Thursday, December 30, 2010

And now for something completely different.

We got mail.

Just a quick word to say a strong and pleased thank you! to Urban Roguery readers who have been emailing, Facebooking, and Tweeting me to share your thoughts and questions. Rest assured that those of you who have been writing with questions (such as advice on how to be an effective Top or how to get your squeamish boyfriend to suck your beautiful pussy) will see responses in the near future. I have a crack team of internationally acclaimed scientists at work as we speak.

Really.

Meanwhile, this postal carrier has some very pretty tits, don't you agree?

Favourite blog images of 2010.


Deliciously displayed, a perfectly tender playtoy in Finding Tribe


Tasting her core in Fireworks


Celebrating Bacchus' gifts in In Vino Veritas


A sensual sister shows her sublime submissiveness (g'head... say that ten times fast) in Kinksters Helping Kinksters


Straighforward, au naturale, coed brazenness from Women Of The Dorm


Sensual, skyclad, and unashamed from Women Of The Summer Vacation

Sunday, December 26, 2010

Crossing my path.

The rock salt is sticking between the treads of my black steeltoes, making my feet crunch and clack against the concrete pavement. The sky is winter grey, and a streetcar slices its way near me as I approach the corner.

She is ridiculously short, and at first I think she's a kid from the neighboring grade school. She's wearing a clever red and white striped toque, smart little eyeglasses with gleaming rectangular steel frames, and unhitched red suspenders dangle across her jeans-clad thighs. I like her combat boots. She's busily punching into her Blackberry. Because she's so tiny, and so cute, and I bet she's so smart, I could easily see myself hoisting her over my shoulder and carrying her home like a kitten to rumpus with.

I'm smirking at the thought when, almost immediately, a brunette is passing me by. Her head and face is completely surrounded and framed with scarves and the hoodie, and as she stares at the pavement ahead, it's her cheekbones and soft pudgy nose that get my attention. It's the most fleeting of images as we pass one another, a split second maybe, but already I've seen her face when she's in deep thought, and the image stays with me. At almost the same instant, as was actually pass one another, the scent of her in caught in the snowy air. She smells like vanilla cupcakes, warm and just pulled from the oven. I smile.

Thursday, December 23, 2010

She came for another ride: easy ridin'.

The following morning, I slowly awoke to find that we were spooning, her back to my chest, under the thick covers. I nuzzled my face between her warm shoulderblades and, in a slow, sleepy caress, brought my hand from her taut stomach to her hips, thighs, and to cupping her firm heart-shaped behind. I smiled groggily to myself as I held her asscheek in my grip, and my cock stirred. Slowly, she began to wake and murmured with a slight smile. As I held her, my caresses shifted to gentle probing, and she parted her legs slightly and brought her right knee down to the bed and toward her chest to give me more access to her folds, her anus, her sleepy clit. For a few moments, I enjoyed gently touching and stroking her tenderness in the dark warmth that enveloped us. As I hardened, I enjoyed sliding the length of me along the small of her back and in the soft seam underneath.

I tugged some of the covers free to expose her beautiful ass to the morning light. Uncovering myself, I knelt above and behind her. She gasped quietly when I parted her thighs and dove my head between them to slide the length of my tongue down and between her smooth labia. Her body stiffened when I flicked it beside her clit and slowly gave her a wide, wet lick upward until I was teasing the outermost ring of her dark, crinkled rosebud while both hands grasped her asscheeks firmly and spread her open like a book.

But I was teasing. After gently holding her clit between my fingers and giving it a few slow swirls, I brought my hand back again to cup and caress her delightful bare butt some more as she whimpered quietly into the feather pillow. A firm pat or two later, I was smirking to myself as I strolled out of bed. I knew the Tomboy would want to slumber lazily some more, and I was wide alert and ready for a pot of tea. She grunted in playful annoyance but was soon asleep again.

Her black leather chaps were still carefully draped over the edge of the parlour futon as I relaxed with the newspaper. I sipped a mug of Russian Caravan and listened as she breathed deeply in the bedroom. My pad smelled like warm flesh and the previous night's filet mignon decadence.

Soon, she stumbled quietly into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes awake like some small child whose desire for breakfast won over the desire for more sleep. Like me, she was naked, and the cats swirled around her ankles. I poured her some tea. She reached for her jeans, which were also on the couch, and began to put them on. Damn, she looked good in those jeans.

As we chitchatted, I remembered that she'd be riding home later, but a naughtier part of my thinking knew that I'd want to have some more fun with her before she left. After all, it had been almost four years since we'd last fucked, and while I definitely got the sense from Tomboy that she'd want to see me again reasonably soon, God knew how long it would be until then.

And that's when, an hour or so later and after I'd dressed, we both were fully caffeinated and alert and making plans for the morning (while, incidentally, she remained topless), I smiled and impulsively pulled her close to me. Her warm tits felt fantastic against me as her kiss took me whole, grunting quietly under her breath as she feasted on me. Playfully, I gripped her long, dark hair and spun her toward the futon with her chaps draped over them and bent her over its edge.

I reached around her and began undoing her jeans. She got the idea and assumed the position, resting her hands on the wooden frame. I squatted behind her and tugged the denim low, totally enjoying the sight of her gradually exposed flesh as I did so. She was my toy, my plaything, and I intended to fuck her senseless before she had her morning OJ.

The denim held her ankles in a fallen swath as she parted her legs and bent completely over. Still squatting, I held her ass open and teased her holes again, soaking her, drenching her with my probing tongue before standing once more and aiming my wide, silky cockhead to her eager pussy. Tilting my hips just right, I slowly slid inside her tightness and my chest heaved as I indulged in her heat. She felt fucking fantastic, and I grunted aloud as I started thrusting smoothly and deeply inside her core. Under me, she panted and squealed, pushing herself back against me as she totally got into getting fucked this way in the morning light.

I love it when my partner's ass smacks gently against me as I fuck from behind. I love it when they thrust back to me. I love it when I watch them, from above and behind, yield and give in to being taken for my thick, hard cock inside them. And, in this case, fucking my ex-lover Tomboy again felt delicious and saucv and just plain fun.

Her ass slammed harder against me as I took her deeper and faster. I coiled her long hair into my fist, and she moaned aloud when I tugged her head high and back, her mouth open as she got taken.

Soon, I withdrew from her, and in a no-nonsense, shut-up-and-come-along move, I wrapped her hair around my fist and practically pulled her back into the bedroom, her head tilted to one side as she snapped to it. Using her hair like a leash, I pulled right right to the esge of the bed and yanked her to the mattress, hard and fast, and then gripped her hips to keep her ass raised high in the air and her head down against the crumpled covers.

Standing above her, I held her ass open again and thrusted my cock back into her drenched pussy. She cried aloud and I used her hips to pull her backwards and forwards while I fucked her. Her cunt was mine. Her ass was mine. She screamed aloud as she felt me batter her walls until I felt my balls tense, my cock thicken, her wetness coax me, her tightness milk me, and then burst after burst of me exploding in steady streams.

Soon, I slowed down, and she was a puddle on the bed. My cock glistened when I withdrew from her, and with a deep and appreciative laugh, went to shower. She giggled, rolled herself back into the covers, and snoozed contentedly.

We went to breakfast. True to form for her newfound passion for riding, we went to a terrific local bistro with a cool biker vibe before she took the saddle again and rode her way home.

It was good to see her again. It was definitely good to fuck her brains out again. I felt reconnected, not only to our friendship, but to elements of my own sexual senses after the disconnects of the past several months in my continuing post-Kara, essentially-monogamous year.

Tomboy has since invited me to a holiday dinner at her pad, when her Idiot Boyfriend will be away doing his own thing. I wouldn't be the only one of her extracurricular lovers whom would attend, and I'm undecided as yet if I'll go. But it's an interesting thought.

Saturday, December 11, 2010

She came for another ride: second gear.

In the kitchen, the wine was still breathing, although not nearly as hard as we were in the bedroom.

I was hard as stone, grinding the length of my cock against the soft, flannel sheets as I lay on the bed, my legs akimbo, my chin and tongue drenched with her elixir. Her firm, warm thighs were splayed wide just above my shoulders, and my hands caressed her taut stomach as her shudders slowed down gradually. Her dewy, black stripe of pubes tickled the tip of my nose, and I turned my face to softly graze my cheek against that sexy tuft. It had been almost four years since the Tomboy's pussy had been at my mouth, and now it was time to fuck her. Hard.

I drew myself up to my knees, and her eyes were still clenched shut when she felt my hands begin to grip her lower thighs and splay her in place. She smiled wickedly when she looked up to me, her head wholly surrounded by multiple feather pillows. She knew what was coming: she opened her legs even wider, her knees bent, her mouth open as she sucked for air and looked into my eyes.

Resting her legs on my shoulders, I chewed on her right calf while I slipped on the condom. Holding the base of my cock in my fist, I tapped my cockhead against her eager nubbin, stroking and pressing my girth against her mound. Still on my knees, I inched my body closer to hers until our thighs met and her legs ran upward against me. In one slow, prolonged movement, I gently the slid the entire length of me inside her willing, eager, dripping core, my eyes closing tight now as I felt her grip me.

Her fists gripped the sheets as the look in her eyes shifted from yearning to yielding, her mouth agape in a silent cry, until I felt myself press against her cervix and began to thrust and pump.

Soon, my hands were gripping her legs from under her knees, gently forcing them to bend until they were almost meeting her full and shaking breasts. In this position, my body weight and angle held her in place so I could Take her and give her the full length of me in deep, demanding strokes. Her cunt was completely free to me now, her legs held open, her body in check, and when I started to thrust faster and faster still, she cried aloud in staccato pants and wails. The hardwood frame of the bed pounded against the hardwood floor, and I smiled to myself as the thudding blended sexily with her growing keens and groans.

Truth be told, I never expected that I'd ever fuck the Tomboy again, and now here she was, finally getting something from me that she had told me she had been longing for again.

She is so good for my ego.

I set both of her ankles across my right shoulder and kept the thrusting pace deep inside her. My left hand steadied her in place with a palm firmly planted against her chest, and she managed to wiggle a hand underneath us to grasp my smacking, full sack. I licked my thumb and wiggled it against her hard little clit. She cried out my name.

With a laugh, I pulled myself away from her and spun her around on the bed. Before me was her beautiful, heart-shaped ass, and while I intended to yank it high in the air and take her from behind, I knew I had to enjoy it up-close-and-personal first.

With a satisfying grunt, I cupped both of her asscheeks and brought my teeth to her flesh. Bites and nibbles later, she both giggled and yelped in brief spasms of teasing pain. I parted her open and delved my chin deep between her strong thighs to swab my tongue against her folds again, and upward still to dart a small circle or two around her clenched, dark rosebud. She moaned resonantly in reply.

"Mmm... you like my ass, don't you?" she asked as she pressed her face into the mound of pillows. I replied by pressing a wet fingertip firmly against her anus. Her head shot up.

"Yeah... oh fuck yeah," she said over her shoulder.

I knelt up again and gripped her hips firmly to tug her behind upward, setting her halfway on her knees. Again, she knew what was coming, and pressed her chest down to the bed. I smirked as I held her right asscheek in my grip then, opening her up, and aimed my cock to her pussy with my left fist. I tugged her backward and against me, filling her again. My knees weakened when I felt her behind slap against my pelvis and as I relished the sight of her cheeks below me. I ran nails down her back. Gripping a handful of her ass, I pumped and tugged her, fucking her steadily and deeply. I brought my thumb to her rosebud again.

"Yes, fuck yes," she panted. "Play with my ass. Do you know that the only ass play I ever get is from you or Terry?"

(Yes, she really said that. At that moment, I was so glad that I was behind the Tomboy, because the look on my face probably would have stopped traffic. Only the Tomboy, one of the most aggressively pro-poly women I have ever known, could have the cajones to mention a mutual friend and another one of her lovers mid-coitus. From any other woman, I probably would have been dumbstruck and maybe offended; but from the Tomboy, it was just too fucking funny.)

(And it didn't say much about her dumbass boyfriend if he wasn't giving her something she so obviously wanted. Especially considering that, thanks to a military and outdoorsy life, her ass is fucking yum. But I digress.)

So I bit my tongue, shook my head in amused disbelief, and wrapped her now-much-longer-than-I-remember-it brunette hair around my fist to tug her head back as I gave her two or three oh-yeah-take-this thrusts into that aggressively pro-poly pussy of hers. She screamed. I smiled.

I kept at her that way, fucking her hard and fast, and gradually slipped my lubed thumb into her backdoor. By then, her moans were reverberating throughout the bedroom as I took her, she face down and ass up, until the crook of my thumb made its way past her quivering sphincter.

I didn't fuck her ass. In retrospect, I should have. But I did discover something new for me when I found that my crooked, inserted thumb made a perfectly good hook when I raised my arm high and above her. As I kept the pace with my stiff, eager cock, it was my crooked thumb halfway inside her ass that I used to raise her butt even higher, pulling her upward with it, holding her high with it, my right bicep straining as I hooked her with it while I fucked her again and again and again and again and as she screamed aloud again and again and again and again in reply.

I was pumping hard and fast into her gorgeous, gripping pussy when I felt my balls tighten. Now pressing her down from her shoulderblades with one hand, a tight hold on her hip with the other as I matched her backstrokes against me with strong tugs to my pelvis, she looked over her shoulder to me when she felt my cock swell. Arching my hips higher, I felt burst after burst of me fill the condom as her pussy squeezed me, milked me, and as her bottom kept smacking audibly against my skin. With each stroke, my draining sack slapped against her aching and thrumming clit, and the Tomboy screamed aloud as she quivered and came underneath me.

We laughed. I collapsed. Warm towels. Panting. Riding the waves. Red wine and steak. Long conversations. More catching up. Her warm, naked skin beside me with the coming of sleep.


Thursday, December 9, 2010

She came for another ride.

"You know something?" she asked me the last time I saw her, perhaps a year ago, when I was helping her move out of the Toronto area. We were standing at my car as I got ready to go. Her idiot boyfriend, unhappy I was there but probably grateful for my help, had skulked back into the house they were leaving. We were dirty. Their U-Haul was packed.

"After we broke up," she continued, "you became the one I thought of the most when I masturbated."

Words I'll never forget.

More than three years since I ended things between us, we've remained friends. She's still with her freeloading, unemployed boyfriend and his sidekick, still defiantly polyamorous, and still as high-energy and boistrous as ever. She had heard that I'd recently become single again, and when she made plans to visit mutual friends in my area, she texted me to see if we could "meet over coffee or a beer." She said she'd be riding in and was concerned about the weather for the trip back. My brain was still on we're-just-friends mode when I mentioned that she'd be welcome to crash at my place if a night drive through the coming cold would be too much for her to bear. "We're-just-friends." I swear.

But it's also true that, still in post-Kara mode, I hadn't been properly laid in a while, and even during these last months she and I were together, things had cooled down some. Leave it to The Tomboy to tease me on this.

Tomboy: Ooo! I get to crash with you?

Me: You'll like the new place. And my new futon is way comfortable.

I have two futons. Only one of them is my bed. I swear.

Tomboy: ...Does that offer come with all the bonuses I'd like? Ha ha!

The Tomboy is an athletic, mid30s soldier who is among the most pro-poly women I know. Her myriad list of outdoorsy hobbies make her a riot to be with, and while sometimes I think she can be a little crazy, she's good people. And here she was, randomly suggesting that after more than three years, she'd like to share my bed again. A year of monogamy under my belt left me blinking my eyes a lot at the possibility, but I also knew that breaking my cherry again would go down so much nicer with a former lover and friend.

I was letting a bottle breathe when I heard her bike rumble down the driveway behind the house. I hadn't even seen her since she moved from the city, when she gave me that delicious praise, and it was a treat to hear her boots clonk up my stairwell to my pad. Hugs and laughter abounded. She removed the black leather chaps she wore, and as she turned her back to me, I was reminded of how gorgeous her heart-shaped ass is in a pair of jeans. My cock thrummed.

Small talk. Catching up. I tinkered with the filet mignon I was preparing and started to sauté the cremini mushrooms. Slowly, as we spoke, we found ourselves drawing closer to one another until, standing in my kitchen, our arms touched. I coiled a hand behind the nape of her neck and ran fingers through her dark brown hair, now much longer than I remember it being last.

"Kiss me," I told her. What followed left my stomach tightened and my cock as hard as stone as she let loose three years' worth of fantasizing against my lips. She feasted on me, her mouth opening for me as her tongue darted across my teeth and teased. She grunted when my arm wrapped itself snugly around her waist, her lips never leaving mine, her thigh raised to graze my own and her knee pressing gently but firmly against my crotch. She reached around me to grip my ass. I reached around her to grip hers.

When the kiss broke, I saw only one thing to do. I smiled wide, grasped her wrist, and led her to the bedroom. "Come on." She laughed out loud.

She tugged my shirt over my head as we knelt on the thick futon, and she stroked my nipples when she brought her mouth to mine again. Her shirt. Her head on my shoulder as I undid her bra. Her hand clutching at the hot bulge in my jeans.

When my hand rediscovered her breasts, memories of them flooded to me. Warm handfulls of her flesh stiffened me more, and she gently chewed on my ear as we knelt before one another while I enjoyed them.

The Tomboy, for all her sex-positive attitudes, is one of those few (in my experience) women in the world who reserves sucking cock "for special occasions." Go figure. It wasn't that way when we were together, but after three years, I wasn't going to assume anything and left well enough alone there. I, on the other hand, was craving warm and randy feminine flesh in my mouth at that point, and I intended to have it.

She splayed herself on her back, languishing in the cushions underneath her, as I drew my face to her bare stomach and started undoing her jeans. Raining kisses and tender bites on her abs, I snapped her pants open and started tugging them playfully, smiling as her black cotton panties revealed themselves to me. The jeans pulled off from her legs, she laughed when I bit her calves and reached for my long locks when I brought my head between her opened thighs.

"Oh, yeah..." she cooed. She hadn't felt my mouth in such a long time.

Pressing my lips to her covered mound, I exhaled deeply and roasted her. I looked up and into her smiling eyes as my warm, wet tongue swabbed in slow, searching strokes and pressed the cotton against her mons. Her underwear was drenched by both my saliva and her trembling, expectant excitement when I finally peeled them off and began sliding my tongue along her seam in earnest.

I had forgotten how gorgeous the Tomboy's pussy is. Soft crescents of reddening smooth skin framed her long and eager clit, which nestled at the core of some of the tightest, most gentle soft petals one could hope to find on such an orchid. A disciplined tuft of dark fur above pointed the way to her button, and I followed the directions it was giving me as I swabbed, as I licked, as I swirled my tongue around her glistening grrlshaft. The lightest of flicks at either side of her left the Tomboy in a cooing puddle of goo, her legs slowly squirming at either side of us, her head occasionally jolted from the pillows, her breathing deep and full of joy.

I love it when my partner likes to have her pussy sucked. I live for it. And when I finally started to slide my fingers inside her core, taunting her G-spot and pumping while I sucked her button quickly through my wet lips, her hips bucked as she rode my mouth. My free hand grasped her beautiful ass, caressed her abdomen, squeezed those tits that were left to sway along her chest with each shaking movement she made. She came in my mouth. A lot.

It healed me.

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

Bu iç çamaşırı ve seks oyuncak.

The things that amuse me.

To make a little extra cash while enjoying a healthy workout, lately I've been moonlighting with a large moving company run by a group of Turks. Occasionally, it also affords me a chance to drive a rig back home to New York or elsewhere, which is always fun.

But imagine the smirk on my face when, while unloading a truck of its contents, I spied something interesting affixed to the support beams in the storage warehouse. Yep, a pair of delicious, medium-sized magenta panties with black lacy trim. Oh, those wacky Turks.

And later that same day, I found myself moving the home of an award-winning Toronto documentary film-maker and his live-in, rail-thin, statuesque, raven-haired niece. While loading a bedside table from her boudour, I couldn't help but notice that the drawers had not been completely emptied and its contents packed elsewhere. I was about to notify her of this when, while absent-mindedly opening the drawers, I gasped in cock-hardening appreciation instead.

Inside, along with a small electric blanket and a paperback, was a Hitachi Magic Wand. It wasn't difficult at all to picture her long, slender legs splayed wide on the same mattress that I would later bag and carry into the truck. It made the heavy lifting so much more endurable.

Saturday, December 4, 2010

Little Ginger.

I had seen her profile on a dating site, and the truth is that, after reading several of her responses to personality-related questions, had already decided that she was a little self-centered and arrogant for me. But, I had to admit, with the spiky short red hair, the thick build, and the sex-positive attitude, she was cute.

And maybe, just maybe, she reminded me of Shayne.

She checked out my profile in return, and liked what she read and saw. A few days later, she wrote to me.

"Your profile sounds like I made you out of clay. Any chance you like gingers?"

What's not to like?

"I love men, real men, and I was so turned on by your profile because you seem to be the last man on Earth who understand what that means," she added later. "Open, confident, artistic and strong with power even, but as if you can wield it with contentment, integrity and grace. I also really like it when men look like men. *sigh!* I just couldn't leaf by your page. A nagging voice told me you wouldn't be intimidated by a girl who starts the chase."

Gradually, she grew on me. She opened up deliciously, and slowly I started to really appreciate the impetuous teeny firecracker that she is.

Little Ginger is a mid20s security guard with OPP aspirations and a Daddy fantasy. She could have been Shayne's younger sister.

"I like older men, though I have yet to really have one. Forbidden fruit maybe? I'm interested in the confidence, assuredness, and allure that comes with the grace and wisdom of age. I love the masculinity, eloquence and maturity which is supposed to come with age, which is why I just had to message you. I love the cut of your jaw, the beard, your eyes.

"I have a very deep sexuality that I have yet to explore. I feel like a painter who has been given a canvice the size of a postage stamp to create an opus. It would be nice to have someone who knows how to give, and draw out depth. I am still a bit shy and naive in this area, which is why I would so like to be drawn out."

But did I want to take this path again? Granted, I can totally enjoy being a Daddy to a perky sweet young thang. Granted, the idea of escorting said sweet young thang into the wonderful world of kink hardens my cock and tightens my chest. Mentor the little wench over my knee? Sign me up.

Sounds like a Top man's dream, no? But still something felt amiss. My psychic radar just wasn't convinced.

A few phone calls and I had her in giggles. A few textmessages later, and she was telling me how she was dying to press her face to my wide chest and drink in the scent of me. I knew she would drench at that, whatwith the essential oils I wear.

Facebook photos showed me the bulldog tattoo she proudly wears on her wide, freckled back. Her brastraps were also clearly in view on these pics, which probably prompted her to teasingly command me to stop looking at them when I commented. The po' thing. And, sure, in getting a sense of her look, I could easily see myself tugging her waist firmly with my arm as I rained my cupped hand down on what I was sure would be a pale, broad, sensitive, womanly ass.

But still this lingering sense of... nuh uh.

I picked her up near her pad, and her eyes widened when she saw me. We shook hands, a light hug, and we were off to a great little pub that's across the street from the comedy club I would take us to later. We played with dogs we passed on the street. Over onion soups and skewered shrimp, conversation revolved around the usual topics, and all the while I had the increasing sense that she was feeling overwhelmed. Unconsciously, and soon, consciously, I began to treat the evening as less than a date and more of just two people hanging out together. No spark. And to make it worse, the comics were mediocre.

It's disappointing when what should be a fun and terrific date turns out limp and uninspired. My first thought was that Little Ginger simply decided that she wasn't attracted after all, and being the Big Boy I am, was fine with handling that. We kept in touch over text, but her flirtations stopped. I didn't press it.

Eventually, she messaged me again. No, she insisted, it wasn't lack of attraction at all; in fact, she loved the way I look. But it seemed that, self-described naive girl she is, I scared her away not because of my Topself but because I was "too feeling." Huh?

You see, call me crazy, but I actually enjoy getting to know the person I'm dating. But, it would seem, because I actually was interested in getting to know Little Ginger as a person, plus me being the first "older man" she had gone out with, well, the little boo just got scared. I had asked her if she was ok, and I thought my question was me being nurturing. Seems all I did was spotlight her feelings of inadequacy. Oops.

"Ok, I need to come clean," she would write to say. "I had fun with you, and you are a great date. You came up with cool things to do and I liked talking to you, but I guess it's hard to take the fantasy out of the bedroom. Just picture me as an awkward teenager who came in her pants too soon... You were my first attempt... when I was nervous and you called me on it it made it worse... but you are cool."

Well, far be it from me to want to make a potential partner uncomfortable just by trying to appreciate who and what she really is. Yes, I like (and do) Daddy fantasy play just fine, but if "it's hard to take the fantasy out of the bedroom" enough for said potential partner to be open with me, well, hey, your loss, and I'd probably not really be interested anyway.

Later, Little Ginger would try to be haughty with me when I sought to confirm if I really had scared her away, as if she couldn't imagine that my own intuition sensed it far before she felt it necessary to explain herself. Can you say "overcompensation"?

While the date was reasonably fine as far as nights out are concerned, Little Ginger also reminded me that I'm a lot more sophisticated now than when I was in my mid20s, and all that 'confidence, assuredness, allure, grace, wisdom, masculinity, eloquence and maturity' that I do in fact possess will be better offered to a woman who is far more my equal than teenagers who come in their pants too soon.

"Take care of yourself: you're a good kid," was my last textmessage to her.

She didn't reply.

Thursday, December 2, 2010

Jam formations.

I was already totally into her apparent ability to adapt and overcome to life's circumstances and her understanding of the same in others, her goals, her spirituality and how I see it resonated with her desire for laughter and positive manifestation. I could easily see how her love for interesting foods would coalesce beautifully with my love to cook. Her pictures on the dating site totally rocked my socks with her intense eyes, her freckles, her short and shining hair, and her womanly form.

But when I learned she was into competitive roller derby, I knew I'd get hooked.

Me, whose chest tightens over empowered, kickass women. Me, who smirked broadly when I read she was "really good at hitting women in fishnets."

Yeah, I've been dating. So has Rollergrrl, of course, and we've even talked about her desire to keep trying with a quasi-ex, Mr. Lucky, as she oh-so-struggles with apparently enjoying talking with me online, and recently, on the phone.

No, I haven't met her. And, no, I'm not really trying to jinx anything by writing about this growing acquaintance. But, thanks to our shared friend, she already knows about the blog, and she's already shared with me that it's turned her on.

(Hi. Are you reading this now? And are you smiling?)

I already knew that I could easily fall into Serious Like with this woman. And when our flirtations found themselves directed into her sharing of how she could easily enjoy seeing herself splayed across my lap for a sound, firm, over-the-knee bare-bottom spanking, well...

But you'll have to bear with me as I deliberately keep those details from you. I'm enjoying that as a between-Rollergrrl-and-I moment.

I'm writing this now because I want to leave a mark: yes, I'm dating again, and yes, it's entirely possible that future posts will involve experiences with other women than Rollergrrl. Like, of course they will. Like, again, I have yet to even physically meet her yet.

But I'm sensing a vibe here that I'm really enjoying. It isn't very often when my bones tell me that Something Could Really Be Good Here sight-unseen, based on first impressions. I'm not projecting, I'm not assuming anything, and for all I know right now we could end up only Just Friends. But I'm also enjoying that feeling of Possibility and Potential when my inbox shows a reply from her and when I hear her articulate, sensual voice on the phone. She seeking to manifest her desires in life; if I'm right, I think I could definitely enjoy perhaps being a part of them.

She's very yum.

I'm just sayin.

Monday, November 29, 2010

Graduation Day.

Where to begin.

My puter complications continue, and that's one big reason why I haven't been posting that often lately. But it's also true that my head has been in bizarre space.

It's been about a month since I've gone into post-Kara living, and it's somewhat surreal. Finding her brand-spanking new profile on one of my favourite dating sites was interesting to be sure, but it didn't stop me from sending her real compliments. As friends, we haven't been getting together nearly as frequently as I think we've intended, but that's very probably more about our mutually crazy schedules too.

But one thing I've learned about myself in the past, and am living in again, is this seeming reluctance to share my path right after a relationship break. It's odd (and hardly conducive to decent blogging) but I think I do it out of some strange sense of respect for my previous partner. What's weird is that I don't seem to do this when I'm the primary one to end a relationship, but when I'm the recipient of that axe, and one might otherwise think that I'd be eager and gung-ho about posting about whom I've Been With since, as if I were subconsciously (or not) thumbing a nose to The (Insert Expletive) Who Left Me.

I guess I'm just not that petty.

I think I can live with that.

Is it weird for me to not blog about what I've been up to this month out of some latent desire to not, somehow, make Kara uncomfortable? She's a reader of the blog, after all. (Hi, hon.) Am I, in restricting myself, being a gentleman after some fashion, or am I holding out a candle for her? The mental gymnastics I go through.

Perhaps I'll feel better if I make some kind of caveat. Like this:

Kara? Hi, it's me.
You know, the guy who took you to your first playparties, you spanked your delightful little bum in public, and who gave you delicious head.
I'm sorry that we didn't play nearly as much as we wanted to.
I felt as though we were still just getting started,
and I'd been eager to tie you up more, see you in the corset we bought,
and do so much with you.
But, you know, for your own reasons, it ended. Yeah, I miss your company.
But, you know, you were dating a guy who writes a sex blog.
While our ending isn't the only reason it's been quiet here, it's true that I've been ambivalent about writing much because I like you, respect you,
and because I haven't wanted to sting you.
After all, for the year-plus we were together,
we were essentially monogamous.
You can safely say that you are the first person to have returned me to that zone for more than ten years. And I was actually starting to like it.
But, you know, maybe it wouldn't have stung.
I don't know, and I chose to err on the side of caution.
And, either way, it's been long enough now that I think I'm ready to be writing again. I still don't want it to sting you.
In the end, it's entirely up to you if you want to continue reading.
We're both adults here.
I'm going to move forward in my writing, my sharing, now.
Just know, and I hope you'll enjoy knowing, that I miss you,
your laugh,
and gripping your beautiful little ass as I take you hard from behind.
A lot.
Love you.


sigh
There.

Sunday, October 31, 2010

Two minus one.

I know. It's been a while. Sorry, guys.

I stand on my balcony and sip green tea in the morning, a calico mewling around my ankles as I watch more red and golden leaves drop to the earth below amid a misty late October drizzle. I can smell the coming rain as I look toward the treetops ahead. In the parlour behind me, I can hear my cell make that tinkling noise it does when I'm receiving a textmessage, and for a moment I feel that familiar flash of excitement in the centre of my chest before I remind myself to relax and calm down, because it very probably isn't her.

It's been a challenging last several weeks. Sure, it's been difficult to get much writing done as I still work to replace my puter, and that has also meant that momentum here has slowed to a crawl.

Not that there hasn't been a lot worth writing about. In Toronto, we seem to have elected a new mayor who has a record of opposing funding for sex-positive events such as the annual Pride parade. There's been at least two tragic, major crime stories in the news here that, at least on some level, involve elements of kink. Sex workers here won a major legal victory on safety issues, yet the benefits of this nationwide decision remain held just out reach from them as the country renews its debate over sex worker presence to begin with. All stuff worth discussing with you-all.

But, you know, life happens. And that brings me to this post.

What began with strong potential over a pleasant Pelee Island blanc de blanc concluded recently over discussion with a bolder Australian malbec/shiraz. White to red, beginnings to endings. And we never did get to buy that 2009 bottle of something-Ontario to celebrate our Us, intended to be purchased online because that was how we had met. Pity. It was a fun idea.

Kara, the lithe and sexy math teacher I've been partners with for a little more than a year now, and I have moved toward a Just Friends relationship. We're done.

It's been a few weeks, and I admit to being disappointed, if not perhaps completely surprised. She did, after all, warn me early on that her relationships tend to be brief, but, you know...

But the fact is that while some of the awkwardness is still working itself out, we're both really doing ok. We get together on occasion. I still adore her kids. But she's in a space in her world where she needs to tread some paths on her own, or so she tells me. Me, my thoughts and feelings are mixed, but we both agree that while we love each other, we haven't been In Love with one another, and we seem to be at peace with this realization. And we don't want to lose one another as friends.

Or, at least, that seems to be the pulse so far.

Kara reintroduced me to a new appreciation for personal wellness. I introduced her to the world of positive kink play. She reminded me of how fantastic being around children can be. I like to think that I reminded her of how fantastic being personally intrepid can be.

And, for the record, I really enjoyed being with a teacher. It's a profession that I deeply admire. And I really enjoyed her healthy consciousness, her infectious laughter, her background, and yes, her delightfully spankable little ass. As I packed away her remaining items of clothing that had been kept in my pad, each shirt or sock or pair of sexy panties that I had happily, impulsively bought for her felt like one more step away.

And, yes, there are still hot stories that remain untold. The night of our anniversary, and Kara on her hands and knees, outside, on my balcony, as the lesbians downstairs tried their best not to listen. Will I share these sordid, fun stories? Perhaps. Not yet.

Being with Kara was also an interesting "lynchpin" place for me. For most of my life, my relationships have been consensually non-monogamous and polyamorous. While Kara and I discussed our thoughts about this early in our relationship, and while we agreed that monogamy wasn't necessarily for everybody, in practice that's what we essentially became. We wanted to nurture an Us-time, and often we talked about the process of what we were doing and how we liked each step.

So, in its aftermath, I find myself re-evaluating my stance. Am I enjoying a monogamous frame now? Will I return to an entirely poly lifestyle? ...I think, at this point, at this stage, I'm going to Wait And See. A lot will depend on whom I find myself seriously dating next... whenever that will be. I suppose this means I'm in an amiable, open place as I take stock of what I want. Self-reflection can never be a bad thing.

This blog has had an interesting dynamic. On one hand, it's about explicit sex, and when I write to get us off, I enjoy it very much. But it's also about relationships, dating, connections, at least from this sordid man's point of view. And when I'm at juncture such as this, it's challenging for me to know from one post to the next where I'm going to be coming from. Part of me dislikes being "back to the drawing board," because I do so love sharing my heart and spirit with a partner. Part of me likes being there because I do also enjoy the anticipation of whom might be the upcoming person in my future. It's a schizoid way of looking at it all, but in some weird interior space, it feels healthy.

I'm hoping to enjoy a long and fruitful friendship with this woman. As her lover, I'm going to miss caressing her wee faerie form in my bed. I'm going to miss feeling her shake and hearing her cry out as my tongue and hands coaxed her into bliss. I'm going to miss the warmth of her hips as I tugged her down and deeply onto me.

You are excellent people, Kara. I've enjoyed being your man, at least for a time. And thank you for every gift you brought into my world.

There is so much I never got to share with you. I will miss you.