Signal

Coming back from the bathroom, I tuck a piece of red fabric into the breast pocket of his brand-new suit; it matches his tie perfectly.  It looks like a handkerchief with a small, neat triangle perfectly pointed up toward his face.  He looks down, then quizzically at me as if to say, “From whence did this matching handkerchief come?” And then it dawns on him.  “Are these your knickers?!” he asks.  I smile and slide into a seat next to him, caressing his leg, and whisper into his ear that it’s time to go home.  He raises his hand for the check, and we can’t get out of the restaurant fast enough.

 

I walk up to him in a crowded bar on New Year’s Eve, kiss him on the cheek, and press something into his hand.  “You have pockets, right?” I purr into his ear.  He nods in affirmation.  “Can you hold onto these for me?” I ask, walking away.  I turn my face over my shoulder and look back as he realizes what’s in his hand and, startled, blushes and shoves my panties into his pocket.

 

He slides my panties down and takes them gingerly off my legs, over my heels, in a public park at dusk; when he starts to lick me, I come almost immediately – something that hadn’t happened in over a decade.  He won’t give me my knickers back after I come, instead making me walk to and sit through dinner naked under my white sundress – my cunt swollen and wet most of the night, ready for when we get back to mine.

 

I’m prepping dinner at my kitchen counter; he comes up behind me and wraps his arms around me. I lean back into his lips on my neck and press my ass back against him.  He slides his hands up my skirt to discover that I’m pantiless and takes that as an invitation to turn me around, push my skirt all the way up, pick me up, and fuck me on my kitchen counter (as I’d hoped he would) so we can work up an appetite.

 

For me, going commando is always a step toward some kind of sex – or at least a bomb of a hint that I’m interested in fucking.  I don’t particularly like being nude under my clothes; my thighs start to chafe a bit when I walk, and I find panties soooo comfortable.  But I love when my partners know I am – turning them on turns me on.  Whether it’s a tease at the beginning of the night or a signal at the end of a date that I’m ready to go, dropping my knickers gets both (all?) of us revved up and feisty and wanting more.

 

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Deep, Dark Places

Caves really freak some people out — there are a lot of folks uncomfortable with the dark, with small spaces, with bats and blind, transparent creepy crawlies.

love caves.  They’ve always felt like comforting, safe spaces to me.  Thrown into total darkness, the cool, still, and damp air barely flowing over me, hearing bats and birds squeak near the entrances, I feel calm.  Running my fingers over rocks that grow, I’m awed at how alive caves are.  How many green things can grow inside of them. How many creatures can thrive in a challenging environment.

I feel relaxed in caves…

Sinful Sunday

The Basics

I know within a few minutes of meeting someone whether or not I want to fuck them. Something in their smile or their posture or the way they greet me either gives me a boner, or it doesn’t.  I usually need to hear a hello or a few words to warm me to the idea of being intimate with someone – but when The Engineer walked into our dorm room in Rwanda, one glance was all it took.  I’d been restlessly horny all day, and I thanked the universe for dropping a tall, handsome man conveniently into my room.

We were the only two in a twelve-bed dorm; he asked if I wanted to join him for dinner, and I fantasized about him in the shower beforehand, sliding fingers through my slippery folds. When, after two beers, he asked if I’d like another, I said, “No, and I don’t think you should have one, either – I think we should fuck first and then have another.” The bed creaked and banged against the wall as I rode him; I’m 100% sure the entire hostel staff heard my moans and whimpers, and I didn’t care. We went back out and had a celebratory beer before bed while chatting about our travels.

It was supposed to be a one-night stand.  He was supposed to go off on a hike the next day… but he stayed.  We spent the day walking along Lake Kivu, coming back to the hostel to fuck in the shower and on a bunk bed ladder (great for the height difference!), then changed rooms and fucked in the bay window, in the bathtub, on the huge bed.  We slept next to each other, waking up early to have sex one more time before I walked to the Congolese border.

I came back to our guesthouse in Rwanda three days later, then shortly took off for another hike the day he was returning from one; he stayed.  When I returned, he was sitting in the common area; he didn’t expect to see me, so when I ran in and flung myself into his arms, it took us an hour to get off the couch.  We went to Kigali together and spent four days mostly eating, drinking wine, and exploring each other’s bodies instead of the city (corporal tourism?).

He took me to the airport at midnight, and it was a hard goodbye; when you develop feelings for someone while in a novel or challenging situation, the feelings can be pretty intense.  We stayed in touch every day after that; when I messaged him asking him to come to Barcelona in July, he said that July was too far away and he wanted to see me sooner… and then proceeded to spend four days traveling overland by boat, bus, and minivan from Zanzibar to the southern end of Lake Malawi, where we spent a week on the beach, drinking cocktails, swimming, fucking like field mice, and being super handsy in public.  By the end of that week, after telling folks in the guesthouse that we were on our honeymoon (it sure felt like it), I was in deep.  We both were.

He took me to the airport again in Lilongwe, and the goodbye was much harder, even though I was sure we weren’t done seeing each other – and we weren’t. He called me when I was in Spain to tell me he was coming to Ireland with me at the tail end of my trip.  He flew over his home to travel with me in a country he’d never been to, even though he was homesick. He met me at the airport with roses; we rented a car and spent eleven days driving through the countryside, staying in bed and breakfasts, cooking for each other, listening to amazing live music, and playing.  We dropped the L word on day five after walking along the Cliffs of Mohor, and when we parted, he gave me a framed photo of us that he’d taken with his phone on the second day we’d been together back in Rwanda.

I’m not someone who believes in fate.  I don’t believe in soulmates, and I certainly don’t believe in The One. But I do feel pretty lucky that we happened to be in the same place at the same time.  Being with him is so easy; I feel emotional security AND physical lust at the same time, which is strange and wonderful.  I feel prioritized, valued, and deeply cared for, and that’s something I haven’t experienced since the last time I lived in the US.  This is good.  It’s really good.  And it’s not over yet – not by a long shot.

Gratuitous sex stories to come!

Chocolate Cross

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I highly advocate playing with your food!

We* got drunk on wine and feisty with mousse in Kigali – my first time staying in a hotel with room service, and I’ll certainly never forget it. Having it licked off was much more fun than having it dripped on!

Sinful Sunday

 

*Seriously, I’ll write about this guy soon…

Backyard Shenanigans

At an AirBnB in the Irish countryside, free to be naked and noisy!

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Sadly, I’d had my camera stolen in Spain, so my crap phone had to do… but I feel like the moment was captured!  Nothing like being naked AND in motion!

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… but also nice to be still sometimes.

Sinful Sunday