Sexuality Happens

So you remember the woman I was talking about in the Possibly a Jinx post? Well. Let’s just put it this way; she gets a name in my blog now. She’ll be F, for a nickname she had.

Recap: She’s from my past.  I had a big crush on her, but didn’t realize that was what it was at the time.  Hadn’t heard from/seen her in forever (we weren’t close or anything), and then, randomly, I re-met her. She’s a very interesting person, amusing, deep, comforting.  And I’ve been hanging out with her a bit.

Last Wednesday, I called her to schedule another appointment with her to work on my migraines (part of her job description).  I was planning on trying to come in Thursday – I needed something *right* away – I’d had 3 migraines in 5 days, and was running out of pills.  She suggested I meet her after derby practice at her place, that she’d work on me on her table at home. I would have done anything to feel better.

I got there, met her roommates, got a tour of the house. We sat in her basement, and I picked up a knife that was on the table, and unconsciously, began to slowly and lightly draw the tip of it up and down my arms, my legs, my fingertips, all the while having a conversation with her about relationships vs. fuck buddies vs. friends with benefits, and about how important communication is.  I patted the seat next to me. “Here, come sit next to me…you’re so far away.” She moved. We kept talking. At some point, I brought up how nice the knife felt.  She offered her arm to me to feel it.  I asked her if I could use it on her back instead (I know how amazing it feels on my back) – she lifted her shirt and turned.  I slowly and carefully ran the tip down her spine as she shivered and her breath caught on the way out.  After a few more gentle stokes lengthwise, I delicately began to trace her tattoos on her full back piece with the tip, watching her squirm and gasp at the sensation.  Each day, I feel like I’m getting just a little top-ier with each person.  I mean, I knew I liked receiving edge play, but running that steel blade over her skin, watching her twitch slightly, hearing her ragged breathing?  It had me wet and throbbing.

For a variety of reasons, the place where she set up her table was un-useable, so she offered me, in the most professional way possible in this circumstance, her bed.  I accepted (and my shirt stayed on, so this really wasn’t a pick up line, I promise), and we got to work.  The last time she’d worked on me, I wound up reliving the argument and giant crying breakdown in K’s car…. lovely. This time, I started out fine. She gently pressed on my shoulders, my neck, my head, doing her thing.  And then she started asking questions. Because see, this isn’t just body work – it involves processing and dealing with emotions.  And I didn’t have any memories come up this time.  I just had this picture of me in my head, curled up in the fetal position, spiraling through the darkness, and this overwhelming fear of being alone. She asked me to hold onto those feelings, so we could work through them. She asked questions. I felt like being snarky, like telling her this was bullshit, and I was fine, and it didn’t matter if I wound up alone for the rest of my life. Instead, I broke down, and crawled under the blanket, and silently sobbed for a few minutes.

For those of you unaware, I *don’t* cry in front of people, and attempt to avoid it at any cost.  In the past year, I have cried in front of J once or twice, in front of K, and in front of C.  And now, F.  That’s pretty much it.  Occasionally, I’ll get weepy in front of my best friends, but that’s it. Interesting, that the only people (best friends aside) I am able to cry in front of are people I have had or do have sex with. I think the common denominator is feeling safe.  K, for all of his brusqueness, always made me feel safe. C let me explore my softer side (well, except for her biting the shit out of my breasts and stomach), let me care, and made me feel safe.  I loved J, and felt open and safe around him. And F is the definition of safe. I feel no expectations, that she doesn’t judge, that she is just there to see and hear and feel and take in.

We lay on her bed for a little as I processed on my own, and returned more to myself.  I then made it very clear that we were done with the “professional boundaries session dealio” and that we were back to hanging out as friends.  Her room was bathed in candlelight – I made a quip about how in college, when I read Cosmo, they always said to get naked in candlelight, because it was more flattering…yet I was pretty comfortable with my body, and had never been naked in candlelight.  She told me that I should feel free to enjoy being naked right now in candlelight…and so I took off my shirt. And bra.  And we just lay there, talking.  She’s always been very interested in BDSM, but never had a partner she felt comfortable exploring it with, so we talked about what she was wanting to try, what it was she wanted from it, etc. She’s stunning. I wanted nothing more than to say “ooh! ooh! Pick me! I’ll tie you up, I’ll spank you, I’ll fuck you until you can’t breathe anymore!” But in the interest of the friendship, I just nodded, and provided cognitive information about BDSM.

Eventually, it was getting late. “Are you going to sleep here?”  I paused. God yes, I wanted to lie in bed with her. I wanted so much from her.  But I am SO bad at sleeping in bed with people. “I know you have problems sleeping with people, so if not, that’s fine…” I thought about it. What was wrong with me that I couldn’t sleep in the same bed as people I liked and/or had sex with?  I took it upon me as a challenge.

“I’d love to stay.  But is it ok that if after an hour or two, and I realize it just isn’t working, that I sneak out quietly?”  She said it was. We lay in bed, not talking for a bit.  She then, while lying on her stomach, pulled her shirt up, and asked if I scratch/rub her back. I love doing that to people – scratching them, and then ever so lightly brushing my fingers over them until they shiver.  Hell, I get off on that, so I was eager to acquiesce to her request. I let my fingers wander over her soft skin, her back, her neck, enjoying ever slight movement she made; movements that I caused.  

Finally, it was really time for bed.  We lay there, and finally I worked up the courage. “Um. So um.  I hope this doesn’t sound extremely creepy.  A little creepy is ok, but not extremely. Um. So yeah.  If you’re ever in a place where you’d like to play, I’d really love to play with you.”

There was a pause. My brain, over thinker that I am, ran 100 miles a millisecond.  Until she said “I’d really love that.” And with that, we went to bed.  She fell asleep almost immediately…lightly snoring.  I, on the other hand, lay there, thoughts traveling through my brain. What was this? Sleeping next to a friend, or to someone that might be something more? What was I to do next? Finally, exhaustion took over, and I slept. Now, when I say I slept, I mean I didn’t get up like 30 times to go to the bathroom, or startle myself awake, and then take an hour to get back to sleep again.  I actually slept until her alarm went off…at 6:30am. Ugh.  I am not a morning person.

I rolled over, and started rubbing and gently scratching her back.  She made lovely noises, and we did that until she *had* to get up, and drove her to the train station.  I dropped her off, and watched her walk up the stairs to the light rail as I drove away. I drove home and fell into bed, exhausted, and wondering if I’d just totally fucked up this friendship. 

A bit later, I was woken from my slumber…she was calling.  I was worried – had the train de-railed? Was she asking me to bugger off? “I have a question for you, oh sexologist!” She proceeded to ask me about vomiting as a fetish, and if people got off on their partners gagging on blow jobs. I directed her to Sasha Grey and Burning Angel, and she thanked me and I went back to sleep.

2 hours later, I woke up and left to go meet my best friend for lunch.  My phone beeped- a text message. “Can we play soon?” Oh. Ok. No, I hadn’t fucked things up, and she was legitimately interested in playing. I wrote back, asking her about how her sunday looked.  She texted back “How about tonight?” Well. Wow. Um. I don’t know if I have ever had anyone that was interested in me to that extent. Usually I’m the one who wants it to be sooner, sending the texts.  I felt both flattered, and also a little anxious. What if I messed up? What if I sucked (not in a good way)? What if I left her disappointed?  We texted back and forth a bit…some naughty and slightly sexual messages…I think I’m beginning to like texting. And then I headed to the doctor.  On my  way home to go straighten up a bit (read: say I’m doing that, and then actually dying my hair back to bright red), she called “let’s set up a massage for you…how is 12:30 tomorrow?”  Ok. So we had the sexual and the professional taken care of…I just wanted to see if the friendship angle was still there.

I put my room together the way I wanted, and set up the shower (she wanted to shower beforehand), and then sat I tried not to over think.

The best part of all of this? Not knowing that I was going to get to fuck a really cute woman (although definitely a bonus).  Actually, it was feeling safe with someone. Safe enough to cry, safe enough to be completely myself (awkwardness and all), safe enough to actually be able to spend some time sleeping in a bed with someone.  Being allowed to do what I needed to do without worrying about being judged.  And having someone that was interested in me, that wanted to hang out with me, that wasn’t a complete flake.

Want to read about my first time playing with F, and F’s intro to bondage? Better keep reading my blog ;)

-Essin’ Em