My people

300px-Furthur_02

As it must be true for nearly every single couple across all the lands, my boy and I experienced a brief but intense moment of struggle last night. We had just returned from a fun, easy, kid centered gathering where the family patriarch had rented a couple of adjoining hotel rooms for the night so that all of the little kids in the family could have a mini getaway….jumping on the big beds, swimming in the pool, pizza, cartoons. My boy and I had an opportunity to have a few private moments together in the big bathroom and what ensued was a brief, but hotly intense kinky moment between us. I love that we are good at this, finding those hidden moments where something really sexy goes down. That was last night, and I still have the image of him laying flat on his back on the cold and tiled floor, mouth open as I stood above him, my naked legs straddling his lovely, bearded face.

We got home, and unbeknowst to me, my boy had within him some unrelated tension that bottled up within him. I asked him a basic question, “Hey, did you hear what happened to my dad’s dog earlier?”, and his reply was very off-putting to me, and I took it personally. That is where I went wrong, as my boy doesn’t usually do this. Instead of stopping and thinking globally and recognizing that he was reacting to something different, I internalized it and gave him an icy stare, far colder than  that tile floor from only hours earlier.

The chill in the air lingered between us until we were alone in our bedroom. It all erupted and heated words were exchanged. I don’t always understand his internal ways of dealing with things. They simply are not a part of my overall life experience. I come from a family of talkers….we dig deep, we pry, we explore, we extract from one another. This is not the experience john has had in his life with his family and friends…..his people.  One is not better than the other. Just different. We as people are often what we know. My social circles are much like my everything circles where we are talkers and sharers. My social tribe consists of a modern day version of Merry Pranksters. If we could have done it, we would have happily boarded the infamous bus Further, joining Ken Kesey and all of his adventures. Surrounding me are the people and things I love….the musicians, the poets, the artists and freaks.

In that heated exchange we shared, I said something to john about the communication style I am used to, referring to that experience and the people who are a part of it as “My people”. I saw the flash across his face and rightfully so, he pounced.

“Your people?? What does that mean?? We’ve been together for almost 12 years, and I am not a part of ‘your’ people??”.

I knew exactly what he meant and I knew exactly how  he was taking it. The problem was….how he was taking it was not how I meant it. But it was too late. That emotional table was set and it was a struggle to undo the damage that had been done.

But we did it, I think. We undid that damage. Or enough so that we could go forward. We took all of the skills we have been working on for years, and put them to work for us. We took a deep breath, we gathered calm, we looked at one another, we talked and we listened. john further explained that he was carrying within him unrelated tension, and I apologized for not recognizing that, and for not asking better questions. I was reactive instead of proactive. Knowing the different between those two things is life changing.

Within 10 minutes, he was kneeling besides me as we talked and touched and softened. Within two more minutes, he was collared, leashed, in bed and we were entangled. What he doesn’t know is that I thought a lot about what I had said, “My people” and thought about how that must have felt very hurtful to him. I thought about how  strongly I love him as he lay next to me, and I thought about how he is all of my people. He is a little bit of everyone and everything I love. He is my rock and my glue. We are vastly different and yet a lot alike too.

He is my music because he makes my heart and body sing, and I really mean that when I say this. Like no other ever has, and no other ever will.

Part of the definition of the word poetry includes this: “special intensity is given to the expression of feelings and ideas by the use of distinctive style and rhythm”. Oh yes….that is us. Absolutely. The power exchange we share is not a fraction less than a distinctive style and rhythm all the time. He is definitely my poet.

My artist….aka my boy….sees beauty in the most obscure of places. He has a gift for making dark, neglected, abandoned places feel and look alluring in a way that no one else could do. At least, no one I know. He describes a fine Scotch as beautiful and hand crafted sword as ‘gorgeous’. And he is right each and every time.

The freak part? Oh yeah…..he’s got that. I grin as I write this. Just ask the bathroom floor and the five minutes we stole. It had ‘freak’ written alllll over it.

He is my people. He is my person. He is my boy, friend, partner, lover, slave, my fantasy, my object, my confidant, my safe haven, my danger, my toy, my lust.  My slut, even. He might not have happily joined that bus ride with the rest of us and cuddled up to Mr. Kesey, but he would have been waiting for us on the other side of that ride, arms thrown open wide, huge smile on his beautiful face, a pot roast in the cast iron, a fire in the pit, awaiting us all.

He is My people.

He is my person.

He is my everything.

 

Seeking: “Please use my boy”

naked men on grass

I am enjoying the experience of reaching out to an old and dear play partner of ours, of john’s really, as I know we will be seeing him this upcoming weekend. This other person is a lovely man with an awesome wife and family and the group of us see each other at least a couple of times a year in one setting or another. Sometimes kinky, sometimes vanilla.

John has always enjoyed playing with other dominant men. We don’t get a lot of opportunities for that, and truth be told, we are rather selective. Yes, there are the obvious criteria such as approximate age to ours, hygiene, experience. But what’s critically important is that we find a combination of emotional intelligence coupled with a balanced sense of humor. Not easy things to find all wrapped up in one sexy package.

But our friend “S” is all of those things, if not more. We found him close to ten years ago. Or, rather he found us, but that was the easy part. It’s not difficult to make a connection when a giant poster board spells out what you’re seeking.

And that’s how it happened. We were at a large, week long event and I had created a scene for my boy. I had him spread out on the grass, on his back, arms and legs wide open with wrists and ankles cuffed and pegged to the ground. I put a blind fold on him. I brought a beach chair and parked it nearby. I brought with me poster board and markers. I made signs.

We were pretty new to this event at the time, and of course I worried about biting off more than I could chew. But I am also very protective of my boy and guttural instinct to keep him safe gave me all the confidence I needed. And so, I sat and created while my boy lay naked, blind and restrained……waiting.

My posters were simple: “Please come and touch by boy”. “Gawk at him”. “Objectify him”. “Use him”.  Of course, the fine print required that people use our toys that I had spread out on a blanket , that it was safe sex only and that they discuss with me their intentions. I listed suggestions. I listed limits and restrictions, but that was not a big list. I reserved the right to stop any play at any time if I deemed it inappropriate or too over the top. But I never had to do that. I actually don’t think in the 10 years since that I have had to do that. But that’s another story for another day.

What I could see from my comfortable chair in the gentle shade was my naked boy, nervous and exposed in the mid day sun. I had picked a high traffic area where a couple of hundred people who would be walking past within an hours period. I could see my boys’ twitching fingers, his teeth occasionally pulling at his own lips. The occasional turning of his head in his attempts to hide.

There was no hiding. He was helpless, exposed and about to be used……and he knew it.

His large and stiff cock told me all was well. It certainly got the attention of the passersby’ers too.

These were all of the tings I could see from my vantage point. I watched the small  but frequent groups of people walking the path that took them within 10 feet of our scene. Nearly all stopped and read my posters and looked at my boy. Nearly all had a comment to make, which was awesome because I knew my boy could hear everything. Just their talking about what a helpless sex toy he was was all the objectification I could have hoped for.  John could not see the people smile at him, at me. He could not see them give me a silent thumbs up in approval. He could not see them come to me in whispered negotiations. And he could not see the line that was forming around him.

Another thing I could see that he could not- “S”. This tall, handsome man stood slightly back, watching. He had a smile on his face, and I think a stirring in his loins. He observed, he walked around my boy as though he were vehicle he was considering test driving. When the onlookers continued on their way to the cafe for lunch and the numbers were fewer, “S” approached me and chatted me a bit, getting to know our story, what might be okay to do, what the limits might be. He wanted to know if oral sex was permitted. My reply? With a condom, nearly anything was permitted.

Do I tell you the rest? Do I paint the picture how how “S” disrobed and stroked his own cock, all the while walking around my boy, talking to him with quiet, masculine words that made my own boy’s cock swell in response?

Do I share the image of how this man straddled my boy, naked and in full sun and slowly lowered himself on to my boys face, but only after he had grabbed a handful of my boy’s hair and whispered his intentions into this straining ear?

Do the details of how he rode my boys mouth matter?

Does it add to the story that he was just rough enough with my boy so that john felt like the sex toy that he was pegged to be, and yet not once did I feel it went to far or became too rough for a first encounter?

Do you like knowing that my boy was played with by a dozen amazing strangers but it was this beautiful stranger in particular who used him so thoroughly  and that it would be this stranger who would make use of john in all the years to come?

Yes, we like it when we find people who like the things we like. Of course we do. But I don’t know that I have met anyone who likes poster board and markers more than I. I have created more scenes and have gotten more things that I have wanted, all by asking and communicating. It’s a beautiful thing. I hope I have drawn a picture you can see. It’s quiet colorful. I promise.