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Posts Tagged ‘exhibitionist’

The year started off with blueberry dotted chipotle, cracked cayenne, and alderwood smoked sea salt chocolate cupcakes … frosted with nutella. Some Lambrusco I picked up from my new local wine shoppe, conveniently run by a woman whom I had hot sex with for 3 months back in my late 20’s. The southerner whose Baton Rouge oozed out during orgasm when she let out her Oh Gawd’s with a twang. Jesus, that women was hot, and she still is pretty good-looking, if I am to be honest. We hadn’t seen each other in 5 years, since running into each other one evening at a bar. She was surprised to see me, but pleasantly so, it appeared.

Originally I had hoped to spend New Year’s Eve in varying degrees of undress… and giddy drunkenness. Unfortunately, the universe decided that Type Geek needed yet another colossal crisis that needed solving and so he trekked through the woods and went ice climbing to a mountain peak, where he then proceeded to camp, alone, and find the answers for the questions he has been presented. I get it, they are big questions, life and death questions, with very real consequences. I am disappointed, that is natural, but I do get it.

The universe then decided to test my own resolve… by bringing an old flirtation back online… he is back in the states from Argentina, where he has been doing some graduate work. Drunk, he flirted incessantly, and sent me a photo I had sent him a year prior. He thanked me for being an exhibitionist and, in his sexually aroused state of drunkenness, was asking to come over, asking for more photos. He ” didn’t want to ruin my relationship” though, didn’t want to interfere. Didn’t he understand that he doesn’t really have that power? I declined, explaining that things have changed for me. I’m sexually exclusive with someone I love, sure he isn’t my boyfriend, but he is someone whom I care deeply for and wish to keep around for a pretty long time.

I’m beginning the year in love, in frustration, in less control than ever before. I have moved in with other people, and realized one roommate is passive aggressive and quite intolerable, the one who confessed his feelings for me regarding his favoritism on OK Cupid. I have found myself in a job that can sometimes border on unhealthy due to a member of the management team who relies on bullying, physical and emotional harassment and a tendency towards too many French 75’s while working. Then of course, there is the being in love, with someone who cares enough not to want me to go away, but is petrified of letting me in far enough that he could actually fall for me. Oh sigh.

All of this begs the question… in 365 days, where will we all be?

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The texts started coming in while Cooper Fiennes and I were having a late lunch. Type Geek and I had plans that evening. Originally we were going to join his friends 40th birthday celebration after the charity function, however we decided that INSTEAD of charity function sounded much better. The drama of those charity people had been too much.The next text message mentions that if I’m late, text him and he’ll come out to me. I told him, I would be there early & extra hot.

A few minutes later  C.F. informs me that we are now going back to his place to shower and fuck. DAMN IT. The look of shock on his face when I declined, priceless. As much as I WANTED to be able to, NOT being able to felt really good. Leaving him wanting me was an awesome feeling. Sigh. Cooper Fiennes walked me to the train, kissed me frustratingly on the platform and we parted so I could make my date on time. I did send C.F. a breast/bra flash photo via text though after I arrived on my side of the station. He looked so pathetic across the way. Like a little boy who found out there was no Santa Claus. He flashed me his trademark smile as he saw it come through his phone just as his train arrived.

Okay, now the cards were stacked against me. My trains were running on delays with signal switching issues, then a bus that was pulling off just as I walked out of the station…aarrgh. Somehow I was able to get home, rinse off quickly in the shower, run a razor haphazardly over my legs and slip on my hot dress, sequined heels, and grab some overnight essentials in less than an hour. I also took the dog for a walk around the block.  Amazingly, I make it to the restaurant with 5 minutes to spare … when I get his text. HE is running late. Turns out that the only other person as chronically late as me…is Type Geek. I should know this by now. He has been late for several of our dates. I should no longer rush, unless there is a time sensitive reason.

I’m pacing outside the restaurant, awaiting his arrival, fretting about what meeting his friends means, and texting him suggestively. He says that there is no guarantee that i will get laid that night. WTF is that?! He does have to leave early the next morning for a Father’s day event across the state, but really? Fine, I decide to tease the hell out of him then. I went into the bathroom and exposed my panties to the cell phone camera, then while outside again, I flashed my breast for the camera. I’m getting laid damn it! I had a sure thing lined in C.F. and now, Type Geek, after already owing me a few morning sexcapades and a make up for the time he fell asleep and forgot to unlock his door, I’m being told that I MIGHT NOT get lucky? Are you serious?! I’m kicking that man’s ass.

He finally shows up to extreme accolades over my appearance. I DID tell him that I would be there early and look extra hot. After a short hello and peck, we walk into the restaurant together. Meeting the friends for the first time of someone you are dating is always a weird experience. Its a vulnerable position if they know you are fucking because you don’t know what said date has told them about you. Also, you don’t know if it means the other person is getting serious with you. With C.F. , his friends don’t know the details of our friendship. They just know that I am around sometimes. I assume that they have their suspicions but we don’t over share since his friends are his colleagues and his colleagues don’t know the extent of his split with his wife. Type Geek’s friends are diverse and older, his two closest and longest friends of the group are also very gay men, which now explains his total non-issue with my past. There were 8 of us total at dinner. I liked 4 of them very much. The other two were odd in their tone with me. They were surprised by my age, assuming I was ten years younger, and they spoke to me in a dismissive interrogative way. It’s an odd thing that women can do with other women if they feel challenged or uncomfortable. My comfort with the group and ability to integrate quickly unnerved them. We had spicy Tikka Masala and a seared Tandoori Lamb, plus copious cocktails. Type Geek isn’t known for being a heavy drinker, a few glasses of wine make him feel buzzy, so I was surprised to see him have 3 vodka martinis, a glass of pinot noir, and the espresso vodka shot we all took. This is going to be interesting as the night stretches on.

The restaurant turns into a nightclub after dinner and we stay. We remained in the banquette seats of our original table and watched the crowd change.  The music was awful, the crowd was worse. Then, a nightclub hostess tried to kick us off the banquette because, as she said, she had just sold the tables for bottle service. This is the point when the woman who arranged the dinner & paid the tab for all 8 of us commented, “excuse me, but I think I just bought this table for $1,000 so, we aren’t moving.” I then calculated in my head the costs of everyone and gasped. Yes, indeed, she did spend roughly $1,000 for this birthday event. Nice friend. No, we aren’t moving. Except, the music started to become too much, the crowd, too trashy, and we decided we wanted something “classier”.

Within ten minutes we had arrived at one of the most hardcore gay nightclubs in the city. The video screens all played “gay for pay” porn in HD and the club stank of adult video store movie booths, but, the music was better. Then T.G. had a beer, then a whiskey. The night really spirals down from there. I had asked if he had ever been cock curious and he said no, not really. There had been a fleeting consideration marked by quick dismissal back in high school. The guy? One of his friends here tonight. That friend gets told the story and then suddenly I turn to see them kissing. Ten minutes later everyone is on the dance floor except for T.G. and I. We are leaning against the bar and suddenly he looks at me strange and says, we should go, now. Officially wasted.

I left T.G. at the bar while I found the boys in the melee on the dance floor, they came over to say goodbye and grab their shirts which were in my purse. When the boys and I head back to T.G. he is sliding down into a seated position on the foot rest of the bar. They attend to him while I turn to talk to his other friend, the woman who paid the dinner bill. Next thing I knew, his head was in his hands and the boys were shaking their head and telling me he was sick. I didn’t see the vomit happen, but I knew then, I was NOT getting laid that night.

We got him out of the bar and into a cab. At his house I was able to get him undressed, teeth brushed, and convince him to get two aspirin and a glass of water into his body. I placed a bucket by his bed, just in case. Cool damp cloth on the back of his neck, head and bare back… and then I told him, wake me if you need me.

I awoke in the morning to find him with his face buried under the once damp cloth. Did he remember much? Not really. He was mortified, it wasn’t that bad I told him. Truthfully, it wasn’t. He was the most composed of any drunken vomiter I have ever witnessed. Hell, I’m not that composed. He didn’t remember kissing his friend, which I had a feeling he wasn’t going to remember. Sigh. I fed him more water, more aspirin and then by 1 was able to get him vertical, showered and feeling human with a cup of coffee in him. He was going to be 5 hours late for Father’s Day brunch. Woops. I then took off for brunch with Assoc.Prod/Musician guy since we haven’t hung in a while and I wanted all the dirt on his new girlfriend.

For the remainder of the day, I couldn’t get this out of my head:

I felt a rush like a rolling bolt of thunder
Spinnin’ my head around and taking my body under.
Oh, what a night!
(Do, do, do, do, do. Do, do, do, do, do, do.)

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Can I just start this post by saying, NO, I most certainly did NOT get fucked last night. SIGH. Future Lawyer is a sweet, romantic Rilke loving, red rose buying, back massage giving ivy league preppy. It’s so cute and if his lips weren’t so good, it would be too cloying for me. Generally, I would be frowning upon such behavior, as it has always felt so trite and contrived, however Future Lawyer is genuinely that guy. The Rilke on his bookcase is well-worn, not placed there just to impress the ladies. He has cried during more episodes of NPR’s This American Life for god’s sake than I have watched romantic comedies.

He met my dog and I at the train station and we quickly walked over to Starbucks for something hot to keep the bitter cold at bay for the walk back to the dorms. Coffee in hands, we  wandered through the maze of university buildings until we reached his Hall. As we walked in, he gave me flowers. My first internal reaction was that of mild discomfort. I have never liked to be given roses by anyone because they always seemed so formulaic and pedestrian. (Pedestrian is a word my ex fiancé used. I actually find it to be one of the most insulting words. She once said how much she hated that our problems were so pedestrian. What did she want? Some epic dilemma and great struggle?) I took a breath, shut down my inner dialogue and looked at him and how sweet, kind, AND sincere he was and then kicked my inner dialogue in the shin and put it in time out for the night. He hung my coat, poured me some wine and showed me around his suite, which was roughly the size of a small NYC one bedroom, minus a kitchen. We then picked out Slumdog Millionaire, since neither of us had seen it, and curled up on the couch in the dark. Occasional kisses were had. Wine was drunk, Michel Cluizel Grand Noir 85% chocolate was consumed and the dog was walked far enough to find my Future Lawyer a slice of pizza at midnight.

When we walked back into the suite, he disappeared for a moment to use mouth wash after the pizza. I really didn’t mind. I like spicy pepperoni. I laughed at him and wiped the wet bit off his lip. His embarrassment quickly departed as I started to kiss him. Remember, we were kicked out of a mall last week for making out. He may be schmaltzy, preppy and shorter than what I have gone for BUT he has a set of lips on him that just don’t quit. We kissed for a few minutes but then were distracted by the undergrads screaming outside his door. Music was a necessity, and somehow Mahler ended up being chosen.  As the music intensified, so did our kissing and eventually he backed me into his bedroom and locked my dog out with the door. She was horrified as she isn’t used to being separated from me by a closed-door. The lights went down and the next 45 minutes ranked up there as one of the hottest make out sessions in my history. Thank you Mahler. Eventually the composition changed however and it started to ruin the groove. I gave him the link to my online Trip Hop Playlist and ran into the living room to grab a hair-clip.

I patted my sad puppy on the head, dug in my purse and grabbed a hair clip. Prior to coming over I had tried to wax my legs a bit, so they wouldn’t be so bad on the likely chance that we ended up in contorted naked positions. I couldn’t do anything about the Brazilian. Those are NOT DIY jobs. I also bought a box of condoms, just in case. I know that most men purchase grocery store or drug store condoms, so I stopped by the sex shop and bought some Kimono Micro Thin japanese ones. When they make thin condoms, why do men go for regular? It’s better to be prepared and it isn’t the mans responsibility to worry about my sexual health and wish to stay childless, so I tossed one in my jeans pocket as I head back into the bedroom, hair pulled up for better long-haired girl on top make out action.

Back in the bedroom we find our groove again with the help of Morcheeba. Now, my pants come off, as do his and then he says it, after I am so turned on that I can’t see straight. He tells me that he doesn’t think it’s a good idea for us to have sex tonight. He wants to wait a little longer. AAACK! I am wearing one article of clothing, sprawled out with mussed up hair, looking at him in shock and disbelief through sexually charged eyes and thinking he might be kidding. He might start laughing at any moment and just take me. But he doesn’t, and I whimper, and we continue to make out for a while but some of the sheen is gone.

I stayed the night and I slept like I do at home, nude. If you want to wake up to a naked woman whom you have called gorgeous several times over the last 12 hours and feel tempted, that’s your fault buddy. Within an hour of waking up, we were out the door and parting ways at the train. I made a quick detour and grabbed an americano for the ride.

On the train ride home I was incredibly, ridiculously, crazy horny. I texted my Internet Sex man from NYC and made a fleeting playful remark about how horny I was and  why wasn’t he local? Surprisingly, I received a message back within moments. Apparently he found the timing of my message fitting as he had just been thinking of me. He checked Skype and I wasn’t there and assumed that he would be having a solo session. I laughed when the next text message was a photo of his erection. He has the perfect match of voyeur and exhibitionist traits to my own and along with my Pac NW man, they are my sexually deviant saviors on this journey. When I am not getting laid locally, I can sign into Skype and get some virtual action with a non stranger. It’s a wonderful set up that ends in my napping happily and a bit less frustrated than I had a few hours earlier. Sweet live kisses and hot internet sex. The world was a beautiful place today.

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These dating sites use an algorithmic approach to matching its members. Sometimes it works, some what. Other times it thinks I should date the 5’7 fattie with horseshoe pattern baldness and a desk job at a tech company in some suburban office park. Whooot! Yup, that’s my match alright! Well, last night it matched me with this man who has eyes the color of Australia’s famed Coral Coast and a face full of angles and bones and absolute brilliance. He’s 200 miles away I noticed, so the algorithm failed BUT, I decided that if I could do it for a year with my exfiancé, I could do it for a man whose eyes burn through you.

So, I  IM’d him. For those of you unfamiliar with internet lingo terms, that is Instant Messaged. There was a ten minute delay in his response, I assumed the distance was a turnoff. When he did respond we easily fell into a friendly rapport, that shifted once I asked his first name. I found his name peculiar, so I googled it in hopes of finding a cultural lineage association. When that search turned up nothing, I added his city, NOT ever thinking the first site that wouldappear would be his website. Suddenly I was intimately familiar in a painfully voyeuristic sense, with many aspects of his person, including his cock. Which, upon seeing, might I add, I suddenly clicked back to his profile and looked at his face and sighed. I then asked him, after remembering what he said in his profile, if he is culturally Jewish. He stated he was an atheist and I didn’t assume by his facial features, I didn’t see it UNTIL I saw the picture of his cock. Then I knew. I should just assume that if I find them attractive… probably got some Jew in there somewhere. My track record is Ashkenazic, I do NOT know why. I don’t go forSephardic or the Egyptian or African Jew, it must be Eastern European. Some people are Anglophiles, apparently I am a Judaiophile. What are ya’ gonna do? Sit around and kvetch about it or find some nice Jew schlong? Excellent choice.

I think I need to clarify WHY he has explicit photos of himself posted on-line. Aside from being an exhibitionist (SCORE!) and a voyeur (SCORE x 2!) he is also an established mixed media artist. He works in interactive visual realms such as video, and performance, as well as, creating through painting, writing, and photography. Hence, the nudity with such robust sociocultural statements attached.

Because I had now seen him in his full glory, I felt as if I was being unfair if I didn’t send over some pics of myself.  An eye for an eye, a tit for a cock? So, we began some in-depth chatting of our particular sexual proclivities and predilections. His proclamation of ALWAYS being a top is quite exciting actually. Now, how to get him a few hours closer?

Eventually all things must cum to an end, so we switched to Skype. I brushed my hair as I hadn’t yet taken off my winter hat and was sporting the worst hair EVER and changed out of my grandma sweater. This video call was NOT about me doing anything except watching. (clap clap clap) So, I watched. Oy vey, did I ever. We signed off so we could both get some work done, that we had happily avoided for hours, however I was not incredibly turned on and wanting my own personal happy moment.  I wrote out a fairly descriptive scenario to get my mind working, emailed it to him so I could think of him getting excited reading it, and set sail for my own little journey.

This morning I received an email from him explaining how, between our conversation, the webcam voyeur /exhibitionist play, my pics and my story, he had masturbated no less than 4 times… in under 9 hours. He slept for 6 of those. I felt very proud of myself. I still do. Of course we know that the chances of hot virtual sex ever being nearly that good in person are rare. I am definitely interested in getting to know this one a bit more though. I told him that I would be interested in actually spending time with him, in addition to shtuping him. He seemed to agree, but the afterglow of 4 orgasms might have him confused and easily agreeable.

Now, after a canceled date with a turk, which I will explain next post, and too many shots of espresso, the aggravation of two playful mice that are running around my kitchen and NOT getting caught by either my dog or my traps, and finally, a really hot shower, I am going to go to bed.

Ciao.

Update: I received an email letting me know that in under 24 hours the total number rose to 5.  Almost 6, but he “didn’t have the time to fully commit to it.” I like someone who shows passion and commitment to the things that are really important , don’t you?

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