Secret Confessions of a Smart Girl

I have just obtained a pair of knock-me-down-and-fuck-me glasses.

For those of you unfamiliar with the sentence construction, it has long been accepted that certain types of shoes (usually red stiletto heels) can be loosely described as knock-me-down-and-fuck-me pumps. The glasses I am wearing right now are the upper body equivalent. I bet that if I walked down the right street wearing these that random beautiful boys and handsome girls would throw me up against the wall and have their way with me.

The glasses in question are deep burgundy, metal, cats-eye glasses with 10 rhinestones at the outside corners. They are vintage, sparkly, and Oh So Fabulous. Just putting them on makes me feel sexier (if a little woozy, since switching glasses tends to give me a bit of a headache.) Even better, they’re comfortable and non-reflective so that I can wear them when working on screen. I want to take my new found shinies and go out and get laid.

I think I shall wear these when, well if, I end up with a work pass to the local adult entertainment business exxxxxpo in a few weeks. Can I just say how amused I am that I live the sort of life where my employers send me to giant porn events?

I like to walk through the city like I’m at war. I like to fight through crowds and stretch my legs to go farther, faster. I like to catch the eyes of beautiful men and handsome women and dare them with a glance as I stalk past.

Movement, to me, is sexy. Speed makes me feel powerful and strong. I have always enjoyed the battle that is walking through the streets of midtown Manhattan. I like taking out my aggression on the tourists and dawdlers. “On your left” I say, or “Excuse me,” and thread my way through close spaces. I like the challenge.

Today, striding purposefully from place to place, I had headphones in my ears and a swing in my step. I sang to myself and let the music add a twitch to my hips. I flirted with invisible characters on an invisible stage and caught the eyes of tall men and scowling women as I danced through their space. I was in my own world in a world of millions. And yet… I kept bumping into people.

Figuratively today. People I knew kept stepping out of elevators in front of me, crossing streets as I passed, or standing in hallways that I needed to traverse. Their impact was metaphorical, instead of literal. Not always. Sometimes I misjudge my timing, or someone moves in an unexpected manner, and I am knocked breathless from impact.

I love that feeling. I seek it out. I dare people with my eyes. In crowds, I play chicken with purposeful men to see who moves aside, secretly hoping to be spun on my axis and turned to follow. In private, I push. I taunt. I tease. I try and goad a passionate, unreasoned response.

If I could, I’d drive them to think, not at all. To act on instinct. To throw me up against a wall so hard the air is driven from me by force.

Listening to the music in my head today, pacing through the streets, feeling the sweat on my skin, thinking of hands on my arms, in my hair, I kept swinging between two fantasies. The first led inexorably to the second. An Argentine tango. Moving across the floor, legs flashing, bodies pressed together, feeling the rhythm in our bones and the passion in each stretch, twist, and release. Then later, in the alley outside the dance hall, rough brick against my back, red dress bunched around my waist, pale legs in garters and seamed stockings wrapped around a body clad in pinstripes and quiet strength. In my mind’s eye, I saw it from outside even as I felt it from within - the dance and what it led to. Heat and music. Speed and impact.

I was thinking yesterday that what I really wanted was a good, old-fashioned, over-the-knee spanking.

You know the kind I mean. The kind fetishized by endless erotic stories and people who prefer a bit of role play with their sex. The skirt up, knickers down, hit her ’til her bottom’s bright red kind of spanking. The grab her by her hair, throw her over your knee, and make her cry kind of spanking. The “you’ve been a bad little girl and now you’re going to make up for it” kind of spanking.

In other words, the utterly-ridiculous “we’re over-playing the drama to see who bursts into hysterical laughter first” kind of spanking.

I haven’t had a scene like that in ages. I miss making big innocent eyes and ridiculous statements at a top who is trying to keep a straight face. I miss being the destroyer of dignity, peace, and quiet. I miss running shrieking from someone and ending up collapsed underneath them alternating between hysterical giggles and loud “OW!!!”s

I haven’t been a big, bratty pain in the ass during a scene in ages. For much of the past 6 months I’ve been in a very submissive headspace when it comes to BDSM. Not that I’ve stopped feeling that way, far from it, but I do sometimes long to return to my kinky roots… where my primary identity was that of a smart-ass masochist. I’m just in the mood to play right now. Can I help it if my idea of fun usually ends up with bruises and bite marks?

On second thought… maybe that isn’t the kind of scene that the OTK people are normally talking about. Do most of their fantasies start with the scantily clad submissive saying…

“Sir, I’ve been terribly terribly bad. I performed a statistical analysis that is supposed to only be done on a random population on one that was selected by convenience sample. My sins are unforgivable. I need to be punished.”

Especially when the creature who loves you has VERY SHARP NAILS.

Juno, i.e momma cat, is getting more and more affectionate every day. When I come out to the garage to do her routine twice a day, she immediately runs out to explore and then comes back to wind around my legs until I pick her up for a snuggle. Wherein lies the danger.

We have not yet clipped Juno’s nails, and when I pick her up she starts buzzing like crazy and then kneading away at any bit of exposed skin she can find. She’s clearly just trying to show how much she loves me, but right now it takes a masochist to love her back. (Fortunately I am one) This is how our mornings go…

“Hi beautiful girl!”
*I skritch the kitten until she shows she wants to be picked up*
“Snuggle time!”
*buzz*
“You’re so pre… OWWWW!”
*buzz*
“Yes, I like you too, but OWWWWWW!!!!”
*buzz*
“OWWWWWW!!!!!”

I hope we find her a good home with people who will love her. She’s a very lovable cat. She needs some fattening up (and a mani-pedi), but she’s very affectionate and has tons of personality.

Some people scream, or cry
Tense their muscles and,
as the release pours out of them,
liquid and free
They moan
Or sigh.

She giggles.
Turns her head to the side
And laughs.
It’s all so much fun.

To watch her smile
At the fingers inside her
The tongue between her legs
That makes her writhe and grin
Her happiness is contagious

You think,
“I want to make her laugh like that”
And plot and plan in your head
For what you’ll do
If you ever get the chance.
And while you wait and watch,
Or touch and taste,
You laugh too
To share her joy.

Later
When you scream
Or cry your tension
Fight for release
Struggle to be free
Of doubts
Of fears
Of thinking
You envy her that laughter
How easy it seems for her
To let go.

The girl who giggles when she comes
Is an inspiration.
Her laughter an invitation
To a place where you can come too.

I like threesomes. I like them when everyone in question wants to be there. I like them when you can wiggle your eyebrows at someone before doing something devious to someone else. I like them because you can borrow an extra hand when you need one, or loan someone one or your own. I like them, because I like to watch people I like being happy with the people they love. And I like the really ridiculous conversations that occur during some of the slower moments.

And here we have a problem…

I had a threesome and I’m not entirely certain how to blog about it, because although I remember that there were hysterically funny conversational moments… I don’t remember what was said. I had gotten so little sleep the night before, and stayed up so late afterward watching Close Encounters of the Third Kind (for the first time!), that all trenchant quotes fell out of my head. Curse my sleepy happy brain. I mean, I suppose I could talk about the sex, but without Funny Quotes (TM) is there really a point?

I think that, in my sexual lifetime, I’ve had more sex with multiple partners than I have with single partners. This is, largely, because my longest relationship was with a couple, not because I’ve been having wild orgies. I lost my virginity in a threesome, and continued having them, on and off, with the same people for more than 2 years. The thing about sex with more than one person is that, in the crazy universe of Rona’s Mind, it makes many of my insecurities better and very few of them worse. I’m still horribly neurotic about imposing and sometimes suffer from option paralysis, but it’s not any worse with two people than it is with one. Plus, I can LEARN things. Learning is FUNdamental. And so on and so forth. If I was in the mood to catalog my insecurities for the masses, I could go on for days. Most of the things people list as downsides to multiple partner sex, I actually see as benefits. I’m just weird that way.

Man, I had fun. I got to play with a ridiculously beautiful girl who totally knocked me out of my skull with her brain and her teeth and her knives and her hands. Oooh. And there were clothespins. I really like clothespins. Nice constant, intense pain is a really good thing for me. My breasts are all black and blue. She’s not just shiny, smart, sexy, and talented… the girl’s got mad skills. Plus, I was rewarded for all my good behavior with K. while S. was away with the gift of finally getting a chance to suck his cock (for all too brief a time. Yes. I have an oral fixation. This is not news) and getting to be fucked by him quite thoroughly. Completely worth waiting for. Also, there were scones and snuggling and stupid TV shows and smart TV shows and SILLINESS. All of which are awesome and start with S.

I really like S. and K., and I had a fabulous time with both of them. The only real awkward part of the day was that although I have chatted endlessly with S. online, I haven’t spent that much time with her in person and so I got all nervous and hesitant around her and worried about interrupting their moments. I actually need to send her an e-mail about that, but it will probably not be until tomorrow since it requires Actual Thought and I haven’t had time for that yet today. I slept for 5 hours, got up, started working, and haven’t stopped running around like a crazy person yet. Now that it’s midnight, I haven’t worked out, and I have to be up in 7 hours I should probably go to bed. I think I’m going to be bad and not work out. All that sex yesterday should count for something, right? If nothing else, I got some good exercise holding K. down and proving that weight lifting does, in fact, work. And I’ve just inspired myself to go work out. Sex is motivational in so many ways…

Sometime during the the past 24 hours, I received my 50,000th page view on this blog. I find that exciting. S. suggested that the proper way to celebrate such a milestone was with a threesome. I suggested that the proper way to celebrate such a milestone was to have some inspiring sex that I was going to want to write about. It’s nice that we both agreed. Not that said threesome has happened yet. Logistics are currently difficult, but I have high hopes for the near future. I also have got to learn that I should not blog at 7 a.m. I have no grammar at 7 a.m. I just have random words flying around the Internet.

–

Yesterday I was thinking about dating women. More specifically, yesterday I was thinking about whether or not I was on a date with a woman. I had gone out for lunch with a very smart, shiny, and interesting woman I met at a work conference a few weeks ago. We had briefly ended up at the same table during the event and had had nice conversational sparks. At the time, I thought she was really cute, smart, and amusing, and that we might have been flirting (I know I was…), but I’m never sure of these things - particularly with women I don’t meet in queer space - so I let it go. The next day she sent me an “it was nice meeting you” e-mail, and suggested that we go for coffee, but I wasn’t sure if it was a personal thing or a work thing.

I’m still not sure, and worse, I’m not sure how to find out. There were signs - discussions of an ex which were curiously gender-neutral, a big hug at the end of the lunch - but… beats me. I told her I wanted to meet her puppy. This is, apparently, my way of flirting with cute women. I tell them that I want to meet their pets and discuss some of the more sexist aspects of academic politics. I need a flirtervention, because, objectively, even I know that is not an effective method of flirtation.

My problem is that I’m either completely oblivious to attention or completely blivious. In other words, I either have no clue that anyone is flirting with me or I over-interpret everything as flirtation. Either way, I don’t trust my instincts. So, I suppose that what I’ll do is ask to meet her dog next time I’m going to be in town. Or follow a brilliant suggestion that someone leaves in my comments. Preferably the second. Either way, we have a ton in common and she’s potentially a fabulous new friend (a fabulous new friend with a PUPPY I CAN PLAY WITH. I love puppies. I met an adorable gay Dominican dog walker on the street today and we chatted for about 20 minutes while I loved on his charges. How do I know he’s Dominican? We spent most of the time discussing eye color - he wanted to steal mine. I live an odd life.)

I feel like a bit of a tool at the moment. It’s been that sort of 24 hours. On the other hand, it’s also been a 24 hours of multiple milestones and a threesome invitation, so on the whole I can’t say I’m too upset about things. I am, sadly, canceling my trip to Boston in favor of going up another weekend when a) I can be there for more than 36 hours and b) more of my friends are in town. Which means no Who, but less stress. A worthy trade, in my mind, although I’m sad there will be no giant Daleks, or enormous adorable 10. On the other hand, I won’t have weeks of nightmares from giant moving statues so I’m probably saving myself a few sanity points as a bonus.

If you’re interested in kittens, and you live in Boston or VA, kittens can come to you! I’m driving to Boston this weekend, and family members of the kitten rescuer are driving down to DC at the end of next week. Therefore if you want a kitten (or two!) and are willing to spay it (not negotiable), please drop me an e-mail and we can talk. Right now I think we have two oranges and one or two stripeys still looking for homes, and we still need a home for mama as well.

Words are my biggest turn on.

I chose the man to whom I would lose my virginity through his words. I remember the first line of the story that sold me on him even now, more than 10 years later, “I want to take you like an animal.”

I remember the first time I met him in person. It was in the hallway of the hotel one night at a science fiction convention. He turned my knees to jello… I don’t remember how he touched me or what he did. I don’t remember if he kissed me or fisted his hand in my hair, or if he put his teeth to my throat. I do, however, recall what he said to me… “Remember how you feel right now,” he whispered in my ear, “consider that a promise.” It still sends shivers down my spine to think about it.

When I think of memorable sexual moments, the vast majority of the time what sticks with me are not the specific sensations, but the words. What I hold in my head to think about later, the things that make me touch myself when I’m back in my own bed, aren’t the sensations of specific caresses… they’re the words.

Perhaps it’s because I spend so much time living in my head. Perhaps it’s because I’ve gotten my erotic imagination primarily from stories and books about sex. Perhaps its because I know that the surest way to get myself off is to pull out one of my favorite erotic stories and put myself in that world. I don’t know. What I do know is that the moments that feel like my heart has stopped in my chest, the moments that define my sexuality, the moments that I relive over and over again with my hand between my legs and my head thrown back in ecstasy are most often precipitated by words.

The words I quoted above, and others.

Dominant words.

“I think it might be appropriate for you to call me sir”

Dangerous words.

“We’re going to fuck you so hard it will hurt to even walk.”

Words of desire.

“I could do what I want to you right now and no one would come to stop me.”

So if you want me… talk to me.

–
For the record, it’s this verbal kink that causes me to lust so strongly after other sex bloggers like Eileen, Sinclair, and many of the others in my blogroll. It’s also what made me want to be a sex blogger. I enjoy being turned on by words so much that I wanted to try to turn other people on with mine.

Sometimes it absolutely amazes me how context-dependent my sexuality is. Things that weird me out with someone I’m not particularly attracted to, I will do without even a hint or request with someone for whom I am utterly overwhelmed with lust. Lust is a dangerous emotion for me, particularly combined with honest affection, it leads me to think “hmm… I’m not sure I’m really comfortable with this as ’safe’” and then decide that I don’t really care. I don’t like when I do that, because afterward I end up beating myself up. Those were two entirely separate thoughts, by the way, and before talking about my day I would like to share the QOTD by S. who happens to be K. (formerly known as The Distraction)’s girlfriend.

I will wave my tentacly goodness at your nether regions.

Seriously. How could you not adore this girl? Anyway, on to my day.

I forced my company upon K. this afternoon because he had been gone for several weeks and I missed him rather more than I should have given how briefly I’ve known him. He had to work though, so when I went over to his place I brought my laptop. I honestly intended to be good and let him work. I did. It’s not my fault that I am completely incapable of being in a room with him for more than 5 minutes without wanting to get my hands on him, and vice versa (wanting to get his hands on me, that is. I can not speak for his desires). It’s really a problem. So I brought my new laptop (it’s so cute! And it arrived just in time for my old laptop to die) and, in my defense, I actually did get some work done. We were both largely naked within 10 minutes of us getting back to his apartment, but I still GOT SOME WORK DONE. In between accosting him and being accosted, that is. K. is remarkably easy to be naked and ridiculous with, a rare and delightful quality. Also… man is he good with his hands. Seriously just… holy crap.

Anyway, over the course of the afternoon I had numerous revelations. The first one was the contextual one. I found myself initiating something which, the one time I had done it with another partner, had been unquestionably an “I am doing this solely because you want me to, I am not enjoying it other than as a show of my submission, and it kind of skeeves me out” thing, and I noticed what I was doing and thought “huh. Context is not for weenies. How odd.” The second one was a “huh. I really am wired submissive” moment when I realized that, no matter how very much I enjoyed K’s hands on me and in me, I was getting even more excruciatingly turned on by kneeling naked by his feet petting and biting him. The third one was more of a “well, either wired submissive or wired like a puppy” moment when, after we were both pretty spent, K. had started to make a concentrated effort on working, and I just wanted to touch him so I ended up curled up, mostly asleep, on the pillow on the floor by his feet with one hand wrapped around his ankle. I felt like I’d turned into the big dog who is staying with me this weekend… who is perfectly content as long as he is touching one of his humans.

I talk about touch so much in this journal, but it really is so important to me. I’ve been having a pretty bad week, from an emotional fragility standpoint, and touching people just makes it better. I don’t necessarily need, or want, active attention (or to talk) when I’m cranky and depressed, but physical contact is the good drugs. I got said drugs yesterday when my platonic friend E and I went grocery shopping (just draping myself around her while we talked), took another hit this afternoon with K. in various ways (both lustful and non), and then filled up some more at home with my entirely heterosexual friend A. - who I just snuggled a lot since she was HERE. Hopefully this week will be less incredibly stressful. Busy, like a crazy thing, but less stressful. I could deal with less stressful for a little bit. There’s much to look forward to in the next 7 days, and so I shall.