Earth Shaking

Nothing is sweeter than fucking in the great outdoors.  The gentle breezes caressing your bare skin, the sun kissing your curves, the smells of nature filling your senses, musty earth and coconut-scented sunscreen mingling with sweat and whispered words of love.

I was in high school the first time I had sex in the woods.  We snuck off to have a walk in a nearby meadow, which turned into an adventurous shag on the ground between urban trees.  The best part about it wasn’t the sex, but telling my friends at school about it on Monday.  I felt so rebellious, and it sparked a need in me to have sex in all of the places.

On car bonnets, against trees, in sunny meadows, in shells of abandoned buildings (with barely a wall to speak of), in the beds of pickup trucks, in the ocean, on rooftops, swings, balconies, picnic tables  – there’s nothing better than fucking out in the open.

Especially in nature.  Feeling the grass with my toes and getting dirt under my fingernails makes me feel in commune with everything that has come before me and everything that will come after me.

Nothing is sweeter than fucking in the great outdoors, unless those outdoors are next to a mosquito-infested lake.

Or scratchy sand grating at your knees.

Or next to dogs you’re supposed to be walking who have now stopped running around, parked next to your face, and have started intently staring at you.

It’s not always perfect, but when it is, it’s perfect.  Most of the time.

Love

It’s what makes a sub a sub.*

Sinful Sunday
*This is a play on the Subaru slogan, not a genuine statement of belief.

Invocation

The first time it happened, she thought it was a fluke.  A trick of the mind.  A grief-induced hallucination.

A year after his death, still mourning, she suddenly remembered a game she used to play as a child.  She would sit in front of her mother’s tall mirror in the dark, one dim flashlight bulb illuminating the reflection in front of her.  Sometimes she played with a friend – but often, she was alone.  She would repeat the name of someone she knew who had passed over and over again until she swore that their face had replaced hers in the mirror.  She stared at the hard shine and watched them watching her, alone together.  She should have been afraid; instead, she was just fascinated that she could reach beyond.  That they came to her when she called.

She was soused when she saw her husband in the mirror.  She’d brought home a stranger from the bar, needing to fuck the pain away.  She lit candles, put on soft music, and asked him to bend her over in front of her boudoir mirror, yank her panties down, and fuck her.  As he railed her, the physical pain overtaking the mental anguish, she looked up at his face, and wondered.  She whispered her husband’s name.  Jayden.  Again.  Jayden.  Inaudible replications, building on themselves, tumbling out of her mouth.

And then she saw him.  Her mouth opened into a silent O that trapped her; she blinked, looked down.  She was drunk.  The room was swaying.  But when she looked back, his face was still there, staring back at her with a familiar combination of love and longing.  Her walls shuddered against the stranger’s cock; his voice gave guttural groans as her husband squeezed his eyes shut, then smiled.

“Oh, god – did I hurt you?”  The pick-up asked.  “Wh-what?” she stammered, jerked back into the moment.  “You’re crying,” he said.  “I guess I just needed some release,” she said and smiled, wiping the tears away.  She thanked him for coming, said she needed time alone,  and rushed him out the door.

The next night, she dressed up in a way she hadn’t done in years.  Put on makeup, straightened her hair, dug her one pair of heels out of the back of the closet.  Not that it took a ton of convincing to get someone to come home with her, but she wasn’t taking any chances.

He was, after all, the love of her life.

 

Never Say Never

I questioned my decision to leave Korea every day after I made it until I finally left.  I knew that when I came back to the US, work would take a lot more time and energy; however, I don’t think I was prepared for just how much more time and energy teaching in public schools in a major city would take.  How much more of an emotional toll it would take.  I’ve not only been through a lot of transition in the last year between Korea, home, and now a new job in a new city / new school district, but a lot of transition within that district within my first four months on the job.

I’m exhausted, you guys.  All the time.  I’m having a crisis of faith as an educator wherein I’m not sure if I want to be a teacher anymore.  I had a full-on panic attack last week along with bouts of uncontrollable sobbing and nights filled with anxiety dreams.  I’m struggling.  Largely because of this, there came a point last fall where weekly blogging started to feel like a chore rather than a source of joy to me – just one more thing I felt like I had to get done.  Blogging doesn’t just involve writing, as you know – it involves social media, reading and commenting on other people’s blog posts, participating in memes, and spending hours reflecting, thinking creatively, and revising.  It’s a passion project for me (I don’t post ads or donation buttons on my site) that I don’t feel so passionate about anymore as my career has sent me into an emotional tailspin.

That said – I had a lovely conversation with @exposing40 last summer in which she told me that I don’t have to do weekly posts or even monthly posts to keep my blog up and running; I could just post whenever I damn well please.  Whenever a prompt strikes my fancy, or whenever I feel inspired.  I like that.  For now, I’m going to follow her sage advice.  Perhaps when I settle into a routine and can find more happiness in my work, I’ll come back swinging.  Right now, though, I think I’m going to try to spend the little free time I have making friends in my new city, trying my best to maintain physical and mental health, spending time outside, and building community with my coworkers at happy hours.

See you soon, neighbors.  xxx

P.S. I finally got to use a Sybian a couple of weeks ago, and I found it *highly* unpleasant.  Am I the only one?  What was pleasant was sucking The Engineer’s dick while riding it as people watched through a window.  See?  I still have more to write about down the road.

Verge

I took other photos in this shoot that were a little more sultry or filthy, but I keep coming back to this image. Not sure why, but I’m drawn to it.  Maybe it’s the fact that I know I’m not wearing knickers, and that skirt is hiked up as far as I dared.

Sinful Sunday

 

Future in Your Eyes

“I’m Viv,” I say, as I shake your slender hand.  The first thing I notice are your earrings – feathery and dangly and brushing your freckled shoulders. Only I don’t know they’re freckled yet.  The second thing is your smile.  You have crooked teeth, like me.  Your smile is wide and welcoming and disarming.  Your dimples tell me I should trust you.

Then I look at your eyes, chocolate porter-colored behind small, rectangle-framed glasses.  They unfurl like a whirlpool in reverse.  At first I only see colors, sparkling and bright.  Fireworks and fairy lights.  Then the images start to come into view.

Light, Christmas, Lighting, Decoration

I’m scooping your knees up while your arms hang tight around my neck so a stranger in front of Ghirardelli Square can take our photo.  You’re eating mochi on a stick, giggling while we walk around a festival in Japantown with my friends.  We’re on the tilt-a-whirl at the Santa Cruz boardwalk, spinning as fast as we can while I try not to crush you.  We’re slow dancing to “My Funny Valentine” at Martuni’s, your red satin dress melting my hands.  We’re lying on a blanket in Dolores Park, my arm around you, your head nestled into my chest, soaking up unexpected sunshine.  My family is telling me how much they adore you.

You’re on your hands and knees on a spanking bench while I tower above you, flogging you.  You’re flush with almost-coming, your eyes shut tight, your head thrown back.  We’re kissing and kissing and kissing and kissing, hands all over each other.  I’m ripping a towel off of you so I can get one of your nipples into my mouth as quickly as possible.  We’re making love quietly and urgently in my parent’s house, shuddering and soaking the sheets.

You’re telling me you foresaw this – we would either get closer, or we would break up.  I’m regretting the words as soon as they’re out of my mouth.  I’m sobbing as I walk down 24th street in the Mission, not really knowing where I’m going.  You’re looking at me with eyes that say, “Why have you broken my heart?”  I’m looking inside, unable to find a good answer.  I’m writing you an apology.  You’re writing me an update.  We’re meeting for the first time in a long time with faint smiles on our faces and hope in our hearts.  We’re hugging goodbye and saying how happy we are to be friends.

“Nice to meet you,” you say.  “I’m Emma.”

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

 

Monogamish?

I spent several years listening to Dan Savage give the sage advice to callers that sometimes, they just have to pay a price of admission – AKA, not getting everything they want in a relationship – in order to maintain it.  Every time I heard him say this, I always thought, “Phew!  Glad it’s not me calling in – what a conundrum!”  I was never much for compromise.  If a partner wanted me to make a serious compromise to my needs and desires, I’d just let them go in search of more compatible partners.

Heart, Love, Romance, Valentine, Harmony

Partners. After resisting the label of polyamory for a couple of years – I always insisted that I was barely amorous, so I couldn’t be polyamorous – I fell recklessly in love and realized that not only do I have the capability to love deeply, but that allowing myself the authenticity to explore the possibilities of multiple relationships at once makes me really happy.  I moved from calling myself non-monogamous to calling myself polyamorous, and it felt right.  It still feels right.

My people are perverts and hippies; I surround myself with sex nerds and intentionally choose to date other poly people – or at least, I used to.

The Engineer was supposed to be a one-night stand.  I didn’t expect him to ask me to spend a second night with him – let alone the whole day.  I didn’t expect him to uproot his travel plans to follow me into another country.  I didn’t expect him to uproot them yet again to meet me for two weeks at the end of my trip last year – and I certainly didn’t think on that night we met in Rwanda a year and a half ago that someday down the road, I’d want to move to another country and start my life over again to be with him.  But I do.  His emotional intelligence, his honesty, his generosity, his loving nature, and his willingness to adventure with me blow me away.  Just when I think he can’t be a more amazing partner, he shows up at my door wearing a tux a week before he’s supposed to get here.  Just when I think I can’t possibly feel any more deeply cared for, he learns how to play our song on the piano and makes a video of it for my birthday.  True story!

He prioritizes me and makes me feel valued in a way I’ve always done for other partners.  He means what he says, keeps his word, and intentionally makes time for me.  My relationship with him is one which is worth compromising for.

I knew The Engineer was monogamous when we first met – but because I didn’t think it was going to be more than a travel fling, I didn’t think of that as a deal-breaker.  Even during our first full week together when we were telling people at our guesthouse that we were on our honeymoon, I just brushed it off.  Now, on our way to two years in, it feels like a big deal.  As we’re long distance, we’ve come to an uneasy negotiation about being monogamish.  And when I say “we,” I mean me.  I’m okay with him sleeping with other women.  He’s pretty uncomfortable with the idea of me hooking up.

So I haven’t.  Still – I need to know that it’s not an instant deal-breaker if I meet someone at a bar and want to bang them or develop a crush on someone.  I need to be able to tell my partner when I experience those things without worrying that it’s going to destroy our relationship.  In my early twenties, I cheated on / broke up with a few partners because I developed feelings for other people while in the relationship, and I didn’t think I had any choice other than cheating or breaking up.

I know better now.  Here’s the weird part, though: I’d started thinking that because of my past experiences, a monogamous relationship would never work for me.  I thought that this would be harder, but the fact that both of us have been honest about what we want from the get-go and that we check in about it frequently makes it feel good.  The fact that I’m choosing to be with a monogamous partner who knows I’d prefer not to be feels better than trying to be monogamous because it’s what I think is expected of me.  And maybe I’m actually ambiamorous, much like I’m bisexual: Floating somewhere in the middle, enjoying all the things.

Since I’ve met The Engineer, I’ve had a couple of sexy hankerings and even a genuine crush, but no feelings that I’ve really wanted to pursue.  I haven’t experienced any of the FOMO that I thought I might.  Then again – perhaps I’m being naïve and all of this will change when / if I do meet someone else I develop a romantic attachment to.  Or when / if he does. Only time will tell, I guess – but the same can be said for default mono relationships.  The important thing is that we keep talking and acknowledging that while we may not be the most perfectly compatible partners, there are things that both of us are willing to compromise on to make this work – because holy shit, is it worth it.

We’re planning on visiting a sex club together in January and talking about exploring threesomes (yea!!!) – but for right now, in this moment, I’m quite happy snuggling up at night and whispering “I love you, my nest” into the phone, looking forward to the next time that I get to feel his arms wrapped tight around me.  And then fantasizing about riding him while another woman sits on his face.