My Whole Sex Life

We were going to do some bondage photos for you, really we were. We were talking about it, making plans. It’s just that I started to feel all horny. I do have some self-restraint. I would have taken that energy to the photo shoot, but then Harold started getting all Toppy. Harold doesn’t Top very much, actually not at all, and I would like him to Top sometimes, so this was a BIG DEAL.

He kept putting his hand on my throat and handling me roughly. He yanked my shirt up and pulled my nipples free of my bra, pinching them painfully. One hand slid into my jeans. His finger tickled my labia before dipping into my cunt and then rubbing my clit with expert flair. It drove me wild how he handled my body with the ease and competence of ownership. It makes me feel loved. I writhed and moaned at his touch. When he pulled my jeans and panties off, all thoughts of rope and cameras fled my mind.

He went down on me and everything was pure lust and sensation. I can’t think of anything better in the world except for what came next. He pulled off his pants, revealing his hard-on. I lifted my legs, resting my feet on his shoulders, and he slid into me. I might have had a vague thought that we would still take photos, but I was pretty swept away. How have we never fucked with my feet on his shoulders and my back arched before? It’s fucking fantastic! I’ve never had my g-spot so thoroughly probed before.

It didn’t take long for an orgasm to blow my mind. I think I came for three minutes. Then we switched to a side-lying position, which also felt amazingly exquisite. From there, I need a bit of a breather. Harold buried his fingers in my cunt. I reached for my vibrator, thinking that we might try to get me to squirt again, but I got distracted. Again. This time, I simply had to put Harold’s cock in my mouth.

He has a beautiful cock. I derive a lot of pleasure out of licking and sucking it. I like tracing the contours with my tongue, sucking the whole thing into my mouth as hard as I can, and finishing with a swirl of my tongue – over and over. He didn’t let me go very long, however, before he was ordering me to fuck him.

I did my best to ride him hard. My eyes roll back in my head when I think of how good it felt. I felt on the verge of coming for so long. Mostly my eyes were closed, following the sensation, but my few glimpses of Harold showed him with his head tipped back, eyes screwed shut, and mouth wide open – silently screaming in ecstasy. I moved faster and faster, chasing my orgasm. Finally, I collapsed on his chest, panting and spasming. I thought that I was going to die. My heart beat fast in my throat and I gasped out endearments. Coming like that certainly convinces me that I will love him forever.

When I had regained my ability to breathe and articulate speech, Harold asked me if I would play with his ass. But of course my dear! I lubed up and slid a finger in. My other hand rubbed his cock. Almost immediately he started to leak – little drops of ejaculate pooled at the head and ran down his cock to form a river across my hand. I added another finger, reveling in the feeling of manipulating his pleasure.

I could stay there forever – rubbing his prostate and alternating between my mouth and my hand on his penis, milking him slowly, knowing that this feels blissful for him. It’s a good lesson for me, because I always worry that he will get bored fingering me. I need to believe that he loves to give me pleasure as much as I do for him. I need to give him a chance to give to me because that is also a pleasure.

We finally stopped due to hunger and exhaustion. I was starting to get a bit limp with oxytocin overload and lack of food. By the time we cleaned up and got lunch, we didn’t have the time or energy to do a bondage shoot. That’s the truth of it, I spent my day engaged in wild, spontaneous, passionate sex instead of getting you your photos. Well, you know what they say about the best laid people…

 

Other posts you might enjoy:

• Power from within
• Deep dark fantasies
• Seduction
• Dear Mr. Henry
• Queering Power Dynamics with Sinclair Sexsmith

I lie in bed at night and think about power. What is power? Where does power come from? Why can I be powerful in some ways, but not in others? How does power manifest in sexual relationships? And mostly, what can I do to feel more empowered in my life? It’s a lot to ponder. I have to examine my painful past – childhood abuse – and take apart things so deep that they feel unchangeable. I must challenge my assumptions about how the world works. And ultimately, I need to decide who I am going to be.

Early in life I learned that it wasn’t very safe to show up. I spent my time trying to please everyone. The grownups had the power. I had no right to choose. I had a very real sense of danger about making a wrong move because the consequences would be painful. This was normal, but also kept secret from the outside world. I became expert at presenting a good face. As a result, I felt powerful in the outside world, but inconsequential internally. I developed patterns of behavior designed to try to control situations in order to mitigate the danger of making a wrong decision.

I’ve come to believe that power is the ability to make choices, preferably by following your heart. It took me years to be able to make any kind of choice. I was always afraid of making the wrong choice. Now I’m likely to make a choice too quickly, if anything. And it’s true that I feel powerless if I feel there are no choices. There is a kind of power that comes from deep within. I sense it like an illumination at my core. When I contemplate options from there, I just feel the right path. That surety of belief, and the ability to act on it, is power.

Of course there is the power over others type of power as well. I grew up with it. It involves getting people to give up their power for you, or simply forcing it. I don’t think that personal power can ever be truly taken away, but it can be easy to believe that you don’t have a choice. Because this model of power was impressed on me early on, I’ve done all that I can to avoid it, while still playing by those rules. I keep waiting for people to let me be powerful, rather than feeling my own power.

As a parent, I’ve been acutely aware of power. I have felt true to my own power. I am the mom. I am in charge. But that doesn’t mean that I enforce my will on everyone. I try to teach my children about their own power. I explain things. I give them choices. I help them figure out how to make good decision. I am a resource. I guide. I foster independence while honoring their spirits and providing a safe shelter.

As a CEO, I am struggling to figure out how to protect my vision without crippling the company. I’m good at making things happen, but scared that my dreams might be taken away as they were when I was a child. I’m functioning somewhere in between power from within and power over. I’m waiting for everyone else to grant me power rather than just assuming I have it. I’m not very skillful with power in areas that really matter to me. Thankfully, I work with people who understand.

As a lover, power is complicated. I’ve done so much work around my sexuality, that sex feels pretty safe. I generally know the power dynamics going into a sexual situation. I used to be more comfortable being submissive sexually because someone else would make all of the choices. All I had to worry about was my own reactions. It was a relief to be in a situation where I didn’t have to fear making a wrong choice. It was easy to know how to please my partner. Over the past five years, I’ve become more of a top. I like to control the situation. I trust myself more to be able to read my partner’s energy and make good decisions. More and more, I am looking to make love as equals. Playing with power can be fun, but I now want to strip away the psychological distractions and focus all of our energy on being together.

I’ve noticed that some people feel less powerful as life goes on. Possibilities seem wide open when you are young, but all of the choices you make over the course of your life seem to limit the available options. The economy sliding down must be amplifying this effect for a great many people now. I’ve seen this kind of paralysis creep into sex, as well as general life choices. Maybe the narrowing is deceptive, though – if power comes from within, then you own it completely and no outside force can affect it. Maybe giving up is the true loss of power.

I am a very powerful person. I’m good at seeing all of the options, even the hidden ones. I know myself pretty well. Right now pain and anger often cloud my ability to follow my heart, but it’s a passing thing. I can choose to let it flow through me. My power comes from within.

I’ve gone over a week without posting, which hasn’t happened for a long time. It’s a combination of factors, like having a bad cold, working on other projects, and generally feeling bad about myself. But there have been some sexy moments…

For the first time, I got to photograph a couple making love. It was an incredible experience. I went into the photo shoot without expectations, but certainly hoping that they would feel comfortable enough to be intimate together. I feel very honored that they trusted me enough that they could follow their desire where it led. I tried to create a safe space and I’m pleased that it worked. It’s actually very hard work to take photos over an hours-long shoot. I kept thinking that it’s so much easier for me to be in front of the lens having sex! I’m still struggling to figure out the technical aspects of photography so I was disappointed in the overall quality of the results, but there are some shots that I really love. An erotic photo shoot is quite a creative rush. My models were amazing! If they decide they are comfortable with publishing any of these pics, I will certainly share. I’m hoping to practice more photography in the near future, so if you are in the Seattle area and want to model, drop me a line.

I spent an evening cuddling in bed with Joel and giggling about a few R&B/Blues songs by the light of the Yule tree. I adore nasty blues and these are great. The first one was Denise LaSalle singing “Lick it before you stick it,” with great lyrics like, ”You’re makin’ her feel good, but you can make her feel better/ If you treat your lady like a stamp and a letter/Lick it/Before you stick it” and advises men to “find the little man in the boat.” Then there’s “Strokin’,” by Clarence Carter with these lyrics, “I remember one time I made love/On the back seat of a car/An’ the police came an’ shined/His light on me, an’ I said/I’m strokin’/That’s what I’m doin’/I be strokin’.” And finally, Barbara Carr with, “If you really want to please me/You know you’ve got to stake your claim/And make hot love to me boy/’til I want to wear your name” from a song with the best title ever, “Bone me like you own me.” I so enjoy that these songs are strongly about owning your sexuality and prioritizing pleasure.

I’ve been masturbating a fair amount – sometimes testing out products that I’ll be reviewing this month, sometimes just to spend quality time with myself. I end up touching myself when I’m in the shower or alone in bed. It helps me to feel focused and grounded. I love drawing out the orgasms and playing with sensations. I also think that it’s easier right now to be with myself than to be with other people. I’m just more inwardly focused.

Which isn’t to say that I haven’t had sex with other people. Harold and I had some heavy foreplay going on one evening, but the wee one’s stamina was greater than ours. We all snuggled in to sleep instead of fucking. It was nice to be cozy, but I still fell asleep wanting more and feeling lonely. Thankfully, Harold and I had a date the next day.

Our date sex was fairly simple. We had sexted about all of the kinky things we wanted to do to each other, but when it came down to it, our love making was about intimate touch and making out. There was some power exchange. I kept him pinned while I caressed him with my nipples and kissed him all over. It’s totally hot to use my whole body to bring pleasure. The really amazing thing is that I’m currently menstruating so we got blood everywhere. I know that some people are squeamish about menstrual blood, but I love it. We got blood all over my thighs and Harold’s cock, balls, and hands. Beautiful!

Like most people, right now I’m struggling to balance home, work, family, and self-care with the holidays tossed in for extra fun. It’s actually going fine, but I want to make sure that sex stays on the list. In reality, sex is so much a part of who I am that I’m not really worried. More important than sex, is love. I am lucky to have so much love in my life. I think that’s my lesson for the holidays – letting the light of love fill me up. Even the places where I don’t love myself.

There are fantasies that I keep very close – deep dark things that turn me on like crazy, but I’m ashamed to share. I’m scared that if I open up to my lovers I will be rejected. Maybe I’m too dirty, too perverted. These fantasies lurk on the edges of my consciousness. I’m too ashamed of my desires to pull them into the light and look at them.

Also, I’m afraid of delving too deeply into these fantasies. What if I lose control? What if I’m completely swept away by lust? I fear betraying myself and the people I love. Well, and, I’m afraid that if I do look too closely, these fantasies will lose their power to turn me on beyond reason.

So I just get flashes and feelings: his hand on my throat – me on my knees – humiliation – his breath against my ear as he tells me how special I am – enduring pain to prove my devotion – being on display – rope – his hands knotted in my hair – my eyes downcast…

These are difficult fantasies for a grrrl who considers herself a feminist and a Top. Can I respect myself and expect respect from others if I admit that I crave being possessed, objectified, and cherished? Is it bad that I want to give myself to my partner in this way?

I don’t give myself easily. I fight back. But I want to touch that core shame that I carry around. I can heal the destructive aspects of shame through sex. I want my partners to know me, totally – even the prickly or uncomfortable parts. Even the parts too dirty to see the light of day. I don’t feel like I can be truly loved until they do.

I think Harold and I are finally reaching an understanding around my fantasies. We met for lunch. In the middle of the crowded restaurant, we talked about what a scene might look like. I began to fill with heat. My panties got wet. My heart pounded in my chest. We gazed intently into each other’s eyes as he gripped my wrist in his hand. For a few moments he held me entirely. I was his. We both knew it and it turned us on. With the promise of more to come, we are both highly aroused.

I feel reassured. Maybe I can have what I want. Perhaps my fantasies are not too extreme. I just need to keep trying to articulate what it is I want. I’m so open about most of my sexuality. I can teach, I can ask for all kinds of things in the bedroom, I can share intimate details about my sex life on the internet – but wanting to submit makes me feel hurt and hostile. I know that I fetishize humiliation and shame because of the abuse I went through as a child. I wish that Harold would just take me and I wouldn’t have to try to explain. That he would just get it. I’ve been trying to help him get it.

But I also want control. I want our love making to be right, whatever we do. Ultimately, I want sex to be a conversation. I want to talk about everything. I want each of us to be communicating. For my part, I’m working on letting go of the shame that gets in the way, and keeping the shame that feels hot and sexy. It’s confusing, but I’m getting it. I’m owning my deep dark fantasies a little at a time.

I step forward, he steps back. We sway to the music, our hips pressed against each other. His eyes are closed. Our lips brush. His body spins away from me and back again. I show him what I want him to do with subtle cues from my body. He’s following my lead.

Joel and I go on a date every week. It’s our investment in our relationship, the time when we can catch up about everything going on in our lives, a chance to strengthen our connection and enjoy each other. We tend to be fairly traditional. Usually we go out to dinner. Sometimes we catch a movie. Sometimes we have sex. We always relax and have a good time, but occasionally I just have to mix it up a bit. Last night we went blues dancing.

The Center for Sex Positive Culture in Seattle was offering blues dancing after their monthly poly potluck. We opted for spending more family time at home rather than attend the potluck, but we were in for the dancing. It sounded like a great idea – a chance to go dancing among other people who understand that even though we’re together, we may be open to other people. Poly blues dancing seemed like an inexpensive, yet fun date.

It can be hard to get out of the house. I tend to feel ambivalent about going out. I’m tired at the end of the day. I get involved with projects at home, but I do love to go out. I like to get dressed up. Last night I was feeling kind of butch so it was a tank top, pinstripe pants, and combat boots. Then we had a 45 minute drive. It let us talk and sync up.

We arrived just in time for the beginner’s lesson on how to blues dance. Five couples circled up on the dance floor. We practiced stepping from side to side in a standard high-school shuffle. We danced forward and back. We were asked to find a partner. Easy enough since everyone had arrived as couples. Then we were told to figure out who was the lead and who was the follow. I appreciate that there was not an immediate gender assumption about who would lead.

There was a bit of a scuffle between Joel and me. I always want to lead when I dance. Joel didn’t feel comfortable leading because he’s very new to this kind of dancing. Yet there is the tradition of men leading. We realized that everyone was waiting for us to figure out our power dynamics and quickly settled on me leading. I placed my right hand on his shoulder blade and my left hand up “as though I was holding a beverage.” We practiced our shuffle.

Then our instructor told the follows to thank the leads and move to the right. Wait a minute, what? I greeted my new female partner and smirked at Joel in the arms of another man. We were certainly mixing things up. I learned a lot from the people I danced with. Each of them had good advice for how to be an effective lead. Joel also got a bunch of advice. While I felt a bit awkward at first, being a lead was turning out to be fun.

Blues dancing is sex-on-a-stick. I adore blues and watching people dance was hot. It felt good to dance too. You have to be in your body to blues dance. I could feel myself relax and open up to Joel. I loved leading him around the floor, firmly in control, yet letting the sexy flow.

The vibe followed us off the floor as well. Joel started rubbing my back and planting little kisses all over. The fantastic thing about being at the Center was that I could invite Joel into the back room, where we got naked. Joel kept telling me that I was the lead. It made me feel very much in control, which made me feel safe and turned me on. I’m such a top!

The blues music oozed through the walls. We kissed, slowly and passionately, our hands roaming all over each other’s skin. We floated in that place of pure sensuality. Eventually, I rolled him over and climbed on top of his face so he could lick my clit. I returned the favor by going down on him. Then I couldn’t stand it, I just wanted him. I told him to get on his knees. I rested my feet on his shoulders and he fucked me, cock plunging deep into me.

Afterward, we lay still, listening to the blues and softly talking. It’s such a luxury to be together like that. It’s a space that isn’t always easy for us to get to with all that we have going on in our lives. I love him so much and I feel so blessed to have him.

A chill in the air and a desire to use the bathroom got us back in our clothes. We danced to one more song then we made our way to the car. Exhausted and blissed out, it was all I could do to keep my eyes open on the drive home. Joel took care of everything and let me tumble directly into bed. I dreamed of him following my lead.

Book: “A Year of Sex”
Author: Mia Martina
Where to buy: Amazon Kindle, Barnes & Noble Nook, Apple iBooks, and Google Books

Mia Martina’s debut memoir is brilliant! I devoured the whole book in one rainy Sunday. I generally like reading about sex, but what really drew me in was her brutal honesty about herself, how appealing she is as a person. It’s easy to care about her ups and downs over the course of a year of sexploits and relationships because she seems real. Her voice is so authentic, I want to be her friend. It helps that I can totally identify with her experiences, but I’ve never read anything like this before.

Mia offers some of the best observations I’ve ever heard about sex parties. In her book she says, “Just because you can get naked and fuck doesn’t mean you’ll want to do it.” and “I’m learning that the unknowns about couples’ dynamics are the most interesting part of attending sex parties.” Both very true, in my experience. She does a great job of examining all aspects of a sex-positive lifestyle.

“A Year of Sex” is well written, which is a turn-on in itself. While the sexual content is fabulous and hot, Mia’s story it isn’t like typical erotica; it’s real life, where sex is seldom zipless or seamless. This story titillates, but is dedicated to authenticity, not getting you off (but don’t worry, there’s a happy ending). I even loved the bonus materials: a glossary of sex terms, tips for attending sex parties, music suggestions, and resources for further research. Like parting from a lover after a weekend of bliss, I’m left feeling turned on, emotionally engaged, and sated while yearning for more.

I want to be taken. I want to give myself.

And I do have that dynamic in all of my lovemaking – we exchange energy like that. I give myself, open up to my partner. I am received and cherished. My partner does the same and we are made intimate with each other. We are full of love. This is amazing and beautiful and I can’t live without it. But I have this deep longing for something more.

I want a kind of power exchange. I’ve talked about it before, but I find it so hard to articulate. I’m sure it’s based on early childhood experiences, the things that imprinted on me with my earliest sexual experiences. The fact that those experiences were games played by my abuser while he was instigating a years-long system of abuse makes it complicated. I don’t in any way want to be abused or feel abused or role-play abuse. I want to be the powerful person I am now, using the hot erotic charge of those things that turned me on as a child.

Of course, there is shame involved. I was often shamed as a child for showing too much interest in sex or having too strong a desire to please. Part of what I’m looking for now is approval. I want to make my partner happy with me. I want to be a good girl. Unfortunately, the shame gets in my way when I try to communicate what I want. It’s hard to speak up. What if I’m showing too much interest? I am not hampered by this worry usually, only here.

I have a huge fear of rejection around these desires, also stemming from my childhood, where I was sometimes punished and rejected for causing lust in my abuser. It means that I have a deep belief that if I try to ask for what I want sexually, my partner will not want me any more. Maybe even that I will be shunned or denigrated. As soon as I sense any kind of hesitation on the part of my partner, I go to a place where I am being rejected. I immediately blame myself for being too much. I get angry at myself. But I don’t want to be angry at myself, so I get angry at my partners. Surely it is their fault.

It’s not my partners’ fault, although they certainly bring their own stuff to this dynamic. I’m just hurt and pissed that I can’t get what I want – or that I think I can’t. Truthfully, I get a lot of what I want. I’ve come to realize that it isn’t really about now. I could probably use sex now to heal some of this stuff from the past. Why not use the things that are sexually charged to get off and create positive change? It works both ways.

What is it that I want? I still can’t say for sure, although I keep trying. This space is more of a feeling than an action that I can point at and say, “Here, do this.” Above all, I must be accepted for who I am in this space. I want to be cherished, protected, and cared for. I want someone else to be in charge, give me clear instructions. I might need some guidance, but I don’t want a lot of pain. I want to be possessed, owned, but not in a way that scares me. And I am scared.

I’ve fought hard to be free of the shadows of abuse in my life. I will not go back to the darkness. Yet I have this deep longing that presents itself in my sexual life. To deny it is to deny a whole part of myself, to keep that part of me a broken child. It’s a tightrope walk to make this work. It doesn’t come easily for me to submit like this. It’s not easy for my partners to take on this role in the bedroom. But, damn it! This stuff is my stuff. It turns me on. There’s nothing wrong with that.

I’ve been submissive before, but never like this. I’ve always been play-acting. Submission for fun and games – I’ve liked it a lot. This space that I’m wanting is the real thing. Actual submission. I’m having to overcome my fears and shame to get to a place where I reveal my most hidden and private self, drenched in desire and full of need. I want to give myself. I want to be taken.

While Harold is gone for a few days, I am thinking a lot about him. I’m thinking about all of the really hot and sexy things we’ve done together and fantasizing about the things we haven’t done yet. The things that push us past our comfort, but turn us on like crazy. I want him so much. I want the things that scare us as well as all the lovely things that we enjoy together every time. I want everything. Today I am spinning a fantasy out of our desire, both tested and untried…

 

We are enjoying dinner together at our favorite restaurant. We’ve both dressed up a bit, as though for a special occasion. You’re laughing at something I’ve said. Your hand rests on top of mine. I look into your eyes and see how much you love me. I feel warm and happy. You smile and say, “I’m going to fuck you.”

I’m suddenly aware of the wetness between my legs. I press my palms against my legs. Through my napkin and my skirt I can feel my garter straps against my thighs. I want to touch my clit. I decide to go to the bathroom. You look at me with some amusement as I place my napkin on the table. “Bring me your panties,” you say, as though you know exactly what I’m thinking.

I’m a bit shocked, but also intrigued. I stand up carefully and step over to your side of the table. I bend to kiss you, aware that I am flashing the tops of my stockings to the gentlemen at the table behind us. It’s a long kiss, full of lust and tongue. After, I whisper in your ear, “You can have my panties, but only if you wear them.”

I sashay toward the restrooms. They are off a dim hallway, across from the abandoned coat-check. The ladies’ room is first and thankfully empty. I go in and lock the door. My hands run over my breasts and down my hips. I hike up my skirt and slide my fingers under my panties, finding my clitoris with my first two fingers. I lean against the door, breathing hard and thinking of how much I love you. My body is rigid, close to orgasm, when someone knocks on the door. Damn.

I quickly slide my underwear off and shove it in my purse. I smooth down my skirt. I flush the toilet for good measure. I wish that I were having an orgasm. I open the door. There’s no one there. Then I notice you back in the coats.

“You interrupted before I was done!” I accuse, but you don’t care. You press my back against the wall. Your hand holds the back of my neck, firm with your fingers in my hair. I want to argue, but I’m melting into you. I want you to kiss me so bad. But you don’t. Your other hand lightly traces my arm from bare shoulder to wrist. I’m pinned by your gaze. You cup my ass and pull me up against you. I can feel your erection. Finally you kiss me. I’m losing all sense of self. There is only this desire. And your tongue probing my mouth while you hold me tight.

You could fuck me right here and I would be happy, but I know that someone is bound to come by at any moment. Besides, I want to torment you some more. I grab hold of your balls through your slacks and squeeze. Your knees buckle a bit and you groan, but keep kissing me. I love you so incredibly much. I break off and push you back. “I have something for you Darling, “ I say as I pull my panties out of my purse, “Go put these on, I’ll take care of the check.”

You look at me for a moment, then take the lacy underwear and turn toward the men’s room. I’m waiting by the front door when you walk out. I wonder if anyone but me can tell that you are walking a little funny. I love knowing that you are secretly wearing my lingerie. I’m so turned on that each step to the car threatens to make me come.

Once in the car, you head for home. I’m quiet, thinking about who might get tied up when we get there. You put your hand on my knee, but it wanders up my thigh to my cunt. Soon my skirt is pulled up and once we’re on the freeway, your fingers are either buried in my cunt or rubbing my clit. I lean the seat back and let go. Soon I am moaning in pleasure as I finally find release, rocking against your hand. I watch as you lick your fingers.

Of course I’m going to return the favor. I unzip your pants and slip my hand inside, running my fingers over the hardness of your erection under the lace of my panties. I pull your cock out and pump up and down a few times, liking your reaction. I lean over and put my head in your lap. I lick the head of your cock, favoring the sensitive frenulum. Then I slowly take the whole thing in my mouth, as deep as it will go. I hope that you can still focus on driving, but I don’t want to wait until we get home.

I am focused on giving you the best blowjob ever, so I don’t notice at first that we are slowing down. When I pop my head up to see what’s going on, I’m not sure where we are. It appears to be a deserted dead-end road with a park. There’s only one streetlight, but the moon is full and bright. You drive to the end and park the car.

I think that we might just fuck here in the car, but you tell me to get out. You come around to my side of the car and carefully remove my heels, stockings, and garter belt. You kiss me again, deeply. “Now run,” you say.

I’m confused. Run? You nod toward the park and start to remove your own shoes. I laugh, perhaps with an edge of hysteria, and start to half-heartedly jog. After 20 paces I stop and look back. You are just removing your pants. I see you start after me and I run more seriously.

I race across the grass, dodging branches and ferns. I feel my limbs go liquid, so that I seem to be gliding across the ground. I feel animal. I am chased. I love it. You are a beast come to take me. I run deeper into the brush.

I’m not sure how you manage it, but you circle to the side and surprise me. You leap onto me, taking me down. We roll together, landing in a pile of leaves. You are on me instantly, flipping me face down and plunging your cock into me. We are both grunting and howling. I exist only for the thrill of each thrust, for the rhythm of our mating.

I feel you so deeply and intimately. I can tell your orgasm is building to match mine. We get closer and closer with each thrust. You are fucking me so hard. I love how wild and savage we are. Suddenly your yell fills the night and I am coming with you. We are rocking together with the fierce joy of the moment and declaring our passion for the world to hear. We have claimed each other and been taken.

We murmur soft lover’s words to each other as we pick leaves from our hair, animal grooming for animals in love. Slowly we find our feet again and make our way back to the car, arms wound around each other. We put our clothes back on, grinning at each other foolishly. We climb into the car and I think again about who gets tied up when we get home.

I’m feeling dangerous. All of my lust for power is welling up when I think of sex. My careful sex-positive ethics go out the window. I want to hurt people. I want to push them into doing things they didn’t think they’d want to do. I want to seduce them and take them to a place where they are drowning in erotic possibilities. I want to make them beg for humiliation. I want to corrupt their desire. I want control.

It’s a lipstick kind of mind-set. Power requires it’s own uniform. Mine includes strappy high heels, stockings with cuban heels and a seam up the back, a little black skirt, garters, lacy panties, push-up bra, clingy low-cut top, and maybe a hat with a veil. Lots of make-up. Alcohol goes nicely as well – perhaps a glass of red wine or a shot of whiskey. I tend to want to smoke when I feel like this, even though I quit 15 years ago. I very occasionally smoke a clove cigarette or a cigar. It’s all about being a femme fatale.

So far in this fantasy, I have an intention and a costume. Now I need victims. Sometimes I think about heading to the nearest bar and picking someone up. If I feel particularly bad I might seduce the entire bar, taking one person at a time out the back door. Sometimes I punish myself for these thoughts by thinking that I would be very risky in my behavior – go home with sleezy men, not use protection. If I feel better about myself, I pick people up at some sex-positive event.

The key factor here is that I get people so under my spell, so turned on, that they can’t think clearly any more. Then I can lead them into doing the very things that they profess to abhor. Like a housewife who has only ever fucked her husband suddenly demanding to be fucked by the football team, many of whom are friends with her teenage son. Or a man who loathes gay men begging me to fuck him in the ass. I want to use my power to make people question their sexuality. I want them to know shame.

I know that this fantasy of mine goes back as far as my childhood sexual abuse. I wanted to do to them what was done to me. And for years I did. Through high school and my early twenties, I was unable to fully break away from the power dynamic, one way or another. I played sex games even with the people I cared about. It took me years to realize that I could have the same dynamic without the pain and guilt. I still get terribly turned on by power, I just try to do it ethically now. Consent is very important.

Which means that I have to try to contain myself until my date with Harold tomorrow. We’ve already negotiated a lot of this power dynamic stuff. I can hurt him in a variety of ways and it will turn him on. I also know that if I get out of hand, he’ll let me know. I want to hurt and dominate him in just the right ways. Yes, it’s a little disappointing not to be bad,  just to take what I want, but I think that it’s worth it to feel safer and more ethical. I like that we can harvest the lust from my fantasies and use it.

In the meantime, I have a date with Joel where I might work out some of my desires. And maybe I’ll write some erotica, try to get this lust for power out of my system.

Today, instead of going jogging, I seduced my partner. This is what I get for deciding that running is a part of my sex life. It’s just that I got bored waiting for my child to be finished with the eye doctor. I started thinking sexy thoughts. I called my husband to tell him that I was lusting after him, but I won’t see him until tomorrow. I thought about sex all the way to meeting Harold for running, and I showed up in his office all on fire and ready for action.

I wanted rough sex – slamming into walls, nails raking flesh, wrestling for dominance, bites and slaps… I explained it all to Harold, straddling him in his desk chair. I could feel his interest. We kissed with some serious intent. My tongue thrust into his mouth, claiming him, making us both wild with desire. I held him by hair and throat. His fingers dug into my breasts, ass, hips. Here was my rough sex – open need speaking to open need.

We stood up, somehow thinking that we would go somewhere and maybe fuck, but we didn’t get far. My back was to him. His clothes seemed to disappear. He pulled my pants clean off. We kept hurting each other in delicious ways. I pressed his balls between my fingers, he pinched my nipples. Our hands and mouths were everywhere at once. We were suspended in tension and arousal, inflamed by the immediacy of our need. I take you NOW. I struggled out of my running shoes and I found myself totally naked, bent over, with Harold’s cock in my cunt. Perfect. He griped my hips, pulling me toward him with each thrust. I braced myself against a chair and the desk. I stared at our feet and the filing cabinets.

It was totally hot. I loved the physical struggle between us, the animal energy. I could feel that he enjoyed it too. He warned me that he was going to come and I laughed. Please come, please come, please! When the energy is working I want it to keep going to the natural climax. It feels so good. I like the raw spontaneous sex. And he came for a very long time, giving me time to catch up.

After we stopped shivering, I led Harold to the couch, where I sat on his lap. I looked into his face and had one of those rare moments when I catch a glimpse of the real person behind his eyes. I always feel like, oh, there you are! How often do you catch your lover in a totally unguarded moment? It’s a rare jewel. I treasure that glimpse and the transition from rough sex to gentle intimacy. Once I’ve claimed him physically, he’s mine, body and soul.

So maybe I should have gone running, but it’s hard to regret the seduction, some hot, hot sex, and a pure moment.