“The Talk”

What are you into?

Oh, no. *This* conversation.

Well, it was going to come up sooner or later. But as I’m speeding down the 24 on my way home from an unchallenging day at work, I realize: here it is. I probably can’t charm my way out of this question, can I? But I try nonetheless.

I’m into pleasing you

How so? Be specific.

Ggrrrr. The specifics. Exactly what I don’t want to talk about right now. For a lot of reasons. Namely, the specifics are pretty fucking gory. They’re nasty. Disgusting. Perverted. The specifics usually scare off lesser men. And I like this guy. I don’t want to say something that’s too out there. He might run away. The sex so far has been good, and even if that’s as good as it gets, I’ll be fine with that. Why can’t I just hold onto that?

No, I shouldn’t lie. Can’t set that precedent. I should be myself. If I like him for who he has revealed himself to be so far, I should want him to like me for who I really am, too. Let my freak flag fly. Who knows. Maybe he’ll show me some new stuff. Maybe he’ll broaden my sexual horizons. Maybe this conversation is the only thing standing between me and the best sex of my life.

Well, that’s a tall order. Which brings me to the last reason I’m not in the mood for having this conversation. The ex. Yeah. That one. Here he is, again, permeating all my thoughts. How do I have this conversation without thinking about my ex? I don’t think I can. Because up until now, he has been the person who showed me new stuff. The person who broadened my sexual horizons. The best sex of my life.

Every kink and every fetish and every sexual record I ever set has been with him. Sure, he wasn’t my first for a lot of things, but he did all of those things the best. As I’m playing back through my rolodex of sexual kinks, his name is on every card. Check. Yup. We did that. I can’t even begin to think about my sexual proclivities without thinking about him.

How do I say this. I guess I just gotta suck it up and let the mental sex tapes of me and my ex play back in my head as I recollect all the things that I’m into. This is how I make progress, right? This is how I make new memories. Memories without my ex. This is how I move on. So next time I think about puppy play, the most recent memory I have will be with someone else.

So here goes.

Sex in Public, bondage, golden showers, puppy play, anal sex, roman showers, crimson showers, breath play, anything that pushes my physical and sexual limits.

Was that the right answer? Was that what he was looking for? And is that really what I’m into? God, I just had to throw Roman showers in there, didn’t I. Just to feel cool. Ugh, what if this guy comes over and pukes all over my sheets in the middle of sex. No! Not cool! That’s not what I meant! There’s something very specific about that one! Maybe I should have prefaced it with that. Maybe I should have mentioned my well documented sexual philosophy. Or, maybe he should read my blog and does his own homework and figure out that, yes, I love kink, but kink isn’t something that you roll out on a first date. Kink is something you work up to. I’m not going from fucking him two times to letting him puke on me. Or, maybe he knows that? Maybe it’s implied? Is it implied? Sure, the only way you get from vanilla to kink is through communication. Are we communicating properly? Is this how you do it? Or should I tell him: I’ve only done Roman showers once, and it was with my ex, last month. We had been up partying all night, and I woke up the next day nauseous as fuck. I lay in bed for six hours, moaning and dry heaving. I think he had gotten pretty sick of me getting up once an hour to dry heave in the bathroom, so he followed me in, grabbed me by the hair and stuck his finger down my throat. It was so painful and so visceral and so frightening, and he made me puke five times as he shoved my head into the toilet. At the end, he rubbed the puke all over my face, pushed me in the shower and pissed on me. It was so fucking hot.

But, wait, no, I don’t want to talk to him about my ex! I don’t think that’s the communicating I’m trying to do. I’m trying to get away from that, really. Maybe I should tell him: I want you to look me in the eyes while you’re fucking me and tell me, “If you ever leave me I’ll kill you.” I was really into that one. With the knife at my throat. Seeing the hatred in his eyes. Seeing the beast inside the man. The viciousness. The violence. It was so visceral. So exhilarating.

I don’t know. That seems like a lot. I feel like this is a good jumping off point. A good place to, uh, start. Although, if he asks would I drink his piss tomorrow? I don’t know. Do we have that kind of dynamic? I can’t tell yet.

So I ask him what he’s into. What kind of stuff he wants me to do to him. I realize: hey, maybe I don’t have to be full sub on this one. Maybe we can switch. It’s been a long time since I switched. I haven’t tried my hand at topping in a while. I could get into that. That would definitely get my mind off my ex.

I check my phone. I can’t wait to hear what he’s into. My panties are all in a bunch over it. I wanna hear some nasty, dirty, low down, degrading bull shit right now. That’s really going to get my mind off my ex. I take a shower. I come back out. I look at my phone.

Nothing? Hm. Really? Nothing? I check the time stamp. Oof. Thirty minutes. Seriously? I mean, okay, well, am I – yeah, I’m panicking. I’m definitely fucking panicking now. Who leaves a laundry list of dog dirty kinks on read? Fuck. I know the answer to that question: someone who’s been turned off. Someone who’s not into that kind of stuff. Someone who doesn’t know what to say. Or, maybe someone who’s at work and busy. Or someone whose phone died. Or – ugh, who am I kidding. God damn it. There goes my fucking fantasy. There goes my major boner. Did I just play myself? Seriously? Is this it? He’s gonna leave me at “Roman showers” like some sort of fool? Ugh, I fucking hate this shit. Why can’t a girl just let her freak flag fly? I just want to find a nice, kinky, super hot and highly intelligent man who will fuck me for four hours a day. Why is that too much to ask for from the world?!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s