Fold Into Me
The tiniest origami crane I'd ever seen. It sits in a tiny german whittled dollhouse cupboard. A peculiar artist and I became acquainted in an art store a year ago. We bumped into each other at the art festivals these past few weeks. I got an even more peculiar request from him one day, when he asked me to model in nothing but body paint on his gay men's swim team parade float.He had no idea of my body painting experience. I guess people just get that vibe from me that I'm the perfect candidate for public nude modelling?
His fabulous gay collective welcomed me into their clique. I gave cross dressing tips, and one even squealed when I took off my top. I let this man touch my boob, he was intrigued and gingerly groped my breast before recoiling in disbelief. We had a good laugh over this. The Origami master and I have always been sweet on each other. For some reason I felt no compulsion to kiss him. That didn't stop us from having a very steamy shower. He's tall and very muscled, he models for art students. It was a spectacle to watch him cum, so much energy rushing through him. It seemed peculiar to me that he felt less exposed in a leopard print short dress then in a speedo and body paint during pride. He's quite comfortable with both his ambiguous gender and sexuality. But he's too shy to stand on a truck :)
The parade was a fast paced blur. There is a power in accepting your body, and there is a power when you have a water gun. I have long idolized Tank Girl for her audacity and gusto. I felt a lot like her up on the float. Ba-Bam! I stole the show. That said, my charismatic companions were incredible, with elaborate costume and paint jobs. I look forward to seeing them again at the swim meets!
At The End Of The Rainbow
In the spirit of Pride I spent a great deal of time with a whimsical and hyperactive woman. Thinking of our meeting the day before at the dyke march I managed to walk right into her after the parade. We were both painted completely blue for unrelated reasons. I suspect this is proof of synchronicity.
It was remarkable how easily we slipped into each other's stories and arms.She taught me all 18 parts of the vagina with oral demonstration. Pulled me into the shower with her while dressed. Serenaded me with "I want to hold your hand" on acoustic guitar by the canal. We whispered secrets at the whispering wall at parliament. We stole away into a circus tent on Parliament hill, and wondered how many other couples have had sex there. Wiki informs me that it has 3 million visitors a year. Odds are pretty good that we're not the first or the last.
She's the world's best worst dancer, and I dig her dyke helmet hair. It'll be so much fun to see her at the next Metal Mayhem Madness (fetish meet) Oh, apparently we're both fetishists, and many many months ago I mentioned polyamory to her. She later googled it and found what she was missing. Hilariously this groomed her to handle my lifestyle or multiple loves, and partners.
Principles Of Pain
On a further unbelievable note, I spent the night before meting her, spanking her ex at a two day fetish event. The odds are flabbergast me. I've developed a taste for spanking men. I'm comfortable with sub space. Referring to the headspace of being submissive to a dominant who inflicts pain. There's power in submission. I must be strong and brave to let someone have control. It can be scary just as you go under. the blindfold slips over your eyes and you're distinctly aware of all the eyes on your naked bound body. Then the tails of the whips slither around your neck and thighs. then the spanks come, rapid and light, building in pressure. You're glad for the blindfold because your embarrassment is all consuming. But no one laughs, and the spanks turn into floggings. The music thumps. pain in time to the beat of a Rammstien song. Arms braced against the cross, and ass arched out begging for more. A quick lash sends you jumping to your tip toes where you stay straining your legs. A dizziness wraps around you like the cat-o-ninetails. Trust blossoms between the sub and dom. The pain falls on the bass notes, and stops just after it hurts enough to squirm.
You wonder how long you've been at it, but you're not going to say stop, or complain if it stops. Those leathery licks could punish your flesh as long as it was intact. When it ends, you're on your knees before this dominant and your blindfold is removed. You blinkingly step into the sun. There's more to see than can ever be seen. More to do than can ever be done.
Being Dominant has another kind of high. Great care spiced with precise deviousness. As you gradually quicken the figure eights your flogger skates through, their red little ass gyrates and dances. When spanking you cup your hand to drive deeper and tickle the prostate of your gagged and bound man slave. He's a cocky and mucked bastard, teasing you for not hitting hard enough. You give it to him, and then a little more. He flinches as you trace your fingernails under his arms and down his back. Increasing the pain, and dabbling pleasureful caresses to keep him on his toes. Knowing that this strong, willful creature is submitting to you and groaning for you to lace his back with ribbons is the greatest turn on. tickling up the back of his thighs he looses his composure altogether. Thrusting and bobbing on the cross when you sweep your hair across his scorched skin. Mmm!I hope to apprentice a dominatrix in the near future.
Many of the professional dominants I've spoken to warn me away from a career int he field. "Don't make something you love into a job, because it sucks the fn out of it." If I listened to that advice, I wouldn't be a freelance artist. Though there are legalities to tip toe around, and the whole prospect of getting paid to kick ass is very far away. I've got so much training to do before that point. It's an expensive hobby to collect instruments of torture, and to become an expert in safety. There's a smug sense of satisfaction that I can't lose the taste of. I've found that not all dooms are stoic and loud. The submissive I played with found my giggling (alarming?) exciting. I was likened to Harley Quin, the batman villain. If we're going to talk about villains, I'm proficient at seducing like poison ivy, but once I start smacking booties the ludicrousness overcomes me and devilish laughs erupt.
Sitting on a Golden Bough
K-I-S-S-I-N-G
and
F-U-C-K-I-N-G
and
L-O-V-I-N-G
Seeing Efram again is a dream! I was nervous for the first day or so, it wasn't until I was able to explore Belleville on my own while he worked. I made friends at the comic book shop and vintage clothing store. Bogenville is much more fun then I'd expected. His charms quickly soften my heart and things pick up where they were left off. He aptly remarked that it's as if we're on pause when we don't see each other. I've been trying to try out some of my new s/M tricks on him, to no avail. He refuses to be spanked :(
I don't want this site to turn into an Efram shrine. Domesticity suits me frighteningly well. Especially with obtuse threats of spanks if the house isn't clean enough or the food lacklustre. But I will say that in bed, he's been shocked to see how much pain I'm demanding.
Eating my pussy today I kept asking him to go harder. He swears he tasted blood. My clit felt like it was being chewed off. I loved every second of it.It's been really nice to be fucked senseless lately. It helps inspire my art as well. During sex, I feel like an autistic tripping on shrooms. I'm running on instinct an my eyes glaze over with fantastical landscapes and masterpieces pervade my thoughts like moans.
We talk about polyamory and sex. It's unabashedly clear to me that he is Eros, and I am Psyche. A friend mentioned that to keep a soulful intelligent woman's attention one must offset her with passion, appreciation of beauty, and lust.
Efram complains that women act bipolar when in fact they are only developing feelings for him. He doesn't think he's a heartbreaker, because he tells them in the beginning that he won't date them or be exclusive. It doesn't negate the fact that after a time they feel for him, and he dumps them for becoming possessive and clingy. So yes, they are making informed decisions about having sex with him once they begin to fall. But at the same time how can he keep a clean conscience at the emotional havoc he causes so many women. This is compounded by that fact that he (29), is doing this now to a nearly virginal 19 year old girl.
Yes, I'm not much older then this last one. But I came to the conclusion of polyamory on my own and have the maturity to relate to him outside of the confines of a "relationship."
On the other hand, I approach intimate encounters with apprehension. I limit myself because I feel I must justify any act of lust with some inane admiration. I'll find a reason to like someone, to soothe my conscience when I just want to bang them. I cloud a very simple situation by searching out reasons to connect with or love a person because they are sexy.
The upside and sometimes downside to this is that I fall in love very quickly. When I do discover a love interest, it deepens rapidly. I'm not afraid to share those feelings. Though it's not the recipe for disaster that one might expect. I'm not prone to obsessive love, and I've already hashed out my issues with co-dependancy. I love honestly, and freely. Sometimes I pressure myself to separate sex and love or to live in the illusion that they are inseparable.
I'm perfectly happy with my situation, and challenges. This moment is exceptionally flawless.
