Gift

To avoid confusion, I’m adding a new category called “in retrospect” in order to differentiate posts where I’m talking about something that happened in the past, as opposed to posts where I’m talking about things that are currently happening. This post looks pretty weird juxtaposed with my last one, but what can you do? In this case, I’m talking about my summer in LA and another night with the Optimist. I suppose I will always be a hoarder of memories…

I wish I had dated this when I wrote it, but think circa. August 2009…

—

via ...and Death Smiled

If you’ve been following my tweets at all, you’d have read about me gushing over a guy I used to call Fetlife Guy #3, who I now call the Optimist. As his name(s) suggests, I met him through Fetlife, and he is a very positive person

I haven’t known him for very long, but my time with him has been nothing short of wonderful. This is the first time in a while that I’ve met someone who is just as smitten with/infatuated with/interested in me as I am with them, and who treats me in ways I like to be treated. This probably sounds really dramatic, but he has been a ray of hope in the pit of college douchebags I’ve been dolefully scrabbling in until now. Knowing that it’s possible to meet someone who likes me just as much as I like them, who reciprocates my feelings, and who wants the same kind of relationship and closeness that I want, is very encouraging, because I had begun to doubt whether it was even possible.

Of course, as it always happens when I meet someone awesome, I am leaving in a week, which sorta sucks.

—

We were chatting online on the evening of Labor Day when he impulsively asked me to come over. We both had work the next day, and he had to drive for about an hour across the city to pick me up, so I had my doubts about whether or not it was a good idea. But he really wanted to see me.

“I know I’m asking a lot for you to come over now, but I’ll do anything you want,” he said.

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

How could I say no to that?

A couple of hours later found us making out in his apartment on his bed.

“I meant what I said earlier,” he told me. “I still want to try dominating you, but tonight is all yours.”

We kissed some more as I tried to figure out what I wanted to do with him. Eventually I thought of something – I’ve said many times how I wished I had a significant other at home who would welcome me nicely when I came home from work, and offer to give me a footrub, backrub, that kind of thing.

“You know, you never really finished giving me that foot massage last night,” I said.

“Is that what you want?”

“Can you do that?”

“No, no,” he said, shaking his head, lying underneath me as I straddled him. “You’re telling me, not asking me. Tell me what you want.”

I told him. “I want you to give me a foot massage.” And I laughed at him. “You know, it’s pretty funny, you telling me to tell you…”

I laid back, propping myself on the pillows as he went to work. I closed my eyes. It felt lovely. He seemed to be getting into it – running his lips over my toes.

And then I ran into a problem.

I wanted to ask him to do something. I have very sensitive feet. So sensitive, in fact, that Christopher had sucked on my toes a couple of times, and each time, the sensations blew me away.

So I wanted to ask the Optimist to do that. But the words got stuck in my throat. He continued to rub my feet, and I rolled the words around in my mouth, wanting so much to say them. I must have had a funny look on my face, because eventually he noticed and asked me what the matter was.

“Do you… think you could use your mouth a bit more?” I asked bashfully. He did – kissing and licking my feet, putting my toes in his mouth. My eyes closed in pleasure.

After a while of that, I asked him to stop.

“Take off your clothes.” I said. He gave me a little striptease, pulling off his T-shirt, shimmying out of his jeans and finally removing his boxers, twirling them above his head before throwing them to the other side of the room.

His little show made me laugh, and I gestured for him to come into my lap.

We kissed again, and I scratched over his back, marking up his skin. And then I asked him if he had any flat, hard implements lying around.

He didn’t. Oh well. I’d have to make do with my hand.

I positioned him across my lap and told him to straighten out his legs. I felt up his ass and the backs of his thighs for a while. And then I started spanking him.

It was so much more intimate like this, with him across my lap. I experimented more this time – slapping his thighs, each cheek, both, varying my pace, asking myself what would happen if I did this? Or that?

It felt good to spank him; to hear him ask breathlessly “are you enjoying this?” and to respond “yes” in a voice husky with pleasure; to check if he was OK and to realize that he was so incoherent that he could barely even answer me. Finally, I had him count off the last few spanks up to 5.

When I heard his voice, I regretted not asking him to do that from the very beginning…

“Five.” I finished spanking him and gathered him into my arms. He was sniffling a little bit. I kissed him, cuddled him, ruffled his hair, and felt him up as we talked. I loved having him naked; I loved being able to casually play with his cock as we talked and hear his words falter.

Both of us felt so much closer to each other than before. I felt this intense rush of affection and intimacy. I asked him how he liked it, and he admitted that a couple of my swats were a little too hard – but ultimately he really enjoyed it. Mostly, he said, because he knew I was really enjoying it.

“I just really want to please you,” he said.

Those words were like music to my ears. Yes, this is it, I thought. This is how I want things to be. Not like before, with those bottommy men who I always felt wanted something from me; who wanted me to do specific somethings to them; who made me feel continually nervous about not meeting their expectations.

Not like the Optimist accepts everything without telling me what is too much or what is unpleasant. He does tell me. But the Optimist just wanted me, not something that I could provide. He just wanted to please me.

Can you imagine how good that feels? Do I even have enough words to describe it?

—

It was such an interesting experience – I’m pretty quiet during sex, I rarely say anything, and asking for what I want still embarrasses me considerably. I am also not a very assertive person at all, typically. I’m so timid sometimes that I’m almost invisible. And whoever heard of a bashful dominant? I also “conditionalize” what I say a lot of the time: inserting “I think”, “probably”, “maybe”, “could you try to…”, “could you help me to…” But telling the Optimist what I wanted in a situation where I didn’t feel pressured really helped. I’ve been with people who have been all “just say what you want!” or “why are you so shy about this?” which didn’t really help. I’d just feel even more embarrassed over being shy.

I also felt so… opened up, listening to my thoughts and wants, listening to his reactions. It’s funny, dominating/topping someone, because I feel that when you’re playing with someone you have to be very much “in the moment”, but because I hadn’t thought much through beforehand, I was also sort of planning out what would happen next. But I just relaxed, and listened, and let the wants come to me. It felt so good to let myself just flow like that. I wish I could do it more, well, in life. I felt like I learnt a lot about myself, both sexually and otherwise.

I’m terribly grateful to the Optimist. When you get right down to it, he is the one who gave this experience to me. And I truly value that as the gift that it is.

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