Monogamish

Half of me wishes I’d known all the words and terms for relationships involving more than one person years ago and half of me cringes hearing them now because I have never been a fan of anything with very strict social codes.

When I met my Master he told me that his relationship with Princess was open. In my experience this was usually just the thinking man’s version of ‘my wife doesn’t understand me’ or ‘we aren’t having sex’. An ‘open relationship’ to many men seems to have mutated into ‘I’m open to do what I like but my partner doesn’t know and the same rules don’t apply to her.’

But my Master doesn’t do dissembling and it was clear quite quickly even after the effects of the free bar we met at had faded that he really was in an open relationship that had agreed and defined terms between him and Princess and he was not bullshitting me with a form of performance art as fucking.

Being staggeringly un-self aware at the time (to the point where I was wondered if I was aromantic) this was a real plus point for me as my first thought about this was since he had a girlfriend there was was no danger of him developing any emotions for me (or me for him…)

I had it neatly mapped out in my head that he and I would fuck until he was bored of me, I would never really think about his girlfriend and that being compartmentalised and formal was very grown up and mature because essentially I had no idea sex and affection could co-exist. I was thinking this was the way to have cake and eat it without realising the point of cake is for it to taste good rather than just look impressive.

I was so fearful of stepping outside that ‘cool girl‘ role I’d always ended up in in that and across as negative things like ‘needy’ or ‘clingy’ or jealous that it never occurred me that people like to feel needed or like you matter to them and that most people consider emotions the standard setting in relationships no matter how informal.

I think we all know how my plan worked out. Three years later I’m disappointed I couldn’t go to Ikea with him and Princess today because I had other stuff to do. Not even sharing a bed with both of them fairly often could quite convey how much my compartments turned into feelings and commitments to both of them.

For the first six months I was still fucking other people while seeing him and then he set boundaries about that alongside gifting me my collar and I was almost relieved by those rules. Having thought I never wanted to be ‘tied down’ to be claimed felt reassuring and I had little desire to fuck anyone (except Princess on his say so.)

Branching back out into sex with other men under his orders a few months later surprised me in how uncomfortable it felt. It was like putting on an item of clothing you once loved to find it was out of fashion even though it still fit and you felt like a previous version of yourself in it. I felt strange mentioning it like going from being the slutty no boundaries fun time girl who had agreed to openness  now wanting to close things on her part was somehow reneging on my part of the deal.

A bad date ended up saying it for me and the subject of other people didn’t really come up again. I was surprised when Sir showed little interest in sex with anyone else and wasn’t sure how I’d feel if Princess wanted to date but at the same time I was aware that while I’d changed the dynamic of their marriage in some ways it wasn’t my call to make on how open they were within that.

People who love terms like ‘polycules‘ and ‘metamour‘ always bang on about how much talking is essential to non monogamous relationships of any kind and while I agree up to a point, I’m not a fan of talking for the sake of it. I like to let relationships feel natural and keep the bullet point style for therapy instead.

And sure enough in the last few weeks the subject of other people floated back into the orbit of our relationship. Sir found a potential sissy he might fuck and was invited to another threesome and Princess met a couple of women online keen to see if Tinder would offer up friends with benefits and a little exploration for them.

The thought of Sir fucking other people is hot (and the idea an ex-fuck of his wanted him to guest star just made him all the more desirable to me. No higher compliment than someone being that attracted to your partner after all.) And anything else would have been hypocrisy as that’s how I met him after all.

The idea of Princess dating caused me slightly more pause. I have generally never felt jealous. It’s an emotion I simply can’t relate to but I do have spectacular abandonment issues thanks to my fucked up childhood and I often can’t predict what will set them off. My girlfriend dating seemed like it could be a *thing* where the man who owns me fucking wasn’t.

She and I discussed it and something felt like it wasn’t quite right but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Was I secretly struggling with her fucking other people? Like 90% of my useful thoughts it came when I was washing up. That not quite in place feeling wasn’t jealousy or abandonment or feeling left out. It was feeling like I *should* feel those things when I didn’t. It was the same feeling of being in the wrong room and not knowing how to excuse myself I got when I tried to be monogamous in the past.

Both my Master and I have had the time and opportunity to explore our sexuality and sexual preferences in the way that forms you who you are as a person. Princess being younger and flipping the script round to have found life partners early on hasn’t had that and I would hate to deny her that chance we both so revelled in.

For queer kinky people who and why you fuck like you do is often so intrinsically wrapped up in your personality and your social life that it’s basically your hobby as well as your way to pleasure. It’s the basis of how you discover who you are and it would be really weird if I objected to Princess doing this in a sexual context but approved of her going to a book group in comparison. By determining her hobbies and opportunities I’d be clipping her wings and the thought of doing that was what was sitting so awkwardly.

Once I’d realised that the itchy scratchy feeling I had subsided. I also imagined straight or monogamous people asking me was I not worried she’d meet someone else and chuckling because frankly it’s damn near impossible to meet someone on Tinder or online even if you make it your life’s work. Plus I know just how underwhelming most casual fucks are in bed. There was nothing to fear.

In fact I walked Princess to her date and went home with no worries at all. My only interest was whether she had fun. I didn’t spend my evening tormenting myself picturing her in bed with someone else or catastrophizing in any way. I watched Coronation Street in bed which was frankly more dramatic than my thoughts and hope the casual sex she was having lived up to her expectations.

Spoiler alert: she’ll probably do it again so clearly it wasn’t a disaster but she didn’t have much to say. It sounded remarkably like book group in that respect. I have no issues with her or my Master fucking other people casually and the whole relationship being open in that respect.

But in seeing that happen I realised I have no interest in fucking anyone else myself unless actively involves my Master and Princess being there with me. It turns out for me casual sex involves me being emotionally closed and the openness I need in my relationship is developing that side of me that is open with feelings and love.

That’s the bit my slutty past never taught me when I was picking up sexual skills and good anecdotes and it’s something only my Master and Princess can show me. Turns out I’m soppy, sentimental and my version of romantic with the right people (and my prior lack of awareness was that I was dating dickheads and hanging around with people with personality disorders.)

I just hadn’t realised til now that with all those terms for non monogamy there was more than one way to be open in a relationship…

Monogamish

The Beast With Two Backs

I had fun writing about how sex and laughter go together and it felt like the perfect opportunity to describe one of the funniest sexual experiences I’ve ever had for this week’s Thursday nostalgia post.

There’s a trope with online dating that all men lie about their height and say they are 6 foot. Despite being a fairly early adopter of online dating, I’d never had it happen to me and so secretly wondered if it was really true.

I am fairly ambivalent about men’s heights and I rarely looked too much at them in the descriptions on online profiles so didn’t really notice that the guy I’d arranged to meet for drinks was exactly 6 foot tall. Plus I was distracted by the fact I was running late for our date because I was stuck behind Hare Krishnas on Oxford Street on a day that was unexpectedly too warm for the boots I was wearing.

I arrived fifteen minutes late, incredibly flustered and slightly sweaty to find him sitting as cool as cucumber in the dark basement bar I’d picked out and he stood up from the stool and I realised I’d met my first fake six footer in the flesh. Except this guy just kept going as he stood up. He’d lied to make himself seem smaller than his full 6 foot 6 inches.

Turns out women can be a bit Goldilocks when it comes to height and like their men not too small, not too tall but just right. I on the other hand just like them funny and quite filthy so we hit it off immediately and spent the rest of the afternoon getting quite drunk before deciding to go back to mine to fuck.

We tumbled tipsily through my front door in broad daylight and started getting frisky on the sofa quite quickly. I’d just had a glimpse of his well muscled and heavily tattooed lower legs and felt his very well sized erection against my thigh when we realised we had no condoms.  He very chivalrously put his jeans back on and went out to the shop to buy some.

While he was doing so I realised I was less co ordinated through booze than I’d thought and having difficulty getting my boots off. Not wanting to end up flustered and sweaty in front of him for the second time that day, I used the doorstep to pull them off and slipped out of my skinny jeans too so that when he arrived back he only had to pull my knickers down and put the condom on so we could fuck.

I might not be a height queen per se but I do love the weight of a man on top of me. Something about it makes me want to sink into the bed, wrap my legs round his back to pull him deeper inside me to maximise the weight and make sure he fucks me all the harder.

And with a guy this tall and well built, I was in my element. That delicious weight going straight to my cunt. I had my legs almost round his neck and my eyes closed enjoying that filled up being fucked senseless feeling when something felt odd enough to make me open my eyes. And just as I did I saw a fairly well sized slug drop from my curled in pleasure toes onto his bare back.

I tried to manoeuvre my foot down a little bit as if changing position to see if I could brush the slug off onto the bed but it turns out slugs are less malleable than you might think for a strip of muscle. My cover up attempt just managed to push the slug onto his arse cheeks.

I don’t know if he felt it on him or because the thought of it all began to give me the giggles in that way that makes it hard to breathe without laughing more, but he opened his eyes too at this point and saw my foot still trying to flick the slug away and asked if everything was ok.

It’s hard not to be compulsively honest with someone when you’re quite drunk and they’ve got their dick inside you and between sobs of laughter I managed to tell him there was a rogue slug on his bare arse. I think I even managed to explain that it must have come from the doorstep when I had taken my boots off.

He took it better than I expected, alternately reaching his hand behind him and trying to seek out the slug and leaning his weight back on it so he could keep fucking me. It was quite something watching such a big burly man battle his horniness and his disgust. But despite twisting and turning and slug hunting, he kept fucking me in a deep steady rhythm that actually managed to make me less hysterical and make me come.

A combination of calming me down and feeling me come round his cock made him come hard and collapse on top of me rather than hold himself up anymore. For a few moments I wasn’t sure if he was still coming or laughing and then I realised when he flapped his hand behind him again that he was in fact laughing almost as hard as I had been earlier.

This set me off again and we lay like this for several minutes before he managed to pick himself up and we found the offending slug cosied up in the duvet. I brought a tissue for the condom and one for the slug and both went in the bin while he showered any snail trails off him.

I expected him to shower and make his excuses to get away from crazy slug lady but not only did he come back to bed we met up again four or five times again as fuck buddies. He never let me live it down though making me go on top and keep my feet where he could see them next time…

The Beast With Two Backs