Die einreichende Walküre.

This post may be a little anticlimactic and a little surreal, and if so, it's only because this most recent experience was as well.

The Valkyrie and I have been Just Friends for more than ten years.

We met when I was first visiting Canada, before the damned marriage that led to me taking residence here. I'd been visiting Toronto to teach some workshops, quickly found myself among a crowd of mostly interesting people, and immediately wound up seduced by one of her friends (but that's another story). The days when I was more innocent and impressionable.

(Oh, shut up.)

I visited Canada more often, dated other women from among that crowd of interesting people, and eventually moved here to pursue the aformentioned marriage-made-in-hell (and again, that's another story). But the friendship between The Valkyrie and I continued to grow, mostly founded on our shared interests, our drinking, and generally being opinionated, outspoken people in a British commonwealth nation where no one tells you what's really, truly, honestly on their fucking minds.

The Valkyrie is a very Teutonic, early40s damn-near-platinum longhaired blonde BBW who would look absolutely natural were she to come to dinner dressed in amber-decorated armor and carrying a seven foot pike bearing the head of her ex-boyfriend. She'd be the perfect alewife, clad in a heavy boustier and with her massive fists sporting two or three pottery tankards of frothing brew, except that she's far more likely to be among the drinkers at the worn wooden table beside the fire than she would be the wench to serve it.

Yes, it's true, she and I have been flirty with one another for years and years. Yes, during a mutual birthday party that we threw for one another, I semi-drunkenly tugged her into a private nook to give her a "friendly" kiss. (...Um, ok. I thought it was a private nook... it wasn't unti, loooong after when I was told her then-boyfriend witnessed thw whole thing. Oopsie.) And, yes, it's true, over the years, she's talked to me for friendship and counsel about her own sex life on the rare occasion.

But, and I swear on a stack of Prose Eddas, everything in the back of my mind was simply Just Friends flirtaciousness. Really.

Alright. There was the one time she came over my pad for dinner and there was... this tension... and the underlying question of, "Valkyrie, darling, are you here because you wanted to fuck?" It certainly seemed that she wanted to. Over a few glasses of wine, the question hung in the air, but in the end, both word and body languange made it clear that she had reservations. So nothing happened. And that was fine. We've been Just Friends, after all. And it quickly was put out of my mind. No worries.

So if you're getting the impression by now that there's apparently been this odd, lingering, hot-and-cold vibe from the Valkryrie, you'd be right.

Now try to imagine where my headspace was when, totally and completely out of the blue, I suddenly get this call from her some time after public knowledge among my friends was that I was single again. My headspace was in Complete Dismissal when it came to the Valkyrie. Totally off my radar. Not even a blip in the fuckability option department. Long gone.

So when she starts asking for my advice about how to best approach a bdsm scenario that she's been thinking about, I blinked a little to myself (because, lemme tell ya, the Valkyrie woulda been the last woman I'd have expected to have submissive fantasies) and simply offered my straightfoward, friendship-based, objective thoughts. Not a problem. Happy to help. That's what sex-positive friends are for, dude.

But what began as an unexpected little chat with an old friend quickly became a bizarre, though not unpleasant, gradual mental gymnastics session of leapfrogged ideas and expectations. Let me explain.

Let's call it a "performance art project" that she wanted to pursue, and one that would involve the Valkyrie submitting herself to an experienced dominant male who would escort her through a bondage experience that would intentionally result in her orgasm. That we share some background in such things is one reason, as she said, why she approached me, plus she knew about my background in kink, and she trusts me. So, when I invited her over to my place for a relaxed dinner to discuss all this with her in detail, I thought I'd be trying to learn more about her (sudden?) interest in kinkplay while also trying to get an idea of what sort of art piece she was envisioning. Because, over time and further discussion, it was apparent that wanted me to be her partner in this.

Whoah, said I to myself. So, my inner voice continued, you're not just asking for my thoughts, but to be my playpartner for said art piece? Hrm...

Maybe I would have been more relaxed had she just come out and asked me to do this from the get-go. I know I wasn't entirely thrilled to have had to put it together, despite the fact that such a request was, in reality, a charming and sensitive offer. But I'm kvetching.

She comes for dinner. I make some succulent marlin steaks in a light ginger-tamari sauce with butter-sauteed creminis. She breaks out some really excellent Hells Angels hydroponic cannabis. Good food, good hard cider, good weed, and a good friend who seems to be rekindling an interest in my bod and I'm feeling very, very nice.

But the Little Voice in my head knew that something was still amiss here, although I couldn't put my finger on it. Perhaps the best decision would be to take things one step at a time. Test the waters. See what's what. There'd be plenty of time to see where the Valkyrie's head was at as far as her submissive fantasies were concerned.

And it was when I was in this thought, in this cannabis-hued fog, when she stood close to me and pressed her double-D treasures against my arm and kissed me deeply.

"I've been waiting for you, you know," she said.

Had I been totally sober, I might have quirked my head to one side and asked her about that. But I wasn't. Instead, my hands reached upward and were soon squeezing two handfuls of very blonde, very German, very big tit, and I couldn't stop the laughter at the unusual (for me) experience of it all.

The bedroom. The Valkyrie, topless. My hands and mouth, feasting. Her wide and pink areolae. The snap of her jeans before my face. My teeth at her fleshy ribs as I undid it and lowered them. Denim being pulled down her legs. Her white panties. Her shaven mound. Her thighs in my hands as I closed my eyes and feasted, elsewhere, again.

I knelt up, stripped off my shirt. How odd to see my longtime friend before me, on her back on my back, naked. How interesting to see myself lubing my hands as she parted her strong legs wider. How the heat of her clung to my skin after I teased her open and began to slide my fingers... one, two, three... four... two from one hand and three from another... deeper, gently pistoning, moving inside her body. Her pussy opened like an orchid for me, and the Valkyrie gasped and bit her lips as she clutched the sheets, panted, and screwed her eyes tight. My hands glistened in the lamplight. She came into my palms.

On my back. She's kneeling beside me. My hands caress through her long, perfectly straight, platinum hair as the back of her slowly bobbing head fills my hand gently. I'm sinking into the pillow as I feel the cider, the weed, the food, and her soft and open mouth gently taking the head of me inside. It's a relaxed, slow movement that she's doing, no real suction to speak of, but a gentle bob of mouth and lip with the occasional dart of tongue. Gentle. Pleasant. She holds the base of me firmly in her fist, her face away from me, her body leaning against mine.

"You are just so... perfectly shaped," she tells me between tastes.

(Mm. Nice. I love it when lovers tell me that sort of thing. In my experience, so many women don't say what they're liking. Tell me. Men like to hear it too.)

I tug her up, bring her face to mine for deep kisses. My hands slowly down her spine, her hips, grasping her generous behind. Her kisses become deeper still when she feels my fingers teasing her rosebud, and her heart quickens. She's straddling my thigh, grinding her core against me.

I get the hint. I slowly spin around and over her, and she's already assuming a yielding position as she pulls a pillow under her breasts and parts her legs while raising that butt a little higher. My thighs at either side of hers as I kneel up, reach into the drawer nearby, and warm the lube in my hands before teasing her crinkled hole with it. By the time I'm noisily stroking my hardness and getting it wet, she's biting her lower lip and whispering very quietly.

"Yes, please, God, yes."

The tip of me against her, and I'm surprised at how fluidly, how easily she takes me in. She tenses just slightly, but soon I sense it's more from pleasure and expectation than discomfort, so it isn't long before my fists are just above her shoulders as I deeply stroke myself into her body. I'm fucking my friend of more than a decade in her ass.

She's gasping, her eyes clenched shut, repeating my name. I set myself to thrust my cock in long, steady strokes and feel the perspiration between my shoulderblades. I hold her open more with a palm gripping her right asscheek as I piston myself inside her in consistent, steady motions until she starts to stiffen underneath me. Shudders. Quaking. A brief moment of total, ecstatic silence just before her loud shout and whimper as she feels her cum build and finally crest while she's getting taken. I don't relent, I don't slow down just yet, I don't show her mercy, and she's getting the full length of me deep.

Her eyes open, her breathing steadies, and only then do I relax and bring myself to a gradual stop. I withdraw, we cuddle, and snooze for a short while in the lamplight.

"I think," she slowly says after I've left the bed to warm some towels for us, "that... that's the first time I've ever cum by being fucked in the ass..."

I smile. The rest of our evening was relaxing, full of talk and discussion, before we drifted to sleep. It was nice to not be in an empty bed again. The cats squeaking in the morning. A light breakfast. Tea. Showers.

"Would you like to fuck me in my ass again?"



I did note that this post would be anticlimactic. I was certainly anticlimactic, and experience has taught me that when I don't cum with a lover, there's usually a subliminal reason. True, that frequently happens the first time I'm with someone new, but my cells were telling me that it was something more.

Was it because she and I had been Just Friends for so long? Maybe. But if Bree ever found herself in my bed (and you'll learn about Bree in a future post), I have no doubt that my bursts would reach the stratosphere. So maybe it was because during our friendship, it's been on-again, off-again flirty with the eventual (seemingly) entrenched conclusion that Nothing Was Gonna Happen.

And maybe it was because, once this new vanillafucking started, the Valkyrie seemed to speed from zero-to-sixty. She wanted to share a bdsm-related art art project with me. Really? Sounds like fun! Ok, let's talk. She's been "waiting for me." Waiting for me? But... you've been blowing me off for years. No, she wants to be my playpartner. Uh, ok. Can we still talk about the project you want to do? No, she wants to be my slave... whoa, that's a big step, you sure you know what you're... She wants to be my girlfriend. Huh? Um, hang on, maybe cool, yeah I'm single right now, but you're going a little... She wants to see me every weekend... fast here...

Now, you'd think that I, being single now and potentially thrilled to encounter a partner with a passion for kinkplay and someone who already knows me really well, would have been flying high happy. But I'm also conscientious and a little bit of a cynic, and when my synapses are starting to hit overload, I've learned to listen.

And I like the Valkyrie. I really do, but I was starting to feel a little railroaded. I was still adjusting past the wait-we're-Just-Friends stage when I was being essentially told what my weekend schedules would start to be like.

You like me? Awesome! You wanna fuck me? Sweet! You want to splay yourself across my lap and be my playpartner? Cool! You wanna be my girlfriend? Yay, great!

But... could I be included in this decision-making process too?

It's slightly challenging to write this sort of thing because, you know, I'd be thrilled to be in a bonafide relationship again. I would. But if I can't do it with my eyes and head and heart and voice and priorities and boundaries open, being listened to as much as I work hard to be listening, then hey, I'd rather stay single. Good sex is great, it's a requirement, but dude, it isn't all of it. Not for a relationship.

So I was on the threshold of having A Conversation about this consciousness with the Valkyrie and see about happily working with her in her kinky art project alone for a while when the Fates helped decide it all for me. Within three weeks of our tawdry tussle, she had explored a kinky social site enough to connect with someone else, another male Top, in another city. She seemed smitten.

Oh. Ok.

She actually asked for my permission to pursue this other guy. What struck me the most about that was that, by doing so, she clearly had already developed kink expectations that I was her Top. I wasn't. Not by a long shot. One (ok, two) assfucks and a homecooked dinner does not your Top make.

Do I need to vanillafuck every potential subbie playmate before I consensually, happily use&abuse 'em? No. (Oddly, had I just dove straight into bdsm Top-headspace instead of as a relaxed-guy-just-taking-her-out-on-a-date-and-getting-to-know-you with Little Ginger, I very probably would have had her as Silly Putty in my hands too.) But because of all the mental gymnastics I found myself in, because subbie play is a totally new shiny for her, because sometimes I worry about her headspace and any possible fragilities under her double-D armour, I wanted to approach things an ittybittytitty step at a time.

Had she been collared by Me, yes, asking would have certainly been appropriate... but in my mind, we had barely scratched the surface. I never had a chance to catch up to the paradigms that she seemed to increasingly, rapidly want.

And trust Me, had I taken her under my glove, she would have fucking known.

We're still friends, of course. As best as I can, I've decided to keep a discrete eye on her because she's a kink beginner and God knows there are some pretty loopy dudes out there too. If it comes up again, maybe, yeah, I'll see about helping her in her project. But, as I continue in a nonpartnered world, I'm also a little relieved.