (although he's usually in charge, and has no problem pinning my hands down or pulling my hair to put me where he wants me), but he stepped into this quiet dominance part in this situation. I think some of it was, as we hadn't discussed anything about this with all three of us, we were kind of improvising and needed someone willing to direct things in some sense. And I think some of it was, for all that I suspect the Pilot has quite a bit of a dom personality buried in him, he was still a little unsure about what was and wasn't allowed. And I will admit that it was lovely to just sit back and enjoy, totally absorbed in the sensations, knowing that Friend was looking out for me and knows me so well that I can trust him completely. So things progressed.

Both guys went down on me - which is a big deal for me, as it's something I'm not exceptionally comfortable with. Of course, like most of the things that night, I was a little too blissed out to be self-conscious. Which, again, was a nice change of pace. And again, getting the undivided attention of two men at the same time doesn't hurt a girl's ego, either. At one point, Friend got up and came back with ice cubes, which melted on my overheated skin accompanied by my whimpers and squirming. Friend would periodically look at me and just shake his head, saying, "You are SO spoiled." I'd smile and giggle out, "Oh, I know. It's awesome."

Somewhere about three hours in (yes, THREE HOURS), the actual sex began. I don't recall exactly how the arrangement came to be (then again, most of the evening wasn't planned), but I ended up facing Friend while the Pilot fucked me from behind, spoon-style. Wow. What a mind-fuck. And talk about a very strange way to be submissive. Making eye contact with your partner while you're being fucked by someone else... I'm not even sure I can verbalize the sensation. I felt empowered, sexy, desired, while at the same time feeling very vulnerable and submissive and even a little objectified (in a good, consensual kind of way). Looking at Friend, it was like I was asking his permission, even though he'd obviously already granted it. Again, he would take my face in his hands, kiss me deeply, pull me back into the moment when I was floating away. He does that sometimes. Usually right when I need him to.

And there was the separate sensation of pleasure coming from the Pilot, fucking me. He knew what he was doing. It felt fantastic. I love being fucked from behind, and it had been a long time since I'd had spooning sex, although it's one of my favorites when it works right. And oh, was it working right. His hands were gripping at my hips, pulling me into him, and I know my breathing (more likely panting at this point) was synching up with his thrusts. He came quietly, and we both let out a deep breath. He rolled onto his back, and we all spaced out a little on the bed to start the collective come-down.

The details from there are a little fuzzy. It was definitely a different kind of come-down, and I'm pretty sure I started giggling insanely. (Something that became standard fare for the week we spent together... the boys took to calling it my midnight cat crazies... cat owners will get it.) Eventually, we fell asleep, me still in between both the boys, each of my arms twisted with one of theirs. And I slept well... Sweet dreams weren't even needed. I had just lived one.

If the things I fantasize about keep living up to my expectations, I might have to reevaluate my chronic pessimism.

And as for the title here? It became a running joke for the rest of the week, that I was a greedy whore, just letting the boys pamper me like that. And really, they were right. I just can't promise I'll be changing anytime soon if these are the experiences that trait gets me.

HNT: Lines

So, in my eagerness to escape from the frozen, sunless tundra where I spend nine months of the year, on my southern adventure last week I might have been a little over-zealous with the sun exposure. The Pilot refuses to give me any sympathy, which is probably fair - it is my own fault. However, it's only been a day or two, and the burn has almost entirely faded to a tan. That doesn't mean I don't still have some pretty rockin' tan lines. Ha.



HHNT!

Coming back

I apologize for my absence of late - I've just spent the past week on a combined birthday/spring break vacation, and I must admit, blogging was one of the furthest things from my mind. Friend flew out from home, and I flew south from school to stay with a mutual friend, who we'll call the Pilot. We we spent the week surrounded by sun, sand, more than a little rum, a non-stop soundtrack of 80s music, and oh yeah, a whole lot of sex.

I have a ridiculous amount of gushing/updating to do, and all that will come in the next few days... In the meantime, here's an example of a strikingly appropriate piece of the vacation soundtrack...