Thursday, December 24, 2015

Over the River and Through the Woods

Three freaking years of this blog, dear readers. Such exciting things have been covered in the course of that time.

And that's just what makes it to the end of my fingers and into the blog. There's been plenty that's run through my head or great discussions Now-hubby and I have gotten into that never make it here. 

I've also fallen into a bit of a "normalcy" lull. This happens every so often. I'm not actually getting more "normal." I'm still catching just as much dick as I usually do; going to as many parties where a good majority of the people are in some stage of undress; still taking and sending a bunch of nudes. I just haven't been spending as much time in straight world lately. All of the things I do on the reg don't seem as exceptional when I'm not periodically comparing them with a society that encourages me to extend sexual favors only when I'm presented with something shiny and expensive.

(Side note: I used to have a shirt that had that tagline on it. I miss that shirt.)

I'm living the kind of life recently where people at work recognize my "date bag" and ask for details about what my plans are for the evening. (I have a specific bag I pack when I'm going straight from work to a date. One that's big enough for a change of clothes and possibly a few accessories, but nothing too cumbersome that I can't just chuck it in the closet in the classroom.) When I randomly booty call a guy I play frisbee with to come over for a back rub and blow job, Frisbee pats me on the head and says, "I met you at a gang bang. Go have fun." When I text Now-hubby that said gentleman is leaving so I'm putting the bed sheets through the wash, he sends me a Spongebob gif and tells me, "get it, girl." (I think Now-hubby was out with a lady friend that evening.) I've got some type of sexy party scheduled every weekend January 2016. 

I mean, I have also been catching up on the latest season of America's Next Top Model. So I'm staying versed with those who like to use the word "relationship" to describe "the best possible option in my immediate vicinity." 

Oh, and "what do you mean this person I'm in a 'relationship' with has to pretend to be attracted to another person for purposes of an ad campaign? That's not okay! They can only pretend to be attracted to me because I told the confessional booth that they were cute and that means it's serious!!!" You keep doing you, straight people. 

Saturday, November 21, 2015

The one where I watch the 50 Shades movie

Now-hubby and I are watching The Wire (first time through for him, second for me). We're about to get to episode 109 when he casually mentions, "50 Shades is on HBO."

Let's do this.

(Note: I just have the Blogger app open on my phone, so I'll post progress notes as this piece of shit plays, but this entry won't have gifs and shit, because that takes too much time on the phone.)

Intro music from Hocus Pocus...

Is this dude a cartoon character? He only has one type of suit and that's all he wears?

Without Anna's constant and obnoxious inner dialog, she's almost tolerable so far (I'm not more than 5 minutes in, so that's bound to change...)

First trip. Take a drink.

Miss Steele, that question's not on your approved list. Now it's time to punish-fuck you.

Aww. Just sing some carols and his heart will grow 3 sizes.

"This is just a really bad version of Secretary." (Now-hubby commentary will be in quotes. Everything else is my thoughts.)

Holy cow? You're supposed to say "crap," Anastasia. "Cow" is not canon.

"Ah, I see. This is supposed to put you on her side." (After I've explained how we don't have Anna's shitty narrative so her roommate has to steal a sandwich so we can infer that Kate's a terrible person.)

A connoisseur of masking tape? "Also, those aren't even masking tape!"

God, the possessive bullshit!!! She has male coworkers, unacceptable!!

Oh no, here's that part where she almost gets hit by that truck... I mean bike. Of course it's a bike.

"Yeah, get it all over her face."

Anna's technological ineptitude is less believable than her incredible virginity. What the flip phone?

*seductively bites toast*

"This movie is very bad. This movie is...very poorly made. This movie is a disgrace to cinema."

Omg!!! You were just balls deep in her roommate who shakes hands after that? What the fuck kind of social protocol is that?

"This is Edward putting what's-her-face on his back. It's the same sequence."

Where have you been? Waiting. (The room fills with vomit. I'm not capable of handling this.)

"You can't just dive in like that." No, you see? She's properly aroused just from being in his presence to have become a genital Slip N Slide.

This next one's going out to Anna's sweet ass snatch.

"This movie makes me feel like nudity is gross."

"Are they on the set of X-Men 2? What happened just now?"

The *you're special because...* rhetoric is so dumb. Yeah, so she's the first you've taken in the helicopter. *jerk off motions* Eventually you run out of significant things and then how will you express love for people?

You look...different. You mean like a sex slave. That's what you mean.

Well, she loves him. But he doesn't do love. That's what's supposed to keep you invested for 2 hours.

Hell of a sack. *snickers*

I will never understand how Anastasia is such a complete silence machine in person but an insufferable cunt over email.

You were supposed to use that computer for research goddammit! What are butt plugs? Jesus, Anna.

Otherwise, this negotiation scene is way better than in the book.

"And at that moment, Anastasia splooshed a goosh."

Seriously, without her Inner Goddess, this 2 stars instead of 1.

How have you put 15 other women through this contract and not know how birth control works?

I haven't heard "down there" yet at all. Again. 2 stars.

After care?? 2 1/2 stars

Somebody mentioned that other guy you know? And now you're going to visit your mom?!!! Wtf you think your a person or something? Just because I let you do a stupid dance to Frank Sinatra? Don't get ahead of yourself.

Ah....Christian's back story. *vomiting resumes*

They're both so ridiculously possessive. I feel like you could take Epicac or watch this movie. Results will be similar.

Shout out to everybody that's just into BDSM and doesn't need some fucked-up back story to justify it. Cheers to you folks.

BDSM is not about love. It's not. Just accept it, folks. Well, unless it's just light bondage and having sex. That's okay. Anything over that is ridiculously over the limit and there's no way you can care about somebody *and* hit them with a belt.

Ah, as in the books [spoiler] they broke up. So now I can stop caring. Huzzah.

Friday, October 23, 2015

Schedule of events

Honestly, all other benefits of being open aside, my favorite part is sometimes just getting to sit home and enjoy a semi-evening to myself. I say semi-evening only because Frisbee gets home much later than I do. Tonight Now-hubby is off seeing his new girlfriend (for sake of anonymity I'll call her Red Velvet, because those are the kind of cupcakes she brought when we met for the first time). So it's just Frisbee and I around the house, which means I have a good three hours or so between when I get home and when he does.

Three hours which I pretty exclusively devote to the "LGBT movies" section of my Netflix cue.

Tonights feature: The Way He Looks

In the vein of things I'd recommend checking out, The German forwarded along this article a few days ago. Decent commentary on the current feminist movement, "sex positivity," and female sexual empowerment. Worth a read through.

Sunday, October 11, 2015

I bet he smelt devine

I spent yesterday afternoon having a discussion with one of the gents at frisbee about how he's not exclusive with a lady, as in they haven't done the "boyfriend/girlfriend" distinction thing yet, but they've both agreed that they're going to continue to date only each other.

I guess the end-game of this approach is they decide they're going to be terminology exclusive after a few more dates, or things wind up in termination territory.

The moral of the story being that I can't keep track of all the different ways monogamous people keep coming up with to complicate their relationships.

Also, I've realized I have two ways of reacting when having to be around straight people for extended periods of time. 1. Get depressed about how I don't fit the mold or understand the parlance, and spend the rest of the night being pouty and surly. 2. Get frustrated, squirrelly, and horny.

Thankfully, yesterday was an instance of the latter. Now-hubby and I were scheduled to attend a sex party together that evening, so the deviant sexual energy I had built up had a good outlet.

The highlight of the evening being one of the men who wore a snap button-up shirt. If you've never had the opportunity to rip a man's shirt down the buttons, I highly recommend it. satisfying.

I feel as though I disappoint people who are looking for extra-steamy details about the parties I attend with stories like this. When the highlight was hugging a guy, smelling his Calvin Klein cologne, then ripping the snap buttons open on his shirt and rubbing my nipples against his chest.

That's the fantastic thing about the parties I go to, though. The range of activities available. So, yes, I get to do things as mild as french kissing a handsome, shirtless man after I've ripped his shirt open.

I also get to squirt all over an air mattress while Now-hubby rocked the Njoy Pure Wand inside me. (Can not recommend enough. This toy is phenomenal.)

Friday, October 2, 2015

The one where I watch Her

Yes, I realize I'm woefully behind schedule on my movie reviews. If you're interested in something more current, Frisbee and I went to see Pawn Sacrifice tonight. My suggestion for that movie is to go in knowing more about chess than I do, because I spent the entire time thinking, "this is the one where you're supposed to make the other guy's King piece not be able to move? That's chess, right?"

But Now-hubby and I also sat down this evening to finish Her. We watched it in three installments over the past week. Mostly due to the fact that I had a terrific head cold for a few days and couldn't properly focus on a 2+ hour film and be taking as many anti-histamines as I was, so we had to break the movie into more manageable watching periods.

I have...a lot of thoughts about Her.


Okay, so that's not my overall take-away from the movie. I have a lot of conflicting, possibly confrontational thoughts about the way the film addresses relationships. But before I delve too much into that, I want to pinpoint this one aspect of the "near future" environment in which the film is placed.

Because if there's one thing that would make this blog entry better, it's if I could speak it out loud and my computer would put all my words down with seemingly no functional ability to go back and edit and/or review what I've written.

For me, it seems really awkward and sort of not-an-advancement to have to interact with computers verbally. Not just once OS have personalities and shit. Generally. How did Theodore edit his letters before he could ask his OS Samantha to review them for him? And she so nicely pulls up the letter with standard proofreading marks on it, which Theodore is supposed to go back and Perhaps I'm forgetting a pivotal scene where somebody uses a keyboard to input information onto their desktop, but as far as I remember this future society is completely based off having to speak to your computer and maybe do some hand-waving over a gently lit sensor to control things on screen.

Anyway, moving past that technological nit-pick. My second take-away from Her is that Joaquin Phoenix is a fucking phenomenal actor. There's a fair amount of tight shots of just his face while he listens to Samantha say something (she exists pretty much in an earbud that only Theodore can hear for the majority of the movie), and that motherfucker emotes eloquently. Bravo.

I have a bit of difficulty unpacking my feelings on this movie as far as how it portrays relationships. On the one hand I think it does a good job illustrating the common issues and miscommunications that happen in every relationship structure. There's good commentary on serial monogamy - Theodore finalizing the divorce of his previous marriage affects his relationship with Samantha because if that once happy relationship can flounder, what's to say his with Samantha won't also? There's good commentary on what happens when "fidelity" isn't clearly discussed and defined within a relationship - 600+ other human users in a few weeks? Get it, girl.  There's good commentary on open relationship structures - Samantha at one point finds a woman who's willing to be a surrogate body for her and participate in the physical aspects of the relationship that Samantha's not able to. There's good commentary on how people just generally talk without listening to each other. How people within relationships eventually change and grow and how sometimes the relationship isn't strong enough to support those changes.

On the other hand (SPOILERS), I think the audience gets an easy out at the end with Theodore and his neighbor up on the roof of their apartment building. He's divorced, she's divorced - they've talked each other through their respective relationships and break-ups through the course of the film, so it's a clearly platonic relationship but the emotional potential is there. The OS have realized they're totally superior and probably have way better things to be doing than reading a bunch of boring emails for people and being jerk-off fodder for guys like Theodore who are completely incapable of relating to women who aren't specifically programmed and then conditioned to exist solely within their world-view. (That's a bit harsh. Theodore's not a terrible person, and he does go through some good character development and growth through the course of the film. The movie does a fair job taking down the premise of "love" when the relationship is based on two people primarily working and interacting only with each other.) Just before the credits role, Theodore's neighbor puts her head down on his shoulder. And, for me, that's not too far of a stretch where I can hear the straight girls going, "oh my god see? It's okay because he learned he has to love a real human lady." And that's such not the message of the film. It would have been just as easy to not include her head on his shoulder - to not allow that possible progression to the next romantic relationship. Meh.

Saturday, September 12, 2015

Wanna cyber?

Disclaimer: I love sexting.

If we've hooked up in the past and otherwise have an amicable relationship, there's a strong possibility that you've, at some point, received a racy photo of my areas. (Word of advice to everyone taking this to mean that I love un-asked for pictures of everyone else's areas: virtual consent is just as important as in-person consent. Make sure the recipient is interested in receiving the pic before hitting "send.")

Exchanging precisely posed photos with increasingly flirtatious texts is a natural pass-time for me. It's a way to build up anticipation before a sexy date with somebody, a way to indicate continued sexual interest in somebody who may have moved away, or just a way to share the incredibly bubbly feeling of how great it is to be naked.

The history of this is my adolescence dovetailing with the widespread availability of the Internet. Sitting in the blue light from the PC monitor, I'd browse the more adult-oriented chat rooms, read what others were writing to each other, and squeeze my thighs together.

I learned how to give myself an orgasm by finding forums about it online. When I was squeezing my thighs together, I recognized that tight, almost-like-you-have-to-pee feeling as something that could definitely be brought farther than I was. The first time I found the exact pressure from the faucet in the bathtub and had to pull myself back with my legs shaking and my vision over-saturated with light, I was fucking hooked.

There's a similar anticipation now when I'm sexting with somebody. There's a singular thrill to not being able to be with a person physically, but being able to imagine them experiencing the same tightness in their lower abdomen as they browse the photos I'm sending them. I enjoy sexting because, if you do it right, it's like prolonged foreplay. Each photo takes consideration of lighting, positioning, and intent. Waiting on those little message reply dots from the person I'm sexting is a fantastic erotic build-up.

Friday, September 11, 2015

Sit back and enjoy

The fucking worst thing about having the kind of mental processes I do is being unable to watch Moulin Rouge without wondering if I shouldn't like it as much because it's essentially a story about the good boy "reforming" a bad girl.

Tuesday, September 1, 2015

Best Laid Plans

This will be a rather quick entry - I only want to tell you all how I possibly reached a new pinnacle of lazy slut-hood. In which I was too lazy today to take out my menstrual cup for P-in-the-V sex, so I just did anal instead.

(Also, if you don't laugh at 60's Spiderman meme, we can't be friends anymore.)

Thursday, August 20, 2015

No exemptions

As somebody who can be fairly particular about language use, there are a few idiosyncrasies that drive me absolutely bananas. A notable one being people who use "but" as a conjunction to try and excuse their less than socially acceptable behavior. "I don't mean to be an asshole, but..." Just fucking say what you're going to say and be an asshole! It could just be my own reaction, but hearing somebody wind up this particular phrase actually makes me anticipate something much worse or judge the person as an even bigger asshole than if they hadn't felt the need to include that precedent apology. As soon as the person gets to that pause for the comma, that stupid fucking beat of silence I can feel my hackles raising.

A language transgression specific to "the lifestyle" came back to my attention as I was listening to a podcast on the way home from frisbee tonight. It's in relation to unicorn hunters, and I've figured out the 100% certain way to figure out if a couple are unicorn hunters or not. If they're not, you'll know because you'll never even hear the word. If they are, they'll say they aren't. "We're looking for another woman." *beat* "But we're not unicorn hunters."

Similar to people that think they can excuse a shitty statement just by putting a, "I don't mean it, but..." in front of it, a couple saying they're not unicorn hunters does absolutely nothing to distance themselves from that group. Just...fuck everything about an established male/female couple that's looking for that extra lady to meet all their stupid straight people desires. It's one step above one penis policy (nonmonagmous partnerships where the lady is only allowed to be sexually involved with other ladies) as far as straight people bullshit manifesting in non-monogamy. Again, maybe just my own experience, but I got involved in nonmogamy because the standard relationship narrative wasn't working for me. Not because I desperately wanted to follow all the same stupid dating rules and impractical gender ideals, just with more people.

The reason it's especially irritating is because it's always the same damn reasons why this couple is different. Oh, no, you see....the woman in the couple identifies as bisexual. Because that changes everything. The fact that the female half of the couple isn't being coerced into muff diving makes it totally okay to disregard the humanity of the muff that finally fits that glass slipper you've been carrying around.

This couple isn't like those other couples looking for "another lady" because they understand she might not love both of them equally at all times. Yet the expectation is that any woman will go on initial dates with both members of the couple, or (even shittier), will have to pass some sort of quality control date with the dude before being introduced to the lady.

The reason given on the podcast why this couple was definitely different than all those other couples and, you know, definitely not unicorn hunters was because, "we're a cool couple." As though being fun to hang out with negates the completely shitty way that they're still treating single women within non-monogamy. That type of insensitive bullshit defies even my rage limits.

Thursday, August 13, 2015

Same and Different

This week, one of those events you always think only happens in movies actually happened within my social circle. Briefly: boy gets on plane, boy realizes once he gets to far away destination that he's running away from something, boy comes back, presumably happily ever after.


As sort of an antidote to that social and romantic normativism, may I advise this decent article on identifying as agender.

You know, whatever floats your metaphorical boat, people. Go ahead and read the article, then decide you've always secretly loved that one person that's been in your peripheral circle of friends for a few years. Go get your stereotypical love on in the most non stereotypical way. I support you.

Sunday, July 19, 2015

Sweet little lies

It's been awhile since I've ventured out into the fascinating world that is straight culture.

So far this summer I've been spending my time either working summer school or playing Ultimate, so my interactions with the straights has been fairly limited. By which I mean I'm still surrounded by the culture on a daily basis, but can usually distract myself with the other activity I'm engaged in so it's not as mind-numbing. For example, when somebody at pick-up is talking about the person they've met on Tindr and how, "girls who text winky faces are just looking for it from anybody they can get it from," I can use that as a great moment to go get back in the game instead of violently eviscerating that slut-shaming idiot.

Last night, I had an opportunity to be amongst those who love Grey's Anatomy for an extended period of time.

Three fantastic hours of conversation about whether men who wear eyeliner actually want to be women. Why a card including "Horneytown, NC" was the best card in a game of Balderdash. And how great Lindsey Lohan's tits looked in Mean Girls.

To clarify, that last one on Lindsey Lohan wasn't just a passing observation. We put the movie up on Netflix and it was like there was a commentary track running that was singularly about her tits the entire time. Like each new scene warranted another out-loud opinion on how her boobs looked and a repetition of how she's really "gone downhill" since then.

Which, if I had to identify the major issue I have with straight people it's that constant, unvaried life commentary. It's like they've all been handed scripts that they're diligently reading from.

So, in regards to straight rhetoric, I bring you a new set of 3 common lies that straight people in relationships tell themselves. (Note: These weren't all brought up last evening, they just happen to be ones that were banging around the ol' thought-noodle recently, and being amongst the monogamous sect last night brought them to surface again.)

Obliterate the past.

When there's the idea of the one, and you've found that one presently, it means that all other time periods and all other people that may have been within those time periods need to be disregarded. Or, at the very best, only talked about in the most dismissive way possible. What the two of you have presently is so much better than anything you had before, and will last even in the face of possible future temptation. All past loves and all future interactions will be meaningless when faced with the blinding love that exists now. It's a great ideal that ignores the reality of serial monogamy, and makes everybody sound like they're 15 years old experiencing that first real heart-melting romance.

Only you can have me.

Braggart men who will not shut up about how sexy their partner is. Monogamous couples that get off on walking right up to the line of cheating. Couples that participate in swinger parties with the clear intention that they're going to remain a singularity the entire time and are only there because knowing other people want to fuck them makes the sex the two of them have together so much hotter.
Because they're committed and can have each other whenever they want, vs. the masses who just have to sit enviously on the sidelines. It's mind-knotting double think, because it means nailing down when a third-party ogle is sexy vs. when it's threatening. (Note: There are relationships that involve a consensual power dynamic of one partner being "owned" or used as "bait," but those typically involve levels of communication and trust that I don't typically see in the variations discussed above.)

I'll be different.

I think, of the three, this one is the most harmful. This is the myth that somebody who is a total dick to their current partner will surely be different once they're exposed to the beauty of your special brand of love. It's past the "broken boy who only love can fix" narrative of characters like Christian Grey (although that mythos is it's own special brand of fuckery) and closer to Bill Masters of Masters of Sex. A self-involved, dismissive individual who repeatedly disparages his current partner and yet whom Johnson is all, "yeah it'll be different when he's with me 'cause I'm the progressive brunette of the series." I've been through enough therapy to recognize that it is possible for people to change. I've also been around enough douchebags to realize personality-altering change rarely comes just from entering the right relationship.

Sunday, July 12, 2015

That thumpa thumpa

One of Now-hubby's current girlfriends recently lent him Sex Criminals. Which, the book had also been recommended to me by one of the guys I fuck regularly. When I saw it show up on Now-hubby and I's coffee table a few weeks ago, I was interested to pick it up. Sometimes things in open relationships just work out that way. (Also, there's something to be said about representation. When you exist within a given community, chances are everyone you know has similar book/film/etc recommendations for you.)

For a story, it's an interesting premise. Spoilers: this chick can literally stop time when she has an orgasm. Then she meets a guy that can do it to and they go on wacky adventures together. 

I know it's a bit of looking the gift horse in the mouth, but my main complaint about the series is that there's almost too much sex in it. I know: "What were you expecting from a comic that has 'sex' in the title?" Also, "ugh you spend so much time complaining about how you struggle to find representation and here's a comic with a strong female lead that actually enjoys sex and isn't shamed by it." If I can elaborate, it's not that I'm shocked and offended that a comic book would show its characters in flagrante delicto. I'm just bored and unimpressed that every single character in Sex Criminals so far (I just finished the second collection) is a walking sex bomb who's fuse is about to reach terminus. 

(Two Ewan gifs in one entry? Hoho, dear readers.)

Here's the thing about representation for me. It has to be presented as a sort of utopian ideal where there's a clear presentational undertone acknowledging this isn't really the way the world works (but isn't it fun to imagine that it is for a moment?) Either that, or the portrayal has to be realistic in the sense that the minority representation is played off a majority representation, maybe with things working out a bit better for the latter individuals because you don't want to bum out your viewership too much.

Sex Criminals doesn't have either of those. Every character feels exactly the same because every character approaches sex exactly the same. 

(I've used that gif on the blog before. Fuck it; it's the best one for that line.)

Outside the repetitive sexual enthusiasm, it's enough of an interesting storyline for me to recommend it as worth checking out. And, if you'll all excuse me, I've had an Owen Gray video playing in the background since around the halfway point of this entry, and it's time to...

Monday, July 6, 2015

Speak for Yourself

One of the podcasts I listen to recently had an episode featuring a lady with Foreign Accent Syndrome. The tl;dr: One day six years ago she had a really bad migraine, and ever since her voice has affected a particularly strong French accent (she's originally from Indiana). The accent alters all her speech except when she sings. Singing apparently being a language loophole of sorts; it's also used as a therapy mechanism for stuttering. You know, if the tried and true method of swearing a blue streak doesn't seem to be working.

If all the Facebook profile pic filters haven't given you a clue, a significant legal decision was recently made about how marriage is defined in the United States. People used their voices to express displeasure about the current status of things, and so affected change. Yes, I realize it's entirely more complicated than that. Also yes, I realize that this change doesn't by any means actually fix a lot of they systemic problems inherent in the way that any majority culture views "the other."

But it does (as things always tend to do), get my little mental hamster wheels spinning. How do we, as a society, go about defining an "other" when that spoken voice isn't available to guide us as far as terminology, or educate us on areas of continued inequality? For example, there's research out there that people in comas are capable of having simple yes/no style conversations. Our brains are a terrifying jumble of stuff, people. As much as we learn about them there's always new stuff being discovered.

By default, terms and regulations get created by those who are cognitively able to: 1. recognize that an inequality exists and 2. express to others around them know how they would like that inequality addressed. I think a lot about what the mind space is like for a person whose sensory processing system is so differently wired that they can't tolerate general ambient noise without wearing the kind of headphones that block anything quieter than a jet engine. Disability (or "differently abled," or "neurotypicality") exists on a spectrum, and the words we use and the laws put in place are there because those on the higher-functioning end of the spectrum spoke up for those on the lower end. Which is, of course, not to say that the progress that's been made is anything less than deserved. I'm just curious what the discourse would be like if we figured out how to access the truly voiceless.

Sunday, May 31, 2015

Working for the weekend

Awhile ago, my mother sent me a box full of old pictures and my diaries from when I was growing up. Yes, friends. I exist of an age that needed to bring something called film to be developed if you wanted to see photos you had taken with a camera.

In among the pictures were a couple from when I used to go to summer camp. And apparently along with paddle boating and friendship bracelet making, one of my favorite activities during camp was taking creeper shots of the male camp counselors.

Side note: I searched "lady creeper" for the above gif. Thanks, Rule 34. Thank you so much.

Thankfully, my tastes in camp activities has improved considerably since gaining adulthood. The past two days, I was at a booze-filled frisbee camp weekend, at which I did not take a single photograph because it was raining the whole time and I did not want to ruin my phone. Left to my own devices as for diversions, I spent most of my time moderately sipping Modelos and trying to maintain the, "I'm a normal, cute girl who you should totally want to make out with" look as I chatted with other campers.

Friday night I spent a considerable portion of the evening chatting with a hilarious gentleman who was quite knowledgable about a lot of interesting things. He was married and seemed not particularly interested in extra-curricular coitus, so we held it to just talking.

On Saturday night I got involved in a game of Dare Jenga. For those unfamiliar, it's just dares written on the underside of Jenga blocks. So when you get the block out, you have to complete the dare. Some of the dares from Saturday included: "Change outfits with another player," "Put an ice cube in your underwear and let it melt," "Do squats until it's your turn again." And then I pulled a block and read, "Pick another player. They are your master and you are their dog for the rest of the game."

Now, if you're not particularly into that dynamic, this is just sort of a funny dare. It'll probably be pretty silly. The dog of the pair will probably spend a lot of time on their hands and knees getting petted and with their tongue out...

If you are into that dynamic (as I am), this dare got uncomfortably arousing really quickly. Luckily, there were only three or four more turns before the stack fell over and the game was over.
Very luckily, my "master" said he would be comfortable maintaining the roleplay even after the game was finished.

(For those who got the Doctor Who/BDSM intentional gif choice above, send me an email because you're probably the type of person I want to do naked things with.)

I stuck around with Master for the rest of the night, following him around the party and encouraging him in everything he did (I was a dog that spoke; sort of a loophole but get over it). He'd pet my head, call me "good girl," and scritched my sides until I thought I wouldn't be able to contain myself and would wind up fucking him in the bathroom at the party. He also had a fair amount of questions about the whole dynamic, as he was less experienced with it. We discussed how Domination doesn't necessarily mean being a demanding asshole, and how being a Submissive doesn't mean being a door mat. I had just finished telling him how, for a Submissive, it's incredibly rewarding to fulfill the Dominant's requests and desires when he asked what my greatest desire was at the moment.

Which I told him.

I wanted to take him back to his bunk and run my tongue over all the parts of his body.

This marks the first instance of me fucking somebody 1:1 without knowing their name while I was having sex with them. I had met him earlier in the day, but there were around 80 people at this camp, and my memory is notoriously bad. Also, I'm not counting the gang bangs in this because there's usually around 30 guys at each party, and I doubt any of them would be considerably offended if I used the wrong name while they were inside me.

I gave Master a backrub, followed by a blow job, followed by him going down on me and making me cum until I was pretty sure the rest of camp could hear us. Then he held one hand around my throat and used the other hand to finger-fuck me while constantly calling me his good girl.