Spoiled for Other Men (and what I did on Friday night…)

I was supposed to come home after work, plop my ass in front of the telly and catch up on my tv series which I had fallen so behind on.

But as it turns out the bloke-I’m-kinda-sorta-seeing (whom henceforth shall be known as BIKSS) happened to be out with his best friend and I managed to wrangle an invite to join them.

The wife was headed elsewhere after dinner and the guys made arrangements with some friends to have drinks at CQ.

So I got home, chucked my stuff, changed my underwear and spritzed Chloe all over myself before stepping into a high heeled strappy number and sashayed off to hail a cab.

“You have to behave later on, at least in company” came the text. The best friend is aware of our involvement. The other blokes there, clueless. This would be fun. We’d been friends forever anyway, so it would be easy for me to revert back to my casual platonic self. I flirted with one of the guys who was there with them, I chatted with the guitarist from the band, and somewhere along the way BIKSS’s best friend decided To Hell With It and started outright making moves on me.

Thing is, me and BIKSS have an arrangement – I submit to his desires and, especially when we’re together, I strive not to elicit any displeasure from him. Basically I do what he tells me. For instance, I don’t smoke prior to us meeting; I am to always wear Chloe when we’re together; and I’m never again to send pics of myself in various stages of undress to his best friend. Man, I surely paid for THAT one.  I’m sure over time I’ll reveal more about this in my stories… but for now that’s all you need to know.

The best friend, let’s call him M, pulls my stool so I’m now sitting in front of him, with my back to his front. He leans forward and says suggestively into my ear “Not only do you look damn good, you smell good too.”

My standard reply of “Yes, I know” followed and he was slightly amused until I added “I got home and put on this perfume cos BIKSS has declared that I’m to wear it whenever we’re together.” At this point he sent me off with a message to BIKSS – Tell him he has the con.

I didn’t get what they were talking about till much later. But my bloke knew and smiled. Possibly even chuckled. I’m not sure. It was dark, I was unaware of what that meant, and slightly buzzed from the Chivas.

It turns out “con” was short for “control”. I may be going out on a limb here, but I suspect that said best friend was, up to this point, still trying to figure out what makes me tick – and possibly wanted in on the dominating. He knew about my desire to be taken in hand and perhaps confused that with the more traditional understanding of wanting to be dominated for its own sake.

Anyway, the three of us left the group to get food cos I was starving by then – dinner was had much earlier at 530pm and since it was already midnight I was ready to put down some supper. Conversation was interesting: submission, threesomes (and more),  men and why they don’t talk about their feelings, and my personal psychological desire to be dominated among some of the topics we landed upon. We used this opportunity to try and explain my psyche, BIKSS and I, to M. I’m still not sure he got it entirely.

We called it a night and left in 2 cabs. M headed for home, and BIKSS and I to my place. I’ll leave the sexual activity out of this post cos it’s not important. What IS is that after a long day and not a few pints, BIKSS still managed to get a hard-on and finish the job. Without any difficulty. (Go BIKSS!) And then after I was nicely sorted out (think fingers and a vibe) he had the gusto to go again – or should I say, cum again – in my mouth this time.

menshealth.co.uk

He’s a sucker for stroking. My hair, my back, my cheek. Anything really. And I absolutely love the way his hands feel on my skin. “Why do you like touching my body? ” “Because it’s you.” 

I will never be his, and he will never be mine. Not legitimately anyway. We have a crazy intense emotional connection that’s been slowly nurtured and brewed over the decades of friendship we share. I am also prudent to remember that whatever additional affections I have for him have to be kept in check and carefully regarded. And yet twice I had to stop myself from saying the words that would signal the end of my vigilance.

In the space that is at the same time vulnerable and secure in the moments of cuddling after sex, it was easy to let the feelings flow and bubble to the surface. And while I never actually said the words that might change our peculiar relationship forever, I did still let him know how I felt by admitting that I ALMOST did. And that makes all the difference.

inmagine.com

This is a man who has my respect and admiration. A man who goes about his life with the same basic tenets of responsibility and duty that I hold dear. And a man who knows all my knots and tangles; whom I trust with the very core of my being. This is why I chose to enter into such a relationship as I now have with him:  one where I am willing and ready to obey his wishes, defer to his choices, and yes, even given him access to my body for his sexual pleasure any time he should so desire.

A gentle lover, a decisive partner, and most of all a pillar of stability – the perfect foil to my tumultuous life. That he’s well-hung and seems never to be flaccid, even post-cum, is a delightful bonus. *Grin*

Is it any wonder he’s now spoiled me for other men?

Off with the Tag

I promised an update. Here it is.

So I go in to the clinic this morning and am shown to the procedure room.

The clinic assistant (let’s call her Sheila) has an easy manner, making everything that much less awkward. She gets me to remove my shorts and lie down on the treatment bed. Then drapes a towel over my pubic area.

She steps out for a bit to summon the doc.

He comes in and smiles. In my head I’m saying, “Nice to meet you for the first time. Here, look at my pubis.”  In reality I say, "Hi. So I have a little skin tag that I’d like to get removed.”

He folds away the towel, I pull down the waistband of my bikini-cut panty and display my mons where the skin tag is.

Nodding, he says, “Yeah not a problem. We can remove that right away. No issue.”

He steps out to see to another patient so that I have time to remove my knickers altogether and allow Sheila to disinfect the zone and smear some numbing cream on the offending bump and the area around it. We chat for a bit, as if I were there for nothing more than a manicure, and then after some time she pronounces that I should be ready for the electrocautery.

In comes the man who (unbeknownst to me at the time) is to solve all future cosmetic genitalic dilemmas.

After they pad up the sensitive clitoral area he gets going with an electrocautery pen that looks very similar to this:

After a couple of minutes it’s all over and there’s the distinct smell of burn in the room. Not unbearable, but definitely present.

Sheila cleans the site and applies some antibiotic cream while I’m still lying down and chatting with the doc about hair removal options.

He explains that the Human Papillomavirus (or HPV) was responsible for the growth and such an occurrence is especially likely in areas where shaving takes place on a regular basis. So I ask about waxing and am told that where the viral risk is low in that case, a bacterial risk then arises and could result in an acne outbreak. The solution? Photo Therapy Flash Hair Removal. Working on the same principal as IPL, it’s a medical grade version of laser hair removal that aims to kill off the hair follicle to retard future hair growth.

So my mind’s made up. At $200 per session, the initial cost looks something like $800 (3-4 sessions at monthly intervals) with a follow up every 6/ 9 /12 months depending on the rate of hair growth.  Considering I’d be paying almost $80 per waxing, it doesn’t work out to that much more in the long run. Plus, there’s something assuring about knowing there’s a doctor taking care of my nether regions rather than a beautician / aesthetician /skin therapist.

For now, I’ve got to let my burnt spot heal – so it looks like this pussy isn’t going to get any action anytime soon. But hey, my hands still work fine…

The Virgin Post

tx.english-ch.com

It’s always nice to have a fresh sheet of paper. A new document. A blank slate.

I love the excitement of new beginnings, the anticipation of wonderful things to come.

So here it is. I’m not going to bother with introductions or backgrounds. You can figure me out as we go along.  And if you want to find out a wee bit more, leave a comment… I (or one of my buddies) will answer whatever questions you may have… or not. *wink*

I got my breasts fondled today. Well, in all honesty, it was a medical exam. I’m getting back on the pill cos there is the promise of regular sex on the horizon. And my GP was just being thorough, making sure there are no lumps or clots and all that other necessary jazz.

So here I am, box of hormones in hand, traipsing back from the clinic.

Oh wait – there’s the issue of a little skin tag on le mons pubis. It’s tiny, really. And harmless. It just annoys me no end knowing it’s there. I’ve made another appointment with an aesthetic clinic to get it removed on Friday morning.

Will update…