22. – 26. The Wide World of Kink

rope-3052477_1920The scope of my sexual experience leading up to The Year of Living Promiscuously was, as previously mentioned, limited. My ex-husband, like most men, watched porn, and sexual trends would occasionally enter our repertoire without my fully understanding how or why. Also, he was a cheater, so there’s really no knowing what influence his dalliances had on our sex life. Needless to say, my understanding of kink was narrow (and perhaps still is), but I was curious — fascinated, even. I adopted an attitude of “I’ll try anything (within reason) once,” and it has led me to some interesting encounters and experiences. Such as…

22. The Illustrator
During our first phone conversation, The Illustrator made a bet with me. The details of the illustratorthe bet weren’t memorable, but the terms were: if I lost, I had to agree to draw on him with a ball-point pen. Needless to say, I lost the bet, and I ended up fulfilling my end of the bargain. It was our first and only meeting. After we had some wine and chatted for a while, I asked him where the pens were. He was clearly surprised that I was going to do this, but I sensed his excitement. His only guidelines: don’t just scribble or draw circles — you have to actually draw something. The only thing I could think of was a very specific mental image that had come up in our earlier conversation, a hybrid cow-woman with large breasts and a pronounced camel toe. Yeah…that’s a long story for another time. I told him I wanted to draw on his back (mostly because I’m a terrible artist and didn’t want an audience), so he took his shirt off and lay down on the couch. I straddled him and spent about 10 minutes working on my artistic opus. It didn’t feel like a sexual act from my perspective, but when I finished I took a picture and texted it to him, and that seemed sufficient foreplay for him. We moved to his bedroom and spent roughly 10 more minutes together before I got dressed and headed home.

23. The Swinger
Remember The Texter? I mean, I’d rather not either, but the end of his story leads directly to the start of The Swinger’s. As I was leaving coffee with The Texter, I arranged to meet The Swinger for a beer at a Mexican restaurant. My first impression of him was that he was frenetic, fast-talking, probably on drugs, but still fairly pleasant and definitely easy on the eyes. The restaurant was closing early that night, so we only talked for thirty minutes before we’d been side-eyed by every waiter there and we decided to call it a night. I thought that was going to be the end of it, but in the parking lot, he got really handsy and there was some back and forth about my coming over to his place but needing to leave early when he left for work. That worked for me, and I followed him to his place, which turned out to be an apartment complex where my cousin lived (side note: I texted my cousin to say I was having a sleepover a few buildings over, we had breakfast together the next morning and planned the girls trip where I would meet The Musician, The Fling, and The Manager).

I figured that upon our arrival, we’d get straight to it because of the late hour and the aforementioned early morning, but instead, we watched an episode of the Walking Dead I’d seen before (the one involving Andrea being tied up in Woodbury. Yep, that one). It was an odd choice, but what happened later helped me eventually understand (the bottle of pills in the bathroom, the 45-minute waiting period, the hours-long erection). I had a great time with The Swinger that night, and I was beyond exhausted the next day. What qualified him to be part of this entry, though, is his follow-up. He wanted me to text him very detailed descriptions of what I was doing with other guys. He wanted pictures and videos. He wanted to take me to local swingers clubs. He invited me to a regional swingers convention. I would occasionally indulge him with details, but despite his many requests, I never went back there. Something told me I’d regret re-stoking that particular fire, and I’m glad I listened to my gut. However, I can’t think of my girls trip without first thinking of how it came about, with a visit to The Swinger.

24. The Voyeur
[I’m still friends with The Voyeur, and he’ll probably read this, so let me first say to him: I’m sorry you don’t get your own entry. You just seemed to fit in this one. Also, I probably won’t write this to your satisfaction, and I’m ok with that.]
The Voyeur and I messaged for a while before meeting. I think we both doubted we’d ever meet in person, but we were enjoying the conversation, so we kept it up, covering topics from our kids to our jobs, to our sexual preferences. He called me out on saying other people’s no for them (and limiting myself from doing what I wanted) and, notably, he introduced me to hot wife kink (I think this is similar to what The Swinger enjoyed, but since I never really discussed it with him at length, I’m just guessing). I texted him on the night I left The Narcissist‘s place and, on a whim, asked if he wanted any company. I knew that my just having left another man’s bed played into his kink, and I wasn’t surprised when he agreed to my coming over, even though it was very late.

We stayed in frequent contact, despite my sense that he wasn’t that into me (based on our having met for drinks a week or so after our initial tryst and his platonic behavior toward me). I eventually began to see him as more of a friend, but when I knew he was going through a rough period, I asked The Therapist to take a video of him and me, then I hand delivered it to The Voyeur. He watched it on my phone while I re-enacted what I’d just done. All this in what turned out to be a successful attempt to cheer him up.

For the most part, though, our relationship isn’t sexual at all. We’ve only seen each other three times, but we’re in daily contact — we’re Facebook friends, even. I think we push each other’s comfort levels in necessary and helpful ways. He calls me on my shit and asks pointed questions when I would rather not, and I gently lead him toward vulnerability when his default is emotional reticence. I doubt we’re the best thing for one another in terms of a relationship, but seeing as how we’re both perpetually single, we’re currently filling a need, serving a mutually beneficial purpose.

25. The Predator
The first time we met was around 1am at a bar, the kind of first meeting that screams hookup. As it was, I saw The Predator several times over two months. By the way, the story behind his nickname is irrelevant to his inclusion in this entry, but I promise to eventually write a separate post to explain it. The Predator was extremely dominant, but unlike The Narcissist, he was also very kind and respectful. That balance was something I’d not experienced before, and it helped my sense of safety as we explored my submissive self (she’s definitely in there, but as a rule, I don’t think I’m particularly sexually submissive). There were new toys and new dynamics, and some strange mix of pheromones and curiosity kept me coming back to him. We joked that we were one another’s ghost, that when too much time had passed between meetings, we would haunt one another’s consciousness. Even though I haven’t seen him for a few months, I’d say that he’s still my ghost. I’d be willing to guess that I’m still his, too.

26. The Amateur
This is one of those tales of kink-gone-wrong. The blame for this falls on both of us. He’s nicknamed The Amateur, but really, we both were. Naively, I believed that a man who kept restraints on the four corners of his bed was fairly experienced with bondage. The lesson I soon learned was that it was a potentially dangerous assumption to make. On our third time together, I allowed The Amateur to restrain my arms, and all was going well until it wasn’t. He was unintentionally hurting me. I told him that it hurt. I told him I didn’t want him to do it any longer. Then from him, these chilling words: You’ll take it.

I gave myself a rapid-fire mental scolding for having consented to something that takes away my power without first discussing a safe word. My words weren’t cutting it, and my hands were useless. Fortunately, he stopped what he was doing shortly thereafter, but I knew it could have been worse. I talked about it with him later, and he seemed to understand. I’ve even made plans to see him again, but I’ve had to cancel because of the lingering sense of unease that surfaces when I think of him.

 

12 Comments Add yours

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s