The New Guy

Sometime around late winter/early spring, I decided I was going to actively recruit for my group Whispers.  It was time to get some fresh blood into the group.  We needed new ladies, and we needed new men who could actually perform and take care of the ladies of Nightshade House.  A daunting task indeed.

One of the avenues I chose was a Southern New England BBW group located in Connecticut, but drawing a considerable crowd of both men and women from the metro Boston area.  A woman of my acquaintance who runs her own group had always had luck recruiting men, at least, from the group.  So I bucked up and got ready to be miss Chatty Pants.

Of all my strengths, perhaps my greatest is my ability to communicate effectively both verbally and in writing. Of all my failings, is the the fact that I am wholly intolerant of stupidity and ignorance, and often lack the social grace to just let sleeping dogs lie.  So I joined the group, Ample BBW (www.amplebeauties.com/community), a group that I had actually already been a member of for 5 years, and jumped into the chat room.  The women were hostile immediately, and the men....well, they wanted some cam and pic time.  Mostly.  There were on occasion a few men who got into chatting with the hens, and I found them to be engaging, pleasing to the eye from the photographs they posted, and on a couple of occasions, witty.

Once such man, Atlas, did sign up for the group and chat with me a few times.  I confess that I wasn't very attentive during those early chats, merely cursory and succinct with my replies and conversation.  I didn't hear from him often, and mostly expected him to be a lurker within the group...someone who joins and peeps other people's stuff, but never participates.  On the occasion of our May party, I received a text from him letting me know he'd be attending, and driving up from Mass.  I was really happy that he was coming up, and I found myself very curious about him, remembering that he'd been one of those witty people.  At this stage of my game, interesting is way more attention grabbing than sexual.  Our texts held teasing, and a promise of a sharp intellect.

Occasionally, you meet someone where you click instantly.  The physical aspect is attractive, the chemistry, and the ability to communicate on the same level all exist simultaneously.  It's a powerful aphrodisiac, that combination. Add a certain level of sexual frustration, and a man who shows the promise of ability to sate the need.....you can see how that becomes a bit explosive.  Atlas walked through the door, his aura rather pulsing quietly around him, but his eyes.....  His eyes were playful, and smiling.  His voice held intelligence, humor, and curiosity.  He was a bit taken aback by the whole set up of the house, as I gave him a tour.  But he held a sense of humor, and he had warmth.  I liked trying to shock him, but he would draw me into conversation, and the need to shock gave way to my curiosity about him and his thoughts.  I liked making him laugh.  He made ME laugh.  Oh...and he smelled good. He smelled really, really good.

The reality is that Atlas is a hot guy.  He also has the mental capacity to keep my interest, which is a feat unto itself in my world.  I would value him, if I couldn't have him sexually, simply for his fantastic conversation.  I didn't want to push him into feeling he had to put out that night.  As the night wore on, and we huddled more and more into each other, whispering and snickering like two junior highschool kids under the bleachers, my attraction to him grew.  Lilith had perked up her head to see who this new tasty treat was, and was quickly assessing him on a purely primal level.  She wanted to lick him in long, slow strokes not only just to taste him, but to mark her territory.  And amazingly, he wasn't asking me to share, wasn't trying to dip into every woman at the party.  He was quietly and patiently waiting for it to be over so that he could take me, just the two of us, to bed.

I was wicked nervous.  He was so sure of himself, running his hands over me in slow easy strokes, gentling me like a skittish hawk.  He did all those things that made my breath catch in my throat.  Not just orgasm creating things....no, he did huggy lovey snuggly things.  I became not just the ravenous beast that I have been over the last year.  Lilith was hesitant, altogether unsure of how to respond to such a potent touch.  His breath on my neck, his kiss sipping at my mouth, his hands caressing and holding my breasts like treasures.  It demanded MY response to him, not simply that of my mindless, insistent, demanding beast.  With all those patient and gentle things he did to me, he mastered me more thoroughly in one night than most men have in years.  He shattered me with orgasms, made me squirt for him repeatedly.  He used my mouth for his pleasure, all the while keeping me foremost in my own mind.  He held me like I mattered to him.  Like he would tuck me along side him and keep me safe and cherished.  He was in my head, in my body, and his delicious, beautiful scent wrapped me like a warm blanket.

But hey, wait.  This is supposed to be a casual encounter, right?  WTF??

I left in the wee hours of the morning struggling not to say anything ludicrous or inappropriate.  My innards screamed that he was "home", and leaving him felt so very wrong.  My head said "What the hell just happened here?".  I walked to my car looking at the mist rising over the river.  I drove home a wreck, crawled into bed at 5 am, and passed out vowing to myself to just let it be.  Parties and people happen, and I should stop over-analyzing and just let a dog be a dog.  True?

I couldn't stop thinking about him.  He texted me, and one text became two, then three, then more than I could count in a day, a week, or two, or three weeks.  Every day I became more and more accustomed to having him "In my pocket" for the day.  Each of us greeting each other in the morning, checking in several times during the day, and saying goodnite before we slept.  Every day.  Every. Day.  He crept, more and more, into my head with his observations, his cool logic, his humor, and his caring.  Conversations occasionally veered towards "What are we doing here?" and quickly strayed again.  I realized I was developing a problem where Atlas was concerned....because I no longer knew where the line was when it concerned him.  More of a problem than not knowing where the damn line was, was a dawning realization that I didn't care to really know either.

I liked him.  Now what?

Change, part 2

The thing with finally talking to someone you've shut out of your life for awhile is that all that angst, all the rage, all the worry and sadness have an outlet.  They get channeled to the person on the other end of the conversation and suddenly two people who were raging at each other, who were nose to nose figuratively speaking, are suddenly tired.  Exhausted.  And curious.

So Satan and I had conversations.  He letting out his vitriol in emails, me letting the pounding surf of his anger crash against me until he was just done.  And then, in my quiet way, I raged back until I couldn't rage anymore.  Slowly, so slowly....those conversations stopped being about us hating, and started being about us just talking.  We'd have careful talks about our lives, friends, family, and how we were.  Careful talks that never said anything meaningful, and never talked about sex.  Boring talks.  Talks about how he was going to leave Maine and move to Boston.

One day out and about in Portland, I decided I couldn't let him leave the state without having the courage to say goodbye.  I had to pee like the dickens, and though I could have stopped anywhere, I called him and asked if I could use his bathroom.  He said yes, that he was packing, and that I was welcome.  I went, and seeing him in person was like a physical blow to the gut.  So beautiful, and so untouchable now.  We sat in his room as he folded and packed his pants, and sneakers.  And we talked about things I can't even remember now.  I stayed a bit, but had to get home for my daughter.  I let him know I had to scoot, and he walked me down to the door.  I remember turning back and trying to say...something, but failing to find the words.  He let me off the hook then, and just moved in, held my face in both his hands, and kissed me softly.  My eyes watered, and fat tears slid down my cheeks knowing he was leaving, and I bolted.

Seeing him, smelling him on every level that a mate scents her male was vicious.  My beast, which had been roaring already, went ballistic.  It was a physical pain inside me screaming for release.  Like a shape shifter that can't actually change to let her beast out, so mine was clawing against my innards.  I hosted a party and played with a boatload of men, each one merely ramping up my need to release another notch, and nothing coming even CLOSE to the level of release that I needed.  Every orgasm I gave myself just made me more frustrated.  Nothing, it seemed, could calm the beast.

Jachin and I, during this time, had resumed sexual relations.  His growing concern for my inability to feed my beast led him to volunteer his services in attempting to fill the role.  Scared he wouldn't last, he took a pill, or two.  He fucked me until he came like a rutting beast, and then continued to try and fuck me with his hand.  But his heart, literally, couldn't take it and we had to stop and attend to him.  Realizing that The Beast was going to kill someone should I not adequately attend to her, I kept trying.  A few days later, after being teased by my pet endlessly that morning, I laid in my bed and tried to masturbate.  Jachin came by and sat in the bed with me trying to help.  I came, hard, but I could feel the tight coil inside knowing it hadn't been satisfied at all....it had merely gone up another notch.  Jachin tried to help me rub another one out, and I busted out crying, begging him not to touch me because it just got worse and worse.  Jachin, worried for real now, did the only thing he could think of.  He called Satan.

Keep in mind that since things ended badly between Satan and Jachin with the roommate situation, Jachin absolutely HATES Satan.  He has said that if he saw Satan on the side of the road riding his bike while he was driving, that he would swerve just enough to pick him off. Yet he was moved enough by his concern for me to call the one person he thought could solve the problem, regardless of the fact that it made him want to puke acid through the phone.  They made arrangements to bring Satan up to Maine that weekend, mid-May.

My pet drove down to pick up Satan.  He left around 11 in the morning, and I saw them drive in around 8:30 that night.  I was so pissed at the time warp it took to get from Massachusetts to Maine that I slammed my bedroom door in Satan's face.  He was in high spirits though, and wouldn't be deterred.  I felt as skittish as a colt, not knowing where to look, heart beating in palpitations, mouth open to breathe because I felt breathless.  He had that look in his eye, that his prey was target marked and locked.  He came to me and enveloped me in his massive hug, his lips descending to mine, not letting my nervousness make me bolt, or turn me into a shrew.  He took my hand and led me upstairs, to the spare bedroom we'd be using for the night.

He laid me on the bedroll on the floor, opened my thighs and settled his mouth on my quim.  And I could breathe again because my mate was home.  He licked my cream, lapped at me like I was nectar and sweet syrup. And he made these satisfied beast noises, grunts, and sighs, and small growls.  His hands roamed my body, clutching my thighs in a death grip, then gripping my tummy, holding my breasts.  He loves my rolls, loves to hold and squeeze them, sink his fingertips into my fluffiness.  He pushed me over my first small orgasm, and the coil unraveled, not to let me off the hook, but to perform as my master expects...with frenzy and abandon.

He climbed back up my body like the predator he is, lifted my legs up and back, and pressed his cock into my hole.  Slow, steady pressure moving all that dick inside me.  It was tight, it was beautiful, and my pussy contracted all around him.  He didn't stop pressing inward until the head of his cock had bumped my cervix.  Then he withdrew and slammed it home.  Again.  Again.  Again.....over and over until he triggered my spot, made the rain squirt out of my body.  It was so intense, that it overwhelmed me emotionally and all the rage I had carefully tucked away from him erupted.  I pummeled his chest repeatedly, screaming my hate out, releasing my anger and disappointment and hurling it at his body, which never missed a beat in fucking me to another orgasm.  Tired of being punched and hit, he grabbed my fists and lifted them over my head kissing my lips and sucking my neck while he continued that shattering rhythm.

Flipping me over to my knees, he opened up my ass for his pleasure.  He still had a hold of my hands, holding my wrists behind me while he fucked my ass and made me cum like a ban-sidhe.  I was filthy from his handiwork, and he had no qualms, and no mercy.  He demanded my submission, demanded I answer his age old question...."Who do you belong to?"  "NOBODY YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE, I BELONG TO NO ONE. I AM ALONE"  He grabbed my hair then, hauling my ear up to his mouth "You are NOT alone, and you will ALWAYS belong to ME.  I will NEVER, EVER, let you go again."  He sank his teeth into the meat of my back, and roared out his release.  We both collapsed for a moment, he rolled me onto my back, and ate me some more.  By the whimper in my voice and the cadence of my noises, he knew I hadn't given him my big orgasm.  His hand crept between my thighs, and two fingers went into my pussy, stroking in there and hitting the trigger point. He was sweating like a madman, and fucking my pussy with his whole hand.  It bloomed then, like a white hot poker radiating in circles from my core to the tips of my fingers, and even after I fell limp, he pushed me towards the abyss again.  And just that quickly, I climbed to another peak, higher, more devastating, that destroyed me on every level.  I hated him, I loved him, I needed him.  And I thought briefly, could I just use him for sex?

Tucked into his body, held safe in his arms, I slept the sleep of the dead for the first time in many many months.  No bad memories, no regrets, no sadness, no emptiness, no.....beast.  At last and by the mercy of god, Lilith was sated, and quiet.

Change

Where to begin.  The folly of not blogging for long periods of time is that then there is just so MUCH.  And so I find myself this morning wondering how much, and which tidbits.  But to be an honest blogger is to commit to documenting them all, in some fashion.  So I shall.

I committed to making the holidays 2011 the BEST EVER...again...for my mother.  She was doing so well, seemed to be plugging along like the trooper she was, and so I told her "You know Lucy, I busted my ass last year to make it the BEST CHRISTMAS EVER since it was supposed to be your last one.  That's just too much pressure to try and out-do.  You get what you get this year."  It was designed to make her laugh, and it did.  I of course worked like a fool to make sure all the decorations were just perfect.  And she did have a wonderful Thanksgiving and Christmas, she was happy.  New Years came and I had thrown Malcolm an all night birthday party on the 30th.  On New Years Eve I was exhausted and fell asleep by 9 pm.  I had promised Lucy I wouldn't go out that night because she'd told me she wasn't feeling well, and I wanted to be around the house.  My daughter celebrated the New Year with my mom, as I was passed out cold and my Pet had attended a party just a short ways away.  New Year's Day came, and things seemed fine, my mom was feeling better, and we were making plans for what we'd accomplish in 2012.

New Year's day was a great day with Lucy.  I began taking our tree down since it had lost every bit of moisture, and was dropping needles at an alarming rate.  I got all the balls off, and the angel put away.  I'd had enough though, and called it a night.  We'd had spaghetti dinners from Sam's, and that always gave me heartburn.  It was one of Lucy's favorite meals though, and it seemed an appropriate salute to a new year.  We all went to bed, and I was awakened at 3 am by Lucy banging her cane on the floor.  I jumped up, aware that she did that when she was in distress.  I put something on and went down to see if she'd had diarrhea again, knowing that was a chronic condition and that eating spaghetti can trigger it.  When i got to her room, she was sitting on the side of her bed unable to breathe.  She was in respiratory failure.

As a Congestive Heart Failure patient in tertiary stages, respiratory failure is an indication that some kind of cardiac event has occurred.  Little did I know at the time, Lucy had been having intermittent chest pains for days and had never discussed them with me because she didn't want to worry me.  Because of where she was in the stage of her disease, she wasn't supposed to be going to the hospital any more.  We were supposed to be dealing with it at home, and making her comfortable.  I looked at her and said "Jesus Lucy, you made it all the way through the Holidays just to give it up on the 2nd day of the new year?  Really?"  She kind of chuckled, and said, "I know, right?"  I told her that if her choice was not to go to the hospital, that there was every indication that I could not get her out of the failure, that this one would be the last one.  She looked at me knowingly and said "I'm not getting out of this one."  I sat on the floor of her room then, feeling utter defeat, and not really wanting to accept what was coming up now.

We stayed at home for about 16 hours, she laboring to breathe, me administering morphine to make her comfortable because it was all I had.  Finally after seeing the stress it was causing my daughter, and realizing that I really couldn't make her more comfortable, she agreed to go to ER, and did so with Hospice's blessing.  She went, and seemed to rebound then.  The ER techs administered a neb treatment, which rather infuriated me because had I known about it, I could have done that too.  I have a million of them as i am an asthma patient.  Knowing I could have made her comfortable 16 hours previous was an irritant.  They also found she was dehydrated, so they pumped a bag or two of fluid into her.  She wanted to go home, but I was worried that the added fluids would put her back into respiratory failure as soon as we got home, so I convinced her to stay overnight for observation.  Her breathing was good and bad by turns that night, unknown to me when I went home at 4 am.  I went back to the hospital in the afternoon then, met with the doctors and nurses who were diagnosing the beginning of the dying process, and indeed weren't sure she would make it through the night.  I stayed at the hospital that night and she rebounded again, the woman of a thousand miracle recoveries.

We decided to have her placed in Hospice House.  It was apparent she was now bed-ridden and needed more care than I could administer at home alone.  She also didn't want to go home, didn't want to burden me with that level of care.  I assured her I would do it if that was what she wanted.   I'd applied for FMLA, and was prepared to do it.  I felt abject relief not to have to though, and I'm not afraid to admit that.  I'm so thankful that my daughter didn't have to watch it all in the close confines of her home.  The rest of the story is not really for writing down.  The slow steady decline of her body, my mental fight with the concept of Comfort Care and it's close similarity to Euthanasia, and more than 2 weeks of watching her struggle.  But also watching my brothers and sisters and I come closer together by degrees, leaving old grievances behind, and moving forward as a unit to take care of the woman we all loved in our own way.

It became apparent after the first week and a half of watching Lucy hold on that somehow she was waiting for something.  My oldest brother said it first.....maybe she's waiting for dad...he died on the 18th you know.  I had my doubts at first that she'd last that long, it seemed impossible that someone could labor to breathe for that length of time.  But the date fast approached.  The eve of the 17th, I knew it was time.  I went to her, brought Christmas lights, brought an alpha/beta wave CD, and stayed the night doing vigil.  That morning, I just knew.  I had the CNA that came in to wash her also groom her and make her beautiful.  They washed her hair, sculpted her eyebrows, removed her facial hair, and washed her body.  They put on her favorite color.  I'd told her repeatedly it was ok to go, that we would be fine...that she didn't have to worry and that if she wanted to continue to help my daughter and I, she'd have to pass on and help us from the other side.  I gave her permission to go.  Then I sent up a thought to my father "You bastard, you better not be late".

My father was killed on Jan 18th, 1979 at 8:30.  At 9:45 on Jan 18th, 2012, after they'd finished washing and dressing her, my mother also left the earth.  Thirty three years to the day, and almost within an hour of my dad's passing....the nursing staff was incredibly creeped out.  I cried, I hoped to God I did right by her, and I called my siblings.  They came, as they could, and we sat with her a bit, to say goodbye...to figure out what to do, to just....think.  It had been so much for so long, and suddenly it was just over.

We planned her funeral to her specifications.  She'd been remarkably frank about what she wanted, and she and I had gone over virtually every detail.  If I can recommend one document to everyone I know that will make your life, and your death better, it's the Five Wishes document (http://www.agingwithdignity.org/).  Take it from me, people do fucked up shit when their loved ones die, and if you have a vision that you want followed....WRITE IT DOWN!!!! And tell someone that you trust to do it.  She didn't want a wake, she thought those were creepy, being on display for everyone to gawk at.  So we just had a beautiful funeral mass for her at Holy Cross Church, followed by an open house back at our house, finally opening it back up for friends and neighbors to visit...like the did way back in the old days.

Both my real family, and my swinger family helped me get through this time.  With cleaning, catering, everything.  I love you all for all the help both physical and financial.  THANK YOU.  So yes, everyone was there for me, sort of, except for one glaring missing person.  Satan.

There are a thousand reasons, excuses, and explanations I suppose.  But the end result was that he was not there for me on the one day that I needed him above all others.  And even more interesting, he knew he wouldn't be.  He knew, and he felt badly enough to make sure that Jachin, after a year of not being in my life, would be there for me.  So, he called in a backup?  I'd told him that if he didn't show up, to not bother calling me again.  I was done.  And I knew from his mother that the one thing that Satan couldn't stand more than anything else on the planet was....silence.

Silence I gave him, for months.  I was moving on without him, my life tumbling faster than I could manage it, in ways I wasn't sure I was ready to handle.  I went to parties without him, knowing that every move I made, every man I touched was being reported back to him by someone, somewhere.  So I made every party count, and I became a dirty whore in truth, fucking men by the truckload with no other need than to feed a growing beast inside me that couldn't be sated.  And as I knew people were telling him my escapades, so were people attempting at every turn to report back to me about his equally voracious appetites.

Valentines came and went, and I passed it feeling angry, and unsatisfied.  My inner beast, Lilith, was thrashing about inside of me screaming for release, yet she was trapped.  Satan called me one morning at 5 am, knowing I was still programmed to answer any early phone call as something akin to an emergency.  To answer without looking at the caller.  He knew how to play dirty, and he slid in under my defenses.  It was ugly, it was accusatory.  How could I love him, but just shut him out?  How could he abandon me when I needed him most?  How could I create a family of the people we cared for most, then close the door in his face.  How could he always place other people above me and think I'd always be ok with it?  And then the question from both of us...."Why did you leave me?"

In March, I went to visit his mother.  I'd missed her fiercely, and looked forward to taking her shopping, and maybe out to dinner as well.  I got to her nursing home, and she was......gone.

Gone.

The nursing home staff could only tell me that he'd removed her just the weekend before but couldn't tell me anything else.  In a panic, I called him at work, hyperventilating and sobbing.  "WHERE IS SHE???"  He was so disdainful.
"I moved her to Boston".
"You didn't tell me!  I didn't even get to say goodbye!"
"People who throw giant tantrums and refuse to answer their phones don't get to find out about shit."
I had to hang up then, unable to even speak for the sobs that were coming up my throat.  I'd lost it all at that moment.  I'd lost my mother, I'd lost the man I loved more than life, and I'd lost his mother too.  I had nobody left that knew my soul. Even now, thinking back to that very dark time brings the tears again.

I'll have to continue in a part two.

Master

I knew it was going to be intense, that reclaiming.  I knew he wasn't happy with my attitude.  I knew he needed my submission to him like the garden needs water.  I knew that when things in his life felt like they were spinning out of control, he'd turn to me, and forcibly wrest that control back.

He didn't disappoint.

I haven't written about it, even though it happened awhile ago now.  It was more than my mind could process at the time, really.  And I felt something inside of me change.  I thought for a little bit that maybe he'd finally broken me in some fundamental way, but it wasn't that.  It was that he frightened me perhaps, although I won't lie and and say I'm scared of him.  I'm frightened, however, of the completeness of his mastery over me.

Master has always afforded me a great amount of freedom and independence.  His Dominance has always been quite cerebral and complex, an intricate series of whispered desires and commands woven together like a medieval tapestry.  Images, wishes, and instructions combined to form stories and fantasies beyond my wildest imaginings.  His preference to be in my head all the time so that there is no thought I have that he isn't a part of, and he can see and understand what I am thinking without my needing to say anything. Then we'd come back to the real world and Satan would just be Satan, and Lilith would just be Lilith, and each of us would respect our roles, but not overly complicate matters by needing to assert our status as D/s.  We were just comfortable to know that ours was an insidious relationship, that our very natures afforded us the ability to claim 24/7 status in our lifestyle.  In reclaiming his role as Master, however, he took us to a new level in that lifestyle.

We were supposed to have had wild tent sex two nights prior, but the weather didn't cooperate with us at all. A series of apocalyptic thunder storms rolled through and deluged the backyard, making setting up a tent on the lawn a non-issue.  Then work schedules ramped up, and it was a couple more days before I could see him again.  He didn't want to travel to me, he wanted me to come to him.  He wanted HIS turf, HIS private space.  He wanted to be in HIS comfort zone.  So I settled matters at home with all my dependents, making sure they were good for the night and headed out.

Satan generally objects to harsh discipline with me because he doesn't like to hurt me.  He knows that I was once a pain slut for Jachin, and he never wants me to go back to that again.  He wants me responsive to his hand because I'm genuinely turned on by him, not because I'm getting the snot beat out of me. He wants me to know that there is no place I can run to escape him because he claims my mind first and foremost.  But when I got to his house, a little bit late, he'd been enjoying some Jim Beam.  Jim Beam takes those inhibitions he has about not wanting to be forceful away.  So suddenly he was radiating power and wanting to make good use of it.  He wanted to own his rightful place in my life as my administrator of discipline.

We kissed and he made short work of my clothes.  He got himself naked and pulled the comforter off the bed, threw a pillow on the floor and told me to kneel for him.  I did as my Dom commanded, and he fed me his cock, working his cock inside my mouth, and rapidly getting it into my throat.  He fucked my mouth at his leisure, enjoying his pace, sometimes slow and deep, sometimes fast and hard always loving the feeling of my throat contracting on him as he made me gag.  He likes to see my mouth juicy when I gag, likes to see ribbons of spit flowing down my chin as I service him.  He was so damn hard, and so thick it was difficult to have him in my mouth and be open enough to not scrape or hurt him.  There are occasions when his cock goes from being simply bbc to truly enormous.  His excitement at Mastering me was driving him hard, and he led me by the hair to get onto the bed, and told me to tuck tight so he could fuck my very wet pussy doggy style.  He started to slap my ass, making it sting, and continuing to get the same spot until it really smarted.  He'd roll his hand around my now very long hair and yank my head back to pull me up to him so he could bite my shoulder and neck.  The thought of him mating me in that way always excites me into a frenzy.  That he can lock his teeth into the meat of my shoulder and continue to drive his cock into me hard is usually enough to make me squirt on him like a bitch in heat.

He stopped then, perceivably  to give us a break for a minute, and to go and find a spool of shoe lacing he had.  He'd decided it was time for us to attempt some bondage, and he wanted to experiment with binding my breasts.  So he wrapped them repeatedly, and tightly, until they were rather throbbing, and slightly achy.  He looked at his handiwork, and he was turned on.  He administered discipline to my breasts, he grabbed and held tightly, and he sucked the nipples into his mouth tight and deep, sometimes drawing a bloodmark to the surface with his intensity.  I won't lie and say I'm a woman who can cum simply by having her nipples sucked. However, it did feel damn good and turn me on as well.  Seeing him suckling me, well, lets just say that feeds a deep seeded fantasy of mine of wanting to be able to breast feed my man.  I can't think of anything sexier than someone drawing sustenance from your breast while drawing your pleasure out from your pussy with his hand or cock.  He laid me down then, holding my tits in his hands while he slammed his cock back up into my pussy.  Slowly, his hand crept up to my neck, and his thumb found it's familiar nook on my jaw while his fingers began to press on my trachea.  Breathplay is one of his favorite games during sex.  He's very skilled at it, and he says my pussy grips him incredibly tightly while he's mastering me that way.  He loves that I don't fight him during it, that I'd allow him life or death, his discretion.  That trust thing, it's what the D/s is all about.  He doesn't aim to hurt me, not really.  He'd rather get into my head so that I can't escape from him even when he's not with me.

It's a peculiar sensation when you are reduced to feeling only two things in your body....the point of entry of your Master's cock, and His hand wrapped around your throat controlling the very air you breath.  I could feel the glide of his very thick cock, it was easy, gentle, all about the constant motion of in and out....frictionless and smooth.  Yet his hand would tighten it's grip and he would take one colossal moment to slam it incredibly deep so that I'd have to gasp, and he would tighten that hand a little more.  His eyes are closed when he does this, his knowledge of my body and my responses so intimate that he can go by feel alone.  Yet when he opens his eyes and sees me watching him, he gets a little ticked.  Perhaps he thinks if I'm observing, I'm not participating to the level he wants me.  He knows well my penchant for escaping mentally, and he will beat me to bring me back into the moment.  For that reason he will hurt me....to bring me back to him.

So I had my eyes open, because watching him pleasure himself on my body is a work of art.....he is so beautiful.  But he knew if my mind was taking flights of fancy, that I was a thousand miles away in my mental blog, and not any where near him in His room, and that he risked fucking a shell while I was composing blogs and poetry in my head.  His hand left my throat and I pulled in air quickly, and his hand descended again to leave it's print on my cheek.  He spit at me then, and he destroyed my pride.  And he continued a combination of the both until I was there again, crying and hurting, and stunned......

He shattered me with orgasm after orgasm.  Fucking my ass until I came and until he made me dirty, and then forcing my mouth onto his filthy cock to clean it.  He fisted my pussy until lights danced behind my eyes and I was begging him to stop, begging him to not kill me with another orgasm, and still he'd push me to one more.  He fucked my pussy and poured his urine inside of me, then sprayed me with it so that I was covered in his pheromone.  He'd push my leg up and back and fuck me until the cum squirting out of my pussy was a constant jet, running in streams down his torso.  He'd gulp a mouthful of my cum, and spit it into my mouth for me to swallow.  He'd bite and suck and leave his mark where everyone would see it, makeup be damned.  Every humiliation, every depravity that you can imagine short of cutting and branding me...he practiced them all.

And my shame?  I loved all of it, wanted more of it.

And so, now that I realize that I am not broken, that I am remade, and I am truly owned....I find myself stronger and more dedicated to my service.  I am my Master's dirty whore.

Switch

I wrote Malcolm a letter a couple of weeks ago.  Things hadn't been going very smoothly for us, again, and it just felt like it was time to write out the challenges, and see if there was any hope of fixing any of them.  Our relationship is rocky, usually with me getting fed up at being last in his life after baby mommas and brothers and sisters, and usually after he lets me down repeatedly.  The bright spot is that neither of us has ever doubted the level of love the other has.  I know he loves me, and he knows I love him gobs.  But when is love just not enough?

So, it was at the last party that I decided that although I loved Malcolm to distraction, and hadn't quite figured out what to do about the problem he is, that he was an absolutely horrendous boyfriend.  I decided to call it quits, and just call a spade a spade...we were friends with benefits.  He's a fabulous friend, and a decidedly superior benefit.  But I couldn't seem to make the jump to call us boyfriend and girlfriend anymore.

He really hated that.

The problem for me is that he is the ultimate lover.  Really, unless I take great time and pain to train someone new, it's all a step down.  And most men aren't all that interested in learning a woman.  They want quick satisfaction, they want to leave their mark on the runway, and they want to get the hell out.  Sad, but all too true.  So I can literally fuck myself sick with hundreds of others, and never really get the quality of orgasm that he gives me...and gives me consistently and EVERY time.  It leaves me feeling unsatisfied, and it makes me voracious for sex.  It makes me want to be his filthy nasty whore.

He knows that, too.

We worked each other up over sexting all day, and couldn't wait for a decent time.  I put my daughter to bed, accommodated for her care for the evening, and virtually ran to him.  He's not unlike a spider in a web, watching me pull at my bonds to him.  He gives me a certain amount of slack, then, when my anger fades and I start to tire of fighting him, he starts winding the cord tighter and tighter, until I'm back in his lair, and he's waiting to devour me.  It wasn't much different this night.  I stood there defiantly, like I have hundreds of times before.  I hurled obscenities at him.  I told him how many men I had fucked in his absence.  I told him I had REVELED in my sexuality without him.  He laughed, wrapped his hand in my hair and pulled my head back.  As he paused, millimeters away from my lips, he whispered my shame to me; "Not one of them made you cum like I do."  He covered my mouth with his, and forced his tongue into my mouth, fucking my mouth with it like a promise of all the other holes he'd fuck very soon.  When we came up for air, I told him that I hated him for that, so he wound my hair tighter in his hand, and said "They'll never know you the way I do.".

He made me suck his cock deep in to my throat, never letting go of my hair.  He set the rhythm, he determined how deep or how fast.  This was his show, he was Dom, and he wasn't going to relent until I knew who I belonged to.  Period.  He raised his hand to discipline me, and he bent me over the bed so that he could fuck me like the slut I am.  He demanded I tell him who I belong to.  Not tonight, I would not cave tonight.  "FUCK YOU!" Slap, Smack. "WHO DO YOU BELONG TO BITCH?"  "FUCK YOU ASSHOLE!!" Slap Smack Backhand.  "TELL ME WHO DO YOU BELONG TO WHORE?"  "ABSOLUTELY NOBODY FUCKER!!"  The discipline increased in intensity, designed to break me, designed to make me heel. He even slammed his cock into my ass without prep, knowing it is excruciating to take his massive cock like that.  But I was too enraged, I could not submit, not this night.

He rolled me over, and fucked me missionary, fusing our mouths together, kissing me until breathing was as much a being a part of him as fucking him was.  He moaned, and said "FUCK ME your pussy is SO DAMN GOOD!"  "Isn't it though", I said to him.  "How much do you love my pussy?"  "So much" he said, his eyes rolling up as I tightened and contracted over him.  "Who do you belong to, Malcolm?"  He stopped for a moment, and he actually broke. "You, I belong to you.  I am your slave, I would do anything you asked me to do for you.  I would lick your body, drink anything that came out of you, make you cum until you were satisfied."

And so we switched roles, with me becoming the Domme, and Malcolm becoming the sub.  It's awkward, most days, but it works for us, for now.  It won't last for long, his need to assert his dominance will return, and when it does there'll be hell to pay.  But for the short term, I'm enjoying my new power.

Play.SoME

Play.SoME Homepage

I attended a new party held in Sanford Maine, recently.  Having given up on hosting for now while I care for my mother in her hospice days, I am excited to see some new talent emerge in the lifestyle.  The two new hosts are caterers by day, and lease a very large hall in Sanford for their events.  They pulled out all the stops on this, their first party, and really knocked it out of the ball park.

I arrived early to help, and alone since Malcolm and I were taking some time off from each other for a bit. I was invited as a guest only, but being a hostess for the last 2 years, it's hard to watch someone stressing over launching their first party and not want to step up and help them relax.  I helped them with food prep, with bar-tending, with set up, with attendance.  With all those little things that would assist them in getting themselves going and lessen the giant knot of tension growing between them as showtime drew nearer.  It was a bit like watching myself for all those times I fell apart before an Affinity party. LOL, knowing that feeling, I couldn't just be another guest.

They had a respectable turnout for their first party....almost 50 guests came to dance, drink, chat, and hook up.  There were many familiar faces, and many more new faces that were trying it out.  The play room was really fantastic...it was approximately 10 Cabana Tents, all set up with lights and an air mattress in each.  Some were private, all the tent sides down.  A couple of the Cabanas were open, for people to watch and participate en masse.  And there was the raised dais, a center stage for people that really wanted to make a show, or perhaps use the Sybian.  It was simply beautiful, and it fired the imagination.

I had tons of fun bar backing and getting people alcohol.  But I had more fun when I was relieved of duty, and got to change into my "play" clothes....and begin my wonderful night of debauchery.

I fucked more than a french whore that night.  All manner of men...black, white, cross dressing....I took them all in never forgetting that the man who should have been there was seething at the thought of it.  I so thoroughly enjoyed all of my encounters, and considered one or two of the men I met that night as potential candidates to add to my stable.  But I didn't stay the night.  When I was done, I changed, packed my bag, and left.....5:30 in the morning...for the long drive home.

Play.SoME is a work in progress, and a fabulous work it is.  I highly recommend it as a great night out, and a better place to swing.

Aching

I'm so damn needy.  Life has played it's fun and games, and Malcolm and I haven't had any...PERSONAL...time in 3 weeks.  I see him, I kiss, I hug him, I smell him, I imagine him, I taste him on my lips.  And I Ache for him.

The first week was the hardest.  We both had some high emotions going on because of life circumstances, me with my mom and him with his move, we were cranky, and a bit vicious.  I throbbed for him, and had this vague sense of dissatisfaction.  This sense of loss and anger that had nothing to do with my mother being ill.  I was pissed, I was needing my daddy.

The second week the ugly took over.  I was bitchy, so was he.  We'd pick fights with each other, and end them by apologizing and making promises for the next week.  The sharpness of the ache became a constant dull pulsing in my pussy, a quiet need that never left.  By the end of the second week I'd become able to make myself squirt by simply rubbing my clit and imagining his cock sliding inside me...slow and easy at first, gathering up all that wetness I make and just taking his time touching the back of me, his "french tickler" he calls it.  My memory of him is so vivid that I can hear him and smell him when I make myself cum.  But no amount of masturbating quells the need, just the opposite in fact.  The more I rub one out, the more I need to cum, like watching the ocean when the tide is coming in.  You can't stop it, it's going to come, recede, then come some more, and a little harder every time it slams the shore.

By the beginning of the 3rd week, we both had started to retreat.  But we got to spend some time together, non-sexual time mind you, mid-week.  I think it made matters worse.  For me, the dull throb had retreated to where I wasn't really thinking about it so much.  But to be next to him, to smell his pheromone, and kiss him and have that hormone enter my system again.....the need roared back to life.  Between kids and repairmen though, we couldn't sate the need, and are still waiting.....both of us waiting to do something with this monster between us.  This NEED is so consuming it seems to have a life of it's own.  I know he brags about his eagerness to tame it, to tame ME again.  He despises my aloofness when I get away from him for some time.  He craves making me heel to him because his efforts cause my body to recognize it's master.  He looks forward to claiming me and stating his ownership again.

So I sit here tonight thinking about sating the need.  I have visions of endless amounts of cock pumping into every orifice on my body, slicking my body with loads and loads of cum.  I want to be animal, existing for absolutely nothing but being fucked repeatedly.  I want his cock up my ass while his teeth are sunk into the meat of my shoulder, where it meets the neck....and I want him to watch men pump their cocks in and out of my mouth while he pumps his in and out of my ass.  I want to feel his hand on the back of my head forcing me down harder and deeper while his other hand encircles my throat waiting to feel that cock enter so deep.  I want to be filled up with cum and watch him eat it out of me, watch him clean me, watch him make sure that the only smell that remains on my body is his.  I want to do things with him that I am not allowed to speak about.  More than anything I want him to watch me fuck indiscriminately.  I want volume and variety.  I want to be sex incarnate.

I'll go to bed tonight, and have an orgasm...or two...or maybe three or four.  But the need will only build and become more consuming.  I'm already wet.

Newbies

I'm not sure what's in the water lately.  I've been approached on all fronts by so many new people that are contemplating entering the lifestyle that it makes my head spin.  Don't get me wrong, I love the fact that people are expanding the box they live in and are daring to open up their relationships with their spouses and significant others.  But it makes me wonder if there is a wash of boredom sweeping my area, or if the tough economy has simply driven people to need more in their lives in terms of diversion.

I think back to how I got into the lifestyle.  It was college really, although we had no idea it's what we were doing.  I went to art school, was a painting and fine arts major, and I set about expanding my mind as many ways as I could.  It was a long ways for a girl that had been raised in small town Maine and attended 12 years worth of Catholic Schools.  So we had free love and sex, big puppy piles of us all sleeping together, fucking, loving, and just living.  We didn't know it was swinging, and truthfully, I don't consider that to be really swinging.

I first got into swinging when I was part of a committed couple with my ex, Jachin.  He'd pushed for it, of course, and he knew that I'd been quite open minded in the past and had done 3sums and moresums.  I'd never been with a woman sexually though, and I'd struggled with that aspect of my sexuality for years.  Being mysteriously attracted to women, but always having a carnal love of men as well.  So Jachin and I attended our first party at the Chalet Motel.  It was a KnA party, WAYYYYYYY back before they'd remodeled their new location.  I was nervous as hell, drank myself into a stupor, and stayed glued to Jachin's side like a Siamese twin all night.  I was so uncomfortable with my own body, and I was sure I'd never be attractive to anyone in the lifestyle because of my weight.  So many hangups, so little information.

We were lucky and met a really nice couple at that party that talked to us and let me know that my insecurities were simply products of my own mind.  To some extent, that couple tried to mentor us as well as they could in such a boisterous and busy environment.  Over the years I gained wisdom and information from other couples and hosts in the lifestyle that were wonderful sharing and caring people.  But I made mistakes that could have been avoided if I'd known things on the front side of this endeavor.

I'm contemplating hosting a Newbie Boot Camp to provide that kind of information to people either thinking of joining the lifestyle, or to people who have and are struggling, or to people who's first impression was less than good.  I really think arming people with info is the way to go to help them relax into this and enjoy themselves.  Although all the information is available online, I think it would be an exciting venture to host it locally where people can meet experienced couples, meet with vendors who carry accessories, and learn about all the terms this lifestyle carries.  Vanilla?  Unicorn?  BBW?  Fetish?  On Premise?  Meet & Greet?
Cripes, I had no blessed idea what it all was, and many newbies are afraid to ask for fear of looking stupid.  So I've put out some feelers on the idea, and am cautiously excited to maybe do this.  Malcolm's going to hurl when he hears about this one.  He'll roll his eyes and say, "Let me know when you get to the fucking part. I'll be there for that." LOLOL

An Away Weekend

Along with taking time out from the Internet, I also realized that caring full time for my mother would require me to give up hosting parties for a time.  I was fortunate, in the late fall, when I made the acquaintance of a lovely lady that was interested in taking up the reigns for a bit.  I think, too, that having hosted as many clubs as I did as frequently, I was burnt.  It wasn't fun for me anymore, it was a job, and not a very exciting one at that.

Malcolm and I attended a party this weekend that was just stupid good.  We haven't had that level of abandon and relaxation in as long as I can remember.  Many of our friends were there as well, though some couldn't make it at the last moment.  But for those that did make it, it was crazy awesome.

Many people never consider the huge undertaking it is to throw an event like this.  Hours and hours of answering emails, planning food, budgeting for necessities, dealing with peoples petty dramas.  Dealing with no shows and last minute cancels.  Policing adults so that your place doesn't get trashed.  Being the perfect host despite how you are actually feeling.  It gets to be overwhelming many times, so much so that when I hosted Affinity, it was more times than not that Liz or Ian found me tear-stained in my kitchen almost paralyzed by task overload.  As the host/hostess, you can't really get down and enjoy yourself because the minute your back is turned, some fucked up shit is liable to happen.  So you play a little bit here and there, never really letting your guard down, and hope to God that your mate will tolerate your mood and take care of you sexually when it's all done.  Though we still play a fundamental role in pulling off these parties, the final stress isn't ours, and we can finally breathe, and make very very merry.

I knew this party was going to be extra special by the very virtue of the fact that so many of our dearest friends were going to be attending.  Though we were disappointed in the last minute cancellation by my boytoy Ian and his girl, our friend Liz was still attending, and a last minute surprise of our friend Bill.  Now, I've never featured Bill in a blog before, and mores the pity.

Bill is amazing, quite simply.  Ripped, hung, and so damn easy on the eyes he's unforgettable. Luscious lips....great smile, easy going, and so reliable to be steady and carry a boatload of stamina.  Quite simply, we love Bill.  JT was also attending with some friends of his, and he is always a guaranteed good time as well.  The night just kept lining up better and better.

And quite frankly, any night I'm with Malcolm at all is a guaranteed great night.  To be in his hand and under his arm is all I need to be fulfilled.  He never ever disappoints me, and is always the perfect date. 

Malcolm had held me off all week, making me build up my energy towards the weekend, and building the anticipation little by little with his teasing remarks every day:

 "You know that you're in for it at that party, don't you?  I'm going to wail on you for HOURS until you don't have a voice left from screaming so much."
"I want to watch you sucking dick while I fuck you hard.  You better swallow that cum too or I'll make you lick it off my fingers."
"I want people to watch you while I lick you and make you squirt."

And so the week went, until, picking him up in the car, I could feel myself creaming a little bit in anticipation of what was to come.  We packed for the overnight, and got on the road, our good friend Liz following in her truck close behind us. It was a long-ish ride, about an hour, so we had time to chat and play in the car.  One thing, since we've gotten back together, is that playfulness is so much more evident.  Maybe we're more relaxed with each other, maybe we've seen the worst and now we're just more comfortable.  I dunno for sure, but we play more, we laugh and joke more, and we definitely love more.  He pushes me harder to sub, to accept him fully as my Dom.  It was evident as I questioned him about route and direction.  I know the way there, but he knew it better, and he would repeat...."Trust me, follow me."  I caught myself beginning to argue, but quickly bit it back...."yes Daddy", and with that gave him my verbal consent to lead me, to care for and guide me and not just on the road.  He knew I was acquiescing to much more.

We both helped to finish setting up the party when we arrived, finish some baking, some shoveling, some bed-making. Then we helped greet the guests and get the conversation flowing.  Malcolm, as always, is great at getting people to talk and laugh.  He has that kind of aura that makes people naturally gravitate towards him.  They WANT to talk to him to get to know him.  He also loves being the life of the party, so it all works out well, really.  He teased me for a long while that night, not really thinking about pleasing me or letting me please him until later.  We watched a bunch of women ride a sybian, and talked about how we felt about using it.  My issue with the sybian is that it destroys my stamina...and when we're at a party, I need lots of stamina because Malcolm won't quit.  Not until the sun shines...quite literally.

We decided to get things rolling by taking our friend Liz into a room.  Luckily we bumped into another one of our lady friends who was coming out of the room with her boytoy.  Malcolm took Kathy down on the mattress and started to lick her slowly.  I love watching him and helping him....but my tongue wanted in too.  So Liz became my willing victim.  It's been simply ages since I had the joy of diving in and making her cum.  Liz is gorgeous.  She has the biggest breasts ever, an H cup I believe. And she is so responsive and vocal during sex.  She also squirts buckets, which is amazing as well.  So in I dived, with a happy harrumph, and licked and sucked her clit, fingered her juicy pussy, and made her cum at least as many times Malcolm made Kathy come.  And then it was time to switch. LOLOL!  Malcolm and I switched partners and started all over again, to equal effect.  Round one, of about 20.

The girls needed to breathe and rehydrate, so he and I went out to the kitchen to get some water as well and clean up a bit.  Having cum up your nose stings a bit, and makes us both laugh, so we took a moment to wash our faces, and hug and kiss each other, all the while tasting both women all over again.  Malcolm decided to change into his kilt, I took a moment to check my phone, and we headed back upstairs to the party again.  He looks so fucking hot in his kilt that after he'd finished boasting about it and prancing around, I hurried him over to the couch so that I could lift that kilt up and suck his big beautiful cock.  I never get tired of having him in my mouth and throat, not ever.  And he never gets tired of getting the best head he's ever gotten.  That night, with people watching him and watching me, his cock was bigger than I've ever seen it....big enough to make me have to be careful not to scrape him.  He was huge.

He did make me stop though, he definitely didn't want the fun to end so soon.  He got up, tried to smooth his kilt down over the huge mountain of his cock, and went back to get a beer in the kitchen.  We were approached by a new couple we'd chatted with earlier, and we consented to help them enjoy their first time.  Being with newbies is as nerve-wracking for the experienced people as it is for the newbies.  We dunno what expectation or preconceptions they may have, and we definitely don't want to intimidate or disappoint. And newbies can't always verbalize what they want because they just don't know.  So we kept it slow and easy with them, soft swap only, side by side, Malcolm with her, me with her mate.  It was a tender sweet moment, and we are glad they chose us to be their first.  We hope they weren't disappointed, and hope they come back again for more.

When they left the room, Malcolm asked them to leave the door open.  He came over to me and finally, FINALLY started fucking me with his big beautiful cock.  I was drenched from coming and squirting, and was still breathless from the last orgasm, but feeling him shove inside so firmly until his cock was seated all the way in made me shiver, and it hit my magic spot.  I squirted on him repeatedly.  I honestly believe I could squirt on him endlessly in that position.  He's so long he hits the back and triggers it.  He loves the feel of my pussy, how it's wet, and hot, and he loves how I let him stretch it out any way he wants.  He loves to get his hand up in there and fist me, then shove his cock inside and feel me contract around him. He fucked me nice and slow, loving the way he felt all that wetness glide around him.

The night became endless variations of him and I and Liz, and Bill, and a couple other of the men that attended.  Malcolm would get me onto my knees, shove his cock into me, and invite a man for me to give head to so that he could watch me deep throat, knowing that the more he turned me on and made me cum, the harder I would shove that cock down my throat.  He loves to watch the man's face as he realizes that he's never had his cock so far down a throat before, he says that their eyes roll up into their heads and their head kind of loll about.  Then he'd move over to take care of Liz, and he'd hand me off to someone he trusted to keep fucking me, or fisting me, or eating me.  I wouldn't always have to ability to see who it was, but that was Malcolm making me trust that he had my back, that he was in control no matter what.  And it is extraordinarily erotic to be taken by a stranger, to not know who's hand is making you squirt, to not be sure who's cock is slamming home.  I always knew, however, that Malcolm knew, and that was enough.  Malcolm made sure that all my holes were busy.

It was getting on 5 am, and we were both exhausted.  Malcolm hadn't cum yet though, and he won't finish inside of anyone else but me. So he flipped me onto my back, and he told me to play with myself while he fisted me.  That final orgasm was the one that sent me over the edge, really.  There are some orgasms where you just literally feel cells exploding inside your head, bright lights start to go off behind your eyes, and you feel like you could begin to lose consciousness.  He brought me to that point then slammed his cock home so that he could feel those intense lasting contractions.  When he goes so long, sometimes he has trouble finishing.  He's tired, it's a monumental effort.  So it was time to pull out his favorite fantasy.......

"Baby, my body is drenched in cum.  Those men came all over me like the slut that I am, and I am covered in it.  Will you lick me clean?  Will you kiss it out of my mouth?  Will you play with it and feed it to me from your fingers?  Please daddy, I need to feel you fill me up with your cum because I want to feel it dripping down my legs, and I want to swipe my hand through it and rub it all over my face."

He roared his release and bit down just above my breast as the cum shot out of his body and flooded my pussy. He wrapped himself around me to keep me warm while he caught his breath, then pulled me out of the bed so that we could remove the nasty sheets and get to the fresh bed underneath.  We put the pillows onto the bed, pulled the comforter on, and he spooned me to go to sleep.  I couldn't sleep on that side though, and I turned over to face him, put my leg over his hip and my arm around his back and we fell asleep, his cock nestled in my pussy and my  head on his chest.  We both fell asleep almost immediately, and slept like the dead until we were woken up a few hours later by everyone else rising for the morning.

The rest of the day was honestly a waste, as both of us were wiped out and completely useless until sometime Monday night. LOL.  Definitely a great great night!

Long Time

I took a break from the Internet for awhile, not from everything of course, as email and bank accounts and things like that will always be essential.  But definitely a break from a lot of things I love to do online....blog, Facebook, and online gaming.
The holidays came, and my mother's health became more and more precarious.  I needed the time I normally spent online to create a holiday to outshine all holidays.  After all, how would you do it, if you know this was going to be a person's last Christmas, last New Year's, last Thanksgiving...on and on.  It's intensely emotionally draining, and as equally fulfilling.  It also requires time and focus.  I'm glad I did it, no matter what.

Time with Malcolm has been equally precious, and equally limited.  Going back to work full time curtailed my being his beck and call girl, and very much reset his attitude towards me in terms of accessibility.  I hate that men and women have to play games, but really, they seem to be a necessary evil in the balancing of logic and hormone.  It's interesting to watch our relationship evolve, to watch HIM grow and change and to see myself doing the same.  I'm no longer in awe of him, just comfortable at last and strong enough to stand up to him and command his love and respect.  I don't coddle him, I needle him every chance I get.  He has enough women in his life to fawn over him, he needs at least one that will put the brakes on and say HEY!!!  YOU ARE FLIPPING WRONG!!!  We laugh so much more now, and we have conversations about something other than his roommate or the crazy bitches in Jachin's life.

Jachin is gone from both of our lives.  It's a bit uncomfortable, somewhat bittersweet, and more relieving to be done with the dog and pony show....and all the drama it created around everyone he came into contact with.  All the lies, the manipulations just gone.  And yes, I do miss him to some extent, but I don't miss the everyday horror show he brought to my life with all of his nonsense. Nor do I miss his ability to make me feel sorry for him or guilty or pushed into helping him beyond what is comfortable for me.  It's a shame really to look back and realize that I had the lowest of expectations from him, and still managed to be disappointed.  It's hard to comprehend how someone can be so completely mercenary in their intents that they would literally use up a resource until it was gone, and then move on to the next.

Malcolm is helping me look back on the past with different eyes.  I see now that the timing of Jachin's "breakup" with me wasn't ironic, it was calculated.  He realized, when I lost my job, that the bank of Lilith would be closing and that he wouldn't be able to rely on me for funds anymore.  It was opportunistic of him, at that point, to have someone else waiting in the wings, as he always does, that could then continue to provide him with the necessary funds to carry on his way of life.  He essentially lives like a gigolo, allowing women to support him.  He'll kick in money every once in awhile, to make you think he's contributing, but really....what you give is way more than what you'll ever ever receive.  Jachin once told me that he'd never let me go because he'd never had a real friend like me in his life before.  Sadly, Jachin doesn't know how to be a friend.  He's incapable of being there for someone besides himself.  He's really only interested in someone when it somehow enhances his own life or well being.  He definitely has never really learned how to love another person.  People are merely a means to an end for him.  I've watched him mow a path thru a number of women, not least of which was Medusa.  It became more and more uncomfortable to watch him lie and maneuver thru them, all the while knowing exactly how he operated.  If there was one gift he gave me, besides a cell phone, it was the gift of knowing him exactly how he really was.  A mixed blessing that, to actually witness his lies and perfidy as they related to other people, and not really be able to say anything.

Meanwhile, Malcolm let me know about his conversations with Medusa, and how she herself is searching for answers.  I am thankful for his pledge to honesty with me.  Although I can sense his discomfort in discussing it, he knows that to not do so would be akin to me secretly talking with Jachin and not telling him.  He'd be furious after everything that happened.  He asked before he befriended, and has kept me up to date on all of their conversations.  I value his trust in my character to respond to him appropriately.  And that's what we are really working on lately, trust.  Time will tell.  She's mistaken, however, if she thinks Malcolm really knows the whole story.  While he knows bits and pieces, he doesn't know every ugly detail.  He only knows about the women he saw, which was a lot, granted, but not all.  Jachin made sure I knew every ugly detail.  Whether to hurt me or to have me be his conscience on some level, he told me about them all, and in gory detail.

I regret allowing myself to be caught up in the drama and for inflicting him on Malcolm.  I regret the turmoil it caused in our relationship.  I feel badly for the women in his life that he totally railroaded although as Malcolm says, it wasn't my responsibility to alert them, and they wouldn't have listened anyways.  I don't regret having known Jachin, he certainly is a character, and there definitely were some good times in there.  He always knew how to make me laugh.  He's a hard person NOT to like, his showmanship is flawless.  However, one thing Jachin is not is a good liar.  He tells so many lies that he can't honestly keep track of them all.  I knew how to crack his code when I was ready to accept the truth.  For any woman that bothers to look, the signs are all there, it's just a matter of listening to your gut, and not rationalizing it to make it fit the story you want to be real.  Jachin is amazingly in-your-face about his activities.  He prides himself on getting away with stuff right under someones nose.  I have scores of incredibly hurtful stories, but I refuse to perpetrate more drama on his behalf.  It stops here.

What I do enjoy now, with Malcolm, is peace.  Perhaps it's a naivete on my part, again, but things are so much easier without someone always trying to sabotage you.  Our life is comfortable again, and I enjoy it as much now, a full 3 years later, as I did in the beginning when it was all new and effervescent.  It's still complicated, but still so intrinsically fulfilling for me.  That connection we share, not simply sexually, but mind to mind.....I treasure that most of all.  In fact, he's been away for a few days and I miss the time we usually spend talking to each other.  It's so quiet without him available to talk to.  Thankfully tomorrow is a new day, and he'll be home.  We'll have lots to talk about again, and I definitely look forward to poking the mess out of his bear.