Recently The Poet and I had totally 100% awkward sex. Horrid sex.
I am going to get you you up to date, in a couple of brief paragraphs.
The Poet and I ended up spending the weekend together about a week after our awkward encounter. It was good. We only had sex once, although there were a lot of cuddles. The sex dramatically improved from the last time. Not earth shattering, but better. He still wasn't incredibly vocal, but he took the lead so I could be sure that he was enjoying himself. And the cuddles were spectacular.
In the last week or so, drama has hit his life, and I am avoiding all of the drama. Waiting out the storm. He and his primary have hit the rocks. Hard. He is currently on a road trip with her. But they have broken up. It is icky, and I am staying away.
We have also decided not to pursue any sort of sexual relationship, for the time being. He thinks he made the call. But honestly, as I have got to know him, there is are a couple of massive problems that would get in our way long term.
Problems only a guillotine could fix.
Turns out he is rich. Rich. RICH. Like... nanny and cook rich.
So... friends at best.
Well... I have lots of other boys to turn to. ;)
Friday, August 7, 2009
...the promised update on The Poet.
I promised an update on The Poet and my sexual situation a few weeks ago.
Up until the moment when The Poet and I started to have sex, there was a great deal of intellectual and verbal foreplay. It was pretty obvious that there was the possibility of an intense sexual connection. Rarely have I met a man that I click with intellectually who also is interested in the same sexual deviancy I am. ;)
We had everything planned.
A safe word set had been selected. (Leviticus.)
Condoms and STDs had been discussed, and I had explained that I WOULD abort a fetus if it came to it. No pro-lifers allowed.
We had spent a couple of evenings making out, old-school, on my living room couch. His tongue on my nipples, his hand stroking my body, but never going in my pants. An oddly gentlemanly make-out session. Focused entirely on my body.
His primary was totally cool with me. We had hung out a few times, and she gave The Poet her blessing.
We even had a couple of possible scenarios sketched out. I was a little hesitant to script something the first time with a partner, but he really wanted a plan. So we had one sketched out.
But at the last minute, he texted me and changed the mood. Instead of going for anything D/S, or even remotely scripted, he wanted me to take over. To take control. To take the lead, and navigate our way through vanilla sex.
Which was cool. I am totally fine with vanilla sex.
But when he arrived, he was very different. In a barely perceptible way. The Poet is a very very verbal man. He communicates openly, does not censor himself. And in all my interactions, I never imagined that the problem would be a lack of communication.
But when we get in the bedroom, it is like he shuts down. Not... emotionally or sexually. But verbally. He gives me NO feedback. I pull him onto my bed, and we start making out. And clothing falls away. And I begin going down on him. But I don't get any feedback. I don't get a moan or a thrust or a caught breath. His body is responding, but nothing comes out of his lips.
I stop. I crawl up his furry man body. I voice concern that without some sort of feedback I can't know what his body likes.
At this point, I should mention something. I am a blue ribbon cock sucker. Sucking dick is something I know I do well. And I can suck off guys that like very different things. But without feedback, I don't know which way he wants me to take it.
He says he just isn't feeling very verbal. But that he would tell me if I was doing something wrong.
I take his hand and place it on my hairline, the base of my neck. I tell him to direct me, to show me the pace he wants. But I get nothing. I am getting frustrated.
I decide that maybe oral isn't his thing, or isn't his thing right at that moment. I ask he would like to have me climb on top of him. He smiles and nods, but no FUCKING WORDS.
He is still lying on his back, so I climb on. His hips begin to move with mine, and his hands move to my hips. But it isn't like he is really grooving.
I stop. I ask him what he wants. He flips me over... still no verbal reinforcement. Missionary position rarely gets me off, and I can't explain why I came in this case... But I come. Hard.
Not a good sort of orgasm, though. The sort of orgasm that is your body responding, not your body loving itself.
He comes. He rolls off me.
A second later he wraps himself around me, cuddles against me. And for the first time since he got there, everything feels comfortable. His hands are moving against my skin, massaging and petting me. He eventually starts talking again. As if everything was normal. Talking about his plans for the afternoon. Flirting, in his normal way.
We get up, get dressed, sit on the couch chatting for a while.
He leaves.
I am left fucking confused. I have never had a "bad" sex experience. Not one that just... sucked.
We talk about it, and agree that there was something very wrong and awkward about the situation.
We agreed to take it slow. Take things back a bit.
Hopefully I will find time soon to update ya'll on how that worked out. ;)
Up until the moment when The Poet and I started to have sex, there was a great deal of intellectual and verbal foreplay. It was pretty obvious that there was the possibility of an intense sexual connection. Rarely have I met a man that I click with intellectually who also is interested in the same sexual deviancy I am. ;)
We had everything planned.
A safe word set had been selected. (Leviticus.)
Condoms and STDs had been discussed, and I had explained that I WOULD abort a fetus if it came to it. No pro-lifers allowed.
We had spent a couple of evenings making out, old-school, on my living room couch. His tongue on my nipples, his hand stroking my body, but never going in my pants. An oddly gentlemanly make-out session. Focused entirely on my body.
His primary was totally cool with me. We had hung out a few times, and she gave The Poet her blessing.
We even had a couple of possible scenarios sketched out. I was a little hesitant to script something the first time with a partner, but he really wanted a plan. So we had one sketched out.
But at the last minute, he texted me and changed the mood. Instead of going for anything D/S, or even remotely scripted, he wanted me to take over. To take control. To take the lead, and navigate our way through vanilla sex.
Which was cool. I am totally fine with vanilla sex.
But when he arrived, he was very different. In a barely perceptible way. The Poet is a very very verbal man. He communicates openly, does not censor himself. And in all my interactions, I never imagined that the problem would be a lack of communication.
But when we get in the bedroom, it is like he shuts down. Not... emotionally or sexually. But verbally. He gives me NO feedback. I pull him onto my bed, and we start making out. And clothing falls away. And I begin going down on him. But I don't get any feedback. I don't get a moan or a thrust or a caught breath. His body is responding, but nothing comes out of his lips.
I stop. I crawl up his furry man body. I voice concern that without some sort of feedback I can't know what his body likes.
At this point, I should mention something. I am a blue ribbon cock sucker. Sucking dick is something I know I do well. And I can suck off guys that like very different things. But without feedback, I don't know which way he wants me to take it.
He says he just isn't feeling very verbal. But that he would tell me if I was doing something wrong.
I take his hand and place it on my hairline, the base of my neck. I tell him to direct me, to show me the pace he wants. But I get nothing. I am getting frustrated.
I decide that maybe oral isn't his thing, or isn't his thing right at that moment. I ask he would like to have me climb on top of him. He smiles and nods, but no FUCKING WORDS.
He is still lying on his back, so I climb on. His hips begin to move with mine, and his hands move to my hips. But it isn't like he is really grooving.
I stop. I ask him what he wants. He flips me over... still no verbal reinforcement. Missionary position rarely gets me off, and I can't explain why I came in this case... But I come. Hard.
Not a good sort of orgasm, though. The sort of orgasm that is your body responding, not your body loving itself.
He comes. He rolls off me.
A second later he wraps himself around me, cuddles against me. And for the first time since he got there, everything feels comfortable. His hands are moving against my skin, massaging and petting me. He eventually starts talking again. As if everything was normal. Talking about his plans for the afternoon. Flirting, in his normal way.
We get up, get dressed, sit on the couch chatting for a while.
He leaves.
I am left fucking confused. I have never had a "bad" sex experience. Not one that just... sucked.
We talk about it, and agree that there was something very wrong and awkward about the situation.
We agreed to take it slow. Take things back a bit.
Hopefully I will find time soon to update ya'll on how that worked out. ;)
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