21

Sex and vulnerability – missing pieces.

I’ve had some interesting conversations of late with someone whose input I’ve come to love for the differences in our perspectives and the way we approach things. Some experience, some insight and a different perspective have brought into clarification something that I had been missing.

The new FWB, he needs a name. Let’s call him Cernunnos after the horned god.

During our very long and very very extensive coupling a few days ago I’ve gone over and replaying a lot of things that happened. Which is a good thing, a lot of what happened was fantastic and wonderful and joyful and orgasmic in so many many ways.

But during all this, Cernunnos decided that during our last love-making of the night, he would rock me steady and sure with long slow strokes. As he did this, with my head buried in his neck and shoulder and his head buried in my neck was that for every orgasm I had in this position, I felt a layer peel off me exposing something I haven’t purposefully exposed before. For every roll of our hips I felt a bit of my armour shatter and crumble. Somehow this great big beast of a man was exposing parts of myself I wasn’t aware that I hadn’t been exposing before. If he’d kept going I was pretty sure I’d have cried. And this, from the woman who used to scoff at all those women in films that cried during sex because it was so emotional.

Something clicked in that moment. I was grateful we didn’t keep that pace up and going for longer than we did. I wasn’t and still am not sure I’m ready to face that kind of vulnerability with just a FWB.

But what does this all mean? 

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14

Road Tripping: Sobering up in Vegas with Scotty

You know, I’ve had a pretty shitty week so I thought what better way to end it than to start to wrap up my very first State-side road trip.

So I believe we left off where I woke up with the random Santa in my bed and drunk amnesia, no?

2 days of alcohol poisoning had left me feeling a bit weak and useless. My luggage had finally turned up so I walked down to the Greyhound station to pick up my pretty pink wheelie and take it back to my room and finally get into some clean clothes.

Scotty had been in contact again, requesting my presence. I begged off saying I wasn’t human and he told me I didn’t have a say because he couldn’t take care of me unless we were together. So he asked where I was staying, what room I was in and turned up no more than 30 minutes later. Settled into the sofa in my room and just looked hot and smouldering staring at me while I tried to unpack my clothes as I got more and more flustered at his staring and his caresses as I passed by. Ok, so maybe I stopped to throw myself into his lap on occasion to make out and hump his leg. I am not above my hormones, oh no.

I gave up trying to unpack my wayward luggage and sat on the edge of the bed feeling about as useful as tits on a bull when Scotty pipes up that I should just pack up my luggage and go stay with him.

You could hear the crickets chirping as I considered this.

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