Posts Tagged ‘red (the person)’

a close call

December 21, 2007  |  dirty stories  |  4 Comments

Four weeks ago:

Second not-a-date with Red (remember the morning after?). We had drinks, saw a film, and then “got a piece of pie and talked about” the movie, told life stories.

I’m not on with her, and I like that. No game, no pomp-and-circumstance. I genuinely enjoy her company and she is knows how to push my buttons.

Good goddamn.

*

“Yo, it’s two women! It’s not two dudes, it’s awright, it’s awright. I could watch this aaaaaall night.”

We both have short hair. I guess that’s as much as it takes to be seen as a boy sometimes – like on the subway platform at Union Square at three am.

He was with a rather large group of young men, and I suddenly lost my hard-on and curled my fists instead. Danger. They’d circled us, predators and prey. But we were not men, so suddenly we were less of a threat. I wished desperately that I was not so fearful of physical confrontation, wished I knew how to throw a punch that would knock him off-center and not break my hand, wished that I knew he could punch me back and I’d be okay, wished that I could puff up my chest and say scary things that would make him squirm and never bother dykes in the subway again.

I wanted to protect her, above all. Kept my body between them and her. Maybe I shouldn’t send her home on the subway. Maybe I shouldn’t go home alone. Who was in more danger here?

I had walked her to the subway, waited with her while it came. She kissed me first, then she was up against the pillar and I gripped it hard behind her, pressing her between me and it.

“You can say no,” she said, “but, are you sure you don’t want to take me home?”

I can still feel her mouth on my earlobe, hot breath against the skin of my neck that was so cold, exposed.

“Since this isn’t a date,” she said, “I’m not going to do these things, but if it was …. I would want to be on my knees in front of you, and take your cock in my mouth.”

Unexpected. Caught off-guard.

“I want to look up at you with my mouth full, and I want to suck your cock till you come so hard in my mouth, so hard you can barely stand.”

So. Fucking. Hard.

“I want you to bend me over and fuck me.” Her breath on my ear. My hands tearing at the curves of her body. I wanted to rip something.

“I want you to take me on my back, to get your biggest, thickest cock and get on top of me, slide it in, because I want to be so full of you.”

It’s amazing the joints in my legs continued to function. I couldn’t speak.

“I want you to fuck me, and fuck me, until we both come and soak the sheets.”

“Yo, can I get a picher? Can I get a photo?” he had his phone out, aimed at us. “I’m from out of town. I gotta get a picher.”

“No.” We both said. He pleaded. “No.”

*

It really was an amazing evening. I was open and honest, more than I’d expected to be. Scorpios can bring that out of me. I told stories of my life. This is the interesting part, the getting-to-know-you early part, because we get to tell our best stories, tell our best jokes, be our best selves.

“So, are you not taking me home because you don’t know what to think in the morning? I’ll get another “let’s be friends” email?”

I take responsibility for my choices. I won’t regret them tomorrow. “No,” I said. “I’m not taking you home because … well, performance anxiety, for one.”

She laughed. “Are you kidding? You write a sexblog!”

Yes. Precisely. She intimidates me, and she reads Sugarbutch. Lucky for me, my cocks don’t fail me, but I can still be bad and awkward, and better in writing.

“So if you’re not taking me home … will I get a chance to do those things to you?”

“I think … that can be arranged.”

*

By the time we both got home (safely) she had a few additional details she wanted added to this forthcoming encounter.

When I’m on my knees sucking your cock, in just my red bra, panties, and shoes, I want your hands in my hair. When you need me to look at you, I want you to pull my head back, force me to see you watching me suck your cock.

When you’re on top of me, the first time your cock enters me, I want that first stroke to be so slow it’s excruciating, so slow I can feel you muscles filled with that restraint, that tension begging to be released. And just for that first stroke I can’t move, you have complete control for as long as you can make that first penetration last.

She likes being pushed up against walls. Restrained. Forced. I want her wrists bound with rope. I want to smack her beautiful round ass until I leave marks.

Today, I am tightly wound.

Tonight, we have a date.

the morning after

November 4, 2007  |  dirty stories  |  5 Comments

I had a date last night, which went quite well really; we had fabulous conversation over dinner, then made our way over to the Brooklyn promenade that overlooks the shimmering buildings in downtown Manhattan, the Statue of Liberty, the Verrazano bridge, and the Manhattan bridge.It was quite a view. I hadn’t been over there before. She wore these really cute shoes with straps that tied.

I was going on about topping, and the ways that feminism – and a general respect for other people – makes me hesitant to get involved in some particular sex play, like humiliation and name calling, and that I would actually like to push myself as a top and play with those things, but that it’d have to be with the right person, someone who wanted to specifically explore those things, not just as passing take-it-or-leave-it but really want it. I’d like to push myself as a top, I think was my point.

And that was when she gave me those eyes. You know the ones.

We had a fantastic first kiss, full of restraint and passion and air and deliberate hesitation, a slow building, perfect timing for going deeper, a little more crushing tender against teeth.

So, yeah, the date went well. Trouble is, I’m not particularly interested in purusing more with her – partly because she’s not what I’m looking for (I could go into detail here, but it’s not terribly relevant), and partly this is because I suspect that she likes me already, and is interested in pursuing things, maybe even in a relationship.

And I just can’t do that.

That sounds so predictable, so playboy, so “aspiring stud” of me, doesn’t it? You wouldn’t expect any less of this persona of mine, this Sinclair characature of myself, she should be the player, the heartbreaker, the one who takes girls home on the first date and has sex all night only to cut things off the morning after, right?

But that’s not me, that’s never been me. I’m not even sure how I got to this place sometimes, and I don’t want to continue to do this. What do we really get out of it, either of us? Sex, I suppose, which hey, that can be very important. But this day-after agony is not worth it. I’m too overly conscienscious of hurting her feelings.

And this is why I really shouldn’t be dating right now, at all.

I’m still just barely to the place where I’m pursuing dating. There have been some opportunities, and I haven’t turned those down … but it’s just starting to occur to me that I probably should be.

I said recently to Bee, my sister and roommate, that if I came across somebody that I really felt connected to, who I could potentially have a relationship with, I’m not even sure what I would do – I’d sabotage it, maybe, or I’d run the other way, or I just wouldn’t even recognize that that was possible with her right now, because I don’t want it. Everything in me says you’re not ready.

Do I wish I was ready? Yes. Am I working on becoming ready? Yes. Am I ready now? No.

And this, coupled with the difficulties I’ve had lately communicating with even my closest friends, let alone a random date, has made it clear to me that I’m in no place to even date. Hell, I am barely in a place where I can interact successfully with anyone else, it feels. Forget the extra added complication of emotion.

She didn’t stay over last night, though it was a struggle for me to ask her to go. How do you do that and not sound like an asshole? Eventually, I guess I had to not care that I sounded like an asshole. And I’m going to have to not care about that again today when I contact her to say that I had fun, but that we won’t be doing that again.

Lord. There is just no easy way to say it. There is no easy way to reject someone. Okay, so it’s not easy, fine: what is the kind way? What is the ‘right’ way?

I have one more date on Tuesday, and I have a sex date (much less complicated) with Belle today. I am tempted to cancel Tuesday’s date because really, why am I going? What do I hope to get out of it? I don’t want a relationship, not dates or sex or another person in my life.

This girl on the date last night, she is a lovely woman. Gorgeous and fun and smart, good in bed, and she has perhaps the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen, a green-gold shade that with her dark hair is just stunning. I had fun.

Why don’t I just stop doing this altogether, before somebody really gets hurt, instead.