Posted by: littlegirlyone | December 23, 2009

Killing the Flame, part 2

Back around February of last year, Alan and I had started talking about getting together. At one point, he’d offered to come north and see me, but I couldn’t handle the pressure of him making a special trip. What if our chemistry had been lost? What if I didn’t want to see him? I’d decided there was no way I would feel good about him making a trip only to see me.

Over the summer, we lost touch again. I thought maybe our little reconnected energy had run its course, but I was wrong. He was still on my (subconscious) mind. In the fall, I had an orgasmic dream starring him. I couldn’t get over it, so I wrote him a short note. “You made me come in my dream last night.” I guess that got his attention. 

Things escalated after that. We were chatting, flirting all the time. I was sending him pictures I enjoy taking of myself, and he was appreciative. He made me feel hot, wanted. It was definitely a rush. Then, by chance, I had to travel south for work. We immediately made plans to spend time together while I was there. Once there was a real possibility for us to be physically in the same space, I decided to try being honest about what kind of sex really interested me. (This is a first for me. When I was younger, before I dated Mark, I was too scared to ask for the kind of dominance I wanted. Since Mark and I opened our relationship, I’ve primarily dated self-identified dominants.)

With Alan, I left a trail of breadcrumbs leading to the conclusion that I was submissive, and waited him to figure it out. By the week before my trip, he was confiding in me that he could be pretty dominant, and I was admitting my penchant for my ball gag (which he made me promise to bring). After I explained the sort of anxiety I feel when I’m forced to make decisions in personal relationships, he said that I would have only one decision to make: whether or not we would have intercourse. The rest, he promised, would be up to him. Before I left, I was pretty excited to spend a weekend with someone who would engage my submissive side with such confidence.

The first clue that he wasn’t all that sure of his alleged dominant side should have been his ridiculous inability to tell me when to come to his house. I told him over and over that I had no plans on that Saturday afternoon. I also made it clear I could make plans with other friends, should he want to meet later in the day. We went back and forth about a dozen times, with no resolution. I stewed in anxiety, trying to decide for myself whether to wait for my girl friend and have coffee with her, or head to Alan’s house early. All of this anxiety, I thought to myself, wasn’t supposed to be there. He was supposed to be making all the decisions, and he wasn’t even telling me when to come over! In hindsight, this should have been a big, red stop sign, but at the time, I sort of talked myself through my decision-making anxiety, and chalked it up to nerves. I decided to drive to his house after I had coffee with my friend.

When I arrived, I spent an awkward 45 minutes or so sitting on the edge of his bed. (I wasn’t being forward; there wasn’t anywhere else to sit.) Meanwhile, Alan and his roommate (one of three other 30-something men that lived in the house) attempted to copy music from eachother’s computer. Alan hadn’t showered, hadn’t even changed out of his pajamas. Sitting there, I remembered a lot of the reasons we hadn’t ever managed to get along for more than a week or so at a time. Alan is incredibly self-absorbed, and sort of clueless and thoughtless when it comes to women. For example, the morning after I spent the night, he flirted mercilessly with his roommate’s girlfriend while I was sitting next to him at breakfast. Later in the day, he told me about all the amazing sex he’s had with our mutual camp friends since I’d last seen him. He makes me feel expendable and insecure. And for some reason, I feel like the little crumbs of attention and praise he tosses at me are golden nuggets, not table scraps. At this point, I’m tempted to talk about why this is so, but I think that belongs in a post of its own. Back to me, sitting on the edge of his unmade bed, kicking my heels on the frame, wondering if this was a mistake.

Finally (believe me, it felt like an awkward forever perched on the edge of his bed) the roommate left, and Alan sprang from his desk, and pulled my sneakers off.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Taking your shoes off because I want to cuddle.” And with that, he rolled himself over me, grabbing my legs with one of his, and wrapping me in his arms. You might wonder why, after everything I’ve just told you, I let him. You might wonder why I didn’t just gently press him away, slide my sneakers back on, and head for the door. You might wonder why I’d let him run his unwashed hands over my face, why I’d kiss his cigarette mouth (I don’t smoke, and generally find it unpleasant). My explanation is twofold. One: I was curious about what it would be like to fuck him. It was a teenager’s interest, a sort of fascination in going where we had never had the opportunity to go before. And, two:  he ignores me so much that his attention feels like an accomplishment. Now I had it, and there was no way I was going to let it go.

We made out for a long time. We started side by side, toe to toe. He kissed like I kiss: hard. The only flaw I found in his kissing was that he pushed his tongue too far into my mouth for my taste. I prefer tongues to stay on the far side of my front teeth, and he seemed to want to stick his tongue all the way into my mouth. It wasn’t unpleasant, and if I’m honest, my mouth felt very taken by that. My mouth was no longer my own. My own tongue had to shrink flat to make room for his.

We broke apart with me straddling him. I bit my lower lip on the left side, looked down, and saw he was my mirror image, biting his lower lip on the right. This sent me into a fit of giggles, crumpling off of him and rolling around playfully on the bed. I told him I could feel the barrier between us, the line we had never crossed, and that it was taking me a long time to get up the courage to cross it. He grinned.


Responses

  1. I want to hear what happens when you cross the barrier…! :)Btw, have you ever read this blog?….http://monmouth.blogspot.com/2009/12/ball-gag-misuse.html#links (This post made me think of you!)


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Categories

%d bloggers like this: