Most people that read this blog know that I have an intense relationship with music. My podcast started out being about sex and music and the level to which I sexualize music is pretty clear if you listen to episodes of it. But, I’ve never really written about the stumbling blocks I’ve had with music through the years.

When I met C in 2002 he was my destined to be my first for a lot of things. One of the fundamental pieces of our early romance was music. It was a love affair conducted via file transfer and mixtape. His excitement for me was carried with outpourings of new sounds and arrangements I’d never imagined before. I learned to use music to love and to share music as an act of devotion.

When C and I broke up, this left me in a peculiar place. Plenty of couples have a few songs that they consider “theirs” and of course those songs can, in turn, bring back either wistfulness or painful memories. The problem with my relationship with C is that music was such a big part of it (he a record label owner and club DJ and me being a radio DJ) that it wasn’t particular songs that reminded me of him or even particular artists, it was music itself.

Melody and lyric had been the language that we loved each other in and thus they were too painful to hear when I lost him. This might sound dramatic and silly but it was a reality for me. I was ruined on music for awhile. When Jay and I fell deeper in love I wanted to share it with him but painstakingly picking through my music collection was still too raw. Instead I brought an external hard-drive to his house and dumped a few gig of my library onto his computer and let him sort it out for himself. It was heartless and impersonal.

Finally, years out from my breakup with C, I am falling in love again. This time it isn’t bittersweet because Jay and I cling together, steadfast in our dedication to each other and our life together. He is my cheerleader in my new, fragile loves with Michael and Ariel. And I am, in turn, his. The greatest revelation has been that music has come back to me.

Driving home from visits to see Michael and Ariel, Jay and I found ourselves singing silly love songs at full volume. As I opened my heart to many loves, it opened to old and new melodies to express them in. Every song was about me and I’ve never been so grateful for being a trite cliche.

So, here is a mix CD that they got in the mail from me yesterday (a few tracks are missing because they weren’t on Grooveshark). It is a lot of silly love songs, inside jokes, swelling melodies, and love.

So I’m frantically getting ready for the new term at school so I’ve been a bit quiet. However, Jay has posted a few great blog entries this week. First, he did a HNT post for the first time. Exhibit:

He also wrote this gorgeous post about our play with Hania last week. Sigh. I will certainly be recounting the experience from my perspective as well but reading it from his was fun. While we were all together, I kept looking up at him and smiling. He was a bystander some of the time but he never lost the look of wonder and delight from his eyes. He is such a treasure to have as a lover and best friend.

Here are a few of his words:

Hania motioned for me to help her out of her top, then her bra. Her breasts, while smaller than Ellie’s, were very large for Hania’s small frame and quite perky. The dark almond colored areolas that we thought we saw the month before were even more sexy than Ellie and I had imagined (trust me, we spent a few nights in bed talking about Hania’s lovely body).

Ellie laid down on her back and Hania straddled her playing with her breasts. They rubbed their bodies together, kissed, sucked, and licked for almost an hour before Hania started pulling Ellie’s panties off.

I wish I had a better vantage point so I could give a play-by-play. The only thing I can say for sure is that the three of us all seemed to be enjoying ourselves. Hania’s slurping and kissing, Ellie’s moans, and my angelic expression probably express the feelings of the moment better than a verbose description could.

He also posted a really lovely photo of Hania in the rope harness that I put on her:

This weekend, we’ll be going out of town for a very impromptu weekend with Artemis and Jeff. She called me last night and we agreed that when Artemis asks for your attendance, you do what you can to make it happen. We should come home with new stories to tell and some brand new rope skills. Rope skills that I hope to use and continue improving at Dark Odyssey in a few weeks.

A few days ago I was thinking. I was also being fingered. Neither of those two occurrences are peculiar in isolation but they are usually independent of each other. Nonetheless, as Jay slid one hand under me to cup my ass and deftly worked at my pussy with the fingers of his remaining hand, I found myself in thought.

I quickly realized that these were thoughts I have had before.

Over, I thought. Yes, right there on my clit. Mmm, with your thumb, that is lovely.

I was thinking these things and they were happening. I looked at Jay and he was intently focused on my pussy and nibbling on my hip. I listened carefully, was I speaking?

I heard the sound of my wetness being stirred up. I heard my own moans and my breath catching in my throat as I shifted my hips to meet his touches. But I didn’t hear myself issuing directions.

This is when it hit me. Jay touches me in the exact way I want to be touched. He anticipates what will make me squirm and quiver. He seems to deliver it instantaneously, as the thought crosses my mind. Or perhaps before.

His touch is part of my body’s memory – the history and geography of who I am and how I feel. Thinking of his hands on me is soothing, it feels like home, and it makes me slick just from the memories.