Secret Confessions of a Smart Girl

It occurred to me, while driving home from a 12 hour work day that started at 4 a.m., that through this blog I have a network. What’s more, I have a network of kinky people who like to read. Or, at least, a network of people who like to read kinky things.

This realization spawned what will, on sober reflection, probably seem like a truly horrible idea. When I look back at this post tomorrow morning and ask myself what I was thinking, the obvious answer will be “I wasn’t. I had been up since 4 a.m. after getting less than 4 hours of sleep.”  Still, even though I recognize that it is a terrible idea, I’m going to act on it anyway. Why? Because there’s a tiny optimistic voice inside my head telling me that the worst thing that will happen is the complete destruction of my faith in humanity. That’s not such a big loss.

The idea in question? I’m going to ask my readers to fix me up.

Even this tired, I quake at the prospect of what horrors might appear in my inbox, but I clearly need to get outside of my current social circle and OKCupid is just not cutting the mustard.  Thus, I put my vulnerability out there for the world’s amusement and hopefully my social enrichment.

Your mission, if you choose to accept it, is to find the following sort of person to throw me at:

• A man or woman in their late twenties through mid forties who does not currently have a primary partner and is looking for someone to build a life with.
• Someone who is not adamantly opposed to the concept of eventually having children.
• A person who is accepting of polyamorous relationships and preferably has experience in them.
• Someone who is smart, kind, and capable of being (or at least tolerating the) extremely silly.
• A non-smoker.*
• A person who lives near enough to the NYC area (within 3-4 hours) that dating them is a practical option, but not someone who is allergic to leaving the 5 boroughs.

What do they get in return? The writer of this blog.

Which, really, is what makes me nervous about this whole idea.

I am not my kink.

My kink is an important part of me, but it is only a part. In day to day life, it’s not even that big a part. It’s how I have sex, and it informs my sex writing for my professional clients, but it isn’t me. I could never date someone if kink was all we had in common, or kink was all they had in their life. I’m too passionate about too many things, and that should be something they share.

The thing is… I’m not particularly looking to meet someone solely to have more hot kinky sex. Don’t get me wrong, I love hot kinky sex, but I have excellent sources for it in my, sadly non-local, boyfriend and girlfriend. What I’m looking for is someone with whom I can potentially build a Relationship**, whatever that might mean, and I want you (yes! I’m looking at you! The one sitting in front of the computer screen. Stop looking over your shoulder. No one is going to magically appear behind you.) to help me find them.

If you have someone you think I’d get on with like a house on fire (or, preferably, like chocolate and peanut butter mixed together in a heavenly confection of rich satisfaction,) show them this blog. I think that my writing, even here where it is mostly about sex, gives a pretty good idea of who I am Then encourage them to send me an e-mail*** that demonstrates they are a person of wit, wisdom, and weirdness, and we’ll see how it goes from there.

If nothing else, hopefully this experience will provide fertile fodder for future posts… even if the subtext of every single one of them is “Dear lords! What have I DONE?!?!?!”

Yours in Sleep Deprivation,

Rona

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*_{Although I don’t  believe in the custom-order model of dating, both my father and my aunt died horrible deaths from smoking related cancers. Falling in love with a smoker is therefore not an acceptable life choice for me.}

_{**A Relationship that would hopefully involve a lot of the hot kinky sex, but I’m not a “jump into bed first, think about it later” sort of girl. I am a “get excited over someone’s brain, work up a good quantity of lust for them, have a detailed conversation about safer sex and STD testing, and then jump into bed with them” sort of girl… although I do put out faster for a good beating.}

_{***Encourage me to realize that there was no e-mail address for me anywhere on this page until 5 seconds ago. Somehow it got lost when I migrated. Oops.}

The fact is that, even though I am a workaholic who can often barely stand to step away from the computer for 4 hours at a time, I would be quite happy to spend a few days chained naked at the foot of my lovers’ bed… as long as I was confined by a snack-length chain. Long enough to get to the kitchen for snacks is also more than long enough to get to the other necessities, and so we have agreed that, in theory, that this is a reasonable condition. Also? There’s something inexplicably delightful about the phrase “snack-length chain.” It’s impossible for me to speak or hear it without smiling. The perfect combination of submission, preparation, and whimsy.

I haven’t been involved in a relationship involving this much D/s in a while - not in at least a decade, possibly not ever. I really like it. As I’ve grown more comfortable in my sexuality over the past few years I’ve learned that I don’t need power dynamics and pain to enjoy sex, but I’m still unquestionably an intensity junkie and I really like not being in control.

The simple fact is that everything is easier when it’s about doing it for someone else. Excesses of pain, excesses of pleasure are transmuted from horrible and overwhelming by the phrases “But I like it” or “Because I want to.” It’s insanely hot to see my partner get visibly excited by causing me pain or otherwise taking control. I can’t explain it, but getting to see that look is totally worth the price of admission. It takes my head to very dangerous places where voices whisper in my ear “what wouldn’t you let him do?” and instead of being chastened by them I kind of want to find out.

The snack-length chain, however, isn’t about that fear or about how much I enjoy playing with someone who enjoys testing my limits for his own enjoyment (no matter how nice those both are.) I think it’s mostly about feeling wanted and feeling safe in that. Not to mention the thought of the  sheer, sybaritic bliss of spending days wearing nothing but restraints with nothing to worry about except how to be the most pleasing and nothing to occupy my mind except for thoughts about how next I’m going to be used.

Gods but that thought is hot. Committing myself to being completely available for pain, for sex, for someone else’s pleasure for a more extended amount of time than just an isolated scene.  Even if nothing happened, the waiting itself would be exciting, not knowing what, if anything, would occur or when. Knowing I’d have no say in whether it would.  Yum. I know how my brain works. I’d likely muse myself into a frenzy of alternating lust and fear… and when it all wore off  I could test the limits of my snack-length chain.

I’ve gotten lazy in my old age.

I almost never bother to actually negotiate my scenes, even with new partners.

It makes life so much more interesting.

It becomes all about saying yes.

A hand on my cheek, about to slap, “Yes.”

A cane poised over my ass, ready to fall, “Yes.”

A voice asking “May I?” “Yes.”

One learns to expect the unexpected.

I wouldn’t recommend this style of play to anyone new to the scene. It helps that I’m very clear about my ability to stop something I object to, even if I have to drag myself out of my happy place to do so. I find it odd that I can go completely non-verbal… until I have a need to communicate something that requires words, at which point I can get those words out and then lapse back into babbling incoherence.

I do like having partners who can reduce me to babbling incoherence.  Not only is it enjoyable for me, but people seem to take such pleasure in shutting me up.