Independent Princess

FFF Prompt - July 5 - Independence Day

Key Word - Independence or Independence Day
Word Limit - 237
Forbidden Word - Fireworks
Extra Credit - Put the action on July 5th

It is hard being a famous princess. The woodland creatures and children look up me.

Worse, I had to plan a wedding once a year, because everyone knows that weddings are the “happily ever after”.

My handsome prince, was impatient during the umpteenth wedding, as he muttered: “every stupid July 5th.”

I kept my smile, and nodded slightly. We knew the routine, kissed when expected with large smiles on our faces, and rushed towards the carriage with rice being thrown, amidst trumpets, people cheering, the creatures waving goodbyes, even the doves calling down a congratulations as they flew over.

The white carriage, with its perfect-heart-shaped-carved-out-backing, so people can observe our happiness. I leaned my head on his shoulder, conscious of the numerous eyes watching our departure. He also knew the eyes were directed to the back of us. He kicked the basket at our feet, the clink of glass apparent; I gave a sigh of relief at seeing the alcohol bottle with glasses. He reached over, seemingly to embrace me closer, reached in and pinched my nipple, hard. He began twisting it viciously as he whispered his commands, the eyes peering at our backs us becoming farther away. Those wicked words wound me up. He ordered me to lift my dress, slipped his hand up my thigh, then grasped and ripped my panties off. A little bit of lace is hardly a barrier.

His fingers sought my already dripping sex, and he roughly pushed three inside me, his other fingers still created a wave of pain to my nipple. As his fingers fucked me, he told me how I was to strip naked once we got to the secret glade and serve him, the tortured foreplay that was going to occur as I was tied to a tree, how he was going to fuck me raw against a rock till my back bled. “Cum,” he commanded as he felt the tightening around his fingers. “Cum,” and I convulsed around his fingers, the pain and pleasure so exquisite.

As with the first honeymoon, I gave up complete independence, and loved every minute of submissiveness. 

Expectations

When I was younger, I slept with a (1) man for a few months. Unbeknownst to me, several months after we broke up, I hooked up with a (2) friend he had. While that relationship was no more than one of sex, we did have sex quite often, and I met some of their other friends, another (3) of which I hooked up with just once.

So when the three of them expected me to start sleeping with a fourth friend of theirs, I was mortified. Just because I ended up sleeping with three friends does not mean that I was going to passed around to their crew of friends. Just because I liked sex, and had it when I wanted it, doesn't mean that I would sleep with everyone who crossed my path, that I "ought" to sleep with men who offered me sex, especially if it was someone I knew. I was promiscuous with casual sex and having a good time, but not indiscriminately - I chose who I was attracted to, who I was going to have sex with, and if I even wanted another partner.

The friend was equally mad at me, and felt a sense of entitlement, like it was "his turn". They even went so far to show up at my house, these four guys, and try to sell/persuade me this the fourth guy. I was shocked, embarrassed, hurt, unsure of how to respond. It was one of those freezing up moments,
when time crawls so slowly, when you desperately want to hit fast forward and see it end.

Needless to say, I didn't sleep with that fourth guy, and the other three fast became a (painful) memory. I wanted nothing to do with them after that.

They had labeled me in their minds and to their friends, and they felt that I ought to stay within the boundaries and expectations of that label. It felt shameful that they labeled me at the time, though I hardly recognized that was the emotion. And I allowed that overruling emotion to define me, and I rebelled, and I shut off my own sexuality for a year. A YEAR, without intercourse, without finding a companion to share my desires and sexually fantasies with.

I can look back on that year and say I was proud of my self-control, except it wasn't my control that regulated it - it was the control that I gave those four guys. It was the control that I gave to society's definition that I was a slut, promiscuous with the negative connotations, an oversexualized female.

And I can even point the finger at myself that I had done the same negative judgments, criticizing my virgin friends for not experiencing sex, assuming they were scared, unable to find someone, or...or... the list goes on.

What I should have done is realized that they have a choice and they CHOOSE when to intimate, and with whom. The same choice that I had, that I wanted other people to respect. It wasn't until the judgment was cast at me that I realized that I was guilty of the same type of behavior.

Wasn't Convinced

Most girls outgrow traditional cover-up panties when they get older, and they move onto something sexier, be it g-string, thong, boy shorts... the list is long. I didn't. I kept with the same boring underwear . You know, the kind that cover every bit and normally reserved for days that the monthly comes.

A sister changed over, and then another. Watching the g-string go up their crack, I asked, "doesn't it bother you having something up your butt all day?"

"No, you don't even feel it, it's so thin. Unlike your underwear, where you get wedgies and they suck. And there aren't any panty lines in dresses and pants."

I wasn't convinced, and didn't change over.

...Until.

I was in a long term relationship. We bought a house together, shared a checking account (there is no bigger commitment to me - not even marriage, than these two things).  

We booked a cruise, and I bought a slinky dress (which I normally don't wear). My underwear showed so apparently that I decided that at least for this dress, I would wear a g-string.

And I was sold from that point on. My sister was right: no wedgie, fabric so slight that I was unaware of it after a period of time.  

Sure, I slowly transitioned from my boring underwear to g-strings, and then tried some boy shorts, and other types. I began feeling sexier about my undergarments. I wanted all the sudden for my bras to match my sexy panties. I no longer worried if the pants or dresses would show my underwear.

And

         then

My partner started questioning why all the sudden I was trying to be sexy. Who did I have to impress? Who was going to see under my clothes? Why did I need to replace one type with another? Why was I wanted more form fitting pants and purchasing more dresses?

...Who was seeing under my clothes?  Why was I changing? Why was I showing more skin? Why did I start dressing like a whore?

                                   Who was I sleeping with?

He didn't believe my simplistic reasons, he wasn't convinced. There was a sinister reason, he believed. Suddenly everything I did was suspect, I could no longer do anything without being questioned.

                                 All over my choice of panties.

Yoga I've been doing for years: why did I still have to do? Why was I trying to be more flexible, to move in more positions?

Eating healthy: didn't I look good enough?

Watching a new television program: who introduced me to that?

Going out with friends: was I really going out with friends? "Send me a picture of you and your friends."

This went on for quite awhile, until I had enough. Sadly, looking back, I let it continue far too long. It might not have started with panties, it might have triggered by so many different factors that I was unaware of (his friend was cheated on, he was gaining weight, we were so serious so young...the list is far longer than the types of panties). Unfortunately, the material covering my ass was just the first target. And who knows: it could've been the change in undergarments.

But my ass, and the lack of material covering it, was out of there.

It's amazing how some people perceive fabric at our innermost layer.  For some, it reflects our innermost fantasies, desires. It represents us, our scent, our secret, our sex. It can reflect our time of the month, our insecurities, our confidence, our sensual side.

It can create suspicion, incite lust, kick start relationships, or end them.  

 

Postponing the Inevitable

A continuation from Breaking Walls

The breath on my neck made my skin burn, so why then did goose bumps appear like I was cold? Next, the soft feel of your lips, increased the heat, followed only seconds by the tip of your tongue. It dipped against the skin, as if checking the temperature, before it plunged against the back of my neck, where it darted a path made by lips that moved slowly, sensually up and then around my neck.

I turned around and gazed at you in a direct way. You appeared startled by my look. But I couldn't hold your eyes, those liquid amber pools that reflected your desire and curiosity. No, my gaze was drawn to your lips that had just caused me to shiver and melt. Both lips were soft, the bottom fuller and keeping my focus. I found I wanted to suck on that lip, felt drawn towards it before remembering who you were and where we were, feeling a jolt in disbelief at my lack of control to the point where I almost caved into my urge.

Desperate to bring myself under control, I leaned over and grabbed your drink, shoved it towards your face, unable yet to speak, not knowing what to say. How do I turn down a dear friend?

Your eyes widened, and you grinned despite yourself before taking a drink, not removing your eyes from my face. There was a sexual magnetism about you that I just wanted to fall into. I had always found you sexy, and laying in bed, with your lips recently enflaming my passion, I felt that I would lose control quickly again.

You seemed to be assessing me, and almost as if making a decision, reached over me with your long arms and put the bottle down on the nightstand. Still leaning over me slightly, you were only inches from my mouth, and my gaze again focused on that bottom lip. My heart beat erratically and I couldn't tolerate the wait and anticipation and impulse any longer. I don't remember if you closed the space or if I did, but suddenly I was tasting those lips, the taste intoxicating as a drug, as sweet as innocence. I kissed you with my entire being, daring and bold, pulled your large frame further against my smaller one, molded us together.

I wrapped my legs around you, trying to leave no space between us, and felt your arousal through my pajamas. My breasts tingled and nipples tightened where your hard chest pressed against mine. The sudden tightening deep down inside of me made me hesitate. What in the world was I thinking? I lacked control and gasped, rolled out from under you so swiftly that you froze. We sat, faced each other. Eyes met eyes, your sensual full lips quirked upward, and I felt drawn again, and had to remind myself to not notice your lips.

"We shouldn't," I whispered, and again brought your drink to your face, stalled, thought. The heat coming off from your body was unsettling. How could I be so aware of your heat, even sitting upright facing you?

You smiled. "Okay," you affirmed, leaned slowly around me to put your drink back. But I forgot what we were discussing as you moved close to me and threw my arms you, pushed you against the mattress, tried to cover your body with my own. Again, you froze, your arms spread out helplessly, didn't hold or encourage me. I could understand if I was confusing you, my strong reaction to you confused me. But I didn't need any other encouragement other than the desire that you sparked. Hot, scorching passion that I was captive to, that made me melt into you.

But your arms still not being around me made me aware of who you were: my friend, and a man that doesn't have casual sex. As I moved my lips from yours and went to suck on your neck, I muttered, "the pants aren't coming off." There, that took care of casual sex, didn't it? I was proud of thinking of it, to have come to a logical conclusion of where this was going - no casual sex. You went to mutter, another okay...I think, but I thrusted my tongue deep in your mouth, and became aware of your arms finally around me. I was satisfied that apparently you found my solution agreeable.

I moved down to your neck, nibbled softly, felt you shudder, and then your hands grasped the bottom of my shirt and tugged upward. I offered no resistance, after all there was no rule against my shirt coming off, moved upright to make it a little easier to come off. I immediately moved back to your neck, felt your calloused hands on my smooth shoulders. My tongue moved onto your chest, tried to kiss every inch of the broad expense, your fingers caressed my arms, shoulders, back, so softly. My hands shook as I moved them against your bottoms, gently pulled the elastic waistband away from your skin, and stroked your hardened length with one hand.  

No longer gentle, you hauled me up against you, kissed me deeply and wildly. Twisting, suddenly underneath you, you returned the sentiment and covered me completely with your body, leaned up on elbows, cupped the side of my face, and just stared for a moment. I didn't want to think, felt panicked for a moment that I would stop us again, when you leaned down and softly kissed my forehead, the bridge of my nose, before returning to my lips. Next, you tasted the side of my neck, teased the lobe of my ear, shifted slightly and grazed the side of my breast with your fingers. I moaned, wanting to encourage you, and felt your hand cupping my breast, fingers sought out nipple and teased to hardened points. Your mouth closed upon the nipple, hot heat on sensitive flesh, and I arched into your mouth. Those wayward fingers of yours followed the curve of my hip, down the outside of my thigh, back up again, followed the path of my waistband, gently stroked my belly, making me suck in my breath with anticipation, a warm knot settling underneath your touch; but you moved up and stroked the other breast that you weren't kissing. After you sucked and licked both nipples, you moved lower, tracing feathery kisses down my stomach, your hand sliding over the thin cloth, almost touched my mound, before teasing fingers grazed at the inside of my thigh, lightly stroked up, almost all the way up, and then down, and back up, up, almost there, and back with the same pattern to distraction. Your tongue followed a path along the top of my pajama bottoms, and I suddenly hated this cloth barrier, this would-be solution that I concocted.

A solution we both tried, for hours upon hours, to horrendously honor, but couldn't remain loyal, as we had a deeper calling to finally and blissfully answer to. 

How to even begin to describe that torturous night, with sins and satisfactions, is intimidating to me, so much like that night, I suppose I'll postpone the inevitable and wait just a bit longer.

Read other's Somethings for the Weekend

Make Her Famous

Military men have this distasteful habit of sharing nude photos of women who they feel have done them wrong. It's often in a texting chain, and titled, "Make Her Famous", with only a picture of the naked woman. The other men may not even know who the woman is, who she supposedly wronged, or how many others have already seen it; they absent-minded forward it to everyone they know in the military before even looking at the picture themselves. Another way that military men share pictures is when they're deployed, it's called a "Dear John" or other-named wall in which actual printed pictures are posted. Oftentimes, the higher ranking people are not aware of where it is (as it's encouraged or acceptable), and yet it exists at every deployed area.

Now, these men have plenty of access to porn and pictures, both in and out of the workplace. "They aren’t about naked girls; there are plenty of those who are on the internet consensually. It’s about hating women, taking enjoyment in seeing them violated, and harming them... , usually with the complicity of someone they trusted. The whole point is to humiliate, but not just to humiliate; to violate." (http://yesmeansyesblog.wordpress.com/2013/01/29/revenge-porn-and-the-women-humiliation-industry/). These were women who trusted their partners with photos. Being intimate alone with someone requires trust, and yet sending them a picture requires even more trust for many (myself included).  And the forced separation from military men, for whatever reason, lends itself to more nude photo transfers than most couples (at least in my experience).

Now in the blog, Yes Means Yes, it is argued that this is mostly true of women, "because as a society we don’t think it’s inherently degrading or humiliating for men to have sex. Despite the fact that large numbers of women watch porn, there are apparently not large numbers of women who find sexual gratification in publicly shaming and demeaning men they’ve slept with." The blog also shed a new perspective to me in that: "We have a society with a tremendous tolerance for coercion and people can sit around thinking up all the times when it might be okay for someone to be sexualized against their will...[but] we’re better off starting from the proposition that sexualizing the unwilling is always a sexual assault before we entertain questions of intent and mistake and exception."

And it is true, these women are not allowing the men they trusted to forward their pictures to serve as a "warning: stay away" to the other guys, most often they are not even aware that their pictures are being viewed so publicly, and in a negative and hostile way. Revenge porn and celebrity-caught-photos do  the same thing-share a visual that they are not agreeing to. Anne Hathaway was quoted in two blogs recently (both blogs are mentioned in this blog) that: "I'm sorry that we live in a culture that commodifies sexuality of unwilling participants."

What's odd about the whole military men showing nude women photos is that they are (as a whole) incredibly quick to share their own cock photos with a new partner (or one that they barely even know, or heck, haven't even met). I would think that they would be more cautious, or untrusting, of sharing. And perhaps it isn't as shameful for the man's picture to shown in our society, or that they trust that women won't humiliate, because they most often don't.

But I know of a group of women who do. Because military men are so eager to share photos of their male parts, this group of women share it with the phone number, only if the men give an unsolicited penis picture. The girls will then critique his penis and let him know what they think. The argument being, "because if the man wanted to have his penis seen so bad, then they help him." An example I was given was:

Male: How's your pizza? Here's my penis! (Yep, sadly that's all it takes for some (military) men.)

First woman: one word: manscaping

Another woman: why do men always take pictures from on the toilet? You couldn't take it somewhere romantic like...like the garbage dump?

Perhaps these men don't mind as much because, "men’s shame usually centers on not appearing weak while women’s shame often revolves around not being perfect," (http://www.charlieglickman.com/2013/01/what-revenge-porn-tells-us-about-sex-and-humiliation). These pictures do not necessarily make the man feel weak, at least, not until this group of women send back comments, and possibly not even then. This line may seem blurrier as far as betraying trust, because the women didn't ask or even want the pictures, but the sharing of them to someone other than the intended  recipient is still about humiliating and violating; women are not above this.

YesMeans Yes ponders,  "if the culture tells my kids that it’s hot and exciting to violate a woman’s boundaries with a camera, what lesson will they take about violating a woman’s body with a body"? Charlie Glickman suggests, "but maybe it’s time that we take a look at how many ways we create a culture in which their behavior is simply a more extreme version of some behaviors that we don’t even notice anymore".  We are certainly a culture that views private parts "private", gets a thrill out of catching a celebrity unknowingly revealing more than intended, and constantly creating new sites for the "revenge" pictures and/or porn.  I am not sure of a solution. An adult trusting pictures of themselves to a lover is very different than a person knowingly and acceptingly posting or publishing pictures of themselves; and there is no shame - regardless of what a person looks like (body image is another topic for another day) - to publicly and willingly share. But to use the images for malicious intent, or to share if it is someone other than you or not given explicit permission, is an absolute harmful violation. I know that previous partners' pictures I've either destroyed, given back, or still hold privately for only my viewing pleasure. Certainly, that is part of the solution.  And to not feed/buy into the sensationalism of magazines, websites, other media who thrive on the commodity of an unwilling participant, demonstrates that it's unacceptable.  

As for my military man? He deletes the pictures forwarded  to him, at least not perpetuating the problem. It's a small step, but most movements begin with a small step (take the sex blogging community sharing the recent plagiarism/copyright issue with another blogger).

Verb Tenses

I am educated. And yet when I try to compose these blogs, my verb tenses switch. I am aware of it long after the fact.

I think my issue is that I am remembering (and how lucky am I that it's not fiction?!) and imagining it again so vividly that it seems to be my present moment. As frustrating as it is to my verbs, it's so pleasant to relieve and relish , so much so that I can turn myself on just in the recollection.

I will endeavor to work on my verbs, and my lover will continue to work on giving me the material.

Three of a kind

I can appreciate a beautiful woman. The soft skin, gorgeous curves, delicate shape. I am able to look at a woman and appreciate the beauty, like art. I've never been "attracted" to them though.

 I've always been a curious person. If I haven't done it, I want to. So I've always said that one day I wanted to have a threesome with another woman. The problem is I don't like sharing my toys so I'm a bit possessive about my men. Sure, a casual one would work but I'd imagine it's harder to find a man and a woman in the same night. For years this meant I just talked a big game.

At my new job, during classes, I was teacher's pet. Honestly, it's not my fault I'm smart and a bit of an over achiever, but this resulted in the rest of the class being not quite endeared to me. Apparently they don't believe you can be Ms. Prim and Proper at work then go home, go to the stripclub, drink and have sex all night. That just shows how little they knew. It got to a point where almost no one talked to me in that class until one time a girl invited me to a party she was throwing with other people from work. I went, even knowing I wasn't considered one of the cool kids.

 As I arrived I met Ava out front. She was young, brass, and irreverent. She had the body of a goddess and the mouth of a sailor. She was drinking a bottle of red wine through a twisty straw... the whole bottle. Ava eyed me with keen interest, they all kind of watched me. I immediately made a strong drink and inquired as to whether anyone would like to do a shot of tequila with me. My coworkers looked astonished. After that first lick of salt, that first sting of cheap tequila and the gush of lime, I was accepted. Jokes were made, drinks were offered and body shots soon started. S, another of our coworkers showed up to the party a little late, but she was just as intoxicated as the rest of us. She immediately joined in with the exclamations of wonderment over how they never knew I was so cool, and the dirty jokes and the wit? Where had I been hiding all this? As our night continued the jokes became more sexual in nature, as tends to happen when you get a mixed group together for drinking and socializing. A friend of mine, with a pool, who hosted the best parties, called and said he had some male friends over but they were sadly lacking in females. He asked if I knew any ladies who would like to get naked in his pool. I jokingly extended the offer to the girls at the party and Ava and S immediately told me to grab my keys. We were going to cool off on this hot summer night.

As we arrived at the house I could see the effect these two gorgeous women with me had on the men present. Both tall, statuesque women with exotic looks and firm young curves, it was impossible not to stare. Drinks were quickly made and Ava and S did not hesitate to strip off their clothes and dive in the pool. I had frequently been naked in this pool before in front of these men so it was nothing for me to strip down and join. We were frolicking, splashing, drinking and playing. I couldn't tell you how it started. The men were on the side of the pool and it was just the three of us still in. A joking fondle turned to a kiss, which turned into a sincere caress. A firm breast, a body slick no longer just with water but also now too with arousal. S and I both had one of Ava's pert nipples in our mouths. My hand was caressing Ava's satiny smooth entrance and S's fingers were exploring me. Quickly Ava was moaning and had a firm grasp in my wet hair. Her mouth searched for mine hungrily. I couldn't believe that somehow I was included in this erotic show with these two goddesses.

The men could hardly contain themselves while staring with avid interest at these three woman who were devouring each other in the pool. I put Ava up on the side of the pool. I had to taste her. This is always the part I was apprehensive of, but I quickly found I needn't have been. Her taste was light, and the unique smell of her not unpleasant. S continued to play my body like a instrument. She knew just where to press, just where to rub. I could feel her breasts cool against my back as I continued to worship Ava with my mouth. I quickly brought Ava to release and then the places were turned. S smiled up at me as I parted my legs from the ledge of the pool. She was excited and knew it was my first time. Ava and S stared at me and had a dueling of their tongues, fingers darting here and there. Then suddenly the flick of S's tongue was on my clitoris. I was startled and instantly gushing. With Ava behind S, staring at me while bringing S to her own peak, I quickly found release from the expert skill of S's mouth. Soon we are all satiated, and langorous.

We laughed and continued on with our night as though nothing had happened, as though we hadn't just put on the most erotic live show any of those men could've hoped to see. I was bewildered, and privileged to have been a part of that. I look back on the evening with pleasure. Not only had I had my threesome with another woman, I had it with two women who were almost impossibly beautiful. It was so different from anything that I had ever experienced in my life. Being with a woman is a whole different level than a man. They know what it feels like, it's not searching or wondering. There is assurity in movement and action. I, however, still love men and can honestly say that although that night was pleasurable, women still don't do it for me sexually. I'm attracted to masculinity and hard planes. The soft touch of a woman didn't excite me the way a firm grasp of a man does. After that night, Ava and I went on to be best friends and there has never been a repeat. There has never been an awkward moment or desire to either. I'm lucky to have found her and lucky to have been in such capable hands for my exploration into being with another woman.

This post is my first Wicked Wednesday entry. Thanks for the inspiration Rebel!

Wicked Wednesday

Our Mother's Blow Job Story

We are clearly a family that doesn't shy away from the topic of sex. Our mother was always dressed nicely. The polish on her toes and nails always matched her lipstick as well. She was an incredibly proper, old-fashion mannered woman; that might be why the words were all the more shocking that came out of her mouth.

Let's set the scene of many times: our mother at the head of the dinner table. It was always set perfectly, with the china and silver. Friends would raise an eyebrow at such a former meal.

My mother would correct our grammar, ask politely about our friends, joke with a love interest of ours, and then transition into her blow job story.

She'd start: "well when I was in school, I was dating this guy for awhile, and I thought I was in love. I had heard people talking about this thing called a blow job and how the guys loved it. I wanted to give my boyfriend something special, so one night I undid his pants and I..." here she lowers her face, slowly shakes her head back and forth, and blows gently. A picture of an earnest young woman softly blowing along the shaft of an excited man's penis always comes to mind.

Laughter, and then she'd continue, "My boyfriend asked me, incredulous, 'What are you doing?'"

"And I broke out in tears. I so wanted to make him happy and do something special. It was all I could do to reply, "but...but...but I...I...was giving...you a b-b-blow job."

"He laughed and told me, 'you don't really blow'".

Whether or not our mother intended this to be a lesson, rather than for entertainment, I'm not sure. But I researched, and watched porn, about what a blow job was before ever attempting one. And why is fellatio called "blow job" when blowing isn't the main event?