Three boys in three days… Part 1

It started with a formal invitation… Well, technically, our interactions started at a Chemistry Party. But this particular interaction started with a formal invitation.

It read, in part:

Dear Ms. Klein,

Your presence is cordially requested at the home of Adam for an afternoon of conversation, dining and debauchery of a
most libidinous and licentious nature.

…

Adam would suggest you arrive at 1pm at his domicile so that you
two might fully enjoy each other’s company, though that can be
negotiated. He further suggests that, while cold weather and the
modesty of public transportation requires traveling in attire that is
more functional then festive, that you bring with you an outfit to
change into upon your arrival. Adam will of course allow you the
use of his bedchamber to properly attire yourself in such a fashion as
to be pleasing to his eye and allow your body to be fully accessible
to him, for any way in which he wishes to make use of it. Boots, thigh
highs, garters, thongs and the like are all suggested but he leaves
such decisions in your capable hands.

Please inform Adam as to your availability for such an afternoon
at your earliest possible opportunity.

He looks forward to hearing from you and arranging for a liaison, posthaste.

Ever yours,

-Personal Secretary to Adam

Well, who am I to turn down such an eloquent request for a booty call? I stopped by his house in the afternoon, shortly after my real estate class. I had overslept my morning class, so I was in a rush to get out the door… Fifteen minutes to fulfill the stipulations in the letter. I put a pair of lacy underwear on, a camisole, and black and white striped knee highs underneath my clothes. Grabbed a pair of heels and bolted out the door.

I spent the class trying to stay awake, feeling the thigh highs sliding down my legs. I had to stop myself from rolling up my pants and pulling the stockings back up.

From class, I hopped the train out to Adam’s humble abode… err… domicile.

As soon as I got there, I slipped into his bathroom, slid off my pants and sweater, pulled up my stockings, and fastened my heels.

I opened the door to the bathroom to see Adam standing before me, jaw on the floor.

“Not bad for fifteen minutes of prep time.” I commented.

“I’d love to see what you could do in 1 hour.”

…And with that, he grabbed me by the throat and slammed me down on his futon.

*sigh* Yes, I’m that much of a dork…

An agency relationship is consensual; the parties willingly enter into the agreement. Upon creation of the relationship, the agent is placed in a position of trust and loyalty to the principal.*

*from New York Real Estate for Salespersons by Marcia Darvin Spada

I’m taking a course to get my real estate salesperson license for New York State. This some of the first text I read on my first day of class. Holy shit, I thought to myself… An agent, according to this book, is like a service top. The next thing I knew, I spent the rest of the three hour class recasting everything in the chapter in terms of kink.

Some of it wasn’t hard… Main fiduciary responsibilities of an agent: Obedience, Loyalty, Full Disclosure, Confidentiality, Accountability, Reasonable care, skill, and diligence. With the exception of full disclosure, I’ve heard all of these things in the context of kink.

I know that when I start putting my flashcards together for the state exam, my mnemonic devices will all be kink related. It’s funny. Not to long ago, when I came out to my folks about being kinky, after a fashion, my folks expressed their extreme discomfort with this particular life choice. My mother sees what I do as unsafe and irresponsible, so we don’t talk about it much. I don’t quite know how to explain to her that while what I do definitely has an element of danger to it, I try and go about it as responsibly as I can. Besides, look at all the things kink has taught me about real estate and fiduciary relationships!

Dance of the Submissives

When I was a Sophomore in high school, there was an exchange student from the Czech Republic in my grade. For the life of me, I can’t remember his name. Let’s call him Milan. (Milan Kundera is one of my favorite authors. He’s Czech. It works.) I was one of the many girls who followed him around like a lovesick puppy. He must have been the most beautiful boys I had ever seen. He was very tall and lean. His face was copied almost straight from a greek statue, except when he smiled, when a pair of dimples would crease just below his cheekbones.

He was both a good friend and an unattainable thing. We’d hang out all the time, much to the chagrin of my classmates, but part of me was convinced, that a boy like that would never have romantic interest in a girl like me. plus he had a girlfriend back home. Figures.

I’d get stupid talking to him. As in, I’d be talking to him about our English homework or what his plans were for after school, and his blue eyes would track on me a little too long, and my brain would erase. Like an etch-a-sketch.  I have no idea what happened to that boy. 

On Saturday, I went to a private play party up near Columbia. I had a fantastic time connecting with some of the cool people I’ve met since coming back to the City. At this play party I ran into Milan’s doppleganger. I had met him before at a CV meeting and had chatted with him briefly on the train home, and the resemblance had struck me then… But the uncanny resemblance really hit me at the party for some reason. 

In an instant, I was back in high school, struck speechless by this beautiful creature, who should by all logic be completely unattainable… except when I flirted, he flirted right back! *squee* I spent a decent chunk of time with him at the party. There was kissing, hair pulling, running our fingers over each others’ skin.  At one point, he even put me in a rope harness. To say I was a happy Sascha would be the understatement of the decade.

While both of us have switchy tendencies, we are by in large both submissive, which led to some kind of funny interactions.  (I’ve topped two people in my life, and both of them were easy…  You breathed on them and they squirmed.  It was great!) We were like two dancers who have taken lessons but have not really tested it out on an open dance floor. We both knew the steps, but did not yet have the confidence to commit to them with conviction… In context, that awkwardness of purpose was hot as hell. While we flirted and touched and kissed extensively, I can’t say that we did a “scene” proper… But because he looked just like Milan, and I found the giddyness of a former self welling inside me, the flirtation carried me through the arc of a scene.There was occasionally some hesitation on both our parts to take the upper hand, since it’s not a role either of us spends a lot of time in.  It just added to the high school all over again mindset I was already in.  There was the same sense of tender awkwardness, the simultaneous fear and desire to touch to scratch, to figure out the points of connection without risking too much.

We exchanged contact info at the end of the night. I hope we’ll get another chance to play soon. I want to play with this dynamic a bit more. It’s fun… and not just because of his resemblance to an idealized crush.

I scened with some other people that night, put that’s a topic for a different post.

An introduction of sorts

About a year ago, I was on a plane from Boston to DC for a job interview, among other things.  as is sometimes my custom, I struck up a conversation with the person sitting next to me. He was about my age (mid 20’s), cute and clean cut, but not of the preppy variety. We spent most of the trip talking and flirting, knowing full well that the plane would land and we would go our separate ways and never hear from each other again.   I don’t remember how this came up in conversation, but we mentioned something about some activity being painful.

“Yeah,” I said “being in pain is not good…  Unless of course, that’s what you’re into.”

“Oh yeah,”  He snorted sarcastically “Because you totally strike me as the whips and chains kind of girl.”

“Yeah, well, what can I say…  You’ve figured me out.”

 I didn’t have the heart to tell the boy just how much truth he had stumbled onto in that sarcastic remark. In his mind, it was unfathomable that my relationship to BDSM could exist beyond the context of a joke.I decided not to bring up the Black Rose play party I was planning on going to that Saturday. 

I get that a lot.

 Mostly because I don’t go out of my way to advertise my kinkier side. To the outside observer, I’m nothing unusual… It would be easy to assume that I fall into a specific set of labels; nice Jewish girl from New York is the one that immediately comes to mind. My appearance is fine enough, but nothing spectacular. Mine is an average body, well proportioned and not unattractive, but by no means model material. I’m the kind of girl who can slip into a crowd and all but disappear.  Maybe that’s why I feel so at home in big cities. I can really blend. You can take me home to mother, take me to an office party, or introduce me to your friends, and I’d probably charm their socks off.

 I just also happen to be kinky as hell.

I’ve been part of various scenes since mid 2005, and I’m coming into kink not just as this fun thing that I sometimes do, but as a part of who I am.  It has become a safe space for me to dig deep into my darker bits, bring them to the surface, and face them head on. Therefore, I decided to write this blog… Well, that and peer pressure *cough cough Wendy*.

  So yeah.  That’s pretty much it. Hello world!

*waves*

I’ve finally given in…

So I finally caved in to peer pressure and started writing a sex blog.  Surely this will be the death of me.Or at least a chronicle of many little deaths along the way.My first substantial post is soon to come, so stay tuned.