Contrasting Perspectives 1

Having introduced a threesome recently into our relationship, I immediately asked for their write-ups and perspectives so that I could compare opinions. This is the first quarter of the story pieced together:

The characters' perspectives:

Cammies, Lover, Friend

***Cammies: Exhausted from partying at strip club the night before with just two hours sleep, I warned my friend, when he expressed the desire to drink with my lover, that he had until a certain time and then I was going to bed. Lover couldn't be partying with us the night before due to work.

Fighting off a migraine, which is rarely suffered, wasn't helping matters in staying up. Yes, I wanted lover to drink and have fun with us, but I wanted sleep a little bit more that night.

A pain and migraine pill were my poison of choice that night, hoping it would dull my thunderous head to tolerable. The men drank hard liquor, and immediately in large quantities. Friend, in knowing my time constraints, pushed lover to drink faster, as if we could squeeze a whole night of fun into just a few hours.  We played cards, and then relaxed on the couch.

Time was up, but I looked at the men and neither one seemed inclined to move. They were relaxed and talking and drinking. I still wanted bed, selfishly still wanted sex, so I straddled my lover and kissed him.

It never ceases to amaze me how the world slows and dissolves from just a deep kiss. My head was silent for once that day (or was it the finally the medicine doing a phenomenal job?).

The friend was sitting next to us on the couch, and he remarked that lover should grab my ass and pull me in deeper to the embrace, to which lover did. I was amused by the instructions. I moved to lover's neck, my head unhappy with the movement and briefly opening eyes. Friend gave further instructions, and next thing I felt were nails being raked up my thigh, eliciting a moan from me. I pulled lover's shirt off, caught up in my own passion, and began kissing his chest.

My own shirt quickly disappeared, as did friend's. Making out with lover, with friend's hands occasionally on us, or his voice directing, intrigued me. Like Alice curious - I wanted to follow the rabbit down the hole and see where it went.

I suggested, finally, going to bed. Friend stated that he was going to the guest room to get a few things and would meet us there, pausing to ask: "is that okay?"

I looked at lover, who looked back at me, and I'm sure we had the same questions of: where is this going, and was the other person comfortable with this. This was new territory to our relationship, and new elements we usually discussed at length before pursuing.

I shrugged, and he must've given a positive consent as friend went into room. He grabbed me in a hug and whispered, "what are we doing?" His tone was negative, and that puzzled me in my foggy brain.

"I don't know. We can always say stop or no later," I whispered back, trying to lead him to the bed, still curious about this journey.

"Okay, but no sex." He followed behind.

***Friend: My drink was strong, I could taste the alcohol starting from my lips all the way down to center of my core. Feeling more at ease to let the night progress to brand new, fulfilling experiences. It was already late when all three of us finally sat down together. I could feel the sexual tension building up, to what turned out to be a night that would open our eyes, and see world in a whole new yet very pleasurable way.

I could not hold the urge in much longer. I wanted to feel her body against mine, feel the heat radiate off her smooth silk-like skin. As I looked into her eyes, it was almost instant, that she could sense the same urge. However, I was afraid that she would not make the first move, and wondering if this was going to progress into anything more than a blue balls night. With less than a blink of eye, she stormed his body like hot, soapy water attacks the stains of a sauce pan. All I could do at first was sit back and watch, letting them tear into each other with their mouths, waiting for my moment to take action. I found my opportunity - it started simply moving his hands around her body, guiding them to touch her amazing body, giving it the attention that it deserves.

***Lover: I felt taken advantage of, pretty much the entire time. I get home for work and he immediately thrusts a drink into my hands, encouraging me to drink more, or faster, or get another. She immediately was on me, kissing and touching me. I didn't know that she had medicated herself, just knew that she wasn't drinking and clearly the sober one.

She was undoubtedly okay with this. Did they have the whole thing planned? It was awkward at first when he took my hands and moved them to parts of her body on the couch. I knew what she enjoyed, but it was good when she liked some other things that he said.

When he went to his room, I looked down and asked what we were doing, what was going on. I didn't know our limits, I didn't know if she was okay with this, where she wanted it to go.

Unknown Leads to Desire: Mating in Captivity

Esther Perel's book Mating in Captivity: Unlocking Erotic Intelligence was suggested by My Dissolute Life.

I cannot read a book without writing in it (I never borrow books for this reason). I had an English Professor tell me that "books talk to us, talk back", and that seemed like as good as motivation to explain to people as ever. And yes, because most of my reading is done in the bath, I still read actual paperbound books (shocking, I know, but imagine how expensive an electronic book would suddenly become if I dropped it).

As I've been reading this book, I've been reflecting. This seems like a good place to share. I'm strictly going to speak from a military spouse, and generalize that most spouses are females to a military man.

Perel states that unknown factors increase excitement and desire, hence the giddy love-rush feelings at first. But unknown isn't synonymous with security, so we seek to make each other more known in a commitment: "to control the risks of passion, you have tamed it out of existence." (Perel, 10)

She suggests looking at your partner with a new perspective (ever seen someone appreciate something about your partner, and realize that you've been taking that very thing for granted in them?). For example, I go to the same local family business to buy my ball gowns. The seamstress met my husband, and commented on his slow mannerisms, his thoughtful consideration, his absolute respect, and his gorgeous body. By that point, I had taken some of these things for granted, and no longer saw them until she pointed them out. He does have a slower mannerism than say a person from California (who always seems rushed); I’d forgotten how I used to think that too.

Gorgeous, well I can’t forget that. For some reason, even after years, he still takes my breath away. When I told her one year that we were done having babies, she declared, “no baby, no. He is gorgeous and he needs to make gorgeous babies.” She’s right: he is gorgeous, but that doesn’t change the fact that he was not having any more babies. Now, we were all for practicing.

Now in the military, the odds for taking someone for granted aren’t as high as perhaps some other couples. For one: there’s deployments. Depending on what branch depends on how long they are gone. The fear of them being in harm’s way makes them that much more precious. And you are away from them – aware of the emptiness of the bed beside you, the lack of tripping over their boots, their interactions with the children. Communication is often short and random, words become that more important, preciseness to convey a message is hard but so importantly necessary. Their voice inflections travel from the ear and burrow deeply into the heart, to nourish until the next time. And when you finally see each other again, it is falling in love all over again. Often spouses have lost weight, change a hairstyle, become more independent, developed a new routine; kids have grown. Military personnel are often more muscular and defined, tired, perhaps have even changed emotionally and mentally from what they’ve experienced.

Trainings/schooling tend not to be as long, but it is still a breaking apart and coming together again. Also, spouses will often travel and visit family if they’ve moved far away for extended periods of time. There always seems to be a reason for parting and coming back together in the military lifestyle.

It is getting to know each other again; they are unknown to each other again depending on the length of time; and their unique and completely individual experiences. The fact that they are married changes nothing of the newness of each other, that is more based on the love and commitment to each other, not in the actual wanting of each other. "Love is about having; desire is about wanting. An expression of longing, desire requires ongoing elusiveness." (Perel, 37) These couples are often elusive, and want to recommit to each other, to discover and delve into each other again, and desire tends to be very high at homecomings. A new lover delivered safely, an "oh yeah, I forgot how that feels" touch or caress, a new trick heard and now tried. Even old tried and try methods are made new and appreciated.

The up and down rollercoaster of the relationship in a military lifestyle isn’t all grand; it is downright challenging. At a recent marriage retreat that my husband and I went to, we heard from the chaplain that the divorce rate was currently 75%. There have a lot of studies debating if it is higher than the average national norm or not, I’ve read a lot of it and it seems pretty undecided as a whole. But it is challenging. Some couples become addicted to the partings and homecomings, and cannot handle their spouses for long periods of time - they've become stagnant and lose that desire. Some have lived apart for so long that when they finally come together, they discovered they didn’t want to be married anymore, the desire simply wasn't there at all and was perhaps more of an illusion sustained by distance.

I am going to suggest her book to many of my friends, especially if they are ready to transition to civilian life where separateness may be more challenging. Perel in no way suggests living separately to gain individuality, those are my own thoughts based on a military lifestyle. She discusses reawakening the newness when there has been no new element in a long time (which the military provides); of desiring each other again. When not forced apart, I can only hope that my spouse and I retain our individual selves and continue to view each other with desire from different perspectives.

*As a side note: even reading other bloggers really helps my own sex life. It has made me curious to try new things, to get out of my comfort zones, to point towards someone else’s words who have more effectively communicated wants that I’ve been trying to tell my husband. There are even some great videos that bloggers provide to offer how-to for so many numerous kinks.

With bringing in new ideas, or often being reminded of old favorites, I believe that we will keep our sex life and desire fresh just because we are so fluid with it.   

Fulfilling Bruises

When I first got together with my husband, I had bruises on my knees. We both had no idea why, but it had been a very long night of all foreplay, and no sex. Literally, all night long. So I shrugged my shoulders at the unknown source of the bruises, but he worried that I bruised easily.

A year later…As a professional, he marked me on the neck: a small hickey, but one that I had to cover in makeup and hair, and I was extremely upset over it. I cannot have a visible mark on me for my career, especially a teenage-ridden one. He remembered to be more careful from then on.

And later…With our more passionate lovemaking, I would often have finger bruises on my thighs. I loved these marks, small little marks that often I was only aware of, a secret reminder of our time together. The marks became more numerous if we saw each other for any length of time, and I marveled how dark they could get, how lovely they looked against my milky thighs.

When we would wrestle, I would sometimes bruise, mostly it was me bruising myself trying to get the upper advantage, occasionally on my wrist from him managing to pin me down. I loved these playful moments; he always worried about me getting hurt.

I am so much shorter than him (over a foot), and he outweighs me almost double. I am grateful for his concern, but….

I wanted him to spank me. We had already learned I liked my nipples played with rough, orgasm harder from rougher sex, and my hair tugged. But when I asked him to spank me, it was lightly. It didn’t do the job that I wanted, that I was curious about. He was scared to mark me, to hurt me, to bruise.

Just like the finger bruising, or the sore nipples, I wanted to both see and feel our time together, even after the fact. I wanted to be reminded of it. I wanted to savor it.

It took a lot of talking, reassuring, instructing, demanding to get where he finally smacked my ass to sting. We both marveled over how red, how we could see his hand and finger imprints. It felt so deliciously warm to the touch; I smiled and even giggled when I kept looking back to see it. Sadly, it didn’t last throughout the night, but he was so worried about spanking me that hard, I worried not only what it would take to get it to bruise (and if I would even like it), but more how I was going to convince him to go even harder. I was working against his own preconceived notions, and society's, of never to intentionally hurt a woman. But it was kink/pleasure, and at my consent; he needed to see it differently.

My loving husband, who protected me and sheltered me, who thought I bruised so easily, so was cautious about marks (my point was visible marks, but he was still cautious), was now being asked to bruise me – someone much smaller than him.

It went against his protective nature, but fortunately for me, his nature is ultimately to please me. He is truly a lover that is flexible, adaptable, and open-minded. And we did finally accomplish a bruised and marked ass (which I was thrilled about, but that experience also taught us limits and timing on spanking). Since then, I’ve asked for much more from him.

I am such a lucky wife, that I married a man who is changing and evolving with me to keep our sex life interesting and new. That if I become curious, I feel comfortable enough to discuss it with him; or vice versa. And if we are ever uncomfortable with a suggestion, we simply don’t do it or discuss our way to comfortable at a much later date.  

Many married couples do not share their fantasies with each other; we not only share ours, but do our best to fulfill them. Even if that means bruising.

Not all marks are visible; he has left so many invisible, deeply imbedded traces throughout the years, and those are certainly savored, cherished, felt, and loved.

TMI: fill ins

This TMI Tuesday let’s play sexy fill-in the blanks.
1. If my sex life were a film, it would be rated the kind you go behind the curtain for, after being carded.

2. I got a body for being extremely sexually active and a face for smiling appreciatively at a partner that can keep up .

3. It’s extremely sexy when a guy/girl does dishes, or wants me as much as I want them .

4. Doing yoga naked makes me very blatant in my come-fuck-me message .

5. In the morning, I am always full of energy .

6. I would love to learn ropes in the kink community .
Bonus: Roses are ____ , Violets are ____ , YOU CREATE THE REST OF THE POEM

Examples:

Roses Are Red
Violets Are Blue
God Made Me Pretty
What Happened To you?

Roses are straight
Violets are twisted
Bend over love
You’re about to get fisted                       (I love this one!)

————-
Roses are lovely
Violets are complex
Let's not go further
I just want to have sex

How to play TMI Tuesday: Copy the above TMI Tuesday questions to your webspace (i.e., a blog). Answer the questions there, then leave a comment below, on this blog post, so we’ll all know where to read your responses. Please don’t forget to link to tmituesdayblog from your website!

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.  

 

What...?

"I have the bouquets right here. But before we go in, I want to discuss something with you guys. We all know she never, ever expected to get married, and recently she's been questioning this decision. We all know they love each other, that they will be just fine. She's getting cold feet, is all. So I've posted family members at all the exit-" laughter "I'm not even joking. But we're closest to her, so we need to watch her carefully for any signs of bolting, cut her off before she can get started."

"No problem," mixed in with other agreement sounds.

 "Great, her parents are all ready to walk/escort/force her down. Mom on one side, dad on the other, it's perfect." The hands holding me were cool, belonging to the calm and collective voice, the person obviously in charge. I thought I was being given to the person in charge, but she sounds in charge...who...what am I getting myself into? I'm meant for happiness, not an emotional woman escaping prison confines. We moved into another room, and I was put down for final touches to the lady in white, her complexion almost matching the dress color. I was handled by the steady hands again before being handed over to freezing shaking ones. Did anyone even take the time to sniff me in appreciation? I was the perfect perfume gone unnoticed.

A deep sigh above me, the owner's hands were sweaty (seriously: sweaty but frigid?). They hurt in their fierce grip. I was concerned at any moment my lovely fragrant petals would be ripped apart, my stems bent or torn. Music started, and I was almost dropped,  a man's hand moved to my side to steady and stop my descent. Whew, close one, but if she decided to run...would she toss me on the ground? Shove me into a door or the chest of some person trying to tackle her like I was some football? I was meant to be tossed daintily into another waiting woman's hands, where I would be cherished as the love symbol that I am. I am delicate...though apparently not as delicate as this person's nerves.

We began walking, and the quaking became severe. How could anyone appreciate my beauty if I was a blur in her hands? Of course, with the back drop of her white-even the hands, my colors had to be vibrant. At least there's that comfort, though small comfort that that was. Oh my, I'm beginning to feel woozy from the shaking, or is it choking of her hands? I can't breathe, I can't see, why won't the world stop spinning? What....

 

Simultaneous Orgasms

The Dirty Normal discussed simultaneous orgasms as "nearly always requires that you both be fully present, attuned, and connected with your partner RIGHT NOW, RIGHT HERE, eyes open, hearts open, lights on, clothes off, breathing and connected, locked into each other, together, now, US."

I agree with parts of this, and don't others. My partner achieves simultaneous orgasms roughly 90% of the time.

Yes, my partner, and not me. I am capable of multiple orgasms, averaging (thank you Orgasm Race to showing me this) three orgasms per session; I've not met a man who has multiple orgasms, and therefore have never been joined for multiples. Most of the time, by the third orgasm, I am physically exhausted and make sure that he joins me on that ride to the top of three.

I agree with the Dirty Normal in that both of us, to attain an orgasm together, are present in the moment (one of the few times I am), attuned and connected to each other's body language. He reads my body's cues, or the "don't stop, right there" words I say (okay, let's face it, he probably relies more on the verbal cues), and moves accordingly - normally exactly as I've told him to. He feels me tightening with my orgasms, which requires him to be present enough and attuned to feel that connection between his penis and my vagina wall muscles. The tightening around his shaft is normally what pushes him over the edge towards his own climax. And usually the more orgasms I have, the stronger and easier they become, and the less control I have over them - which may be another reason we average three - he's already resisted being pleased with the first two.

But, I mostly control when he cums. It comes in handy when I want a quickie, it comes in handy for faking an orgasm (yes, I've been guilty of this a time or two, but only with new partners who lack self-confidence). I can control my muscles, squeeze him (I've read the term milking-not sure how I feel about that one). It increases my own pleasure; it speeds up his.

Now granted, if he wasn't attuned to me - say he was thinking about what to have for dinner later, then no matter what I do, it may not matter.

As for "eyes open" that just doesn't happen for me. And I can honestly say that I have no idea if any of my lovers have had their eyes open - I don't keep mine open. When it starts to feel good, I close my eyes, cut out the visual stimulation, and just feel. My eyes always being closed hasn't stopped simultaneous orgasms yet. And the lights could be off or on, for him or for me.

"Hearts open" is another one that (at least I) don't need. As much as it bothers my partners, I don't feel emotional when I have sex, they are two separate entities for me. I lived with a man for three years, had the most amazing sex, and didn't fall in love with him (but it wasn't for lack of trying). I've still managed these orgasms with that partner. Of course, I'd like to think that simultaneous orgasms are "more special" with someone I love, everything is more special when it is spent with a loved one. But I am a capable of timing the orgasms without emotional attachment.

As for the breathing, I've read some articles on how couples should play with breathing as an exercise to feel connected - same kind of exercise as to touch without sex, massage without being sensual, etc.. I haven't tried these, I would honestly feel like laughing the whole time, but one day when I mature more perhaps I can give these things a go. 

And of course, some may argue that these orgasms wasn't what The Dirty Normal intended, as they are manipulated at times, but even when I don't consciously do anything to have simultaneous orgasms, I do tighten in my own pleasure which pleases him - regardless of the circumstances of our connection.

FFF: Is this Me? And obedient?

Rules: Key Word: Liberation, but not Freedom

Word Count: 199-209
*Accidentally looked at the wrong prompt

 

My mother taught to always be a strong woman. I was fiercely independent - relationships didn't compliment well.

Then I met Max. Instant attraction: tall, dark, handsome, a magnetizing smile. When I pushed for sex, he said wait.

I'm not patient....but I did. When finally physical, we'd already known intimacy, just his terms. It was amazing. As time went on, I began responding to his desires more frequently. He would grab my hair, I climaxed harder. When he told me how to please him, I was excited - not defiant, resentful. I wanted to...

This is where it's gotten me...sitting in an empty room, my back up against the wall (literally and figuratively). He had honestly shared wanting me submissive to him sexually.

So obedient? Dutiful? These words don't describe me! I think... hands pressed together,  knees bent, like in an upright fetal position. I'm not weak, I'm strong. Thinking upon last night, right before bringing me to orgasm, yanking hair - moving mouth to ear, he whispered: "Not weak. Liberation, but not freedom. Submit to me sexually, break free of biases." Then he thrusted in - I screaming and thoughtless.

Still shuddering at the words; I'd made a decision and stood up.   

 

Notes: I checked out the FFF through my phone. I don't know if I found an old one, or a different one to a different blog, but somehow I thought this was this weeks '- oops! Didn't discover the truth until I went to submit it Friday morning. However, I'm proud...I don't want this to not be published and seen, it was challenging to write.
This is such a tiny word count, it's ridiculous. I had to cut out 100 words once I was done with the draft. And the key word isn't a word, it's a damn phrase...but it was also highly inspirational to this story. As soon as I saw it, and the picture, I wanted to depict the inner struggle of a woman faced with this decision, against her own preconceived notions.

A's Acting

To be, or not to be the school girl was the question of the night. I stared at the skirt in my hands and let my eyes drift over to the Mary Jane stripper heels, before rolling them at the whole scenario. I've always prided myself on being open sexually and game to try anything, but I didn't know if I could pull this one off.

Random A fun fact: I don't usually go beyond two or three different phrases in the heat of sex talk. The reason being, I think I sound very, very special, and not the OMG-look-at-her-take-that-whole-banana special, more like the I-confused-snack-foods-for-my-vagina special (see Twitter). So this then has me limiting myself to a few key phrases I have grown comfortable saying.

This obviously doesn't lend itself to being a genius sexy-kitten role player. So, with visions of him thinking he is fucking William Shatner in a plaid skirt, I was a bit apprehensive to fulfill this particular fantasy. This is when my real acting skills shine. I could charm the pants off of a nun, so I quickly started trying to come up with ways and excuses not to do this.

So far the only go-to move I could come up with was to just be naked and waiting, and get his dick inside of my mouth as quickly as possible. Maybe he wouldn't notice the lack of pigtails and super itchy skirt. In a mild, sarcastic panic for a bit, I indulged the fantasies of pleading illness or insanity (I call it the snack food defense), before coming to grips that I had to at least try.

Sigh. He'd indulged the things I wanted to try, and the nightmare of getting all of that honey out of his chest hair meant that I owed it to him to at least attempt the school girl thing. On went the white knee highs which I couldn't help but admire sliding over my smooth, tan legs. Naughty red lace thong gracing the ample ass I'd come to love, that blasted skirt....

Ruby red lips in a nervous smile and a slight fidget greeted him as he came in the door. His eyes lit up in appreciation as he took in the sight of me, and my body relaxed. William Shatner or no, I knew we were going to have a great time together. He came over to take me in his arms and I made some coy remark about "Oh Mr. So-and-So! What are you doing!?" because it was his fantasy and he was breaking the rules.

It was bad... The only thing missing was the dramatic hand placed against my forehead and the fluttering of my lashes. He laughed. A lot. I laughed. Role playing just wasn't something I was ever going to be good at, but laughter during sex I can handle.

He tumbled me to the bed, and I am grateful to say, the rest of the evening was just "Let's fuck A with a plaid skirt on and try to avoid getting stabbed with the stripper heels" instead of the Shakespearean acting session I had been dreading all day.

Sometimes, as long as you try, the failed attempts at kink can be just as hot and fulfilling as those you can do like a pro.

Open

"Poly-what?"
Sigh. This wasn't going as well as I'd hoped. I was making a muck of things and it wasn't only hurting my cause, it was hurting him. I had so carefully rehearsed the way things would go, but as soon as I sat him down, it went out of the window.

"I love you."

I knew that these words confused him. I knew they too, almost hurt. It didn't make them any less true; and it also didn't alter the path I had set myself on.

When I first started seeing K it was uncanny almost, the similarities to my Ex. I thought I had done it, finally done it. Ex was everything I had wanted in the care and love department with me, but sexually we were a nightmare. I spent over 5 years in a very loving, committed, nunnery. I wasn't about to do that again. K is a big strapping man and from the first he handled me with care, and cherished me... He also threw me over his shoulder and then on the bed. He'd pull my hair and leaving glowing prints on my ass... I finally had everything. So I thought.

I had been ready to settle down into monogamy again after enjoying the single life for awhile. To achieve this goal I started taking my time getting to know someone. K and I were great together and he respected me for waiting before intimacy. I spent every night cradled in his arms. We'd kiss and touch, sigh and breathe, and reach heights of desire that were hard to come down from.

Finally, though, I was done with waiting. I spent every moment with this man and I knew I had him. We took a weekend trip; I took my lingerie. We had a lovely night out and once we got back to the hotel we were both giddy with anticipation. I lit candles around the room and after a steamy bath I came out in my corset and silk stockings, my garter lace and delicate. My cheeks flushed with excitement...

We came together on the bed and there was a driving urgency, a need that had to be fulfilled. What felt like hours of teasing passed until I was urgent to have him inside of me. This is where it gets tricky.

I had already had a discussion with K about medical problems he had as a child that rendered him unable to feel sensation in more than a very small area on his penis, and the surgery at a young age that meant it never grew up with the rest of him body. He was this BIG strapping man with an extremely disproportionate body. I didn't care then and I still didn't care now.

It didn't work. I am so extremely short and he is so very very tall that the only position we can manage is missionary, and that hurts. My hips can't span him, there was no leverage for me on top. Our height differential made from behind tedious and frustrating as we couldn't even thrust, no matter what we raised me up on. When we were done, it was more an air of defeat and discontent instead of completion.

I got a twinge of apprehension but didn't express it. I offered reassurances, joked about my tiny legs, and said we had so many more opportunities for exploration. We continued on with out weekend and everything was just the same as it had always been.

We had problems with the condom. It wouldn't stay on and what sensation he did have the ability to feel was stripped away. We had a frank conversation about safety and responsibility and decided we would both head out to our doctors and get testing. I was committing to this relationship and monogamy henceforth.

After more blissful time together our results finally came back, and we finally got the green light. I have to say, I expected completely different results from our previous attempt. The foreplay was still amazing. The things this man can do with his hands gives me the shivers just to think of.

45 minutes later and I am covered in sweat. My hips are screaming and my poor body is dried out and tired. K still hadn't come. We waved the flag of defeat and told ourselves tomorrow we'd do better. Weeks go by, our relationship is perfect but the sex is becoming something we are both avoiding now. Sexually, physically, we aren't compatible. I cannot bring my partner to orgasm and it's killing me. I'm a sex goddess in my own right and I do not know what to do with his body. He doesn't feel head, wrapping my hand around him hurts, and other than shallow thrust in missionary, we can't even have sex.

By now though, there's a problem: I love him. I love him enough to be searching desperately for a solution. My self esteem has tanked and I don't make any effort to be sexy... I am losing a very huge piece of me, drowning in loving someone I am not compatible with. His Ex left him for another man, the first woman he had ever been with. Now suddenly, the second might be leaving because of sexual problems. I couldn't do that to him.

I did a lot of soul searching. I felt selfish, confused, and apprehensive. I was thinking about shifting my views on everything I had ever thought was sacred in a relationship. I wanted us to open our relationship.

I couldn't think of losing K, but I couldn't lose ME to US.

I had discussed with my sister the idea and she linked me to some great things on how to approach it. I read everything I could find and formulated a game plan. I had previously been withdrawing from K and now I redoubled my efforts to give him affection and show him I loved him.

So here we were, sitting down for this talk I had planned for ages it seems like and I was making a muck of it. His instant reaction was one of inadequacy. I told him repeatedly that it had nothing to do with my love for him or that he was inadequate at all. I was the problem. I was kink and fetish and insatiable. It was just how I was made. The things that made him love me, that made me vivacious and irresistible were now too leading us down this unexplored path.

I wanted to be open. Not just our relationship, but our communications, our feelings. I would never cheat and so I needed to make this an acceptable part of our relationship. K had many of the problems I knew he would, they'd be the same potential problems I'd be opening myself up to if we opened our relationship. Jealousy, possessiveness, fear. What if the unknown "she" could get him to climax when I had proven so woefully incapable of it myself. I explained that we would have to have very clear boundaries. I was ok with coming home every night rules, of letting the other know what was going on while sparing them the unnecessary details. Of taking it slowly over months before any actual relationships with others were formed.

No matter what I said, though, K always looked - always said the same. He was unable to see himself being okay with it; he was inadequate. It broke my heart. This was our last option. We'd spoken with doctor's, we'd done counseling, tried new toys, wedges, everything. This had to work.... Or I had to leave. I told K that I didn't expect him to be ok with the idea at first, and to just consider it for a bit.

A week went by and K was redoubling his efforts to please me and I was doing the same to him. It wasn't enough for me though. This was my path, this was my choice, and either we could journey into it together, or I would need to do so on my own. I was beginning to withdraw again and knew I needed to bring up my resolve. Now I just needed the right time to do it.

One day, K suddenly comes over to me, rubs my leg and says "Hey, I just wanted you to know, that blog you asked me to read? I read it. I also ordered a book on polyarmorous relationships and I've been reading it along with things I've looked up. I want you to know, that I'm thinking about it. I'm trying to see if I can be okay with it. I love you."

My heart melted and I knew I loved him more. Even if it didn't end up being my perfect fairytale ending, even if he decided he would never be okay with it, I knew I made a right decision in loving him and wanting to stay.

Some things remained to be seen, but regardless, at least I knew that the man I loved, loved me enough to try to be open.

FFF Stolen Moment

FFF Prompt - April 19 - Stolen
Key Words - Stolen
Word Limit - 300
Extra Words - 10 words for everyone you personally invite to join FFF
Extra Credit - Involve a Panda Bear

She bit her lip, unsure what to do. Ordinarily, she knew, but this wasn't like him. Halfway through moving day, and already their relationship was changing. She pushed thoughts aside, proceeded into the room, hoping instincts would guide her with this new predicament.

He was laying on their mattress, stolen from her parents' house, not that they'd miss it from her old room. She knew he was worried what her parents thought, moving in "with a bum like him", but just because he didn't have a degree or great paying job didn't make him less wonderful. He was worried already about buying this fixer-upper; she found it symbolic of their planning a life together: possibilities with an imperfect canvas, sexy image he'd be as he fixed it, muscles prominent, sweat glistening.

He needed to calm down. She dropped her pants next to her panda bear bag she adored, constantly stolen by her friend; she dropped her panties next to his shoes as she approached him slowly. He looked at her at first sound of cloth moving, steadily gazed, waiting to see her next move. His silence was unnerving. She looked at his chest, shirtless while moving, his blue jeans, the blue mattress, smiled as she realized she was wearing a blue shirt.

"Don't be so blue," she instructed, as she straddled his hips and leisurely sank down onto him. The jeans couldn't hide his erection, pressed through the rough material on her sensitive, soft pink folds. Teasingly, she unhurriedly eased her t-shirt up, where his hands - those gifted hands that would soon craft their house a home - already reached up to feel the fullness of her breasts. She realized this was a stolen moment in what hinted a difficult journey, but they had the rest of their lives...