To the Man I Admire from Afar:
I hate that I don’t know how long it will be until you are mine. Someday I know you will be, though. I just have to be patient.
I can see you arriving on my doorstep, finally free from your commitments and able to be with me. I know there will be an amazing smile on your face, joy radiating from within about the pleasure of finally being able to claim me as yours. When I open the door, you will find me wearing a long, black satin and lace nightgown under a sheer and lacy black robe. You will see my breasts hanging like ripe fruit in the bodice of the gown, waiting for your touch. I know that smile of yours will become even bigger as your eyes look at me with desperation and need. We will both be so ready when that day comes.
Your lips will find mine, gently at first as we connect with each other. Passion will soon take over, though, as your tongue will pierce past my lips to find my willing response. Your hands will be wandering anywhere and everywhere, but finally finding their favored spot on my ass which is covered scantily by the lightweight fabric. As you pull me close to you, I will be able to feel your desire manifesting very obviously under your clothes, too.
Most of all, though, I look forward to making love to you. You don’t know how much I want to be alone in my bed together, just the two of us, barely any light at all in the room. You’ll take off your clothes before I can stop you, and then you will turn to remove mine. Your hands will loosen the ties on my robe; I will let my shoulders roll back and it will drop to the floor. Your hands will caress my breasts which are longing for your touch, and soon, your fingers will be under the fabric rubbing my quickly hardening nipples. Your ability to resist will be so weakened that it won’t take long before the nightgown is on the floor next to my robe, and there will be nothing else on my body besides your hands.
We will lead each other to the bed, naked and filled with desire. Our kissing will continue, slow and passionate. The night is ahead of us, and it belongs to us. There is nowhere we need to be except in each other’s arms making love after waiting so long. Our touches will be gentle, loving and sensuous. We want nothing more than to feel the other’s breath against our skin, our lover’s lips against our flesh, our hands exploring gently as we make love.
We will continue touching, kissing, loving each other for amounts of time that we can’t fathom. Slow, romantic music will play in the background, but we won’t be paying attention to it because we will be too enamored with our desire. When we can’t handle being apart anymore, your cock will finally come inside of me to bring us even closer. We will share one breath, one need, as slowly you thrust in and out of my pussy, my natural lubrication being more than we need because of all the foreplay.
Maybe we will continue thrusting until one or both of us reaches orgasm. Maybe we won’t. Orgasm isn’t our goal. Intimacy is. We want to be as close to each other as possible, kindling our love, building our relationship. All that matters is we are finally alone together, naked, body and soul.
But until that day, I will be admiring you from afar.
I’ve never really understood the appeal of watersports. The desire to pee on someone or be peed on just didn’t make much sense to me. In the case of our current President, I do understand part of his desire to have women (possibly prostitutes) pee on the bed which the previous President slept in while in Russia. The current President is a racist, and he hates everything about the previous President. In that alleged case, it’s an act of disrespect and desecration. It doesn’t seem too sexual to me, but it could have been for him.
However, I’ve always said that for the right guy under the right conditions I would try watersports. One of my past partners gave me that opportunity. He was very open from the beginning that he was very aroused by watersports. He wanted to be peed on and would have loved to pee on me while we were in the shower or tub. He was aroused by the sound of me peeing in the toilet. He loved to drink urine fresh from the source no different than some men love drinking female cum or arousal fluids.
I grilled him at first as to why these things turned him on. I truly did want to understand the “why” behind the sexual attraction. He put it in terms of boys (and some men) having peeing contests or writing in the snow with urine. I’ve never really understood the male desire to do that either, but I’m female. I managed to kind of understand the urination things if I lumped them into “it’s a guy thing” though I know some women love them, too. I’m not sure I ever completely grasped his attraction to watersports, but the bottom line for him is that it’s a very primal experience. He finds it erotic.
So I set up the conditions under which I was willing to try: I was only willing to do it in the bathtub. I was only willing to pee on him; there was to be no peeing on me. He let me know that he would love to masturbate with my urine, and I was willing to accommodate that. He indicated that he would love for me to pee in his mouth, but I told him I couldn’t do that. It just was too much for me.
Life being what it is, I got stage fright the first time we tried. I just could not pee on him. Eventually during another session I managed to pee on him, and the look of pleasure on his face was truly amazing. I will never forget that expression on his face. He wasn’t lying about how much he enjoys watersports.
However, another time when I was peeing on him, he managed to gather some of my urine in his hands and then drink it. That freaked me out and turned me off completely. It was the end of that sexual session between us. I couldn’t go on, even after he had rinsed his mouth. I was totally grossed out. This same guy had stuck his tongue in my ass and kissed me afterward, and I’d rimmed him, too. We’d both gone down each other for fellatio and cunnilingus, and there was plenty of kissing after that. I was ok with any of that. Yet for some reason, urine in his mouth just repulsed me. I still don’t know why. Urine is theoretically sterile. There are some weird alternative health treatments out there that involve drinking urine. But someone drinking my urine during sex? I just can’t do it.
I’m wondering if maybe the smell has something to do with it. I can’t stand the smell of urine. I don’t like the smell of most bodily fluids to be honest. I hate semen and am grateful for condoms. I tolerate precum only because I have to. When this guy peed in my shower with me watching because that was sexually arousing for him, it totally turned me off. I really think it was the smell that did it.
Through all of this, my partner was a perfect gentleman. He never pushed me to do watersports. It was completely voluntary on my part. He respected when I hit a limit and freaked out. He knew that I was pushing my own boundaries trying this new thing. Ultimately, though, watersports turned out to be something that is a hard limit for me. He was willing to continue our relationship without watersports, but I know for him, it’s something that brings him intense pleasure. I want him to be able to have it as part of his sexual play. This is one of those cases where polyamory could be a wonderful thing… except we’re both monogamous.
I’m glad I tried so that I know that it’s a hard limit for me. I wish I could have been able to tolerate watersports enough for it to be part of our relationship for his pleasure. However, it’s something that I just can not ever force myself to do again.
After having recently said I don’t get as many awful messages from men on dating sites as I used to, the men in my dating market decided to prove me wrong. Somehow this one made it through the filters I have set up. The entire message was a long paragraph, and because several other things he said could reveal my identity, I’ve edited it down. However, everything he said was just as appalling as this snippet:
I’m at this time more attracted to your mind than you appearance. With that being said, I know you are intelligent enough to doll it up when you desire too soon I hope than was not offensive.
Um, yes, asshole, that was completely offensive. You just called me ugly. How do you suggest I “doll it up”? Does that involve getting a new face with plastic surgery? Because this is whom I am. If you don’t like it, that’s your problem, not mine. Being intelligent actually has taught me that I don’t need to change myself for men like you because you are just a low-life jerk concerned about his own preferences and needs being met without any concern for mine.
In case you are wondering, this guy was 18 years older than me, and he looked like he couldn’t be bothered to trim his facial hair or deal with his own personal hygiene very often. He was by no means a hot catch. He wasn’t incredibly ugly, but he wasn’t going to be on a “hottest men” list any time in the near future. He wasn’t someone who should be making judgments on women’s beauty (not that any man should be doing that directly to a woman on a dating site).
And yes, the rest of his message was as loaded with grammatical errors, comma splices, run-on sentences, and punctuation errors as these sentences. If he’s attracted to my mind, then he should know that I’m definitely not attracted to his.
There’s a tweet that has been floating around this week that made my jaw drop:
I just got suspended from school for having a hickey on my neck. High schools think it’s okay for students to salute to Hitler but apparently tiny marks on our body is what should be condemned. Public school systems, please focus more on disciplining students who practice hate.
Really? Really? I shouldn’t be shocked, but I am.
Hickeys happen. As an adult in my forties, I have accidentally ended up with visible hickeys. My partners don’t mean to cause them, but I bruise easily, and so sometimes hickeys are the result. Mercifully, they don’t tend to be huge, but they are easily seen. In central Texas, turtlenecks are lethal apparel most of the year when it’s 90+ degrees outside. I’ve also never found makeup to be very effective at covering them up.
Our society really needs to get over this fear of women being visibly sexual. The amount of shaming that was done to this student both by the school and in the Twitter comments is ridiculous. She is perfectly entitled to have a sex life as are all other women and people. Besides, hickeys don’t have to be accompanied by sex. I got plenty of unintended ones from boyfriends before we were sexually active.
At most, the student should have been asked to consult with the nurse to make sure she is using proper protection if she is sexually active. She should not have been suspended. A hickey on her neck was not going to prevent her or anyone else around her from learning that day.
The student in question notes in the comments that the boy who caused the hickey was also suspended for his part, and while it’s nice they were treated equally, they were both treated inappropriately. I really hope this young woman and her partner got legal advice and fought back. It’s time for our society to stop judging people for being healthy sexual beings.
By sleeping together, I literally mean sleeping together. I don’t mean the euphemism for having sex. Heaven knows I have no problem saying that I’m having sex with a man. I don’t need to couch it in the more delicate socially approved phrase of “sleeping together.”
When I was young and romantic and unburdened by the cynicism of life experience, I thought sleeping together with my partner was incredibly romantic. Who cared if we were trying to cram two adult bodies onto a twin mattress in a dorm room that may or may not have had a roommate in the same room. It was romantic. So we didn’t sleep that well that night. We’d make up for it on the nights when we weren’t together.
Then I got old and crabby and my perspective changed a lot.
When I was married, my ex was a terrible snorer. Coupled with the fact that I was a light sleeper, we quickly figured out that long-term the only way we were going to survive without me killing him was for us to sleep in separate rooms. It’s a common solution among couples who include a snorer. The few nights we did sleep together when we had company who would stay in the guest room/his room, I didn’t often sleep well.
Fast-forward to after my divorce, and I’ve discovered that sleeping together still isn’t romantic for me even if my partner doesn’t snore. I’ve done it with some of my partners but not all of them. While I’ve enjoyed it at times, there have been many occasions where I just want my bed to myself and a good night’s sleep. I get resentful about having to share my space with another person.
I worry about how this will play out in the long run. I wonder if I will ever find a man whom I will want to have in my bed all the time or even more than just occasionally. I wonder if I will ever not feel resentful about wanting to sleep alone. Then again, maybe I’ll meet a man who prefers to sleep alone, too.
However, that thought is when what is left of the romantic in me kicks in, and I can’t imagine spending the rest of my life sleeping in a separate bed from my partner. I would love to find someone who makes me sleep better with him than apart. I think it’s probably a fantasy up there with meeting Prince Charming, but still, part of me clings to it.
These are the little things I drive myself crazy worrying about. Maybe I should just focus on getting a date for New Year’s Eve instead.
God has a funny sense of humor. That or God is the ultimate sadist. I’m not sure which.
The same day I published that last post questioning whether I had been used in my one night fling, the guy in question showed up on a dating site I’m on. He and I hadn’t met through a dating site though he’d been on some of the same ones as me before, just not at the same time as me.
Seeing him on the dating site was a blow to my heart. I hadn’t expected it to be so hard to see his profile show up. I was shocked to see him.
What really bothered me, though, was seeing some of what he wrote on his profile. He wrote things that were not what he had told me over the year we had been friends. I don’t know if what he wrote was outright lies or just another version of the truth. However, they were things he hadn’t told me. I suspect he told me the bigger truth and that what he wrote on his profile was a shallow way of avoiding the reality of his life. Still, it bothered me to see this different version of him.
The problem when you discover someone hasn’t told you the entire truth is that you question everything else they’ve ever told you. It makes you wonder if everything was a lie. You wonder how you could have been so gullible as to believe the things they told you.
Given what I read on his profile, now I really feel used. He certainly took the long and difficult way to use me, but his profile makes me feel like he wouldn’t be above it.
And people wonder why I have trust issues around men…
I have only had one partner whom I only had sex with once. It’s just not my style to have a one night stand, and technically by Urban Dictionary standards, it wasn’t even a one night stand. I’m a relationship kind of gal, even if they are sometimes short-lived relationships. I still wonder about that one night fling, though.
We were friends. We had been attracted to each other for quite a while, but things never really lined up. We flirted a bit, but he was always with someone else or I was with someone else or one of us was taking a break from dating.
Then the stars aligned, and we were both single. He was bemoaning how he couldn’t get laid, and I told him I was more than willing to do the honors. After a couple of hours of talking about it, we decided, “Why not? We’re consenting adults.” And then we had a great evening of sex together. It was one of the more intimate nights I’ve ever shared with someone.
After that, he was gone. No explanation. No reasons. He just ghosted me. I sent texts and emails saying that I was ok with just being friends again (though really, I would have preferred to have been his girlfriend if that had been on the table), but there was no reply.
To me, all the circumstances say that he wasn’t using me. Would a guy who wanted to use me have a deep intimate conversation with a woman for several hours about whether or not we should have sex and how it would affect our relationship? I don’t think he would have. It wasn’t like he had to convince me. I had already offered to spread my legs for him and was desperately wanting him.
I don’t regret having sex with him because it was a great experience. I wish he was still my friend, though. I hate that he ghosted me. I hate that what was a beautiful night for me was a one time thing, never to happen again. I hate that I don’t have answers. It’s easy to write someone off by saying, “He was just an asshole,” but that’s not true. He is a kind man. I just wish he could have been open and honest with me so I didn’t end up feeling used in the end.
(Follow up post here.)