Five Days: Or, The List Cometh, 2.0

I haven't been posting as much as I'd like, mostly because there's not that much to post. Spending the holidays with my folks means that I haven't seen Tim in way long, which means that my sex life is pretty much imaginary. The List, epic work that it is, continues to quietly grow in a document named 2010 Classwork. And I'm getting ready to see Tim in five days. My folks are dropping me off in my City, and I'm going to straighten out my apartment, see a few friends, and get started checking off the List items.

It's been a rougher month than I expected it to be, and I find myself getting pretty cranky over missing Tim--something which never really happened in other relationships. Over at Sugarbutch Chronicles (), Mr. Sinclair Sexsmith is giving his (her? hir?) girlfriend "homework", an interesting concept to me, especially since this summer, Tim and I might end up at opposite ends of the planet for a month or so.I hate the idea of us coming together only briefly during the summer, and finding in late August that we have no idea where we are sexually anymore. Being able to assign each other sexual tasks might make it easier to keep us on the same page, connecting our two (currently separate) sex lives in the same way that talking runs a thread between our daily lives.

None of this is stuff I've had to worry about in previous relationships, even long-distance ones, because they were held together mostly with old chewing gum anyway. Unhappiness was a standard feature. My past relationships were like rental cars; I just sort of assumed they could drive over anything. But with Tim, even scratching the metaphorical paint worries me--enough that I, incorrigible pedestrian, have resorted to car metaphors. The problem with having nice things is having to worry about them, which I hate, and take care of them--which, it turns out, is more pleasurable than I ever thought it would be.

So that's my state of mind. The List may be spiraling a little, as my fevered imagination throws things onto it that I'm not sure are possible. For example, getting fucked in the ass with a vibrator, which sounds fantastic in theory but which in real life may end in "ow, ow, no, ow..." But it's never hurt me before to set my sights a little high. Every time I've been a little ambitious--in my writing, in my classes, in my dating--it's been greatly rewarded.

My First Successful Scene, Part I: or, in praise of duct tape

Last night my boyfriend Tim came over, and I tied him up and raped him.

Well, sort of.

First we cuddled, and then we ate some pasta and some tuna salad, and cuddled a little more--no sense in rushing things--and then at about seven-thirty, we started trying to tie him up.

This turns out to be way harder than it sounds, and it pretty much required Tim's full participation plus suggestions. This is at least partially because our bondage materials consisted of the following:

-Two belts with regularly spaced holes along the entire length (I highly recommend these; apparently they come from Wal Mart);
-One regular ol' belt;
-One hand-knit bondage rope (very good for restraining small people, such as me;
-An old TV cable; and
-Lots and lots of duct tape.

Using all of these materials, I eventually managed to bind Tim's hands to his legs and get his legs tied together. He thought he might still be able to get out, so he suggested I string the TV cable under the mattress and tie it across his body. So of course I had to get him out of his restraints so he could get off the mattress. But once we got the cable across him, we were, as they say, in business.

"You ready?" I asked.

He nodded.

"Hey," he said. "I'm gonna use the safeword if I need you to stop, okay? If I beg you to stop...that's good."

I nodded. And then I blindfolded him.

The first thing I did as soon as the blindfold was on was to take off my shoes. I kicked them off as quietly as I could (giant stilettos are sexy but useless) and then I started pondering.

I didn't come up with a plan before I started, and I'd been nervous about that, but it's amazing how easily that dissipated when I was faced with a naked man to play with. I started by not touching him at all, just walking around the bed looking at him from different angles. I leaned down so that my hair trailed over him and blew a little air over his skin. He flinched. Beautiful.

I grabbed my hairbrush off the bed beside him and trailed the bristles down his body, and then slid it around and slapped the exposed underside of his thigh. He pushed both legs flat against the bed and whimpered a little.

I crawled up onto the bed beside him and lifted the corner of the blindfold to whisper in his ear. Just one word. "Hello." I said it softly, cheerfully, maybe with a hint of seduction.

"Who are you?" he asked, a tremor in his voice.

I lifted his blindfold.

"No one you know," I said.

And then I slapped him hard across the face.

Face-slapping is usually off-limits for him, but he said it was okay in this scene, and I went to town. It's something I love, that and hair-pulling, and since I was in charge, I took full advantage. At one point I was stroking his cock with one hand and raking red marks across his chest with the fingernails of the other, and I thought I saw him smile.

"Are you LAUGHING at me?" I asked. He shook his head. I backhanded him anyway, hard enough that his cheek went red. He shuddered from head to toe and began to whimper.

"Please," he said softly. "Please stop."

I didn't.

[To be continued...]