I’ve been writing stories that are partly fiction and party journal entries. At the same time, I am trying to tear away the artifice and bullshit others hide behind, while I myself hide. I am not ashamed of anything I’ve ever done, much as outsiders might enjoy judging me, but what is the benefit of sharing my experiences as mine? I already own them. Is it grandstanding? Bravado? Because I don’t want that. I want my stories to serve the greater good. The things we do, our sexual appetites, make sense in the moment. Circumstances evoke our true nature much more than any ideas we have about ourselves. If this is who I am, there must be others like me, although I’ve only found those women in books. I don’t know how much courage I have for this, I do know that part of my lot in life is to shatter conventions, to dig deeper, and to engage in the ‘rapture of being alive.’
This story is true only the names have been changed to protect the guilty.
What I remember most is being tied to the bed of that same seedy hotel room Sean and I had met in many times. This time I was blindfolded – which I love.
Not being able to see is one of the best ways to get my mind to stop. I never stop thinking. It’s not obsessive because I don’t bare down on details. My mind is like a great chaotic mosaic, and it works ceaselessly to find connections for every idea and event within the context of all the other chaos. I get lost in the matrix of my own thoughts for days. To be in the physical world is a kind of bliss I hunger for endlessly.
I like to be shared. It happens rarely because men don’t really like to share – especially when they have claimed their territory and even more when that territory gives them status. When Sean wanted to share me, I was flattered he wanted someone else to taste his conquest, and I knew he wouldn’t share me with just anyone. I didn’t want to know who this person was. I didn’t even want to know his name. I wanted no connections. I wanted to be a body, an object, that would offer very rare, almost forbidden pleasures.
I like not knowing anything about the men I fuck. I prefer knowing nothing – because my lust of your body doesn’t mean I accept you, your thoughts, your way of life or even that I like you. The less I like a person, the more sexual pleasure I enjoy. The more anonymity I have, the more I will give of myself physically. (I am aware that is counter intuitive.)
Sean left me tied and blindfolded for a while or his friend was late. It allowed me to wonder why I liked being out of control. Why I could revel in escapades I wasn’t willing to take full responsibility for. It allowed me to find a point of acceptance and stillness within my electrically charged fear. I don’t know whether I was more afraid of an unknown man coming to that hotel room or if I was more afraid of myself for wanting it so much, but the fear turned me on to the point of shivering. The cold air of the hotel room caressed every inch of my bare flesh and the ache to be touched kept rising far beyond any I had ever felt before.
I heard Sean pick up his phone, and my adrenaline soared, but I didn’t hear what he said. I heard him open the door and I heard the man walk in. The adrenaline rush was extraordinary. There was no turning back now. The threshold had been breached. I knew he was younger than both Sean and I, in his 30’s I think. He lived in the mountains near Yosemite, and I knew that he had driven for about 4 hours to get to that hotel room. I thought I could smell the trees and road in the air when he walked in, but it was probably my mind romanticising this incredibly unreal moment. My heart beat incessantly.
I’ve never been shy about being naked in front of people. I’ve been naked on stage in a few plays and I have been an artists model since I was 17. But I’m not usually spread open with my sex exposed the way Sean had opened and exposed me. The sound of that strange man’s voice taking in the moment almost sent me over the edge. I could hear the awe in his voice. A realisation that the scene Sean had proposed to him was now a reality. There was something about that sound suggesting he was humbled by the gift.
That sound meant everything to me. I am not an attractive girl. What you see in those pictures are filters and paint. It is only on very rare occasions that I am admired, but to be admired like this - so completely without any self-consciousness almost made me giddy. At that point, the blindfold created the mask I needed to hide behind. I can be more of myself in a mask because it affords me a completely private space in an absolutely public and exposed setting.
He walked over to the bed and caressed my leg. I wanted to feel his hands on every inch of my skin. He said something about my gorgeous breasts, and then he played with my nipples. I have baby nipples, so they don’t perk up and respond externally but those nerves connect deeply within, and my whole torso convulsed to his touch. I wanted to feel his full weight on top of me. I love being completely naked against the body of man who is fully dressed – there is something taboo about it, something vulnerable, something unbelievably sexy to me – but that was not to be. Sean is adamant about hygiene and safe sex, so he sent Mike – that was his name – to take a quick shower. When I finally got to feel him on top of me he was clean but naked.
I hadn’t anticipated that they would talk about me as though I wasn’t there. It added to my experience of being desired. I hate being dismissed and disrespected, but I love being desired. When I see a man look at me as though he could devour me whole, something deeply primal awakens at the core of my being. My nerves come alive from those prehistoric origins of being prey and being preyed upon. My instinct is not to run but to stay and fight. My limbic system cuts the cord to my thinking, and I am immediately catapulted into an animal existence. This is the intensity I seek – in some circles it is similar to sub space – this was not exactly that but it is the rapture of being alive without being completely dangerous…except:
The pounding on the hotel room door sent the room into an immediate panic. I have no idea what the men did, but I heard the bathroom door shut. I instinctively tested my ability to release myself from the restraints but there was no way out. There was a second round of pounding, and Sean asked who it was – he was buying a little time to get his pants on – it was Mike that had gone into the bathroom. When Sean answered the door, I tried to remember if the bed could be seen from door because I was still completely exposed. I don’t blame Sean for not trying to cover me – but he made no attempt to even try to cover me. It was clear from Sean’s voice that this was not an addition he had anticipated. All I could think was how quickly this amazing fantasy could turn into a complete nightmare. It was the hotel clerk returning Sean’s credit card, which he had forgotten at the front desk.
The door shut, Mike emerged from the bathroom, and we all burst into absolute laughter, which is as weird as weird can get when you’re blindfolded and tied to a bed with a total stranger and the man who is the keeper of your most sacred desires. But it was also offered an extraordinary realisation about the absurdity of what we were doing. What still astonishes me most, was how the room seemed to shift back into a solemn reverence almost as quickly as it had devolved into a momentary carnival. None of us was willing to let the intrusion unravel the taught threads of intensity we had just begun to weave.
Sean laid down next to me to hold me and kiss me. He wanted to make sure I felt safe and he asked me if I wanted to stop. I shook my head no because I didn’t want to speak. It’s one of the reasons I hate safe words. There are times when I absolutely do not want to speak. Not having safe words, usually stopped Sean from asking. Words of any kind force me to think and assess which immediately engages my brain, stops my physical experience and puts me back at ground zero. In this case it was absolutely justified, but I still didn’t want to speak – and in this instance my not speaking let Sean know that I was still in it, to the point of being speechless.
Sean offered my mouth to Mike and slid away. Mike’s lips barely touched mine for an incredibly long time. Then he kissed me, almost like a school boy. I was about to lose heart that he had it in him to take me if his kiss was so meek, but I could almost feel him get hard as he kissed me deeply. It was like a spigot released blood to his lips, tongue and cock simultaneously, and I fed on his mouth like a baby vampire – if there is such a thing.
The next thing I heard was the tearing of a condom wrapper. I absolutely regret that I did not get to see Sean put the condom on Mike. The image in my mind of Sean preparing Mike to take me fills my dreams. I felt Mike crawl onto the bed, I felt him fumble around my sex with his fingers to position himself and then I felt myself penetrated by his gorgeous, hard, cock - his girth more formidable than his length. My naturally silky – and at this point abundant – lubricant is great for length but is less effective with expanse. But at the moment of complete penetration, all the tension in my muscles released into a fluid of chemical reactions that defied orgasm.
The power that surged through me as I felt his nervous heart flutter against my chest almost made me cry out in triumph. His body couldn’t lie to me even if he had wanted it to – and because he was discovering me for the first time physically, his whole body was receptive to my unvarnished, raw responses.
He held himself against me and allowed me to take him in and to grind against his hips. He allowed me to angle myself against him, so his cock stroked my g-spot perfectly and my clit caressed the soft tuft of hair right at his pelvic bone. Much as I was tied up with very little wiggle room, this was a man who knew enough to get out of my way and let me find those pleasure centres that tend to elude everyone but the one who wears them. My first orgasm was a deep, slow burn that barely reached its height. It was an initial, necessary release that allowed me to relax into a long afternoon of what seemed like an endless ebb and flow of pleasure.
He pulled out quickly to avoid cuming himself, and I couldn’t help but grin like a fool. Giving men pleasure is so much more of a turn on than men usually understand – and I like to make it impossible for a man to hold on or hold back. If I hadn’t been restrained, I would have latched on to him and unrelentingly pumped until he released every drop inside me. But I was tethered and reined.
Sean, who I can only assume was watching over us like a benevolent overlord, caught my shit-eating grin and suggested that my mouth be used to suck Mike clean. The smell and taste of my own pleasure on a mans cock is a pungent sweetness of its own kind. I’ve tasted other women off of my lovers’ cocks, and it’s not the same as my own. Theirs makes me want to taste more of the woman, mine makes me want to taste more of the man.
Suckling Mike was not easy from my prone position, so Sean released my wrists, and at that point, Mike wanted to be seen so my blindfold was taken off. It takes a special kind of courage to want to be seen after being felt and it is so utterly rare to see for the first time only after a physical experience. I kept my eyes closed for a moment so that I could drop further down into the physical - so what I felt would colour what I was about to see rather than relying on my sight to colour what I felt.
His soft amber eyes looked more vulnerable than my own vulnerability felt when he walked in the room. He wanted me to like what I saw so much it almost felt like a plea. I stopped myself from smiling and letting him easily off the hook. I can be devilish when I want to be, but I really wanted the moment to last – and I wanted to take his experience so much further. I got on to my knees to balance myself, and I reached my hands to trace the contours of his face with my fingers. He was tan and weather worn from his mountain life cutting trees for the forest service. My fingertips imprinted on every seasoned line and wrinkle. I observed every eyelash, marvelled at the perfect curve of his eyebrows, felt the hard cut of his cheekbones, and I scratched his beard with my nails before pulling him in for a deep, accepting, thankful kiss. It was such an exquisite opportunity and such a lovely breaking of tension and expectation, and a beautiful soothing of need and healing of fear. He and I were both good, we were both able, we both concurred.
While I think it’s trite to equate a woman’s pleasure with a surf report, when the tide is in and the waves gather slowly, building deeply before crashing and pounding the shore, it’s very hard not to use the cliché. The one gift god gave women, was the ability to have multiple orgasm over many, many hours. It is a gift that I wouldn’t give up for anything, and it was a gift put to incredible use for hour after hour that day.
For the men who have read this: the reason more women don’t indulge in this fantasy is that they are left to feel like whores or used trash rather than being treated with the reverence we deserve for being the rare creatures of pleasure that we are.