Posts tagged bruises
Happy Birthday to Me: Rope Journaling 7-26

A year ago I wouldn't have believed anything about this weekend. That I would be with someone like you. So comfy and unafraid. So well liked and able to show affection in return. That everything is so easy. That we would be on a trip together reclaiming the ugliness of our pasts. Kissing and caressing away the rough edges other lovers left behind. Hand in hand sharing sweetness and silliness where there had been tears or heartbreak before. 


Where did you come from? This young body/old soul fitting against mine. Popping up when I would be most likely to see and enjoy you as I wouldn't have been able or willing before. Life introducing us when we both seem so ready to learn from old mistakes in order to move on to bigger and better things.



You are like a calming influence, taming the wild thing I used to be. Making me at ease with who I am and what I like. No shame in making myself physically and emotionally naked to you. You tame the wild me who once needed so much but never felt close to satisfaction. That me always needed more. But you fill me to bursting with happiness and a thrum of pleasure. I sleep (well, as much as either of us sleep) contentedly next to you, feeling close to someone like I never have before. Secure. Seen. Valued. You turn towards me instead of away.


It wasn't orgams or bodies or intensity I was looking for. It was intimacy. That secretly calming influence was the secret ingredient I had been missing all these years. And it's there when I look into your eyes and tell you how I feel and you smile the words back. Or when I thank you for trusting me and giving me the gift of being trustworthy in return. Or when I make myself vulnerable to you and you enjoy it, sighing and pulling me closer as I let myself go with you as I do with so few. There's no judgement, only exploration between us as we reclaim in the bedroom as well. “You're not good at that” or “ew I would never do that” turns into “I'm willing to try” and “I look forward to experimenting with that again.” Smiles and shakey legged exhaustion follow our bedroom talks as I continue to learn something new about you each time.


You take my lust and my limerence and ask for more instead of less. You ask for more time, more experience, more knowledge. You say needy with quotation marks while kissing me instead of needy as an accusation. But I don't feel needy for you I just feel respected and wanted. No need just a preference for you. You close is better by far than you at a distance.  Your body near and wrapped around mine all night. Your smile frequent and close and you understanding my weird as I try to understand yours.


A year ago i would have laughed at anyone who would have told me how I would spend my week turning a year older. That it would go smoothly. That I would happily consent to Star Trek and D&D exhibits along side Babeland and beaches. That we would become more entangled instead of less. That at least one birthday wouldn't involve a break up or heartbreak of any kind. That a man I've known for a couple months would know and care what makes me happy better than the boys I knew before him. That we would find the simplest most childlike happiness together, in exploring a city while finding the intersection where our interests meet in the streets and in the sheets. Exploring food and drink and bags full of tricks and rope.


You gave me everything I wanted and all the things I didnt know to ask for or was allowed to long for. All I wanted was to have fun with no crisis or tears. What I got was a week full of friends, drinks, and love. Followed by a weekend getaway. You by my side, hand on the small of my back, kisses and sass at the ready. Even the tides being turned as I found myself tied up and submitting to your surprises. Me covered in bruises for a change. You holding me down to say, “oh did you think I would untie you now? Ha!” Your expert teasing.


You continue to surprise me lover with your willingness. Your glee. Your saying yes. Your eagerness to please. You've tamed me so that I'm not wild thing any longer. Still wacky and weird and slutty for sure but settled just enough to be comfortable in my own skin.  I feel like I could have anything I want but all I want right now is this relative calmness. Spending my free time finding myself and a better way through life instead of on endless dates, always hunting for more. I have just enough to keep me in trouble with the promise of more when I'm ready.

A year ago this isn't where or who I thought I'd be. And it's thrilling and beautiful. You're a sweet bonus, an extra special sexy birthday gift in it all. In this world gone insane it's hard to believe you're part of my sanity. Crazier things have happened I suppose.

Shuttering to Think

Men at bars ask if he’s my father. He grabs my ass lasciviously saying, “What? We have a very progressive relationship.” 

The stranger that was trying to hit on him up curls his lips in disgust and looks at me with pity.  “He’s what we’d call a pig, isn’t he, dear?”

I grin and grab my friend’s ass in return, closing the circle of our bodies so that we’re thigh to thigh. “I usually call him uncle,” I say.

“So he’s your husband?”

We both laugh and turn away from the nosy stranger.  We’ve spent years not putting a label on our “relationship” why the hell would we start now?

It started as photos. So many photos.  Each shoot darker, edgier, racier.  There was no limit to what I’d do for his lens.  When he wore a tie and shiny shoes so I could kneel at his feet, I fell deeply in lust.  I pretended to play with myself in a mirror while this faceless man watched, my friend playing the man while taking photos with the other hand.  Dr Jekyll and Mr Otto. When he grabbed my hair to angle my head for a photo, I wasn’t pretending for the camera anymore.  The moment was real. Or was it?

Photographers are complicated.  I’ve been a little bit in love with all of the good ones. I kind of have to be in order to give that much of myself to their camera and art.  If I faked it, it would show, the photos would look limp and lackluster.  But as soon as the lens cap goes on, the lights go off, and we put on street clothes the moment ends, the fantasy is gone.

Except when it lingered. There have been a few men able to hold my heart in their hand long after the job was done.  That lust remaining in the air even after we’ve put the fantasy on the shelf.  Or were we still holding onto our roles?  Confused?  Unwilling to let the moment pass, tempted by something that wasn’t there?

Maybe, which is why I don’t make a habit of tussling with photographers.  It gets too weird too quick, the line between reality and the art too thin.  Besides I’d rather shoot a million times with someone whose images I love than fuck them once and ruin it all.  Because that’s how it usually goes.  Once we’ve had each other, why bother pretending for the camera.  Reality can’t live up to the fantasy. 

Until it does.  This particular photographer and I danced around each other forever.  The yearning was there but neither of us wanted to be the one to break the rules and step over our professional boundaries. It wasn’t until I said, “Touch me.” And took his hand to direct it towards my body that we allowed ourselves to bring a dose of reality to our camera games. 

And those years of not touching made the finally touching that much better.  There was no question both of us wanted the other.  Requited lust had us breathless and giddy by the time we had to call it an evening and part ways.  And yet we hadn’t ruined the fantasy.  I still wanted more of him and to crawl around in rope and chain and latex for his camera. He was an exception to my very stringent rule.  The one man I will touch and pose for as the spark never gets old.

“Father, uncle, hubby, pig.  Want to hit me now?”  I asked him recently.  Biting my lip and giving him a sassy grin, I was ready to move from the socializing to the playing section of the evening.  He cocked his eye brow and looked down at me like, of course! His chuckle turns into a breathy “Yeah.”

At the cross he clips me in with carabineers and leather cuffs, stretching my arms wide.  The thrill of our play so deep that I don’t mind the lack of rope, he more than makes up for it in other ways.  He’s warm and just the right amount of scary standing behind me.  I never know what to expect from him, just that he always stays in my boundaries so I don’t have to stay on the alert, I can melt into his cruelty.    

He starts with floggers, building the intensity as I dance and moan under his ministrations with leather flails. I know what we look like together, how hot our play is. Its well documented, recorded a million times over in billions of pixels for the whole world to see.  So I know what he’s seeing.  That my ample ass turns him on.  No question about that. No reason for him to shoot it so frequently and thoroughly if it weren’t true.  So I can be totally in the moment, enjoy the pain me expertly doles out with no wonder or worry. 

He hits me until I literally feel like I’m flying though I’m pinned to a cross. He hits me until I have bruises that last a week. Tiny purple circles like a connect the dots game across my thighs that I smile at in the shower and bathroom.  Reminders that pull him to the front of my imagination in the middle of the work day.  He hits me until I’m so high I can barely stand or speak.  He’s filled my head with happy chemicals and in a brain newly free of pharmaceuticals I am awash only in the dopamine and serotonin that we made together.  I’m tripping on our weird connection, the drugs we’ve made with our bodies.

This is real.