We met for drinks a few months ago and then schedules got tight and new jobs were started and we lost touch. Carmine found me again a few weeks ago, telling me that he wanted to see me.

So we met for drinks and talked about school and teaching and the law. We also talked about lubes and blogging and the joys of rope and electro-sex. I’m attracted to Carmine but the conversation wasn’t sexy, it wasn’t flirtatious, it just was.

He asked me back to his place so I texted Jay to make sure it was alright. It was. I knew that something might happen but I wasn’t expecting it. Carmine is sweet and self-effacing. He has a slight Boston accent that makes my pussy twinge when he says words like “car”. I couldn’t, for the life of me see him making the first move.

He did. Standing in his living room he grabs me and kisses me. He leads me to the bedroom and begins taking off my clothes. We tumbled around on the bed for awhile kissing and groping. At one point he paused, excusing himself to go to the bathroom. I posed myself so that I would look effortlessly sexy when he came back in the room. On my stomach, legs bent and crossed at the ankles with feet in the air. He came back in the room and slid on top of me, caressing my back with his body and kissing the top of my head. I felt his cock pressing against my ass and I wiggled a bit as I looked over my shoulder at him.

“You have a baseball bat next to your bed.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you afraid of intruders?”

“No, it helps me think.”

I look at him quizzically.

“It is a guy thing,” he explains, “it is phallic.”

I smirk and decide to give him the benefit of the doubt. He is grinding against me and kissing my shoulders. He asks me what I want and I shoot the question back at him. So, he tells me he wants to fuck me and spanks my ass. Too softly.

I tell him I want to fuck him too but he’s going to have to hit harder. He does.

So we fuck.

Yeah, I know, I always skip that part. Here, let me give you some highlights. He slides into me and his cock is thick and hard and I squeeze him. His eyes widen a bit and so do mine. He pins my hands beside my head. He squeezes my wrists hard and it hurts and I really love it. I scream, a lot. Obscenities, sacrilegious prayers, and incomprehensible things. Throughout it all, Carmine retains a placid and contemplative look on his face. I smile and he smiles back but he is already smiling. I wonder if there is some joke that I am missing. And as his cock slams me, sometimes too hard and too deep. So aggressively that I have to remind him that my cervix is there, he still smiles. I wonder if this has something to do with the baseball bat.

So, we finish and I bite my lip and steal a quick glance at him. I giggle a bit. I’m not being myself so much as an approximation of myself. It is okay, he might know this or it might be too complex for the moment or he might not even care. I ask him to explain the baseball bat again. He picks it up and shows me. He is laying on his back next to a puddle of ejaculate with a baseball bat in his hands and my naked body slung partially over his. He looks a bit like he owns the world. He holds the bat like he is expecting a pitch and moves it back and forth a bit. I duck and giggle. He explains that he’s never even played baseball on a team and he isn’t that big of a fan. It just works. He tousles my hair and asks if I want a cigarette.

I tell him that I’ve never had a cigarette after sex before. Maybe it is too much of a cliche. He gives me an incredulous look. Law students are apt to smoking and Carmine knows that when I’m having a drink, I’m prone to a cigarette or two. I tell him that I’ve probably fucked smokers before but the cigarette never came up. He tells me it can’t be beat.

We slide back into our clothes and walk out on the porch and talk about evolutionary biology and have a smoke. He isn’t lying, it is a really good cigarette. The night is hot and exceedingly Southern he tells me that he hopes that now that we’ve gotten the preliminaries out of the way, we can get more adventurous next time.

Oh, thats right I left out some details. I met Carmine because he likes cross dressing and taking it in the ass from girls with strap-ons. He is also perfectly capable of spanking me and pinning me to the bed while he fucks me hard. Interesting how people and their sexualities aren’t just one thing. My life and relationships would be much too boring if that were true.

VS.

An episode wherein Ellie interviews JohnBaku of Fetlife.com and decides if his pretty blue eyes are any match in sexiness for the pretty blue
G Twist from Vibe Review.

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Read my full review of the G Twist.

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So, I am known for my anger and rage that is directed at most dating sites. I don’t usually fare much better on social networks. However, I have an exception to that rule (as of this moment at least).

I learned about FetLife while I was at Sex 2.0 and I signed up when I got home. Honestly, I’m really impressed. Even really angry people are impressed.

The founder of the site is engaged with members and seems to go out of his way to make things work. The site is smooth, runs quickly and doesn’t have a bunch of useless features that no one uses.

Honestly, it just works and the people seem to work as well. So, join up and find me (username: ellie_lumpesse) and we can totes be friends in kink and depravity (as if we weren’t already!)

I’ve been threatening to write this post for awhile. It has been on the tip of my tongue, ready to come out. But I’ve been utterly unaware of what I want to say. You, dear reader, are a passive bystander to this, not the participant that I desire in this moment.

Instead, this post is for myself, it is a discussion with my own brain. But there is someone else at stake as well, there is Marc.

Who is Marc? Well, thanks for asking. The simple answer (and really the whole answer) is that he is a friend. One with a conflict and one that has me conflicted.

Lets imagine for a moment and perform a philosophical exercise. Are you with me? First we need to establish the preliminaries that you may already know. I like sex, I like exploration, I’m a junky for the excitement of a new relationship, and . . . I feel something new lately. A desire to submit. I don’t want a collar or a leash or for anyone to call me slave. I don’t want to pretend I am being captured by a pirate or call someone Master or start capitalizing pronouns inappropriately. No, I want to submit.

But I only know what that doesn’t mean not what it does mean. I am sure there are some of you out there biting your tongues. You are perfectly prepared to tell me what it means and how I should do it and with whom, where, and for how long. Honestly, and with the most respect in the world, and all of the love that I have for you, shut the fuck up. I know that was pre-emptive and bitchy and cruel but I can be all of those things and this is something I need to figure out for myself.

Oh, thats right, I was telling you about Marc. He is a sarcastic asshole, he has cats, he has been smacking pretty girls on the ass (and hard) for the past 20 years and he spends a lot of time in conflict. He worries if he is a misogynist because he looks at a woman that he cares about and respects and he shows her that by causing her pain and lording over her. He doesn’t feel like this helps him attract very healthy women.

Why would I want to get involved with that? Good question. I wish I had a complete answer. Perhaps it is just alluring to me and mysterious and I am wanting to chart new territory and experience new adventures. But, I want to think it goes beyond that.

When Marc talks, I want to listen. I am not docile or submissive but, instead, receptive. Accepting and learning and analyzing. He doesn’t think he is perfect and he doesn’t want me to think that he is, in fact the faults that I see make him more attractive because I think that we could teach things to each other.

There is something else, though, the problem or the solution (depending on how you see it). He is brutal. And brutality is beautiful in that eerie abstract way but do I want brutality acted out on the curves of my body? Branded onto me in the form of welts and bruises? Will it take me somewhere new, will it teach me something?

I don’t know that it will do good things for me, all I know is that I want it. I want him. My intelligent brain takes the things that he says and wraps them up into a neat package and attempts to set them aside as too extreme, too intense, too real. My gut steals them away, sequesters them next to the root of my desire and parcels them out beyond my will where my toes curl and my blood pulses and my mind rings with curiosity and longing.

And so I am left with my conflict and it occupies my mind in the quiet moments. And he will see this and know better than to think it is a love letter but it may put his mind in motion as well.