Enough with the whining. There were a lot of really good things about the weekend.
Sandy Hook was probably the best. Ha, four days of kinkfest and my favorite part was going to the beach. But it was a nude beach, first one I’ve ever been to. Swimming naked in the ocean was glorious. And I was actually glad it was overcast and somewhat empty – didn’t have to worry about sunburn or fat-hating oglers hoping for frolicking coeds. I got to ogle Xel, which is always nice. It’s really a shame that we all have to be clothed so often.
What made going to the beach especially nice is that it’s something special to him that he shared with me. He was so pleased that I liked it there.
I have to say I almost wish we hadn’t gone to the event this weekend. I only attended three workshops, and one of them was one I’d been to at another event (and was better at the other event). And one of the other ones was pretty much useless, though the third was really good. I think things would have been better with Xel if we had just been hanging out for the weekend instead of being somewhere like that with lots going on. He was also a little uncomfortable, being a noob to the scene and all. He hid it really well though and I didn’t realize at the time that he felt so out of his depth.
We actually played a bit, in the little dungeon. It was fun, even if it wasn’t deep or heavy, and I gave him the most marvelous bruised welt all the way across his ass, perfectly placed and as close as possible to breaking the skin without actually drawing blood. I wish I’d remembered to take a picture of it.
He was such a brat during our scene – he kept goading me to hit him harder, and at one point he got up and started trying to smack me back. That boy really is not comfortable giving up control, no matter how much his little heart secretly desires it. Rope and a gag is definitely going to be a necessity for him so he can let go. Some privacy would help too, an environment more conducive to intimacy and feelings of safety. I should have shielded, but didn’t think of it at the time. Like I said though, it was fun, and very educational. We had a good conversation about it last night which yielded feedback and some actual almost-concrete statements about what he wants from our bdsm play, which is a far cry from his usual “I don’t know.”
An interesting side effect of playing with him is that my definitions of top and bottom, dominant and submissive are all shaken up lately. It’s all so much switchier and more complicated than we’re led to believe. I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately, and being with Xel kind of gelled some of the stuff I’ve been noodling. Mostly I suppose I’ve been trying to figure out where I stand and what I want. I have some very submissive desires that are coming to the forefront right alongside the dominant and sadistic ones that were already there. Also, I’m realizing that a lot of my topping behaviors can be actually submissive or service-oriented and vice-versa. Control and power, giving and taking are much more slippery concepts than they seem.
Lately I have a very powerful desire to submit to someone. I imagine that it’s Xel and I want to be his fucktoy, his plaything. I want him to fuck me and use me, be rough and demanding and selfish. I want to be a vessel for his passion. And then I want him to tie me up and play with me, to tease me, make me beg. I want to see that teasing, confident gleam in his eye as his fingers play ever so agonizingly slowly over my skin while I whimper and moan.
I think it’s mostly a desire for focused, passionate attention. But then there’s that weird desire to almost be objectified. I want him to fuck my mouth, to pull my hair and hold my head while I’m on my knees. I want him to be rough with me.
I want to unleash the pacifist’s inner beast and be its playground. …And now it flips around to not being a very submissive desire after all. The desire to make him lose control, to be the one who flips that switch in him that he keeps such tight locks on. I want to corrupt the good boy and drive him to things he doesn’t let himself admit that he wants, things he might be ashamed of, things that good boys and respectable feminist vegans just don’t do.
At one point this weekend, I asked him to jerk off on me. I wanted warm founts of come on my breasts. I wanted to lick droplets of it off my lips. I still love the idea of it, but now I fantasize about him licking it off of me. …having him lap up his own fluids off of my breasts, down my stomach and to my cunt, keeping at it until I’m spent. And I imagine pulling his tired head up to mine, his bristly face all shiny with his sweat and my juices, kissing him and tasting our pleasure in his mouth.
Ah, I remember when beautifulboy so scornfully said I wasn’t dominant, or even submissive. I’m “just a kinky girl.” I felt insulted at the time, but he was so very right. And I’m so very glad.
...sometimes almost magic... 
