Sunday, June 7, 2009

Wandering star..

8PM, still daylight out.

I miss my earlier summers, late teens, hanging out with friends in parks until darkness descended upon us and we moved locations, varying depending on mood.

I blew off my date on Friday. Not good of me, I know. But I felt my glands swelling in my throat which indicates an impending cold that will last for weeks if I don't scale things back.

So I went home. Shopping first, actually. Blew through the mall in under an hour, completing two outfits for various party/clubbing activities. It's good to know your body, it's good to know where to shop. I had time to browse, even, and check out stores I rarely step into.

My father and I went out to dinner, listened to his semi-drunken ramblings about whales and elk, and how they will never breed, which is truly a shame in his eyes.

Saturday morning was the chiropractor, trying to get my back back to normal. Then I took GV8 up on his offer of grooming, did the manicure/pedicure, eyebrows, arms waxed, etc. at one of the local spas. Sitting there trying to read Kerouac's Dharma Bums while having women chatter full-speed in Vietnamese around me was... entertaining. Especially after finishing Ryu Murukami's Almost Transparent Blue on Friday. My brain kept shifting into his writing style, which kept me entertained for the time I was there.

Went to my afternoon date. He was fun, completely entertaining, sure of himself, interacting with the people around him, no matter who they were, without hesitation or discomfort. I love watching men like that. They're so very good. And, of course, I'll join in. We met up at Amoeba so I could pick up a movie I saw last Thursday (a 70s rape film called I Spit on Your Grave which was quite good), then wandered over to Borders. We used the plastic coated foreign language conversation briefs to converse in Italian before switching to French. I was eyeing him, feeling as if something was up, when he used the phrase "push/pull" and I just stopped and went "ooooooh" inside my head when it all lined up. Perfect sense.

We relocated to my favorite parking lot- the seven story structure behind the Arclight. We hung out on the roof and looked over LA while talking. It was... good. He's just as damaged as I am, in different ways but with similiar results. Relocated again (fourth place in... er... three hours?) to a coffee shop on the corner of Sunset and Cahuenga.

More talking, this time about attraction, sex, his sexual MO, his relationship tendencies (serial monogamy, what a curse), and the social situation he is currently in and how it impacts his sex life and his view of himself.

I always end up playing sex/relationship therapist.

I don't mind, most of the time at least, but it has been a theme for so very many years now. Men, women, whatever.

When we went to leave, we hugged. I had been waiting for this physical contact to see how he would touch me. Everything is expressed through touch.

I full-body hugged him, and he was quite okay with that, aligning himself with me and draping one of his arms across my waist. Faces were buried in necks, quick inhale (I'm so scent based), and when we step back, he drags the arm that was on my waist over onto my arm, so we're slowly walking away, fingers trailing on upper arms, then forearms, then hands, where we pause, and then he goes to let go, and by that time, I had enough information. More than enough.

Before I let go, as he starts to turn, I say, "Hey."

He turns back, I pull him towards me. Mouths an inch apart, I meet his eyes. Dilated, interested, his hands are coming back towards me. Hold the eye contact for a second, asking permission in a brief glance so he can pull away if I read him wrong.

Then we kiss.

And, yes, he can kiss. Fucking yes. We're perfectly in sync with each other and we alternate lips and angles like we've been doing it for years. My hands are on his shoulder blades, stroking, his are on my waist, clutching gently, roaming slightly.

A minute passes, maybe two, and we pull away. Smile. Tell him to have a good night. He echoes this back to me, and we turn to go in separate directions on this corner.

...and then I hear the applause. A car completely full of men was sitting next to us, watching the play out. Yay for long signals. They're grinning and clapping at hooting at me, shouting something, wasn't really paying too much attention. Smile, do a little head bow, and get back to my car.

Go down Sunset to Highland to Melrose to La Brea. Sunset was totally backed up at Highland, what a nightmare.

Pull up behind GV8's store. He texts me to let me know he's running 15 minutes behind due to the jam on Highland. I wander around, going in stores, until he arrives and opens up his own so I can change. Put on the two outfits, let him pick.

And I will admit right now, I looked amazing. His store has a number of full length mirrors and I glanced in one, "Oh, holy shit." The combined pieces were perfect for my body. When I bought them, I eyeballed it, didn't bother putting things together.

Fixed my make-up, and we left.

Swing club.

My first.

One of my best friends has been telling me for years how fun it is and how much I would enjoy myself, what a trip it would be, how often he used to go.

It was absolutely nothing like I expected it to be, even with all of his descriptions. It was like a sex tree house for adults. Carpeted walls, cubbies, ladders to platforms everywhere, glow in the dark stars pasted all over the place, giant bunkbeds the length of four queen mattresses, one-way glass, look-out perches... wonderful. That was just the play area. They also had a dance floor, DJ, bar, full buffet, 25 seater jacuzzi, pool table, and sex-toy/lingerie shop, along with a free masseuse and body painter. Naked girls with giant implants everywhere. Really. Everywhere. I saw more implants last night than I have in the last several months.

We had fun.

There was one incident that bothered me, though. Two, actually. The first was worse than the second.

We had a chunk of interest expressed in us. It was fairly obvious that, of couples playing with other couples, we probably could have had our pick. Some of it was very obvious offers, some of it was more subtle. As I was walking towards the sex-swing, a man grabbed my arm and said, "We'll take you."

He was good looking. Truly. Not fantastic, but definitely one of the better looking people in the club. I smiled at him and kept walking. He and his partner followed us a few minutes later. We were already up on one of the beds, getting undressed. They asked if they could join us and, in my newness, I assumed they meant on the large bed that we were using.

No. They meant really "join" us.

They moved really fast. GV8, who has been doing this for years, was surprised at their aggression. They started immediately on us, hands going without question for me. We separated, and he started fucking the girl while the guy and I were manuevering for position with the man. As soon as I started interacting with him, I felt something was off. I tried to shake the feeling, but as soon as I put his dick in my mouth, the feeling solidified in my stomach that something was wrong.

I pulled back.

"I need to slow down."

He smiles, tells me okay, and then keeps grabbing for me.

"No, I need to slow down. This is my first time."

He smiles, tries to kiss me while snaking his hands in towards me.

I keep pulling away, "I need to slow down. Please give me a minute."

He starts spreading my legs, tells me that he's going to go down on me.

"NO. I need to take a break. I'm sorry, but this is my first time and something is off and I need to stop."

GV8 is listening to this while he's fucking the girl, and looks back at me.

"G, I don't mean to be a mood kill, I'm just uncomfortable. Keep going."

But he stops, and the other guy is still trying to grope me.

"Sweetie, do you want to get a drink of water?" he asks, pulling out of her.

I try to smile and nod, start putting on my clothes. I get the guy to move out of my way and dress quickly. They stay behind, and I'm relieved.

We go to the bar and get some water, then go to the smoking patio to talk.

I thought that when I got here, my biggest issue would be to see my partner with other girls, but it did not even phase me to see him boning that girl. He's fucking good. He knows what he's doing, has the perfect angles, can go for hours without orgasm because he just enjoys the sex. He's a fantastic partner. I loved hearing her shout and knowing that I got to be the one regularly experiencing that.

What bothered me, aside from the guy's insistance, was that he pulled me away from GV8. I lost physical contact with him (I had been going down on him), and that made me extremely uncomfortable. I did not want to be without him, and that reaction surprised me.

I suppose, if you look at it from my general submissive mindset, I should never be without the man I'm pleasing. I'm connected to him. I trust him. I need him to center me because, without that centering, I'm completely adrift. If I had been at the club by myself, it would have been fine. But since I came with him, I was with him mentally. Then I was dragged off of him. It was mildly shattering, to be without his body touching mine.

We talked about this, and watched the girls running around on that patio in various states of undress, occasionally spanking each other, occasional blowjobs to their partners.

While we talked, I took a minute to sit and listen to myself. I was freaked out. I always keep my freak outs internal because I find it rude to act out your anxiety/fear/damages with other people. I'm very damaged, but I'm functional because I force myself to be. It works.

So I listened to myself. I went through options for the evening. Leave? Go back to the bar and watch the girls dancing on it? Go watch others have sex?

"G, um... I'm a bit freaked out still. Can we go get a cubby and cuddle until I calm down?"

Physical contact does everything for me. It truly does.

"Sure, darlin'."

We go into the back and crawl into an empty cubby. I take off my heels, he takes off his sneakers, and I curl up next to him, head on his shoulder, stockinged leg draped between his.

I breathe. I listen to the background music and the sounds of people fucking all around us. It's soothing, the small cries of pleasure, the occasional creaking of the frames containing the mattresses.

And then I realize I can't calm down until I address something with him, because I won't be able to relax with this in my head.

"G, can I be overly analytical for a minute?" this is what I'm learning to say to him because I think so very much all the time and he tells me to relax and stop looking so deep into everything.

"Sure, but only a minute. Maybe two."

"It bothered me when you snapped at me earlier, when we were upstairs, about the music. It made me feel horribly small and stupid, like a whiny little bitch, like you thought so little of me. And that reminded me of all the times I was out with Darkeyes at clubs and he would accidentally hit me while dancing, and when I would tell him to pay more attention, he would freak out, yell at me, accuse me of causing a scene, and storm out. It just made me feel so bad."

Yes, I'm a bad storyteller because I did not mention the snapping, but I was complaining about the horrible music they had playing, and every time I tuned it out, the song would change and jolt me back into it and I'd say something else about it and he got irritated and snapped at me for complaining about something I had no control over and would never change.

We talked about it, about my reaction, about why he said what he said, and how he didn't realize how much his tone affected me.

And it felt good. Darkeyes conditioned me so strongly to never, ever talk about the things that bothered me in public because People Must Not Know Our Dirty Laundry, even if no one was about. Whenever I did, even if it was on a crowded dancefloor where music was blasting and we'd have to shout in each other's ears to be heard, he'd still freak. So I've developed this horrid anxiety about discussing such things in a public venue and upsetting the mood. Because he would bitch about how I ruined his mood and, therefore, his night, when I would talk to him about the things he did that upset me. It was ridiculous, how I could tell him to open his eyes while dancing or stop following me around the floor if he was going to keep hitting me at 1030PM, and he would not get over it until the next day, being moody and sullen and, really, a little bitch about it.

After we talked, the knot in my chest relaxed. We were cuddling, I was happy, and I wanted him in me to take the taint of touching that aggressive guy away.

Stripped down the both of us and crawled on top of him, only noticing when we went to shift positions that we had a small group of people outside our cubby, watching us fuck. Of course, then he wanted to do doggy-style with my face outwards towards the "audience" while he drilled into me. A man walked in front of me with his partner, looked in, and I gave them this, "Hi, how ya doin?" smile.

Seeing that the audience didn't bother me, he shoved me gently out of the cubby hole, and directed me towards the "center stage" mattress for the area. Right in the middle of the room, it gets the most foot traffic and can be seen from any entry.

We had fun.

I think sex should be fun. I think sex should include laughter and giggling and rolling around, shifting positions, being comfortable and experimental with your partner. GV8 is excellent at the position-change, never has to leave my body no matter what we decide to shift into.

So we rolled around the two queen-sized mattresses in the center of the room, me giggling, us wrestling, him occasionally slapping me across the face, thighs, or ass (all of which is lovely), and him changing back and forth between slow and sensual to boning my brains out with my head draped over the edge of the mattress, near shouting.

I was having so much fun, I did not notice any people walking by, did not notice and audience, did not care, was not listening to the other couples, was just totally in the moment, riding him, him riding me, whatever was going on. Wonderful.

We took a break after a bit, got more water, used the restroom, and came back into the main room to find, again, the center set of mattresses were empty.

I strip again. People are going a little odd about my tattoo because, while many of the girls had tattoos, all but one of them were tramp-stamps, c-section stamps, and little bangers (the tiny tattoos that an artist can "bang" out in thirty minutes or less). I had the most ink, in one of the most sensitive places to ink, and in the highest quantity and density. Most times people can't see it because I'm clothed, so actually seeing a general reaction to it was... pretty cool.

What was even more fun was that I came into the club wearing a flared black skirt and a librarian shirt (high ruffled collar, deep cleavage, beige and sheer across the chest), knee-high black trouser socks with white embroidered lines running up the calf ending in little white bows, and sassy little 1920s looking high-heels (along with my usual black framed glasses). I looked refined, elegant, and curvy like hell. Then I stripped and... well, shit, the little librarian has a kicking tattoo that makes most people wince when they see it.

Mmmm dissonance.

Anyhow, stripped down again, leaving on the knee-highs, GV8 stripped down, and I started going down on him.

Giving head... it's like an addictive art form for me. I love it. I've always loved it. I practice, I learn, I query, I do what feels right. And I'm very good at it. Guys go nuts for it, brag to their friends about what I can do with my mouth. It's a topic of conversation and is part of my reputation that follows me around to most of my social circles, even though I rarely bring it up.

So, we got a crowd. Walking around, I noticed that almost none of the girls could give head. They were blowing like they do in porn, or it was just the straight up and down movements that are so damn typical and boring and passionless. I was bored stiff, watching these girls. And I suddenly understood why so many guys will just grab their partner's head and thrust- because, jesus, some girls are just better if they open their lips and create a seal, rather than actually try.

And if anyone actually read this thing, wow, I'd be getting hatemail on that last one.

Anyhow, crowd was formed. I'm good, it looks good, my ankles are kicked up behind me like a giddy girl gossiping at a slumber party because I'm so relaxed and happy to be blowing him. I had so much damn fun doing that, and even though I was going down on him for at least 30 minutes, no one left, no one got bored and wanted to see what else was going on. It was very flattering.

We switched, eventually to sex, and then he grabbed a stack of towels and decided to make me squirt over and over and over while I was shouting his name and clawing at his back, because, christ, that feels so intense.

What really made my day was when, before he started making me gush, he threw a towel at the nearest group of people watching us and told them they'd need it. Fuck that- I needed it. We flooded through the towels, got all over him, all over me, running up my stomach, hitting me in the face, he started making Gallagher references... and then he left to go take a shower because he was coated.

I picked up our things, changed into my usual black yoga pants and a black white beater, and we hit the buffet.

That food was amazing.

Not because it was good (though it was), but because we had been having sex for the last several hours and I was completely drained of fluids and life. I went through the buffet, grabbed as much fruit and protein-filled stuff as I could find, with a little bit of the grains, and propped myself up on a stool and just moaned while I was eating. GV8 was laughing a little at me because I was just so happy to be refueling.

We took off after that. It was 3, maybe 330, and it was time to go, at least for us, though the club stays open until 9AM. I curled up in the passenger seat of his truck, legs up on the seat and partially beneath me, and listened to Portishead's Roads while we drifted down the freeway, back to his place in the valley.

You'd think that we'd go to bed after that.

I thought we would too.

Apparently not.

More sex, then he threw me on the Sybian and let me grind out an orgasm on it. I love that machine. I'm horny, I'm tired, what'll get me off in less than two minutes? Oh, yes, plug it in and let me go to town.

Woke up to him alternately fingering me and going down on me. Lovely. More sex, this was rougher, which I needed, him tossing me around the bed, spanking my ass, my crotch, slapping my face constantly, choking me, tossing a pillow over my head and smothering me while he thrust into me doggy-style. Fucking great.

Ended on the Sybian again, with him pushing into my ass while I vibrated to happyland.

Good times.

When we finally finished, I oiled him down and gave him a full body massage, complete with happy ending. And he was happy.

We got breakfast (at 1PM) at Aroma over on Sunset. I love that place so very much. Their ice blended mochas are the best I've ever had. We sat and people-watched, with the girls one table over from us freaking out about some guy named Russell Brand eating there and talking with them. I'm still not quite sure who that is, but I don't pay attention to the celeb machine. The food was, as always, excellent. Weather was perfect and beautiful, constant wind, sitting in the sun, in raptures over my food.

I think I've figured it out: marathon sex makes food better. So. Much. Better.

GV8 was laughing, again, at my raptures over my iced mocha. I was much too happy about that drink.

We walked down Sunset to visit one of his friends, who recently broke his knee and can't leave his apartment easily because he's on the second floor and there is no elevator. Can't go shopping, can't be upright for more than five minutes, major pain. We hung out with him a little while the two of them made plans for grocery shopping at Costco next Monday so he'd have enough food for the next couple of months, and taking him back to the hospital.

I started flagging shortly after that. We went back to one of his stores and I just crawled onto his white leather couch, arms draped over the sides, and inhaled that musty leather scent I love. We were going to go to Venice so he could take care of some business and have dinner with a couple of his clients, but we were both too tired. I drove home instead.

It was a good weekend.

And I'm going to bed. I have more I want to write (more?!?, I hear the non-existant voices chorus and I mock ye), but I'm drained and so ready for unconsciousness. So very ready.

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