As one of my friends once said to me: I seem to have no limits. Many of the BDSM-related things I don't want to do, I don't want to do because I don't know how to do them in a safe manner. Of course, I don't want to do everything, but I can comfortably say that typically I'm up for almost anything.

Which is why my aversion to rimjobs was kind of perplexing to me.

Anal sex, sure, but putting one's mouth there seemed too... intimate. Dirty. I didn't want to let someone do that to me because I was too embarrassed, and I didn't want to do it to someone else because I thought it would be... kinda gross.

Christopher had to try very hard to convince me to let him rim me. And even when I gave in - bent over, on my knees, ass in the air, head in my pillow, his tongue in and around my hole, me moaning and panting and my mind being blown - I wondered how he could possibly find that erotic.

Well... all of that changed one night, when me and the Optimist started making out.

Things quickly progressed until he was naked and I was blowing him, licking and sucking his balls and his thighs. Soon enough the same thought came to both of us at pretty much the same time:

"Can you kiss my butt?"

I blinked. I had been thinking of doing that, and more... but did I really want to?

It took me a few seconds to make up my mind before I gently turned him over. I kissed and nibbled his ass cheeks for a bit before spreading them to reveal his little pink star.

I looked. I smelt. It smelt... different, but not unpleasant. I rubbed over his hole with my finger. I enjoyed having him spread out before me like that. I imagined I was making him feel exposed... I hoped that I was.

And then I put out my tongue and took my first taste.

Again, it tasted different, but not unpleasant. He was clean, and I felt like I could have been licking any other part of his body... except this was somehow so much more erotic.

I dove in and started lapping.

He made the most amazing noises. Different. Mewling, whimpering, vulnerable. My tongue is too short, so I couldn't do more than just lap and swirl my tongue against his hole - but that was more than enough. Soon, he breathlessly asked if he could flip onto his back so he could jerk himself off more comfortably. I let him - but my mouth could no longer reach him. So I used my fingers and watched him as he came - hard, hard...

My god. How could I have ever thought that was gross?

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You're clutching the dildo in one hand. The phone in the other. The one is slipping in and out of you, and the other is almost slipping from your grasp. You hold onto it, wedging it into your shoulder and pushing it close to your ear.

On the other end of the line is panting. Rough, harsh breaths. In-out.

The two of you were having a normal enough conversation until you let slip that you were lounging around in your underwear, something about the heat, and he teasingly asked you what kind you had on, and you told him. Cotton. Floral. Cute. From Victoria's Secret.

And the one short answer turned into a long spiel of how your body sprawled over the bed, how your lightly sweaty limbs were positioned. You traced a hand over yourself and let him follow it, from your hips, down to the dip in your waist to your chest to your hair.

He groaned. Talked you into putting your hand inside your panties. Practically guided your fingers inside you with his voice. In no time at all, you were both panting and thrusting in a chorus that was stretched over 600 miles. Spouting nonsense words:

"God!"

"Your pussy--"

"You feel --"

"s'so good--"

"amazing..."

He insinuates your other hand into your bra and pulls the dildo out of your drawer and tells you to imagine him. Imagine it's him doing all this to you.

You do. And then a few seconds of ragged breath - and you come. And the phone skitters, clatters, to the floor.

Got a sex fantasy? Microfantasy Monday is by Sweltering Celt and rules can be found here.

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Sometimes I see you and wish very hard that I could publicly hold your hand, kiss you on the cheek, just touch you when I feel like it. Simple, childish things. Except that I can't because you either don't want me to, you're not that kind of person, or it would be inappropriate... 

Sometimes sex is less about the orgasm and more about the feeling of skin touching skin. About the sitting and talking that goes on beforehand, pressing and turning over each other's hands, feeling the shape and texture. You taking my feet and gently rubbing them. Laying naked in bed together. Being able to press my nose into your neck and take in your smell.

S was trying to describe the type of person I'm attracted to last night, and I said that one commonality between my lovers is that they all smell really good. (Though that's probably just a bias.) Different, but good. Whether indescribably tart and fresh (the Actor), of earth and hemp and strangely-attractively-unwashed (K), of leather and clean laundry and comfort (Christopher) or deep sultry musk and sweat (the Emperor). 

And after sex - the talking, the exploratory things that only get said after you've explored each other's physical bodies.

Sometimes sex, penetration, arousal is just a byproduct of intimacy.

---

I was out with Christopher and F again last night. It was a jazz-themed party with a live band and we needed to dress up to get in. Should have been a good night, but something was strangely off the entire time... I felt a little anxious, a little vulnerable. It was a combination of lots of people I didn't know, plus (I didn't realize it at the time) the continuous swarm of beautiful girls surrounding Christopher, much like lots of pretty, graceful moths to a flame (cliche, I know).

I really have to do something about this irrational possessiveness - possessiveness I have no right to feel in the first place. I think it would have been better if I was getting rampantly hit on as well, which I wasn't... The Scientist, who has been haphazardly trying to get into my pants since I came back, was there but chatting up this pretty blond girl instead, and Roommate was there too but was being crass and annoying. When we eventually moved to Zeta Mu, the president, who I strangely have a crush on, was there and kept glancing at me, which was slightly gratifying.

I almost miss all the ego-stroking I got in the Caribbean, where I'm #1 considered very attractive and #2 the guys are forward enough to approach you very directly. The guys here aren't comfortable with doing that, I think, unless they're drunk and at a frat dance party.

Of course, if I actually knew how to flirt with people I wouldn't have this problem in the first place.

I came back home and masturbated before I went to sleep - but coming felt oddly empty, oddly pointless, oddly mechanical. As if I were an automata made flesh.

---

I woke up this morning lonely, depressed and discouraged by the large amount of work I knew was waiting for me. Luckily F instantly dispelled that by shiftily opening my door, and then climbing into my bed when she realized I was awake. We cuddled; bitched about romance and life.

F: I'm tempted to go out and bring a random guy home, but it would be really awkward, and I wouldn't be able to spoon with him afterwards because we wouldn't know each other

Wilhelmina: Yeah, it's basically just [miming whacking a guy off, miming thrusting, shrug]. There's no point to it really.

Since F is newly-single, we've both been considering people, exchanging notes, playfully discussing sandwiching someone together, cruising for people online. Well, rather she's been cruising for people on OkCupid and craigslist and I've been getting cruised on fetlife. I've actually met a couple people there who I find very interesting, we've exchanged quite a few emails, but they live several hours away from me. Curse my town for being so tiny and isolated...

I do have a number of people here who I have crushes on, but my "list" is getting shorter and shorter as I weed people out due to lack of chemistry, unavailability, etc, and it's not getting any longer. 

The upside is that the Emperor and his gf (I think?) are visiting in a few days (!), which I've announced incessantly to any of my friends who will listen. Me and the Emperor have been emailing regularly again, exchanging news and fears and him cockily teasing me now and again. I'm really happy and excited that they're coming  

I feel as if I should... do something with my single status. Right now I'm at peace with it, but I'm not taking advantage of it, of my freedom, to do anything. I should be socializing more, meeting more people, having fun and being playful and flirtatious. Instead I'm defaulting to burying myself in my work, only hanging out with my close friends, and being grumpy. 

Right now I'm stuck. I'm stuck in remnants of feelings and connections, I'm stuck in memories of past loves. And I need to move past that.

I have to start pushing my boundaries a bit more.

---

I've been a little dissatisfied with the quality of my and Christopher's friendship lately... sex aside, I felt like we were more connected when I was in the Caribbean and he was here but we talked on Gtalk fairly frequently. It probably has a lot to do with the fact that he's busier this term, and he lives off-campus now so isn't around very much. So we're not seeing as much of each other as I would like.

My instinctive reaction to this kind of thing is to be insecure, to test him, to want him to actually make an effort to see me, which is silly. I could easily just ask him to hang out but I don't - I don't want to look vulnerable or like I'm hounding him too much. Which is also silly.

---

After idling in bed and talking for a while, F came out with me to pick up some food I had ordered in town. We randomly dressed up in punk/lacy gear, walked along holding hands and talking loudly about inappropriate things and she sang snatches of songs from "Cabaret."

I'm so glad F is around. Without F honestly sometimes I think I'd go completely nuts.

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Then imagine brushing your arm against the arm of your swivel chair, and wincing. You look at your forearm. Run your fingers over part of it, and wince again. You have a bruise. You rack your brain - how on earth did you get bruised there? 

Then you remember where - and last night comes rushing back. You got it from bracing yourself against the headboard. On your stomach, arms holding onto the wooden headboard, spine curved almost to the point of snapping as he fucks you from behind. You're not quite on your knees; you strain to prop yourself up under his weight. 

After that bruise, you notice you have another one on your shin. And the muscles in your back are sore. And your pussy is sore. And your nipples are chafed.

Yes - you were thoroughly fucked last night. Indeed.

You smile secretly to yourself, pressing your fingers into the bruise, into the remnant. An echo of explosive sensation. 

Maybe today won't be so boring after all.

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Let me put it this way. Lately I've been blogging somewhat mechanically, doing MM and HNT because they are there, writing things because I can and not necessarily because that's what I want to write. The problem is that I don't really know what I want to write, now that I've worked through many of my issues regarding sex and relationships... Issues that I didn't start this blog to help overcome, yet that's how it worked out. In the same way, I'm not sure what I want to get out of sex anymore.

It's not like I've lost my sex drive. Far from it. I've definitely sat around with F, complaining about not getting any and playfully discussing cruising for guys together.

At times I miss the intensity of being in love, I miss the emotional and psychological color that it gives to sex, yet at the same time I'm so fed up, so tired of the roller-coaster moods. And I see couples together and I wrinkle my nose, thinking no, I don't want that.

Well, eventually I want that. Just not now.

And then sometimes I feel like just playing; flirting with people and maybe not even having it lead up to anything. Or taking someone home randomly simply because I find them pretty and compelling. At the same time I'm too lazy for that; too much of a hassle to spend that much time and effort on something that will very likely turn out to be meaningless.

---

I was out last night with Christopher and a few other people. And after a little while of drinking, I found myself being randomly pushy towards Christopher for no real reason.

When was the first time I talked about needing to explore my domme (?) identity more? The fact of the matter is that I still have all of these needs, these desires, and I'm still failing to find a way to fulfil them. I'm pushy towards Christopher because he's nice enough to take it, to tolerate it without getting angry, but he doesn't exactly like it, I think.

I don't even know if this is "domination" or if it's even at all sexual. What I want is someone to entertain my petty little insecurities. Someone who will let me take control of them when I'm anxious or insecure or need attention or need reassurance or feel out of control and simply need the feeling of being in control of something, no matter how superficial that control that might be. Someone who will do menial, pointless little tasks for me, like fetch something for me if I ask them to, even if I could easily do it myself. Someone who's willing to be mildly inconvenienced for no good reason except to make me feel better. Someone who's willing to let me push them, test them, make them jump through hoops.

It's not like I would be like that all the time - but just now and again. It's just a game - I know that, and the other person would know that too, but would play with me anyway. Forget gifts, forget romance, forget flowery poetry - willingly giving up control over oneself to somebody else? Is there any other better show of affection?

So how exactly am I going to figure this out? Walk up to someone I'm interested in and instead of asking hey, want to go out some time?, ask them hey, do you want to be my bitch?

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I've come across many sexy scenes in books/movies/fanfiction where women have long, flowing locks that cascade sexily down their back or envelope the two lovers like a curtain etc etc, cliche cliche cliche.

In reality, having long hair isn't exactly like that.

Sometimes your partner doesn't know what to do with it. (Straddling K, with my hair loose and falling all around us, and him trying and failing to push it out of the way.)

Sometimes it gets in your partner's mouth. (Tobago-guy: "I think I got five mouthfuls of your hair...")

Sometimes you get come in it. (Christopher - who was trying to be a gentleman and not come in my mouth )

Sometimes your partner attempts to yank it. (N and Jamaican-guy. My response: "Don't do that. It's annoying.")

Sometimes people think it's pretty. (The Emperor - running his fingers through it and remarking nonchalantly, "You really do have nice hair.")

Sometimes you make love so vigorously that, when you're done, your hair looks less like hair and more like a small jungle. Which makes for some annoying combing afterwards, but at the time feels very satisfying. (Christopher, again.)

...I wouldn't have it any other way.

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My imagination apparently has a mind of its own... In other news, my post On Christopher: Fragments was featured on Fleshbot's Sex blog roundup: Caged Heat a little while ago

You're face down on my bed. I don't have anything to tie your wrists with, but you immobilize your hands, without me asking, by shoving them under the pillow.

"Hold on a minute. Don't move."

"Yes, Mistress."

I snicker - the words sound so much cheesier spoken than typed, but they cause pleasure to thrum through me regardless.

I take my time and roam around the room. I make sure you can hear all my movements. The thud of my dresser drawer opening, the rattle of the belt buckle. You can't see. You don't know exactly what's going to happen to you, and I don't want you to. I want you to hear just enough to titillate. To keep you wondering.

I also want to stall for time. Standing naked next to the bed, belt in hand, glasses on so I can see what I'm doing and hair piled haphazardly on my head to keep it out of the way, I feel more than a little nervous.

"What do you want to do to me?" you asked. Before this started.

"I want you to close your eyes, I want to tie your hands behind your back and hit you. Hurt you. And after that perhaps fuck you," I answered.

But what if, now, you decide you don't want this?

I start out gentle, climbing up to straddle you and caress your shoulders and back with my hands. I scratch over your back too. My nails leave pretty pink marks.

After a while I climb off and pick up the belt. I fold it in two and run it lightly over your back, your legs. Like I'm introducing you: Christopher, meet leather belt. Leather belt, meet Christopher.

Then I bring it back over my shoulder.

Thwap. The belt licks sharply across your ass and a satisfying red welt blushes its way over your skin. You tense and suck in your breath.

I space my strikes far apart, running my other hand soothingly over your body at intervals, groping you occasionally. The sounds we make are stark against the otherwise silent room: the leather hitting your skin, the hiss as it cuts through the air, your moans when I touch you.

I am a curiously coiled mess of desires. I want you to feel good. More than that - I want to take you to worlds of sensation you've never even imagined. But at the same time I want to protect you, take care of you.

I could do this for hours. Striking and soothing; jerking you from pain to comfort and back again. But not now - now is a beginning and I don't want to push you too far. So finally I let the belt drop and leisurely kiss your shoulders and the back of your neck. I take the lube off my desk, loudly pop the cap and squeeze it over my fingers. You're moaning now, raising yourself onto your hands and knees. I get behind you. I should probably say something about not giving you permission to move, but I'm too distracted by your spread legs and spread asscheeks and by the way your body curves.

Slowly, I push into you and bring my other hand around to grab your cock. You're moaning now. Thrusting back and forth between my hands. I'm twisting, curling my finger and then adding a second, loving the way you feel inside.

You don't last long. Soon, you're crying out, coming onto my sheets.

Afterwards, when we're both sitting (still naked) on my bed, I rain kisses over your face, crawl into your arms and murmer thank you into your chest.

(Implied: thank you for doing this for me.)

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---

In about 6 hours, I'll be on a plane back to the US.

During the two weeks I've spent at home, I met a few of my old high school friends. With some of them I could pick up from the place we left off the last time we saw each other, be it a year or a few months, and with others we found that after catching up on each other's news we had nothing left to talk about. Nothing like resorting to chatting about memories and old times to make you feel like you're no longer a part of each other's lives.

For a while I thought it was easier to stay in touch with friends when you were able to meet each other in person every now and again, but that's not entirely true. I've kept better touch with certain friends who I met and continue to interact with online, but have only met in person one or two times, than with certain friends I went to high school with for years at a time. Even though we're not in the same place, we still have loads to tell each other.

When I meet close friends again after a long period of time, I look forward to it but I also worry. About whether or not our relationship would have changed and not be as good as it used to be; about whether or not the other person had 'forgotten' about me a little bit after so long. Because forgetting inevitably happens when you don't contact each other or think about each other much.

I'm going to visit the Actor, the Emperor and his gf. The few months that we were apart, I missed them and was immensely happy about the chance to see them again, but as my departure grew closer, I almost wished I wasn't going there after all. Because if I met them again only to realize we no longer had a connection and be disappointed, I'd rather just live with the memories. Not only that, but since I'll only be with them for a few days, I know that I'll be ecstatic to see them and then very sad once I have to leave and not be able to see them again for... who knows? A few months again maybe, at best?

Now that I'm going to see them in a matter of hours, however, my excitement is back. I really really want to believe that the Actor and I will be able to preserve our unique brand of friendship no matter how much time and distance is between us. I imagine him meeting me in the airport, grinning madly at each other, talking at a mile a minute while we go back to his place, and then cuddling on his couch like a pair of lovebirds.

The Emperor? I imagine his sardonic smile, our self-satisfied snark and banter ricocheting off each other, my being able to be happy to see him without pining after him anymore, and hopefully raunchy sex that will send me into a sexcoma for several hours.

And afterwards, I'll be heading back to college. Where I'll be seeing Christopher and K again. I've missed them both to bits but I'm not exactly looking forward to dealing with the ambiguous terms that we left each other on. Things will probably be easier with K, since he's just likes to let things roll and see what happens, and I hope I can be fine with that, and not come back absolutely besotted with him or something. And despite the cyber-shenanigans me and Christopher have engaged in while I've been gone, the last time we chatted we had a long talk where he said he wasn't sure whether or not sleeping with each other again would be a good idea. I wasn't surprised - it wasn't as if I expected to just continue being fwbs just because we Gtalked each other to orgasm a couple of times. The thing is that I've no idea what I want to do when I get back, either. I don't know what I'm going to say to him. And I don't know if I'll know what I want even after getting back and seeing him in person

Crossing my fingers that things will work out okay.

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