Rule of Three

Two weeks is entirely too long. On this, Doc and I agree.

But it was worth the wait!

I'm so tired and worn out and my body is delightfully achy in places I didn't know could ache in the way that they do that I am beyond satisfied. I'm also looking forward to our next date.

So much happened this weekend! I can't even begin to recall it all.

Doc made dinner for me. Enchiladas, black beans, margaritas. I brought margarita bars for dessert/late-night-post-sex snacking. The enchiladas were the BEST enchiladas I've ever eaten. Delightfully fresh and spicy. The black beans were fantastic. The margaritas Doc makes are always beyond compare.

Then, there was sex. Really good sex. Sex without a condom for the first time in my life.

It started with Doc going down on me, but after just a few minutes, I stopped him. "I'm sorry," I said. "It feels so good, but it's been two weeks and I'm impatient to have you inside of me!"

Doc was great about it. He moved up my body, kissing me as he entered me.

I love looking at Doc while we fuck. It's the only thing about him taking me from behind that I do not enjoy.

But this time, face to face, Doc using slower, more careful thrusts, I looked up at him and remarked on the difference between sex with a condom and sex without. "It feels better," I said. "It's also scarier. I feel more naked," I told him. Which is ridiculous because I'm usually naked or very close to and Doc is the one who is literally more naked without the condom. "I feel more emotionally naked," I said.

And that is scary for me. But it's also okay, because I know that I am safe.

At some point, we took a break, had a snack, started again.

Saturday morning, I woke up and pestered Doc for sex again. "Come over here," he commanded. I rolled over, on my knees, ass in the air, face on the mattress. "No," Doc said, a hint of humor in his voice. "I want you to straddle me."

We'd tried this once before, and I was a bit uncoordinated. This time, I was ready. It was amazing. Once we were done, Doc and I got up. I showered, he made breakfast. He showered. Then, we ran errands. Doc bought cheese and apples and crackers and some household staples he was short on.

After we returned to his place, he prepped a salad for us as I sliced an apple and some of the cheeses. We both tried Iberico cheese for the first time. It's a blend of cow, goat, and sheep milks. And it's DELICIOUS!

We were both quite tired and lay down for an afternoon nap. I had intended only to rest for a bit. About an hour into the nap, having mostly just lay in the dark and quiet bedroom, I was feeling more refreshed, but Doc didn't seem near ready to get up yet. So, I curled more closely around him and we both slept for another hour and a half.

When we'd both come fully awake, I asked Doc what time it was. "5:00," he told me.

"Mmmmm," I responded, still a bit sleepy. "We should either get up or have sex," I told him.

"Or both," he replied.

I was game!

We began to kiss and touch, both moving to take off our clothes. I tried to roll out of the side of the bed only to run into two cats and had to make a fast re-route to the end of the bed. Naked in bed again, we continued to kiss and touch.

"Would you like to try spanking again?" Doc asked me.

"Yes, please!" I almost squealed in delight.

While Doc had been out of town, I'd sent him an email about the Rule of Three. The important parts read as follows:

...I had a really distinct orgasm that got me thinking about the Rule of Three. I realized this is kind of a consistent pattern in my life. I'm a little sad right now that you're unfamiliar with Gilmore Girls. There are things about the series which are super problematic for me, but they come up so rarely. I digress.

Anyway, there is an awesome scene about the Rule of Three. So, here's an exchange between one of the main characters, Lorelai, and her mother, Emily at a soup tasting:

LORELAI: Haven’t you already tasted that one, Mom?

EMILY: Mm.

LORELAI: Twice, you’ve tasted that soup twice.

EMILY: You’re keeping a running count?

LORELAI: I’m morbidly fascinated.

EMILY: Well, Lorelai, when you’re tasting anything, the first taste acclimates the palate, the second establishes the foundation, and the third is to make your decision.

I think much of any experience for me is like this. It was that way with the cunnilingus. It felt good at first and then amazing, but there was all this stuff going on in my head that I explained after, and all these new sensations going on that I couldn't differentiate and was just....a lot.

Then, the second time, I asked, and I knew there would be less in my head and it felt so amazing (really, there needs to be a better word, but I can't come up with one), but it was all still just so new and I wanted to move, but I was afraid to because doing so might make it feel less good and I didn't want it to stop.

The third time I had to move my hips because I just couldn't stop myself and then HOLY MONKEYS!

So, I think the whole BDSM thing will probably be similar.

I know I got very, very, very quiet. I was acclimating my palate, as it were. What I felt when you spanked me was good. It was very good. I needed to process what was happening. When and how you spanked me; which strikes were stingy (good) and which were thuddy (good); left cheek vs right cheek; bending over the bed and if something else might be preferably - OTK perhaps? because that would be HOT; it felt good, but it was our first time so asking for more might be a stretch; we hadn't done much in the way of negotiations prior....

When we talked a bit about it the next morning, you mentioned me being quiet. I know I'm pretty responsive and verbal in other experiences, but this is so new, it's just taking me a bit to process. So, I might be really quiet again next time, as we "establish the foundation."

Please do NOT worry about going too far or doing too much. Please feel complete freedom to press into the experience and do as much as you feel comfortable and safe doing. This is what safe words are for! I'm not a fan of coded safe words, because it's one more thing to remember and keep track of.

Much like the first night we had sex, if it's too much, I'll ask you to pause. If I need it to stop, I'll say so. If I need us to change things up in intensity, I'll be clear about that. I will say, "Wait" or "Stop" or "I need ...." I won't yell out "Banana" because even though I hate them and have no reason to talk about them otherwise, bananas aren't what I want to be thinking about when you're doing all sorts of really lovely things to me.

If I'm completely silent, it's absolutely acceptable for you to check-in. I also want you to have confidence that if I'm silent, I'm okay with what you're doing. I WILL speak up if it starts to feel not okay. Eventually, I'll speak up if I need more intensity. Best to take those things slow, though.

So, when Doc offered spanking (Thank you, GOD!) I was definitely in, because I felt confident in my ability to receive what he was offering me and confident that we'd be able to communicate adequately during the experience.

I asked Doc how he wanted me, at first lying on my stomach as Doc spanked me; eventually he asked me to stand, bending over the end of the bed while he spanked me. I told him explicitly what felt good, what I wanted more of, when his strikes were exactly right.

Then, he touched. Doc began to gently stroke my cunt with his other hand, slipping a finger in me. "That's unfair," I whimpered with intense pleasure.

"Unfair?" Doc asked.

"It just all feels so good," I told him, desperate for him to continue.

And he did continue, fingering my clit and penetrating my cunt in turn, spanking me all the while. "I love feeling how wet you are," Doc said to me.

"That's what you do to me," I told him breathlessly.

Then, Doc was in me, "Fuck, yes," he moaned softly. Then he fucked me. He fucked me and he spanked me and I couldn't even begin to think as complete bliss filled me.

Later, Doc apologized. "I'm sorry," he said. "I just had to take you. It was so clear you were enjoying yourself and I had to be in you." No apology needed! Even now my brains goes blissfully silent when I remember what he did to me.

Then, Doc made me dinner. Tilapia and broccoli. God, my taste buds are happy!

Doc offered me wine, which I accepted. He refilled my glass in tandem with his own. Doc introduced me to Kir Royale. Tasty. Champagne and Creme de Cassis. It was quite tasty.

After this glass, however, Doc indicated he thought he'd perhaps fed me too much booze. He sent me to the couch while he cleaned up a few things. I plopped face down into the pillows, on my knees, ass in the air, delightfully comfortable. Doc joined me shortly thereafter, took one look at me, and declared with absolute certainty, "I've definitely given you too much to drink!"

Once he settled into his corner of the couch, I snuggled against him and we watched tv for a bit.

After an episode of Last Week's News Tonight and a bit of Buffy, we headed to bed. Doc was exhausted and knowing this, I didn't want to wear him out too much. However, earlier he had offered to masturbate me and I was more than willing to take him up on that offer!

Lying in bed, Doc beside me, we kissed. I touched his chest, his arms, his face. Doc began to stroke my pussy again. I moaned in pleasure. It was so good I knew it wouldn't take much for me to cum and I began to move my hips, melting into his touch and the building intensity.

Then, Doc said, "I'd like to try something."

I was on my back, Doc on his side next to me. My legs spread, my left one was out to the side, and my right leg was casually thrown over Doc's. In this position, he entered me, reaching around to help guide his cock into me. I thought I was going to explode with pleasure.

Immediately, I reached between my legs and began to stroke my clit in time with Doc's strokes. My orgasm built and exploded in me. I came so hard I couldn't think of anything and my whole body quivered with the intensity of the pleasure. "I love feeling you cum on my cock," Doc told me. I love it when he tells me these things.

Eventually we fell asleep. We slept in quite late this morning, but when we were both awake, we had sex again, Doc fucking me slowly, face to face. I wanted more and asked if he'd like me to change positions. He took me from behind again, and it was wonderful.

Showered and breakfasted, I headed to church. Which was amazing.

I've found a community in the midst of this place I consider exile. I have found a spiritual home, at least for the next bit of time. I have found a place where I know I will fit and where my skills and abilities and what I have to offer will be accepted.

I am happy and fulfilled.

13500

I was up rather late last night perusing the website.

I happened upon a quite funny post on K&P by an individual and decided to spend some time perusing a bit of his profile. Having read a few other of his posts, I decided to break most of his rules for initial contact and send him a recommendation for travel based on something he had shared.

Now it happens that his post making K&P apparently garnered enough attention that his inbox was flooded. I was apparently one of the many. Because of this deluge, and in part he told me, because of my email specifically, he created a test based on his preferences as a weeding out process, requesting that anyone who wished to contact him score themselves based on his scales and use their score as the subject line of their initial contact.

We exchanged a few friendly messages based on some of his writings and my travel recommendations when he told me that because I'm smart (flattery will get you places, my friends) and because he has struggled with the balance of weeding out people based on his and their preferences but having to find a way to do so online based on poor and arbitrary word choices, he wanted my help, if I had any ideas.

My response is below.

*****

The reality is, (name redacted), that most of what you write will be offensive to a large swath of human beings because:

1. The world fucking revolves around each individual person
2. Your preferences on any topic are about the particular individual who does or does not meet your preferences; they aren't actually about your preferences, because 
3. The world fucking revolves around each individual person

or so most people seem to believe.

I'm extremely straightforward and honest myself. It's one of the reasons I do not make sense, culturally, in the (location redacted). In regards to that, I really need to update my Fetlife location, as I am no longer residing in (location redacted) but (location redacted), population (statistic redacted). Just as you don't joke about being 6'5", I don't joke about my hometown's population.

As someone who does not do "(location redacted) nice" (born and raised in (location redacted), my existence made sense for the first time when I moved to (location redacted)), I will share with you my personal views concerning definitions, and perhaps it will help you refine your writing in such a way that it does not offend the sensibilities of the navel-gazers amongst those on the interwebz.

I have repeatedly explained to people that I am not a "nice" person. I am exceedingly kind, but I do not do nice. I'm also not an asshole. This tends to create a lot of confusion for the vast majority (read "every single person") I've ever said this to, and so I've had to create a way of explaining the difference between being nice, being kind, and being a douche-bag.

Imagine you've been asked to tag along on a shopping trip with a friend. Assume your friend is female, and if it helps, you can imagine she looks something like me (that is to say 5'10", 215lbs, size 14, brunette, green eyes). She wants to get an outfit, but wants something that she not only feels comfortable and confident, perhaps even sexy, wearing, but which is also flattering to her. She steps into the dressing room, gets naked, and then re-dresses in her first choice.

Stepping from the dressing room, she's slightly out of breath, her hair is quite messy, her face is a bit pink from exertion. She thinks her cheeks have a great "glow" to them because she looks so amazing in a more-than-skin-tight, sequined, tube dress that is obviously four sizes too small.

If you are a nice man, you'll hold it together long enough to gush with GREAT (well faked) enthusiasm (because you know she loves this dress and wants it to be the one), "OMG! You look sooooooo AMAZING! You should buy one in every color!"

If you are a kind man, you'll hold it together because you genuinely care about your friends, and you'll say, "I'm not sure the cut and fit of this dress really accentuate your best features. Let's see if there's something that might be more flattering and in which you'll feel even more comfortable, confident and sexy!" Then, you'll discreetly choose 3-4 dresses with sleeves, appropriate necklines, no sequins (Dear God, can we please just get rid of sequins altogether now? The '80s have come and gone. They were a bad idea then, they're a bad idea now. Thanks!), in a size that actually fits. You'll pay attention to your friend and not only how she looks as she tries on each of these dresses, but you'll critically assess what does and does not work with each, and you'll encourage your friend to own her body and stand with proper posture. After all, proper posture can make anybody feel more confident in a heartbeat. It's that whole bio-feedback loop.

If you're an asshole, you'll not bother to hold it together at all. Instead, you'll simply roll your eyes and exclaim for the entire store to hear, "You look like a fat fucking whore in that. You disgust me. You need to take that shit off and put on something that fits and doesn't make you look like an overstuffed sausage that took a trip through the sequin factory."

Assuming you're still with me, and you get the explanation, you should be aiming for kindness. Clear, concise, direct. Honest and respectful. I really think it's a matter of stating your preferences in a fashion that does not intentionally seek to violate clear social norms about appropriately respectful behavior when dealing with total strangers. You actually seem to have this down pat, for the most part. In those instances where I find myself responding with thoughts like, "Hmmmm, this guy (name redacted) is a bit more asshole-in-disguise than I'd first imagined," it's probably because:

1. The whole world revolves around me
2. Your preferences are soooooooo obviously about me and not you, and
3. The whole world revolves around me

Once I come back to reality and accept that your preferences are yours and I remember that we're all better off knowing what we, as individuals, want from life or friendship or partners or sex or play, and I acknowledge that I have preferences, too and one of those preferences is that people be clear, concise, direct, honest, open and respectful, I think to myself, "Maybe this (name redacted) guy isn't such an asshole after all. I actually appreciate his willingness to not play games. We may never be a match romantically, sexually, in play, or as friends (that fucking Oxford comma!), but I appreciate him as fellow traveler in this journey called 'life.'"

I don't know if that helps. I suppose it reads a bit like, "Here's a long story and a test. Can you figure out what it means? By the way, you may or may not be an asshole depending on how self-absorbed I am."

In short, I think it's ok to have preferences. I think it's okay to state them. I think your two flights of stairs test is funny but also sufficient. You also do a marvelous job of being kind in most of your writings which I've had time to peruse. As such, I think your standards work as they're written and do a wonderful job of not only weeding out those who are overweight and unhealthy rather than overweight and active/actively seeking better health but also weeding out those who would never be a good fit because they want to live in a fantasy land where they cannot have real relationships because they are not willing to be honest about who they are and what they want/need in a partner as demonstrated by their unwillingness to accept someone who is honest about what he wants/needs in a partner (that "he" would be you).

Was any of that helpful?

*****

This individual loved my response so much he's planning to "plagirize the hell out of it."

Sometimes, it's the little things in life that make me smile.

Actually, it's always the little things. If the little things aren't enough, the big ones never will be.

Serving and Subbiness

I sometimes wonder if I'm really all that kinky at all. I have my preferences, the things I enjoy, but I also have my limits. Most, if not all, of my limits are hard limits. There is no negotiating my limits. There are no "soft" limits in which I might be willing to do p, q, or r if the circumstances were right. And the things I enjoy, want, ache for tend to be very light in regards to kink. In fact, I might be more French vanilla than either vanilla or kinky.

I enjoy impact play, breath play, intelligent conversations, oral hygiene, and I absolutely LOVE anal sex. Traditionally, I had considered myself submissive. There are a lot of reasons for this which I'll not go into here.

Then, my community put on a high protocol dinner. It was billed, largely, as an event for Dom/mes and their subs, however, the possibility was left open for singles who wanted to experience an HP event to come as singles and the creators would pair unpartnered Ds to unpartnered s-es. Great. This seems like a great option for everyone!

Fuck no.

This is actually the point where I began to question whether or not I was a submissive and began to think of myself as a bottom rather than sub. I like play, but I want my body to be played with/upon. I do not want to inflict any kind of anything painful on anyone else, no matter how much they might enjoy it. Even knowing they'll enjoy it, because I know how much I enjoy it, I still can't bring myself to appreciate the notion of topping anyone.

My response, emotional revulsion, to the idea of serving at an HP dinner had me wondering, "Am I a truly a sub? Maybe I'm a poser. A twue sub. Someone playing the part because it's fun and exciting to be spanked by Doc and because he's willing to use a belt on me if I'm really, really, really well behaved and ask politely." Actually, I'm making that last bit up. Doc was moving his belt from the pair of pants he'd been wearing the day before to the pants he was wearing on that day and my eyes lit up like the Rockefeller Christmas tree.

"We can build up to that if it comes to it," Doc said.

"Ok!" I responded, getting giddy at the very notion. It's actually quite a shame Doc's out of town at this precise moment, because now I'm thinking about Doc and his hands on me and his belt....

Not the point of this post.

Doc once told me he might not be the domliest dom of all doms on the planet and I'm completely ok with that. I was beginning to think it's because I'm not a very good sub. I was beginning to wonder if maybe I'm just a bottom lite.

Then I decided that, since Doc is out of town this weekend, I would visit my best friend and her husband for a few days. And bake. Because they're my guinea pigs when I'm fixing recipes I've found elsewhere.

My best friend and her husband both know that I bake for them when I visit. As I was prepping the first test batch of awesomeness (savory Thyme Lemon Bars with Raspberries), the husband came in and asked what I was making. "Something that's going to make you hate me later," I said with a sigh. It's the nature of his being someone who loves food and wants to eat healthier and the nature of my making that difficult when I stop in.

"Probably," he said, "but I'll love you for it first!"

My best friend is also a minister. Her husband is in the family business. They both work 80+ hours a week.

I explained to Doc once that my former and current roommates have often found me nearly impossible to live with. "I don't think my expectations are too high," I told Doc. "Wash your dishes and pick up your shit. That's all I've ever asked of my roommates." This was also a problem in grad school when my fellow students would leave a week's worth of dirty dishes in the common kitchen. Ugh. (Love you all! But seriously....)

Doc told me, "That's not an unreasonable expectation; it's a task of daily living." Oh, that everyone in the world would get this.

Given that my bestie and husband are so busy, I know that when I visit, I'm likely to find a few dishes and other detritus in the sink. I'm okay with it. It's not my home, not my kitchen. I'm just visiting.

Truthfully, I actually kind of like the fact that there are a few dishes in the sink and food scraps in the drain traps. The reason is this: I like serving my best friend. I enjoy putting her clean dishes away, reloading the dishwasher, and scrubbing out and wiping down her sinks. It makes me happy to serve her. Acts of service is her love language and this is a practical way I can love her.

More than that, though, it really makes me happy to serve people I love. Not so much people I occasionally resent or have strongly ambivalent feelings for. It just pisses me off to have to clean up after those people, especially in our shared kitchen, when I just want the space and equipment to make a meal.

I've come to realize that this is not an issue of not being subby, or not being subby enough, or not being the subliest sub that ever subbed in the world of subbiness.

It's about relationship.

Just as I'm not going to play with everyone who asks (and if you're wise, you'll not ask for the reason if I politely refuse your request), I'm not going to be submissive to anyone just because they've asked, suggested, or expect. For me, play is about a very specific type of chemistry and we either have it or we don't.

Submission is about our relationship, and we either have it or we don't.

I love serving. But I'm not a service sub. I love serving. But I'm not going to serve or service just anyone. I love serving, but I'm not going to do it for anyone as a member of a submissive group serving a dom/me among a Dominant group. I'm not a fucking show monkey.

While there are a lot of things about Doc that get my juices flowing (everything to date) and few things that give me pause or evoke less pleasurable emotions, the fact that Doc is inordinately clean does both.

Seriously.

It makes me disgustingly happy that he's clean and neat and organized. It makes me happy that when I walk into his house, I'd never know he has cats until I see them. It makes me happy that I can walk into the room where he keeps the litter box and not know that's the room where he keeps the litter box.

It makes me happy that I've never seen dirty dishes in Doc's sink and that I've never seen much in the way of dirt on the floors. It makes me happy that his closet is well organized, from the brief glimpses I've caught when the door was slightly ajar and I was packing my bag near it. (I swear, I wasn't snooping!)

But it also makes a little sad that I can't serve Doc in this way. It makes me a little sad that when I come over and ask how I can help, there isn't much for me to do. I love pitching in to help with the dishes as he cooks or helping to set the table. But it makes me sad that there isn't much more for me to do. I want to contribute more, and I don't know how.

Because Doc has earned my respect. Because Doc has earned my appreciation. Because Doc has earned my vulnerability. Because Doc has earned my service, I want to serve him.

Even if I'm not the subliest sub in the world of subby submissive. Even if he's not the domliest Dom in the world of Dominant.

Addressing My Sexual Health

*Doc, you are more than welcome to read this post.*

I finally got in for a pap and pelvic today. I tried, desperately begging, to get an appointment late last week, knowing that my cycle was due to start on Thursday this week and hoping to give myself sufficient cushion against an unexpected early flow.

However, they absolutely could NOT get me in last week, no matter how much I begged and pleaded. So, I got up at 4:00 this morning to discover, because that's how the universe works, that my cycle had in fact started two days early. Joy. That had the potential to interfere with my pap smear. Great.

Having gotten through the intake and had my vitals taken by the nurse, I changed into a gown and hopped up on the table. The doctor came in and asked me all the standard health questions. I explained the sexual health concerns that had brought me into the office. Because I am now sexually active, she asked about my choice of birth control. Condoms. I then explained that once Doc and I are both confirmed to be STD free, we'll dispense with condoms entirely.

Noting my age and some particular health choices, my doctor asked, "Have you ever considered children?"

Immediately I teared up. "My whole life," I explained, "I always thought I'd have children. But, you know, I started to get older and then I was 28, 29, 30.... I started to think that it might not happen, because I hadn't met anyone I wanted to spend my life with, let alone have children with. And then, I turned 33, and sure I knew I had a few more years, but I was less attached to the idea, because now it's really looking more likely that it won't happen. Then, I met this amazing guy, and yes it's very new, and I have no idea where it will go or if it will last, but, you know, it's different...I mean, not having children because life didn't work out that way versus intentionally choosing a path on which children are not a possibility."

My doctor handed me a tissue and apologized for asking. The primary concern was my age - while many Ob-Gyns are comfortable with women in their 40s having children, fertility declines and risks increase. 35-38 is the cut-off I have in mind for absolute latest age for childbearing. My doctor agrees that this is, generally speaking, an appropriate health choice.

Then, my doctor performed a breast exam before I lay back on the exam table and tucked my heels into the stirrups, a sheet over my legs.

The nurse came in and the exam began. Speculum in, swabs prepared, the doctor asked how I was doing. "It's uncomfortable," I explained. Then, the doctor did something and I was hit by a wave of nausea and an excruciatingly painful pinching sensation. I gasped and told my doctor how painful it was.

"Discomfort is common," my doctor explained, "but you really should not be experiencing pain at this level." She also confirmed that the pain I was experiencing came when she touched my cervix.

Everything looks healthy. Everything feels healthy. Still, being abundantly cautious, my doctor recommended a pelvic ultrasound, just to double-check. Once we get the results of that, we can discuss options for addressing my coital pain and post-coital incapacitation.

Given that the pain only happens in certain positions, if it comes to it, I'm okay with highly choreographed sex with Doc. Because highly choreographed sex with Doc is still sex with DOC and it's phenomenal!

It may be time to visit my local book store, see what they have for sex lit, and attempt some new positions. I continue to look forward to exploring new things and having a LOT of fun with Doc.

A Busy Weekend

I spent the weekend at Doc's house.

I arrived a bit later than I had planned on Friday, due to an accident resulting in snail paced traffic on the way down. Doc was preparing dinner when I arrived; steak and broccoli. I had made lemon bars because he'd told me previously that lemon bars are his favorite dessert, though he doesn't eat sweets often.

The steak was tender and delicious, the broccoli was perfectly blanched, the lemon bars were more tart than sweet and I was glad I'd deviated from the recipe as printed.

Then, we watched Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Doc is introducing me to his favorite show which, rather surprisingly given my friend group, I've never seen. I loved the first episode and am looking forward to more.

Then, I gave Doc a blow job. I loved the feel of him in my mouth and I loved stroking his cock with my hand in the process. I love the taste of his pre-cum. I want to taste his cum. I love that he touches my hair and tells me when it's too much. I love the sounds he makes. I love knowing that he enjoys this as much as I do.

At some point I asked or he suggested and we moved to the bedroom where really amazing sex ensued.

Saturday morning there was more amazing sex. Doc went down on me for the third time. I had been planning to ask him to do so at some point in the weekend, but he got started before I could ask. Whereas during my first experience I had too much going on in the newness of it and in the mental stuff in my brain about my lack of previous experience with it, I didn't have an orgasm that first time

The second time, while I enjoyed it, I still didn't have an orgasm. I was too afraid to move. Afraid that if I did, the attention, pressure, sensations would shift and it would stop feeling as good as it felt.

This time, however, I took a chance and moved when I needed to move, trusting that if the sensations felt less good, I could move back or communicate clearly to Doc what I needed him to do differently. I had the best and most intense orgasm of my life. I literally couldn't have another orgasm all weekend.

That did not stop me, however, from having more sex. With my previous two partners, while the sex was pleasurable, their penises felt...invasive. I can't explain it. It didn't feel right. It felt all wrong. With Doc, I don't care particularly much about the orgasm (though I really enjoy the orgasm), I'm really quite satisfied and fulfilled and take enormous pleasure in having Doc in me. I don't even realize how natural it feels to have him in me until he withdraws and I find myself physically aching with the emptiness he's left behind.

I whimper slightly when he withdraws and pout for a bit. But he stretches out next to me, and I'm thrilled to be able to touch his arms, chest, face, hair; our legs entangled; kissing and touching and cuddling.

Somewhere in the midst of all of this, Doc's cats need feeding and I haven't been sleeping well and my allergies have come on full force with the changing seasons. I roll out of bed and take extra strength allergy meds. We have breakfast and we're both rather tired. We return to bed for snuggles. I'm a very happy woman.

I drift off to sleep curled against Doc. Eventually he realizes it's close to 11:00 and Doc gets up for a shower. I'm too tired to move. Barely functional. I can't figure out why I'm as tired as I am. It occurs to me later that it's the allergy medication making me groggy and sluggish and exhausted. When Doc is finished in the shower, I take my turn. We have lunch and after cleaning up, we head out to get coffee with friends.

The service is terrible, the coffee is tasty, the company is wonderful.

After coffee Doc and I head to a munch where the local community will be introducing basic safety information for electric play. I've done electric play once before and LOVED it. However, electric play is the only experience I've had that's led to drop and I'm extremely hesitant to try it again.

One of the community members at this munch has a Violet Wand and a TENS unit which he offers up for anyone wanting to get a sense of what they do. The Violet Wand is light and tingly, nowhere near as intense as the Hot Seat. But it's pleasurable in it's own way.

The very fact of being in a space with other kinksters reminded me that I really do enjoy impact play. Being more comfortable with written communication rather than oral, I sent Doc a text from across the table. I told him, if he were comfortable, I'd very much like to try spanking later in the evening. When Doc received the text and read it, he looked at me across the table and nodded his consent. I glowed with excitement.

Eventually the educational portion of the munch ends and total chaos ensues as the very enthusiastic members of the community become more and more animated and side conversations start to flow. The board member who is presenting the basics of electric play begins to discuss some additional community news, desperately trying to be heard over the din.

As soon as she finishes her announcements I plead with Doc to leave. There has been far too much sensory stimulation today. I was close to the end of what I could tolerate for noise after coffee and I was beyond what I could tolerate well and still feel okay by this point in the munch.

Doc was gracious enough to leave with me. Doc had mentioned playing some of his favorite band for me on the drive to the munch, but we hadn't gotten to it. On the drive home, Doc asked if he could play some for me. I agreed, but asked if he could just give me 10 minutes. I just needed quiet, peace, silent time inside of myself when there weren't a thousand other things screaming for my attention.

Doc gave me several minutes of quiet and then asked me some questions about my experiences with this particular community. Doc is a good man. We talked. Or, I talked. Doc asked questions on occasion. I answered. I rabbit trailed. I just shared because Doc asked and has earned a right to my vulnerability.

Then, I realized that we were nearly halfway back to his house. I told him he was welcome to share his music with me. It wasn't what I had expected. I have limited exposure to most music and this was completely unfamiliar both as a band and as a genre.

It was enjoyable but not at all in line with what I would have expected Doc to listen to. Something to sound feels at odds with this soft spoken man who delights me to no end. Somehow I have this image in my mind of Doc in a smoking jacket with a fat cigar listening to soft jazz. Riot grrl is not what I had expected when I first met him.

One of the last songs before Doc pulled into his garage had a very '60s doo-wop feel to it. This delighted me to no end. I have a deep love of '60s doo-wop.

The entire drive home, I touched Doc freely. About thirty miles from his home, my casual stroking of his leg became more focused on his genitals. It wasn't even intentional. My hand just migrated and it was so comfortable to be allowed to touch him that I didn't think much of it. When I realized what I was doing, I asked Doc if it was okay. He indicated it was.

Eventually, I realized that I had to stop touching Doc's cock through his blue jeans because I was on the point of needing to touch his skin. I was fantasizing about unzipping his pants, pulling out his cock, leaning over and giving him a blow job. I looked at the center console and considered the logistics. I looked at Doc and considered what a cautious driver Doc is. I thought an impromptu blow job might not be appreciated, if only because it would be too distracting as we cruised down the freeway at 80 mph.

I began to touch Doc's arm instead, hoping to maintain contact and temper my desire. This didn't work. Fifteen miles from Doc's house and I stopped touching him altogether.

After a few moments, Doc asked if I was okay. "Yes," I told him honestly.

"You're quiet," he remarked.

"I want you so badly," I responded. "I figured it was probably wiser to stop touching you altogether rather than simply strip my pants off and begin touching myself when we're so close to your house." Doc agreed.

When we got to his house, we sat for a bit, talking, re-hydrating, enjoying the evening. I suggested we watch Last Tango in Paris, which I had purchased recently and been waiting to watch with him.

*****SPOILER ALERT*****

What. The. FUCK!?

I decided to watch this movie at Ichthy's behest. All I knew about that movie was that it was about a young French woman who has an affair with an older man shortly before her marriage to her fiance. The sex in the movie is all anyone ever seems to talk about. The infamous "butter scene" is the only thing Doc knew about the movie.

In a movie that is close to 2:10 in length, fewer than 6 minutes of the movie actually contain sex.

This is not what I had expected. The whole movie is so much more. I'm not even entirely sure I can wrap my head around the movie. It was completely insane. I enjoyed it, particularly the scene in which Paul, Marlon Brando's character, delivers a monologue to his dead wife's (Rose) corpse. This is the single most honest scene in the entire movie.

Still, I was leaning against Doc, his arm around me, stroking my hair, my arm, my neck, my cheek, holding my hand. Eventually, I reached behind me and began to stroke Doc as he stroked my breasts and teased my nipples.

Then, the infamous butter scene. Anal rape. I knew it was coming, but hadn't thought much about it. There were tears on the screen, and I went still. I couldn't touch Doc sexually in the midst of this. I withdrew my hand. Immediately Doc withdrew his hand from my breast. He wrapped his arms more tightly around me and held me closer. I gripped his hand and arm more tightly than I intended until the scene was done. Doc checked that I was okay. Eventually, I began to relax again.

*****END SPOILER ALERT*****

At some point, I kissed Doc. I turned in this arms, touched his face, and kissed him. Several minutes passed in which we weren't paying particular attention to the movie. Doc paused the movie and we headed to the bedroom for more incredible sex with spanking, some of it thuddy, some of it stingy. (I like both VERY much). After which we ate lemon bars and then finished the movie.

It was close to midnight, maybe after in fact. We headed to bed and snuggled. We talked about childhood book experiences. Eventually, we drifted off to sleep.

Early in the morning, I awoke and changed positions, snuggling close to Doc. My hand ended up resting close to his cock. I started to doze off again, touching him. Over the course of the next hour, I drifted between asleep and awake, sometimes stroking Doc, sometimes just touching him.

When we both woke up, Doc began to touch me in return. Eventually Doc began to perform oral sex on me again. As the intensity of my desire increased, I pleaded, "Please, Doc!" He began to reach for a condom. "Not yet!" I told him.

"Okay," he said, returning to what he'd been doing, sounding very slightly perplexed.

"I want you to make me beg," I told him.

But we haven't negotiated this type of interaction and I'm afraid to say more. Eventually I simply needed to have him in me. "Okay, now," I gasped desperately.

Doc got a condom and I slid a pillow beneath my hips. I looked into his eyes as Doc entered me and I knew bliss. Doc used slow, more shallow strokes. I wanted more, but I didn't want to change positions yet and I knew if Doc used deeper, more fervent strokes I'd pay a hefty price later. I focused on feeling him in me. "How are you doing," I asked.

"This is good," Doc told me.

"Okay. I was thinking that since I brought toys and you asked about the use of anal beads, I'd really like to add that, but doing so means you'll have to stop and I don't want you to stop," I told him in breathless half sentences.

"It's okay, we should explore. I'll only have to stop for a short time," Doc assured me.

We shifted positions, I grabbed my beaded anal plug and inserted it part way, allowing Doc to insert it the rest of the way. I was completely lost in the exquisite pleasure of the stimulation. A few position changes later, and the plug was firmly seated in me, Doc was pounding into me from behind and I was in heaven.

Even now, I get hot and wet just remembering it all.

After, we lay together and discussed the spanking the night before. What worked, if we needed to change anything. I'm deeply satisfied and find it incredibly gratifying that Doc would even seek to provide me with this service. We'll continue to learn each other as we go. Doc mentioned that I had gone very quiet when he was spanking me.

I was processing. I tend to be very quiet when I'm processing an experience in the moment. I can't always provide feedback in the moment about what is working. If I'm silent, assume it's working. I have no problem being VERY vocal about what things are NOT working.

Eventually, Doc headed to the kitchen to make breakfast and I hopped into the shower.

Cinnamon coffee, scrambled eggs with ham, cheddar, and green chile sauce, an tangerine. I'm really starting to love the whole idea of breakfast.

After we cleaned up, Doc took a shower and we took a walk together. It was the first nice day we've had in a week and it was wonderful to be outside in the sunshine and fresh air.

Then, I headed home, knowing I won't be seeing Doc again for at least two weeks. Doc waved goodbye and I smiled and waved in return.

I stopped for groceries on my way home and locked my keys in my car. This bought me an hour of down time and I was able to catch up with Ichthy, my best friend whom I'll be visiting next weekend, and a good friend I've known for years but haven't had a chance to talk to in recent weeks.

Perhaps next time I'll work up the courage to ask Doc to use a belt on me. I hinted at this weekend and seemed amenable to the idea. Next month's munch topic is breath play and I desperately hope Doc is willing to give it a shot - super light breath play is hot.

Back to my vanilla life in the morning. It's wonderful that Doc fits there, too.

A Love Letter

Dear Doc:

Feelings often don't make sense and so I find them quite confusing. I think some of this goes to my high need for control and my desire for a rigidly structured life. Feelings can't be structured.

I am enamored of you. You continue to amaze and awe me. I adore you and I want you. I long to be with you and to know you more.

I'm confused because I feel so well known by you, yet I know you so little. I look at the way you treat me and I am delighted by the level of respect, dignity and care that you demonstrate. I look at the way you treat others and I know that this is core to who you are, not just a front to win me over, and I know that I am safe with you.

Being safe with you allows me to let go and explore things I've never considered before. It gives me space to experience things wonderful and exciting and new. It is overwhelming in its expansiveness, and it is beautiful and good.

I am enamored of and in awe of you.

But I can also separate that out from other things. I find there are millions of ways to give expression to things that I experience and feel. I find that all of them are inadequate to fully communicate what I want you to know.

As we experience one another in various ways, various contexts, various moods, various activities, there are lots of opportunities for things to get all mishmashed together, for the lines between how I know you and feel about you in one way and context to become blurred and confused with how I know you and feel about you in another way and context.

So, I want to be clear about how I know and feel about you in the ways that I do, as clearly distinguished experiences, as discreet sets and expressions.

In that, I'm not sure how to label or define all of the ways I know and experience you. As a lover, friend, companion, fellow geek, as both safety and danger, security and excitement, comfort and fear.

The most solid conclusion I can draw is that in all of this, I know you as Doc. And separate from all of the other ways I experience you and all of the ways I feel with you and for you and about you, with absolute certainty, I can say this: as Doc, I love you. I absolutely freakin' love your socks off.

Sincerely,
Your Kinky Pastor

Perfection and the Less Than

When I first considered having sex a few years ago, I was full of anxiety, fears, worries. There were several "What if..."s running through my mind. Not at all an uncommon experience from what others have told me.

Rather than focusing on the anxiety-producing "what if..."s in that time, I wrote a poem to shift my focus to another kind of "what if." I began to wonder what would happen if "what if" were an invitation rather than a roadblock.

*****

Intimacy

I am more akin to a Pablo Neruda poem¹
than a Georgia O'Keeffe painting.²
I am full and fleshly.
My genitals do not look like a flower.

What if my partner does not like the way I look?
     ...the way I smell?
     ...the way I taste?

(What if I end up judging myself by the standards of church culture rather than the standards of the divine?)



What if these "what ifs" do not matter?



What if I open myself completely to whatever the moment holds?

What if I invite my partner to see in me that which I see in myself?
     That I am beautiful, lovely, and worthy.
     That I am powerful and mighty.
     That I am tender and soft-hearted.

That I am the best there is
     and I share myself freely with my partner
as a gift.

Never to be diminished
     in either the offering or accepting.

Because I am still wholly me:
     tender and soft-hearted
     powerful and mighty
     beautiful, lovely, and worthy.

*****

It was hard and somewhat painful when, after a lot of work went into re-writing the script in my head, my potential sexual partner bowed out at the very last minute.

Still, I decided to carry the confidence of invitation with me moving forward, trusting that even if I never again considered the possibility of having sex with another person, I could still invite people into my presence, space, and life in a way that is hospitable and joyous.

This is the best decision I've ever made, though it took a very long time and an intense breaking to help me to live more fully into this reality.

Somehow, though, the insecurities always creep back in.

I returned from my business trip yesterday. A trip that was much harder than I had anticipated due to the way my body responded to sex with Doc. I spent the second day of that trip trying to work through pain and when I finally had a moment to myself, I was bent over double, tears streaming down my face, unable to walk, stand, or sit without feeling like I was going to die. It was the most intense pain I've experienced.

Because of his size and the positioning, Doc's penis had struck my cervix leading to nausea and uterine cramps. This was not entirely unexpected, as it's happened with other partners in the past, but I expected it to clear up within 8-12 hours. Instead, it intensified to the point that 36 hours later I was on point of asking someone to take me an emergency room because I simply could not function.

Thankfully, after a shower and crawling into bed to lie on my side and cry for a few hours, my uterus finally calmed down. This, however, made me determined to seek out an honest conversation with my health care practitioner because I'm kind of pissed at my uterus.

I don't want every sexual encounter with Doc to be carefully choreographed. I want to make love with abandon. Don't get me wrong, I love and want negotiations, but I don't want every encounter to be undergirded by fear about whether or not I'm going to be capable of functioning physically tomorrow because I've chosen to have emotionally satisfying sex today.

Having determined to make my sexual health a priority and feeling better, I enjoyed the remainder of my trip.

When I returned home, Doc picked me up at the airport.

I don't know if it's related to my low cervix, crampy uterus, painful intercourse experiences, but suddenly, I was terrified to see Doc. Actually, terrified isn't the right word. Or maybe it is. I'm not sure how to qualify my emotional experience at the anticipation of seeing Doc again.

I do know that I was suddenly feeling a great deal of body shame. In truth, I'm quite a beautiful woman. I have excellent bone structure, gorgeous hair, and lovely eyes. My features are well proportioned and I like the way they work together.

But, I'm overweight. My body carries the scars of years of morbid obesity. My skin looks similar to a balloon that has been inflated to the point just shy of spontaneously bursting and then deflated until all you see is stretched rubber and flaccid wrinkly surface.

Doc is amazing. He's passionate and kind and generous and respectful and considerate. Doc knew I'd be traveling all Sunday, and so he planned to have dinner ready for me when we got back to his house after my trip was over. Despite the fact that my plane landed around 10:30 and then I had to pick up my checked bag, making it near 11:00PM before I saw him again, Doc chose to postpone his own dinner so he could eat with me. And dinner was delicious.

Doc communicates clearly and openly. He answers my questions honestly even when it's awkward for me to ask and it's awkward for him to answer. Doc listens when I speak and he does not judge. Doc treats me in a way that leaves me feeling cared for, cherished, delighted in, respected. Doc treats me like a human being with agency. Doc has expressed his belief that being treated like a human being with agency should not be impressive; it should be an everyday experience!

And Doc is intentional about respecting my boundaries and allowing me to lead in areas where he does not know what the boundary might be. Doc is happy to let me initiate intimate contact so that we are both clear that I am giving enthusiastic consent and not feeling pressured or unable to say no. Doc is willing to take it as slowly as I need.

When I told Doc that I appreciate all of this and that further, I was offering him blanket consent for the evening for any activity he wanted to pursue, Doc simply delighted in touching my body, worshipping my every infinity, margin, river and village with his eyes, hands, and mouth. The expression on his face told me that he genuinely enjoys touching me, kissing me, teasing me - not because he's intentionally building the aching need for him, but because he really just enjoys my body.

When Doc and I did make love, we found a position that may require a bit more work. We found a position that was pleasurable but awkward. We found a position that was so intensely powerful I'm rather amazed the sheets did not catch fire.

Though historically, missionary position has been an intimate position that was pleasurable and in which my partner's penis did not strike my cervix, it is the position in which Doc's penis strikes my cervix and leaves me incapable of functioning.

Though historically doggy-style has been my favorite position, it has also been the position most likely to lead to my partner striking my cervix. Not so with Doc. Doggy-style with Doc is hot and passionate and frenzied and our bodies are perfectly matched. As he hammered into me from behind, his testicles pounding my clit, Doc gripping my hips, digging his fingers into my back, biting my buttocks, I began to stroke my clit and when I came I couldn't help but scream with the intensity of my release.

And when we were done, we collapsed in a heap. And then, we did it again before collapsing into a heap again and finally drifting to sleep.

When the cats woke us in the morning, Doc fed them and then rejoined me in bed to cuddle. Once he kissed me, I couldn't keep my hands off of him.

I asked Doc to get a condom and if he was okay with it, could we please try missionary again, but I'd need him to thrust really, really slowly, and maybe a bit shallow. Doc was willing to do that, and he began to thrust into me as we kissed, touched, held hands with our finger entwined. It was exactly what I wanted in that moment, this intimate expression of care.

When I felt fully satisfied with our exchange, when I felt that I had everything I had needed in that moment I said to Doc, "If you need something different, I'm okay with that."

"Are you okay? Is it painful?" he asked, concerned that we'd crossed the line of what my body could handle.

"No," I said with joy. "This is good, it's exactly what I wanted, I'm satisfied. I want to make sure you're satisfied and your needs are met as well. So, if you need more, I'm okay with that."

"I'm just enjoying this," he told me. "I'll need more eventually but right now, I'm really enjoying this." When Doc was ready for more, he let me know. I rolled over and he took me from behind again. It was just as good as the first two times.

When we were finished, we curled up again in bed until we had to get up and get ready for the day.

This was a hard exchange for me.

I am not shy around Doc. I do not feel a need to hide. I have no problems stripping naked before him and allowing him to see every part of me in full light.

But I am ashamed of my body in other ways. I am ashamed of my body as an instrument of Doc's pleasure, because I want to offer him the best. I want to give him more. I want my body to be perfect and beautiful because Doc is a good man, a kind man, a man of integrity. Doc deserves the absolute best in life and in many ways, I think who I am and what I have to offer him is the best.

But I also know that my body is less than. Less than the best. Less than perfect. Less than beautiful. Less than lovely. Less than worthy of the way he worships it because it is less than good enough.

So, I go back. I go back to the work I did that allowed me to be ready to have sex in the first place. I go back to the work I did to accept that I am exactly as I am - and I am good. I go back to the work I did to accept that who I am is far more valuable than what I look like.

1. Neruda, Pablo. Sonnet 12, 1959.
2. O'Keeffe, Georgia. White and Blue Flower Shapes, 1919.