I’m not sure what it is with guys from my past that I’m not wanting to see ever again showing up lately on dating sites, but another fun one appeared. This time it was the guy who broke up with me by sending me a text saying he was never going to have sex with anyone ever again. His new dating profile had several things on it that were lies; that or he had been lying to me directly in conversation, but I suspect it was the profile that was misleading and I got the truth. Regardless, it seems his commitment to celibacy lasted four months or so. I haven’t heard from him and don’t expect to. I hit the block button as soon as I saw his picture.
I don’t understand why all these blasts from the past are suddenly showing up to help me usher out a rather bizarre year of dating. It’s hard not to become retrospective with all of the men of my year parading by again!
Here’s to 2019 bringing much better things for all of us.
Remember back at the beginning of the year when I went on a date with a man who “forgot” to mention to me that he was non-monogamous? You can refresh your memory here. I’ll wait.
So anyway, I reactivated my dating profiles on a few sites recently after another round of heartbreak. When I did, I discovered that particular non-monogamous jerkwad has a new account where he actually has himself clearly marked as non-monogamous. I learned this because he had the audacity to mark he was interested in me. This leads me to two possible conclusions:
- He doesn’t remember our date, in which case, fuck him.
- He remembers we had a great date and he thinks I should give him a second chance, in which case, fuck him.
Seriously, I don’t give guys who intentionally mislead or lie to me second chances. Life is too short for that. If a guy can’t be honest with me about the basics of his life, then he is out on the first strike. If he is going to lie to me about something major on the first date, that pretty much tells me he’ll be willing to lie to me about anything for the rest of our lives, and I’m not signing up for that.
Good luck, jerkwad. The block button is my friend as always! You will not be visiting my profile through that account again.
I’ll spare us the twelve days of build up. Instead, here’s what the kinky lover sent in grand total.
On the twelfth day of Christmas my kinkster sent to me
Twelve vibrators buzzing
Eleven fingers fingering
Ten tongues a-probing
Nine ladies moaning
Eight hands a-spanking
Seven cocks a-squirting
Six sluts a-laying
Five nipple rings
Four slippery lubes
Three French maids,
Two leather paddles,
And a corset with a lace trim.
Since my last relationship, I have been questioning my kinky identity. How should I identify myself?
Prior to my last relationship, I identified as submissive, though I always have said I’m not a submissive. There’s a fine line between the two that I’m not sure I can articulate. Some people would label me as an alpha submissive. I’m a very high-powered Type A woman outside of the bedroom in the real world. In the bedroom, though I don’t want to be in control. I want my partner to take charge. I want to be the submissive partner, but I don’t build my sexual identity around serving my partner. I’m definitely not a slave.
Yet with my last partner, I discovered that I couldn’t let him dominate me. It felt wrong. When he would try to dominate me, his “Dom” voice was terrifying. It scared me. He wasn’t a scary man at all. He wasn’t trying to scare me. He was just trying to be commanding, a role he didn’t normally take. He wasn’t completely sure how to do it. The way he tried to do it wasn’t natural for him, and it wasn’t natural for me either. Our relationship didn’t really work well as a D/s relationship. We worked better as equals in the bedroom, albeit equals where he spanked me.
I’m not a switch, though. I don’t really enjoy topping men that much. I will do it on occasion, but I don’t like taking charge. I don’t like causing my partner pain. I don’t get off on tying him up, though it can be fun to do on rare occasions. I don’t really want to top my partner and tend to steer away from men who want women who can frequently dominate them. I just don’t want to be in control in the bedroom.
So it turns out I’m only submissive for the right men. With others, it just doesn’t work for me at all and can feel completely wrong. I think who I am in the bedroom is in part defined by my partner, his needs and our dynamic. Hence, I decided change my identification to “kinkster” on Fetlife because I am definitely kinky. I’m not sure I will keep it that way, but for now, it seems like the right label.
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.