Beautifully Messy

The night I shared my deepest secret with my friend, an ichthyologist, I asked him if he would be ok with me fantasizing about him while I masturbated later that night.

There was long pause. A really long pause. "You're not comfortable. It's okay. No worries. Forget I asked," I told him. I mean, he'd been pursuing me pretty stringently initially, so I thought I'd run this past him and I thought he might be okay with it, but it seemed clear he wasn't. My mistake.

"Actually," he said to me, "it's just that I'd rather listen."

Oh.

"I can't," I told him. "I don't think it would be appropriate with my partner and everything."

Twenty-four hours later, I ended things with my partner. I waited until I got a confirmation email from my now former-partner and once he indicated he understood that it was over, I texted my friend, "I ended things with my partner."

"Now that you no longer have that block, would you be willing to let me listen to you masturbate sometime?" he asked.

Actually there was a far more to our conversation, but the other things he said to me are too personal to share on a public blog.

"When would you like to do that?" I asked.

He verified that his impression that I wanted to get started immediately was correct. When I confirmed the accuracy of his impression, he asked if, when I was finished, it would okay for him to call me a "good girl." I confirmed this was acceptable. My phone rang.

We talked and I touched and stroked my clitoris. I used a bullet vibe in my pussy. At his prompting, I detailed exactly how I was touching myself, what happened to elicit every moan and sigh and gasp.

He asked me a question that went straight to the heart of my genital insecurities. "I'm sorry," I said to him.

"Did you finish?" he asked.

"No," I said, "I just need a second," I told him as tears began to stream down my cheeks.

"Is it what I asked?" he inquired.

"Yes," I told him. "It's just a really sensitive topic. I just need a minute."

He allowed me to take my time, to calm down, to open myself again to the encounter.

"Okay, I'm ready," I said, trying to stem the flow of tears.

"Do you want me to change topics?" he asked. "Or would you prefer that I try to redeem this, make it something good?"

I wanted him to change topics. There was nothing at all he could do to make it good. It hurt too much. It was awful. He had cut me to the core and he didn't even know he was doing it.

"I think I'd like for you to redeem it," I told him, trusting that if anyone could make this experience less awful, less painful, less horrifying, it would be him.

And he did. Oh, he did!

He told me to ask permission to cum and when I was on the brink, I asked, "Please...." I moaned.

"Please what?"

"Please!" I begged.

"Please what?"

"Please let me cum," I gasped. "I need to. Please, please may I cum?"

Eventually he gave me permission; and because he had drawn things out, it took longer to push myself over the edge after he granted me permssion. But when I did cum, he came at the same time.

The sound of his orgasm mingling with the sound of my own. Simultaneous pleasure only increased the intensity of my own experience.

Finished, I curled up on my side, sighing with intense pleasure and release.

"Good girl," he said. "Good girl."

This morning, I got up early and meditated before heading to work. I had to preach today, and I wanted time to center myself after the intensity of the weekend.

As I meditated, sitting on my bed, memories of the night before occasionally filtered through my mind. His voice would filter through as I remembered how he had redeemed the painful trigger. Everytime I thought of him, I could feel my pussy dripping on my sheets. By the time I had finished meditating, I had a created wet spot the size of my fist on my sheets.

Phone sex with the ichthyologist was the most beautiful experience I've had. It was messy and scary and painful. It was caring and tender and compassionate. It was hard and dirty and powerful. It was messy. It was beautiful.

And he gave me a phrase that triggers all these things: Good girl.