Feelings are such difficult things. You think you’ve got a handle on them, then they slip away, sliding through your fingers, chuckling as they tug at your heart.
I recently asked a lovely young lady for a date (hello, if you are reading this!). Sadly it was declined, but it got me thinking about how my views on dates have changed since my youth.
I last seriously dated in my university days, back in 199*mumble*. The (few) dates I had back then seemed to be much more a prelude to, shall we say, bedroom activities. They were nice, involved lots of snogging, and not that much talking.
Oddly, they, almost exclusively ended up in long-term relationships, despite this!
I’ve been married now for ten years, to the lovely Caitlin, who I have never dated at all. Due to various circumstances, related earlier in this blog, she went from being friend who I was in love with (and married to someone else), to girlfriend I was living with, with no time for dates in between.
My desires for a date have most definitely changed. The urgent, “lets get somewhere private” has definitely receded, and I’m now very much looking for an evening of flirty, interesting conversation, good food and wine, and above all, both parties enjoying an evening out.
And, for a first date, I’d not be wanting anything else to happen either. Something my full-of-hormones 18 year old self would have trouble understanding.
I’ve not asked many people for a date, and only two since in the last 12 years. I think I need some practice.
When I was growing up I went through the stage of looking up naughty words in the dictionary. Although I did certainly include the purely anatomical, the words which really moved me were the kinky ones.
Whip, spank, submission, humiliation.
That last one has always got the biggest reaction. A rush of heat comes to my cheeks just thinking of the word. It is humiliating too, to admit this reaction, even to myself, let alone here. Indeed just writing this is making me squirm.
*takes a deep breath*
So humiliation is a definite turn on for me. Mostly though it’s been something I’ve enjoyed in my own fantasies rather than in actual play. The most I usually get is a mild buzz (like when I’m called a slut) as part of a more physical scene. Today I got a surprise.
This morning started gently. Perrin curled up behind me making love to me. He was clearly feeling imaginative because he was talking as he moved inside me, describing scenarios with a third party (actually two of them, because they switched gender) which were so intense they practically made me cum, and brought Perrin to an excellent sounding orgasm.
The inevitable drawback of this, is that I have to wait longer for him to recover and hence to get an orgasm of my own, so I’d cooled down a little before he ordered me to roll over so he could play with my pussy.
He played with me for a little while, but I was struggling to reach an orgasm, and he became (I think) slightly distracted and started picking at my pubic hair. Perrin usually keeps me shaved, but we’ve been busy, and I’d been happy to give any ingrowing hairs time to grow out. So of course he found one, and after freeing it, pulled it out to show me how long it was!
I gasped, that little not quite ‘ow’ sound, which I know he loves. So naturally he did it again. Yow!
I said he was feeling imaginative, because he went back to playing with my clit, talking to me now, telling me how he could spend all evening plucking the hair from my pussy.
No. I mean really, no, and yet the rush of heat I felt in my cheeks and wetness between my legs was unmistakable.
His voice was soothing, pointing out that I’d said I didn’t like waxing because it hurt too much (it does, I scream). This on the other hand…
It was then I realised the rush I was feeling was one of humiliation. I still don’t quite get it. I don’t mind being shaved, and I have no problem with the idea of waxing (if only my pain threshold was higher). There is however something utterly humiliating about the idea of him plucking the hairs out of my pussy one by one.
I was lost, as he stimulated me, listening to him talk, imagining us curled up on the sofa, watching tv, my pussy uncovered and him tweaking the hairs out one by one. I heard him say he’d have to tie my hands. I was shamed again, aware of my fists clenched at my sides, making no move to stop him as he pulled yet another hair free. I heard my voice whispering ‘no, no, no’ but I couldn’t move.
I felt his fingers resting lightly on me, and knew with submissive certainty, that he was going to pluck another hair as I orgasmed. I felt that dreadful anticipation of pain, the knowledge that my pleasure would inevitably trigger it, and that thought pushed me over the edge, and I came.
Such a little thing, but something about this image has been holding me all day. Keeping me desperately aroused. There’s a buzzing in my head that will not stop, and I could scream. This stuff really turns me on.
I’ve been thinking a lot about our puppy play last week.
I really enjoyed it, and although it didn’t consciously feel sexy it certainly turned me on, but what’s really on my mind is, well, what was on my mind.
I started off feeling very awkward. One minute I’m doing what I want, and the next I’m expected to kneel down at Perrin’s feet. This is the bit where I want to run away, and say that this is a really silly idea, but there’s no backing out now, so I kneel down obediently.
So (as usual) then, there’s the voice in my head that asks why an independent and capable woman (really I am) is letting some man order her around.
“Because I want to. Go away.”
“And don’t you think you look ridiculous, a woman of your age”, what a hateful phrase that is, “crawling about naked on the floor”.
“Well yes I probably do, but I’m not looking at me”, I’m also not looking at Perrin either. I want to believe I’m sexy like this, but I expect that ridiculous is closer to the mark, and I don’t want to see the look in Perrin’s eyes telling me I’m right.
I’m honestly trying to be a good puppy, but I’ve not got much to go on. Talking is probably not really in character, but he’s not asked me to be silent either, so I end up saying ‘Yes Sir’ to orders but trying not to say anything else.
That of course, gives my inner observer ample opportunity to comment on what’s going on.
“Drinking out of a bowl, what do you look like?”
You see how it goes…
Finally of course, I get deep enough for the voice to fade away, and I can just feel, but I wish it wasn’t so hard to get there…
I’ve always tended to commentate on my own experiences. Even to the point of commentating on my commentating on my own experiences (yes, that is as confusing as it sounds). Sometimes that’s a positive experience, but mostly the voice in my head is a critical one.
I know where in the past those voices come from, but that knowledge isn’t enough to quiet them, and they’re always waiting to torment me.
So, Perrin sent me a (kinky) porn clip to watch recently. I loved it. It was hot, and there were others on the site too, which I loved as well. Anyway, he asked me what I found most sexy about it.
It was then, I realised. In the clip the master is talking the whole time. Instructing, urging, praising, reassuring. The submissive is focused on him. His voice is the commentary to her experience, not her own, and it is a positive one.
Perrin however tends to be silent when we play, and that gives me a silence which I cannot help but fill, as I am filling it now, with thoughts which make me unhappy.
“Stop, stop, stop”.