A Fantasy Revisited

I have my first date with Doc this afternoon, following church. As such, I've chosen my outfit and my panties with great care.

It happens that the particular pair of panties I chose (a white cotton thong) bring to mind a fantasy I've long harbored.

As I revisited this fantasy this morning, I thought of Ichthy and shared it with him.

*****

An inherently subby and very compliant individual, I can't even begin to fantasize a starting point this, but that is neither here nor there. Not having a clear idea in my fantasy what it could possibly be, it is enough to know that I have been bad. Very, very bad.

Ichthy is in a suit, looking all authoritative and powerful. I happen to be wearing a rather short skirt and simple blouse.

Ichthy tells me what a very naughty girl I've been and how it pains him to have to go to such lengths, but nothing else has been sufficient to correct my behavior. Corporal punish is being used as his last resort.

Ichthy is sitting in a straight back wooden chair behind a large desk. There is  something very principal/student about the whole affair. "I'm going to have to put you over my knee," he tells me as he slides his chair back. "Please assume the position."

I kneel next to him and lean forward across his lap. I can feel his hard cock through his dress pants and it excites me. I'm instantly wet and I worry that my pussy juices will shortly be running down my thighs.

Very, very slowly, Ichthy raises my skirt above my hips, exposing my ass. I'm wearing a white cotton thong because though I like pretty things, deep down I really am a very good girl. I don't do naughty or dirty things on purpose. I've tried so hard to be good and do everything right and the intensity of my desire to be pure is most clearly reflected in these simple, white, cotton panties.

The dichotomy presented in the fact that these panties are a thong is a testament to the way Ichthy shakes me up inside and refuses to allow me to hide from my desires or deny their power through the use of clinical language when he makes me tell him how my body responds to him, his voice, his words.

Ichthy takes a moment to consider all of these things as he looks at my ass. then, he caresses me. He caresses my ass, stroking it lightly with his hand, trailing his fingers over my skin.

I whimper in pleasure and think perhaps he's position me in this way just to scare me. Perhaps he's decided to see if he can make me comply with just the threat of punishment.

He continues to touch and stroke my ass. It feel so good I'm beginning to relax across his lap as I whimper and gasp with quickly increasing desire.

Out of nowhere his hand strikes my ass so hard I can hear the impact of it reverberating around the room. It's stingy and powerful and my brain goes all fuzzy and I go completely quiet, and all I can think is, "Oh, God yes! MORE!" And he does give me more.

Ichthy continues to spank me, slapping each cheek in turn. This is no simple swat; no quick succession of swats. This is a spanking old-school style, when it wasn't considered so bad to leave a hand print on an ass now and again when such punishment was truly earned.

He stops spanking me and I begin to rise, thinking our time together has come to an end. "I didn't say I was finished with you," Ichthy says, using one hand to hold me torso across his lap.

My mind races as I can't even begin to imagine what he'll do next.

He begins to caress my ass again, murmuring soft words of apology for having to be so hard on me, but we both know I deserved it.

Then, he carefully pulls my thong to the side and, seeing how wet I am, he slides one finger between my labia. "Tell me how much enjoyed this," he demands, as he begins to stroke my clit.

I try to speak but all I can manage is a moan. Ichthy stops playing with my clit and instead slips one and then two fingers inside of me as he begins to finger fuck me.

I'm going to cum. I'm not going to be able to stop myself and I do not yet have Ichthy's permission to do so. "Please!" I scream in desperation.

Ichthy knows what he's done to me, how close I am, how once it starts I won't be able to stop, permission granted or not.

Immediately he withdraws his fingers and stops touching and stops touching me entirely. "Please what?" he asks. But now that his fingers are not inside of me I can think in words rather than just desperate aching images of all the things he makes me want every single time he touches me.

I take a deep breath and steel myself to tell him exactly what I want, because I know he'll make me say it baldly anyway. "Please, bend me over your desk and fuck my ass until I cum," I tell him. "And continue to finger fuck my pussy while you do so."

"Very well then," he replies. "Assume the position."

I rise, step in front of him, and lean over his desk. I hear the chair scrape the floor as Ichthy stands and moves it farther back. I hear him unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants. He slowly peels my panties down my legs and leaves them around my ankles. I feel his cock against me, prodding my exposed pussy, and I'm ready to cry in frustration and deed.

"I will fuck you in the ass," Ichthy assures me. "I just need to make sure my cock is wet enough for you first." And when he's used my pussy juices, which by this point are running down my inner thighs, he spreads my ass cheeks and enters me with his cock.

I cry out in pleasure and press back, seeking to have the full length of him inside of me.

Ichthy chuckles at my eagerness before reaching around my hips and beginning to finger fuck me again while he hammers into my ass with his cock. I reach between my legs and begin to stroke my clit. "Please let me CUM!" I cry out in need.

"Now," he says to me. "Now, you may cum" And I do. Hard. Moaning and keening and crying with release.

Ichthy's own orgasm follows quickly and the feeling of his cum oozing from my ass and mixing with my own pussy juices makes me consider once again doing whatever it is that earned me this 'punishment' in the first place.

A First Date

I went on my first date with Fenest last night. It was sweet.

We went to a park and walked around, talking. We climbed on some of the playground equipment and just discussed life.

Then, when it got cold, we jumped in his car to keep a bit warm and continue chatting. We ended up making out like horny teenagers until midnight!

Lots of kissing; lots of touching. He let me stroke his chest hair (BLISS), he touched my face, he got his hands all tangled in my hair. He used his fingers, and at one point his mouth, on my left breast. And we kissed.

I'm highly reactive to touch. HIGHLY reactive to touch. My most recent ex has commented upon this; Fenest commented upon this. Come to think of it, this may be one of the reasons I've been so reticent to touch others or to permit others to touch me until quite recently. This may explain why I prefer to spend my time naked. Hmmmm....

So, it turns out that I experience "slutspace" even when just kissing. ("Slutspace" was recently explained to me by Ichthy who indicated that just as submissives can go into "subspace" some people during sex go into "slutspace," an altered state of consciousness where you may say or do things that you would not do were you in your right mind).

Turns out I really enjoy kissing Fenest. Turns out Fenest is completely vanilla. While that's great, I know vanilla will never be enough for me. Turns out we both want to take things slow and not jump into sex immediately. Turns out Fenest likes like it when I tell him explicitly that I enjoy particular touches.

I like it! Of course I'm going to tell you! It means you're more likely to do it again!

Fenest said it was nice that I just told him openly and he didn't have to drag it out of me the way he has with other women.

He also told me he found it odd/interesting that I would seek permission to unbutton the collar of his polo and touch his chest hair. And YES, I'd been just waiting for him to say or do something that would give me an opening to do so for damn near an hour! He told me he found it odd/interesting that I would seek his permission to kiss him rather than simply leaning in to do so. "CONSENT!" I told him. I want him to feel completely free to refuse before I invade his personal space so that I do not invade his personal space.

The kissing was good. The way he touched my breast was good. Keeping our pants on was very, very good. I still left a sizable wet spot on the passenger's seat of his car.

I wish Fenest was more open to the idea of spanking or caning me; breath play; using ever so slightly more force in touching my hair; longer, slightly more forceful kisses. Maybe our preferences aren't compatible. I'm not sure yet. New experiences often teach us things about ourselves we never before imagined.

Regardless, I enjoy his company and his conversation. No matter what happens from here, I imagine he'll be a very good friend.

The Deeper Stuff

I should probably state up front that I'm kind of a control freak. Especially when I'm under significant amounts of stress.

There's a story about a box of Kleenex and a bunch of people dying, but that's for another time and place.

The important thing to know at this point is that I am rigidly structured and I absolutely need to be in control of things.

Sex has been a primary focus of my conversation with Ichthy of late and I was beginning to feel the wear of this. I wanted to talk to him about it, and yesterday morning the need to adjust some of the boundaries in our friendship became quite necessary.

The problem, however, is that several experience in the last few days have triggered some PTSD stuff for me. So, I was experiencing some pretty intense anxiety and knew I wasn't in a place to start that conversation until I could find my center again and operate from a place of safety and secure attachment in our friendship.

Perhaps it was fortuitous timing, but Ichthy initiated the conversation himself, indicating that he was okay with some things but he felt that our conversations were dominated by sex and he wanted to make sex less of a focus, keep all D/s exchanges in the context of play, and build the friendship - deep, intimate friendship - more and allow sex to take a back seat.

Now, because sex had been such a focus and I'm happy to take the blame (because just hearing his voice makes me wet and I end up masturbating with him on the line whenever possible) the fact is, just this morning I had begun to wonder if that's all there was.

Because one of my exes had re-entered my life and things got wonky when we were together, and because that particular ex was part of the aftermath of the trauma event that left me with PTSD, and because two other people in my life had recently learned of this trauma event and both had mentioned it to me (which felt a bit like being ambushed, though I know it was not their intent), and because what these new friends discovered was linked to my feelings of burn out, and because a woman who came between me and my most recent ex is linked to the experiences earlier this summer that contributed to my burn out and because I can't escape her in the community and because she wants to be my absolute best friend in the whole world, and because she contacts me at least three days a week, and because all of this had come to a head in previous two days, I was a little raw. And EXTREMELY anxious.

So, when Ichthy texted asking to shift the focus our interactions away from sex, even though it was very much what I wanted and what I wanted to tell him myself once things calmed down otherwise, I cried. A lot. Because it felt like a confirmation of all the fears and anxieties triggered by the experiences - that it would start out with this and then he would disappear, slowly, one small step at a time.

On the one hand, every experience I have with Ichthy assures me this is not the case. Everything I have with Ichthy assures me that if he tells me he wants to focus on the rest of our friendship and build real intimacy in our friendship, then what Ichthy means is that he wants to focus on the rest of our friendship and build real intimacy in our friendship.

Every other experience I have had in life - and largely regarding the re-appearing ex - told me he was about to walk away.

So, when Ichthy asked me later that evening if the renegotiated focus and clear boundary concerning play "felt okay" to me, all I could tell him was that I couldn't answer the question as asked at this time, and that this had nothing to do with him or our friendship. He said, "Ok."

I spent twenty minutes meditating, sorting through my anxiety as triggered and separating out Ichthy's request from the rest of the ball of terribleness that I simply couldn't move past. Setting the anxiety aside and thinking about what I actually want with Ichthy, regardless of anything I was feeling in the moment, I wrote back, "I actually prefer we keep it limited to play if/when you initiate it."

I felt enormously better and spent the next two hours meditating to find center and relieve some of the anxiety from the PTSD triggers. And then I went to bed.

And when I got up this morning, I had an email from my ex, and holy fucking shitballs, are you kidding me? Another miscommunication and TRIGGER! So, when Ichthy texted me and asked how my day was going, I told him honestly - it was bad. Because it's been a holy trigger-fest since Monday at 4:00PM (thank you new bestie for starting the chain reaction!) and it just wouldn't let up.

Ichthy was gracious enough to let me take control (always helpful in PTSD experiences) in regards to the flow of information in our friendship and specifically concerning my burn out, about which he'd previously expressed interest in knowing but which we hadn't had a chance to discuss. I directed him to my vanilla blog and asked that he read one post and, only if he wanted, the linked post within, because this post would answer his questions about my burnout and I have WANTED to share since he asked but there hadn't been time.

Having that tiny bit of control over the flow of information immediately set me at ease, all the anxiety drained away, I felt far more able to experience my friendship with Ichthy in a securely attached fashion without extant anxiety interfering; I felt more able to deal with my new bestie(!) and most recent ex; I felt far more able to breathe through the frustrations with my recently re-appeared ex and be ok.

It's all about control.

Ichthy read the post to which I had directed him and then he told me that he loves me. He told me that there are things he means by that and things he doesn't and he is happy to explain further if I want. He told me he feels more at ease now and was interested in and willing to share some of his experiences about which I had asked previously and he had deferred to answer.

The blessing is in the offering whether the gift is accepted or not. In accepting AND reciprocating, Ichthy increased the blessing three-fold.

So, at some point, I imagine we'll be having that conversation.

In all honesty, I want to hear what Ichthy means when he says he loves me. I have a pretty clear idea. I could be completely off-base. But I suspect it is a matter of care and respect and unconditional positive regard and friendship. I would rather fill in the blanks concerning what he does not mean rather than have him explicitly state those things. Perhaps it's because I'm still a bit raw. Perhaps it's because I'm insecure. Perhaps it's because I'm afraid he's going to say things I don't want to hear. But I would prefer to not get a list of "all the way I do not love you" from Ichthy because I think I might hear it as a list of "all the way I find you lacking and have deemed you less than and not good enough."

But that's my issue. I know I'm loved regardless.

A Fantasy Shared

Ichthy and I were chatting last night. Every time I hear his voice, my pussy gets all wet and soft and open. I usually end up masturbating either while we're on the phone or shortly after he hangs up. Last night, we had been talking for a few minutes before dinner. I started to touch myself.

Hearing the change in my breathing he asked me what I was doing.

"Masturbating," I told him honestly.

"I thought so," he replied.

"How much time do you have?" I asked.

"Probably fifteen minutes. Why?"

"Well, in the event that I don't finish before your dinner is ready, I thought I'd ask now if I have your permission to cum on my own."

"Yes," he told me. "Let me know when you're done."

We continued to talk for those fifteen minutes and before I knew it, he had to go eat. "You'll have to finish on your own, I'm afraid," he said to me.

"What!? No!" I cried out.

"This is what we agreed to," he reminded me.

"I know, but that was before I was in the middle of the blissy-bliss," I told him. "Can we pause and continue after your dinner?" I pleaded. He agreed and we said our momentary goodbyes.

A couple of hours later, he texted to let me know he wasn't feeling well and could not continue. This rather killed my desire to touch myself, but I asked if he still wanted to know when I finished if I did decide to masturbate to orgasm that night. He indicated he'd be very pleased if I finished on my own and let him know when I was done.

"Do you want periodic updates in the process or do you just want to know after I've finished?" I asked.

"Just after you've finished," he replied.

After I orgasmed, I informed I had finished. "Would you like me to detail what I thought about while I masturbated tonight?" I asked him.

"Yes, please."

I began by telling him how I touched myself in order to produce enough lubrication to get lost in fantasy. I was menstruating and had a tampon in so I wasn't as wet as I wanted to be. I began by using deep pressure to massage my clit until I had enough lubrication around my pussy to use softer, more gentle circles over my clit.

*****

I had been in bed, naked and alone. I am masturbating, massaging my clit and simply enjoying the sensations.

I'm not sure how he got in or when, but Ichthy is there and he find me touching myself, stroking *his* pussy. He strips and enters my bedroom naked and absolutely gorgeous. The sight is too much for me and I close my eyes as he climbs into my bed and kneels between my legs.

He takes hold of my ankles and stretches my legs out and up as far as they'll go, my feet to either side of my head. I continue stroking my clit, my eyes closed, as I feel the head of his cock resting against my pussy.

"Do you want me to fuck you?" Ichthy quietly asks me.

My eyes still closed, I nod my consent, unable to speak to this man who has everything I want, need, ache to have. I'm absolutely desperate to feel him inside of me.

Holding my feet out and up is a bit uncomfortable but I do not care. I can feel his cock pressing more closely against my pussy, pressure so sweet it makes me ache deeper for penetration. But he refused to enter me.

"Look at me," Ichthy says.

But I can't. It's too intense. My eyes still closed, I turn my head to the left, attempting to avoid the reality of what he's demanded. I have stopped stroking *his* pussy, as I know I will not be able to cum without him in me.

Ichthy releases my left ankle and uses his hand to gently turn my head back to center. "Look at me," he says again, as he resumes his hold on my ankle.

But I can't.

"I'm not going to fuck you until you look at me. I want you to look me in the eye as I enter you," he says to me.

I can still feel the head of his cock resting against my pussy and I quickly lift my hips, attempting to impale myself on his cock, desperate to have him in me.

But Ichthy knows me well and he has anticipated this move. Just as swiftly, he shifts his hips back and now his cock isn't touching me at all.

"Please," I beg. "Please, Ichthy. I need...." But that is all I can say before the desperate ache inside renders me silent.

Ichthy leans in close and once again I can feel his cock against my pussy. His hips are against my hips, his chest and stomach resting against mine, the discomfort in my quads increases as his new position stretches my legs out farther yet.

This next he whispers in my ear, so close his breath tickles my throat and I shudder with pleasure, so softly I'm certain I've misheard. "Please do this for me. I want to see the look in your eyes as I enter you."

He leans back again and when I am sure he has settled in to wait, I take a deep breath. Slowly, I open my eyes, my gaze falling on his belly button. Slowly, tentatively, I begin to lift my gaze, partly in trepidation, partly so I can delight in the whole of his torso, marvelling at the set of his nipples, the thatch of chest hair between, his incredibly broad shoulders that I long to touch, his strong jaw and sensuous lips, his straight nose and beautiful cheekbones, until finally I reach his eyes.

His beautiful, warm, accepting, brown eyes. Only then does he enter me; and I cum instantly.

He releases my ankles and I wrap my legs around his waist as he lowers his body over mine, wrapping his arms around my shoulders as he begins hammering me with a brutality I've never before imagined, all the while whispering repeatedly in my ear, "Good girl. You are such a good girl."

*****

After I shared this fantasy with Ichthy, he responded, telling me things that are not mine to share, but which I'll treasure forever.

The Fall and Redemption

The ichthyologist called me the night before his surgery. We hadn't talked on the phone in several days and I took full advantage of having him on the phone. I took the opportunity to masturbate while he listened.

Now, on the two previous occasions he has insisted that I ask his permission before I cum. This time, no such stipulation was made. So, when I came, I came hard and I was a bit upset with myself when he told me I had made a mistake. I had not asked his permission.

I apologized, of course, and we clarified that the expectation is that any time it is possible to seek his permission (i.e. we are on the phone), I must. The ichthyologist expressed his regret that I was not physically present for him to punish me. Frankly, I rather think I'm lucky I didn't have a spontaneous orgasm at this point, as thoughts of him turning me over his knee to spank me before finger fucking me flooded my mind.

I told him if he could come up with a punishment I could manage myself from afar, I would HAPPILY comply. So, he took all of my orgasms away from me until such a time as he chose to release me from my punishment.

"May I still masturbate?" I asked him.

"So long as you don't cum. Though, honestly, I do not know why you'd do that to yourself," he said to me.

"Because the psychological pleasure I derive from needing to orgasm and denying myself because I don't have your permission to do so is even greater than the physical pleasure of release," I replied honestly.

Having established these expectations, I said, "Will you say it to me?" He knew exactly what "it" was, exactly what I wanted, even needed to hear him say.

"You didn't ask permission," he replied. "So, no. Not tonight."

I felt like I'd been punched in the gut. This was devastating. I never imagined anything could hurt so much; especially something so small and seemingly insignificant.

"Can we have a timeout?" I asked.

"Yeah," he responded.

"And go to a completely different place?"

"Sure."

"We're playing, right? This is just play?" I asked him.

"Yes, of course," he said. "Did I hurt your feelings?" he asked, concern clearly lacing his voice.

"No," I told him. "I'm feeling something but I can't quite figure it out and I just needed some context. I like playing with you, Ichthy. I just needed to verify that that's what this is."

"I like playing with you, too," he said. "Tonight, I'll say this: most of the time, you are a good girl." We returned to play space. I am not satisfied, but I accept this concession as more than can be reasonably expected in these circumstances.

We say goodnight and though I know it's play and though I enjoy it, somewhere deep inside, I fear I have truly disappointed him and I ache at being denied his words of approval this evening.

I struggle not to cry that night, lying in my bed. I have his words in his voice save as an audio file. I could always just git to myself, but it's not the same and I refuse to use it that way. I refuse to undermine his decision in our play and I refuse to feel even more disappointment in accepting something so much less than what I ache for.

The next morning is his surgery. I send him an extra special greeting. I check in on social media and let him know I'm happy to see he's indicated he's doing well post-surgery. He is resting well and taking it easy.

Saturday dawns early and I take some time to myself. Eventually, I ask him if I may share my morning with him. "Please!" he responds.

I send him a series of pictures of my genitals as I had begun masturbating, when I had begun to finger fuck myself, the final moments when my pussy was so we and so engorged I thought I'd die.

"I'm not sure you can tell in these pics," I wrote to him, "but as I watched myself in the mirror, my pussy got wetter and wetter, and the wetter I got, the dark red my pussy - no, I'm sorry, this pussy is YOUR property - your pussy became wetter and darker red." Because this is what had been decided for our play times on Thursday night in the midst of my blissed out pre-orgasmic state - when I play with him, my pussy belongs to him!

"I absolutely LOVED bringing myself to the brink of orgasm seven times, but never crossing that line because I don't have your permission. And as I stroked my pussy - no - as I stroked YOUR pussy, this beautiful, hot, wet, lovely pussy that belongs to YOU, I ached with the need for release. Still, I stopped, I stopped touching and just looked, just watched, appreciated, and delighted in this pussy that is yours, before stroking it again until my arms and legs began to shake and my ankles itched uncontrollably and I began to cry with need and silently plead with you, "Oh, Ichthy! PLEASE! Please let me cum again!" Finally, I had to stop stroking and simply cup your pussy with my hand to stop myself from cumming."

After I had calmed down sufficiently, I pulled out a dildo, straddled a pillow and fucked that dildo while I fantasized about riding Ichthy cowgirl, super slowly. Eventually, I switched to doggy-style and because this dildo is too large for me to comfortably accommodate in this position, I fucked myself painfully with my face in a pillow, crying from the intensity of it all. By the time I stopped I didn't know if it was because I hurt too much to continue or because I was one again too close to cumming.

By the time Ichthy got back to me, I had settled gain and was once more leisurely stroking *his* pussy.

:"That was really hot," he told me, after telling me I waas a good girl for not cumming without permission. When I told him I was stroking *his* pussy again, he asked, "Do you wish to cum this time?"

"I'm not sure yet," I respondedl. I wasn't close enough to feel a distinct need one way or the other. Three minutes later, I knew what I wanted: to please him no matter what. "Would it please you more to let me cum or to continue to deny me?" I asked.

"I believe you've earned it," he told me.

Three minutes of hard, focused clit massage later and I was on the brink, "In that case, please, Sir. May I cum?"

He granted me permission and still, it took another six minutes to push me all the way over the edge. It was the best orgasm I've ever had.

"Thank you, Sir!" I told him.

"You're welcome!"

This time, I didn't even need a "Good girl."

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.

This Is the End and a Beginning

I could feel my shine start to dim when I was with him. I dont' know if it's because he was emotionally closed off and wouldn't engage with me or if it's because he had closed me out of every aspect of his life, but I felt unwelcome and I began to turn inward in my own self while trying to move forward - engaging and connecting in the only way he said he wanted (sexually) but he even began to shut me out and reject me there as well.

So, I ended it. I told him that I appreciated his friendship and would be forever grateful that he had introduced me to the community, but that ultimately it had become clear to me that there was no long-term potential.

But it wasn't even the feelings of rejection or being shut out that made up my mind. It wasn't even that I withdrew myself from him because of the rejection. We had, after all, decided to take thing slow emotionally.

It was my own insecurities about my genitals. You see, he told me he enjoyed certain sexual activities, he asked what I wanted, I told him I wanted which was exactly what he told me he enjoyed, and he refused. And when I asked him a question about his reasons and expressed my deep-seated insecurities, and he gave a perfectly reasonable explanation.

But he did not touch me again after that. And because he was distant and unemotional and not acting like someone who wants to be in my life, he simply hadn't earned my vulnerability in addressing these things.

My new friend, though, open and honest and direct. Someone who is smarter than I am. Someone who is as active, spiritually, as I am. Someone who shares so many common interests with me. someone who is passionate about things in his life and who is willing to share passionately about those things!

And so, I told him - I want sex. It's not going to happen. My partner won't touch me, won't even talk to me, and I'm crabby and feeling insecure about my body.

He asked if I wanted to talk by phone. I said, "Yes" and he called me and I told him the thing I've never spoken of, never told anyone - no my best friend, not my therapist, not my partner - the reason I have these insecurities about my genitals.

My friend's response was amazing. He listened intently; he verified that the had understood; he asked question in a love rather than prurient fashion; he expressed compassion and validated my feelings.

Tonight, I was at a local munch and my partner wasn't there and his roommate told me he was hanging out with a particular individual. I didn't care who he spent time with, I'd made that clear repeatedly. I cared that he told me he was pursuing the possibility of long-term with me, but putting all of his energy into every other relationship he had but ours; that he was willing to be hospitable to everyone in his life but me; that he would allow his female friend to spend the night with him in bed (platonic) but he wouldn't even allow me to know where he lived.

I thought about the way I felt in my relationship with my partner - dull, unwelcome, unwanted. I thought about how I felt in my other friendships, particularly this new friend - cared for, important, welcomed, wanted (in a platonic fashion).

It was not my friend's response to my vulnerability that made me decide to end things with my partner. Rather, it was the fact that I felt so comfortable sharing with him at all. My own partner had not yet earned that vulnerability from me.

So, it was time to end things.

And last night I did.

With kindness and respect, in a direct fashion. "I appreciate you, I am grateful. This is not working."

And I felt my shine come back.

The Beginning of the End

I was on FetLife one afternoon and came across a post that was particularly powerful to me. As I scrolled through the comments, one in particular caught my attention. It was written by a man who acknowledged his privilege as a white man from a relatively good home. Something about both his acknowledgment of his privilege, his words of support to the OP, and the fact that I'd seen his name a few times in the community pages led me to look up his profile.

It was actually quite well done. This is a rare thing. I sent a friendly message and our friendship began.

Initially he was quite forward. There was an intense sexual pursuit. I turned him down, politely but clearly. I explained that while I enjoy the flirting and banter and our particular friendship culture that was developing, I need the explicit sexual requests to stop and I needed him to stop telling me I was a "good girl" when my actions happened to coincide with any requests he happened to make.

The reasons for this were because he and I hadn't negotiated a D/s exhange, I didn't know him well enough yet to offer him that intimacy; I was in a D/s relationship that was closed; in that relationship, as we were seeking to sort out whether or not we had long-term potential, the sexual aspect of the relationship was closed.

He responded that he undestood and respected my boundaries and thanked me for clarifying things.

This was kind of amazing, frankly, as about six weeks prior I had asked a man to stop speaking to me in sexually explicit ways and that man responded by getting angry, defensive and then acting in aggressive and punitive ways.

That my new friend was so respectful in the face of very clear rejection was just dumbfounding and really wonderful. I knew our friendship would be one that we would both enjoy.

Two days later, after we'd been chatting for a few weeks, I was struggling. It was a terrible day. I asked my friend if he had a minute, and when he said he did, I explained to him the situation with my partner, what happened when we were face-to-face, what happened when my partner expressed his desire to have me tell him what I wanted, how my partner rejected me when I told him exactly what I wanted, how it had cost me more than I'd imagined when my partner rejected me, and howi'd been in a funk for two and a half weeks as a result and I just couldn't get past it.

My friend called and I told him about my body insecurities.

He said, "It sounds to me that you don't really have insecurities about your body, but actually about your genitals specifically." Astute.

My friend is the first person I'd ever told about this portion of my history of abuse. He is the first person I'd ever told the particular details of the abuse; he was the first person I'd ever told about the effect that abuse had on my relationship to my genitals. He's still the only person who knows. I haven't even told my best friend, and she knows practically everything about me.

If there is anyone in the world who has a right to know about this history and how it affects my bodily experience, it would be my partner. If there's anyone in the world who has a need to know about that history and how it effected me, it would be my partner and my therapist.

I hadn't told either of them. I told my friend.

That was the beginning of the end.