Truths Don’t Have to Hurt
To be truly honest means I must participate in the destigmatizing of shame around the subject of childhood molestation.
When I started this blog back in 2010 it was because people were pleading with me to write it. The very same friends who I would recount details from my wild nights with would coax me, “Everyone wants to hear this, you must create some thing!” So, I did and at the time it took off. Sooo I Met This Guy fill the void in the time post Sex In The City and pre Girls.
Without much effort promoting the platform the readership skyrocketed, media features were published and then I got bored and my actual fashion career began to takeoff. There was barely time to live the life let alone write about it.
Now I’m faced with the self inquiry, “Why am I doing this again?” No one is asking me to write and the readership is a fraction of what it used to be… Honestly a podcast would be the more obvious medium in 2022. For Christ’s sake even Carrie got that right in the SITC reboot and no I haven’t watched it (or Girls for that matter).
So back to the question, what am I getting out of this and why am I taking precious moments of my day to create?
The exhibitionist part of me takes an immense amount of pleasure knowing a part of you gets off reading about my sex, but you already knew that. To be truly honest is to reveal some thing I spent my entire life to keep hidden, even from myself.
To be truly honest means I must participate in the destigmatizing of shame around the subject of childhood molestation; a word that even as I write it on this page (yes I hand write all my first drafts) refuses to be scrawled smoothly.
I continue to share my journey exploring polyamory with the hook of sexual pleasure because for me, being able to flaunt this pleasure is my way of reclaiming something that someone tried to take away from me when I was much too young to be experiencing that kind of sexuality.
Every time I put pen to paper and re-count the glorious ecstasy I share with my various partners, it’s my small victory over those who tried to victimize me. I do not share this because I want your sympathy or because I need you to understand who I am, but because perhaps you’ve been struggling with some aspect of life.
Perhaps you need to know that bad fucking shit happens and it does not need to break you. You have the power to rewrite your story, heal and live for yourself in the way that you see fit. If there is one thing you take away from my ramblings, I hope it’s the strength and confidence to ask for what you want, embrace your sexuality however that manifests for you and accept nothing less than the orgasms and endless pleasure you deserve.
Now, let’s get back to the sexy stuff.
Third Date
His boldness to pick up and meet me for a journey such as this was a huge turn on and the trip could not have been more perfect. Mr. Wilderness had me swooning in ways I’m not used to.
His white rental truck pulled into the driveway of our Casita and I was instantly aroused. Who am I kidding, I’d been anticipating his arrival since our second in-person date which lasted three nights only four short weeks earlier.
Our third official date stretched for 10 nights and 11 days as we explored the beaches, mountains and cities along Mexico’s Baja California Sur Peninsula, as well as exploring each other. It was not the first time I’d traveled with a new beau, however usually one of us was working and it was never for such a lengthy time.
His boldness to pick up and meet me for a journey such as this was a huge turn on and the trip could not have been more perfect. Mr. Wilderness had me swooning in ways I’m not used to.
Perhaps it was watching him “handle” wild horses that were disturbing fellow travelers on the hidden Beach of Las Palmas; or perhaps it was the unbelievable sex inside a cave that ended in a massive climax just as the tide began to rise and the sand floor washed away beneath us? Either way, I was left with a full heart, a body that craves his touch and an overall satisfaction and simultaneous need for more.
Who really is this man? How can he keep up in an 11 day sex marathon, prepare absolutely delicious food and maintain engaging and mostly meaningful conversations for days on end?
I’m taken back to the feeling of waking up with his hands against my bare skin, his tongue between my legs, orgasm after orgasm as he continues to get hard again and again without a break. He’s about to turn 40 years old, but we fuck like we are teenagers. When I’m with him none of the others exist.
There is a small part of me that is waiting for the other shoe to drop. After all, this is his first exploration into non-monogamy and he has a date with a lovely sounding woman next week. We all know the importance of proximity and this other woman has me beat when it comes to that.
Will he fall for her? Will she be open to non-monogamy? I refuse to be concerned for what the future may or may not bring; that said, I’ve compromised my non-monogamous values in the past, before I was truly committed to this truth. If he isn’t committed the same could occur here.
It will be six weeks until we are together again and my mind will wander, recounting this never-ending date again and again as the desires I have continue to build. This distance is an aphrodisiac in itself.
In the meantime there may just be someone waiting in the wings and for now, that will have to do.
Enter stage right, The Kiter.
Longterm Lover
“Damn,” I couldn’t help but think, “This man is hot, intelligent, with next level style… Yes please.”
It was just another Tuesday night at The Bowery Hotel. Usually I sat out back on the patio, but tonight I’d been seated in the front section. It was all so very long ago; I cannot tell you who I’d arrived with, but I can tell you that the man I left with that evening would become my lover for a decade and counting.
The year was 2010 and the hotel lobby was packed with the usual crew of glamorous guests and select local New Yorkers given access to this exclusive watering hole.
Music never plays in lobby, making it the ideal spot for an intimate business meeting, catching up with good friends or in this case, meeting the man who would rock my sex life for the foreseeable future. (If you’ve been you’ll know its also a great place to rub elbows with a celeb or two).
His hair was longish, you know, that perfect length and texture where it’s not quite falling in his eyes, but long enough that all you can think about is running your hands through it.
Hours of flirtatious banter ended with the two of us at my East Village studio, savagely making out and smoking pot. The way his tongue entered my mouth made me ache to feel it between my legs. Our chemistry was instant and growing stronger by the minute. He took his time with me, running his hands down my neck and shoulders, kissing my throat and breasts.
All that champagne coupled with 10 years of time passed leaves me hazy on the full details of what transpired, however I’m pretty sure we didn’t sleep together at my place; instead we ended up taking a taxi across Manhattan to his townhouse in the West Village. To say his place was a bit more lux than mine would be the understatement of the century. This was PRIME New York real estate.
His design taste was impeccable (it still is) and I could not wait for him to fuck me in front of the giant floor to ceiling 19th century mirrors that faced each other. The dark, open concept main floor became sexier as I took in all the details. “Damn,” I couldn’t help but think, “This man is hot, intelligent, with next level style… Yes please.”
We lit up a freshly rolled joint; as I inhaled the smoke he stood behind kissing the back of my neck. He lifted the straps of my dress from my shoulders and watched as it dropped to the floor exposing my fully naked body. “I love that you don’t wear underwear,” he whispered as he kissed my ear. Reaching between my legs he stroked me to feel how wet I was. Taking the joint from my lips he took a drag, placed it in the ashtray and led me to the sofa. We spent hours devouring each other every which way; getting higher and cumming over and over. I was 5 orgasms deep and we hadn’t left the living room.
As I sat in the taxi at 5:30 AM recounting all the blissful, passionate moments and I knew I’d be seeing him again soon. Back then it wasn’t clear exactly what I was getting myself into; how often and for how long we would play would become more clear as time passed.
It always seemed like there were at least 3 lovers on the go. Because of this, I used nicknames to keep my lovers straight when discussing them with friends. These are the very same nicknames I use in the blog. The only problem? He never had a nickname. Of all the people, in all the years, my friends only knew him by his first name… Let’s call him Edward.
Lunch Break
He lifted me on to the kitchen counter, licked my pussy and sucked on my clit until he pulled my hips down and forced himself inside me.
I lay on the balcony topless soaking up the sun in anticipation of his arrival. As I glanced up, his tall frame entered the doorway of my kitchen. He was covered in dust from the manual labor. His arms were strong and chiseled and he was even more handsome up close than I’d realized.
Standing to meet him our eyes were locked; he towered over me at 6'6". His hands slid up my outer thighs as he bent his head to kiss me slowly and deeply; our lips lingered.
My tongue pulled him closer asking for more without saying a word. I unbuckled his belt and I pushed his jeans to the floor. He was already hard and I lowered to my knees then sliding my lips around the head of his cock. I worked him with my tongue, choking as I tried to fit him down my throat. He was throbbing, becoming harder and harder, growing larger with each pulse.
He lifted me on to the kitchen counter, licked my pussy and sucked on my clit until he pulled my hips down and forced himself inside me. He kissed my mouth and neck as he held me in place and fucked me all the right ways. The music blared in hopes it would cover the sound of my screams, but it wasn’t enough. It was 100 degrees out and every window in my place was open. The neighbors were getting a show whether they liked it or not.
He pulled me down from the counter and carried me into the bedroom. Sitting at the edge of my bed I stood naked in front of him. I slid my fingers inside myself, resting my foot on the inside of his thigh, so he could have a front row up close view to my pleasure and I could admire the beautiful human I was about to fuck to climax.
I straddled him and teased myself with his cock then slid down on him and rode him hard and fast. His hand wrapped tightly around my neck and I placed mine on top, beckoning him to tighten his grip.
“I’m so close,” I whispered, and as I did he slipped his other hand from my hip and pushed a finger into my ass. I let out a moan in pleasure and kept going until I came squirting all over his lap and soaking my sheets.
He flipped me onto my knees and took me from behind. Just as he was about to cum the alarm on my phone went off; lunch break over.
As he was about to let go, he pulled out, whipped off the condom and came all over my ass. Breathless, we collapsed onto the mattress. 40 minutes just wasn’t enough time with him.
“What time do you get off work?” He asked, also eager for more.
“I’ll see you at 5 PM,” I said, as I made my way to the shower. And indeed 4 hours later, like clockwork, he was back in my bed just moments after I closed my laptop.
Round two?
