Yes, that’s exactly the way to get me into your bed.

Take me to a nice bar, buy me delicious alcoholic beverages that are better for drinking than they are for getting drunk. Talk about things that are interesting. Tell me I look lovely in my dress. Touch my neck when you’re complimenting my earrings. Be interested in things I have to say. Teach me something new and tell me about books I’d like to read or films I’d like to see. Rub your knee against mine under the bar. Order me gourmet food and share it with me. Sharing is better than giving me my own. Refrain from making overtly sexual comments, but lead me into making them. Give me a little rub on the small of my back to give a little pretense to your desire to touch me. When I have had enough to eat and drink, don’t even give me a moment to question payment.

Once we’re out the door, push me against a wall–any wall–tell me how you’ve been holding back all night, then kiss me hard. Harder. Pull my hair to lift my chin and kiss my neck. Unbutton my coat and grope at my breasts. Fumble with the hem of my skirt. Press your erection against my thigh and tell me you want me. I’ll squeeze out from under you and run, but only to hail a taxi.

After you tell the driver where to go kiss me again. Place your hand on my knee…this should be a question more than an action, and my answer will be to open my thighs for you. Slide your fingers under my skirt and feel the bare skin at the top of my stocking. Gasp when you realize I’m wearing garters for you. Call me a slut and pull me into your lap. Wrap your arms around me, peel my skirt up to my hips and force your hand between my panties and my hot, wet pussy. Push one finger into me, lingering a moment to tease me, then rub it on my clitoris, whispering into my ear that sluts get what they ask for. Give me a safe word and tell me I’ll need it. When I come for you tell me to be absolutely silent and grin as I struggle to comply. Then slide your fingers in me, first one, then two. Rub at my g-spot. Ask me if I like being fucked with your hand in the back of a taxi. I do.

On our way into your home if I make a clever and adorable joke about the name of your building you should tell me it is clever and adorable. Rush me up the stairs to your apartment, but stop on the way to grope at my ass and nibble at my neck, and be sure to tell me it’s because you can’t resist. Take me to your kitchen first; I adore kitchens. Please make sure it’s clean. Pour me a glass of wine or champagne and also pour us each a glass of water. Do not forget this step–even if you don’t drink yours I will do so eventually. Put on music. Kiss me again, this time slower, less hungry. Tell me I’m a very bad girl for letting you touch me like that in the taxi. Tell me what happens to bad girls in your house. When my eyes light up, put a hand on my waist and steer me toward the bedroom.

Oui, Monsieur!

I learned something today. :)

I’m not looking for romance in my potential partners, I’m looking for order and discipline.

I keep seeking something and not finding it in any of the guys I’ve dated…or fucked. And it’s a firm hand. Barrel Chest was rough but didn’t really command my obedience. When it came down to brass tax he was in it for the company and I was in it for the fucking. I had him wrapped around my little finger. He got attached to me because he liked me the way a pet likes its master.

I wanna be the pet, goddammit!

Why is it apparently so hard to find a good partner who will enforce some rules on me? I like kinky shit…and a finger up my cunt while we’re clinking wine glasses at a restaurant is not kinky. It’s hot, but not kinky. Fucking me in the ass is also hot…but not necessarily kinky. Dirty talking? Depends on the words and the tone, but everything I’ve gotten in a good long while has been hot but not kinky.

I’m tempted to go venture out to Paddles and see if I get picked up (see? submissive) by someone nice, but I’m really just not into the whole “scene” or whatever. Or maybe I’m just intimidated and need someone to slap my face and say, “You’ll fucking go and you’ll fucking like it, slut! Now get on your knees and suck!”

La Morale de l’Histoire

I went and did it.  I let the Unmarried Man get to me.

I fucked him again that next Tuesday.  Drunk again (we met at a wine bar and got seriously wasted), but this time in my bedroom and not on a roof.  Then we promised we’d be good.  Then I gave him a ridiculous blowjob on his couch about twenty minutes before his girlfriend came home–I don’t know that I’ve ever tasted cum so sweet either.  Then I met the live-in and she’s pretty nice…not my cup of tea personally but she’s cool or whatever.  

Then there were more promises of being good, since we genuinely liked each other and wanted to be friends.  We managed it somehow, and now I can barely imagine him fucking me missionary style between pristine cotton bedsheets much less bending me over a roof ledge and pumping his cock into my dripping pussy while he fingers my asshole…

Really I can’t.

No really!  I can’t imagine it; the whole thing seems absurd.  I’ve completely replaced him in my memory with someone else.  Maybe it’s easy to do because he really could have been anyone else and I still would have done it.  I mean, it was pretty awesome. 

The whole thing messed with my head though.  I felt ridiculously bad about it and have spent the last few months (yep, months) thinking about what I’ve done.  At first I thought we were both horrible people.  Then I thought the girlfriend was an idiot.  Then I blamed their relationship and made myself out to be an innocent bystander who just happened to be horny at the right place at the right time.

Then I realized that was all bullshit.  It happened.  I don’t know the particulars of their relationship and neither of them seem keen on telling me.  I don’t want to fuck him anymore, I just want to be nice and talk about video games and share goofy links on IM. I don’t have a lot of friends with whom I feel comfortable being myself and he definitely puts me at ease, even if I do get impatient with his flirting (with other women, not me or the girlfriend…the dog).  I wouldn’t mind hugging sometimes, but now it’s all awkward, so I’ll just content myself with waving hello and goodbye when we see each other.  And occasionally getting an apologetic drunken text message.

So it happened.  Big deal.  I felt bad.  Oh well.  What’s the point of putting myself through the misery?  I made a mistake; so next time I’ll know that fucking someone else’s someone behind anyone’s back is not worth the guilt it causes me.  Maybe this all comes naturally for some sluts, but I still have some things to learn so I’ll just chalk that one up to a lesson.

Here’s hoping my next lesson is way more fun and involves some sort of restraining device!