Dating opens up so many possibilities to meet so many awesome and interesting people.
Having recently broken up with the old boyfriend, I found myself dating again and filled with doubt and perhaps a little less than a full bucket of confidence. Last week was filled with phone conversations with a guy that I met by chance that developed into a request for a date. Although I'm somewhat of an internal sex goddess ((to myself!)), I get so nervous about meeting new guys and facing that whole set of little pimping anxieties that come with being around a new face, and body for that matter.
I always try to reason with myself and be a good little country club daughter by forming little sets of rules. Pre-set limits I try to set on the physical development of any new relationship or venture. Suffice to say, most of of the time for me, the pre-set rules go out the window and my lusty point of view bubbles up behind the prim little girl who wears pearl and a charming, proper smile. Women have been puzzling over these kinds of things for as long as women have interacted with men. Can you put a limit on a new and building passion?
For me, if Im actually interested in a man when I start dating him, I will not by any stretch of possibility kiss him on the first date. Ever. Not really wanting anything in future with someone is quite different though, kissing and sex are possible on the first encounter for me.....nutty how that works, huh?
When I first saw Gadget**, I was extremely nervous though my reasoning resonated with a glint of hope. I know being a rampant and wandering sex goddess can be something extremely fun and adventurous and Ive found a lot of memories in doing just that, being that image. Though for once I think I would be deeply satisfied making new memories with just one person and pushing that to the very edge. As he told me many times, trust is what's needed to make something worth while and make it all it could be. Id love to make sex all it can be for once, instead of just a passionate abandon of mine, a sort of entertainment, if you will.
**: denotes name edited to conceal the not so innocent.
I think for me, my fantasies and amorous adventures have all been somehow rooted in this unreal place, this soft and fuzzy bit of my mind when they never really felt as real as other events. I remember them, but sort of like I was watching them from another's perspective, like a film. When I write all of them down ((which doesnt happen when I concoct erotic stories)) they pop out in all of their vivid moments and sensations though still they hold onto that element of unreal fantasy. It's as if my mind was saying; Oh my goodness, did you actually do these things!?
Sex is a way to clear my mind and get in touch with the deeper part of my personality, a way of escape that still be connects and interlocks me with another human being. I am after all, A very social being. I like to share myself with those I feel deserve that sort of depth and who I have a lusty and intellectual connection with. Lust is always sexy, but lust for the body and the mind is always my favorite connection.
I knew that I liked Gadget by the sheer fact that I wanted him to kiss me instead of me kidding him and also by the fact that I wanted to wait. After our first date in a wannabe-Mediterranean cafe by the water and watching the new "Omen" remake, I was smitten. I got home and danced around in my panties and my halter top, brushing my hair and smiling to myself before laying down with my teddy bear and fighting off the urge to touch my kitten to a deep finale. I was so joyful that we hadn't kissed! God, women are so strange.
Im always nervous about what guys are thinking after a first or second date when you're first getting to know them. I just want to pop a little trap door and read all that there is to know on the subject of myself that's written in their mind. When he called for a second date I was happy, but in a very reserved sleepy way, then the moment I saw him I felt a flutter and wanted to giggle. Why does attraction make my age drop back down to an adolescent level?
After a drive-in movie and a revealing late night dessert run at D&B, we came back to my place and went to the backyard to look out in the river and the sky. For being very close to the city, I actually have a view of some stars which Ive needed since I was a little girl. Standing on the dock, I felt vulnerable though safe as he put an arm around my back to my hip, we looked at one another and kissed. His kisses were not as I had imagined they would be. But in a very very good way.
I pretty much thought I had typed personalities to their kisses down to a science. He broke the mold and surprised me with soft fluttery feeling lips and a soft, slick and patient tongue. Days before I had already imagined the way he might kiss. I had thought perhaps rough and rogue-ish. Perhaps timid though involved and conscious. Perhaps with a strong tongue and gentle nipping at the lips. In case you were wondering, yes, I do think too much. A kiss is a very personal and developed thing to most people and to me as well, on a very deep little stretch. I can imagine myself f*cking someone, but then not wanting to kiss them. Oh the debauchery of it all.
As we sat looking down into the dark river from the deck of my family's docked boat, our conversation was replaced by his soft and amorous adventuring hands over my various curves and generous feminine charms. My breathing became hard to control as I tried to resist just flipping into ravenous kitten mode. As I sat in his lap, his arms and hands circling me, I felt that lovely feeling of being right where I should be. Little things charm me, little moments and little words tweak my butterfly kissed brain and make it susceptible to charm and sauveté.
Something Im not used to is a man touching my face, touching my lips with his fingertips. He disarmed me with his honest venture that my body provoked him to take. His hands slid up and down and over my hips, around my thighs, up over my stomach and to my breasts, his lithe fingers slipping smoothly into the hard shell cups of my bra. His large hands cradled the intimate flesh of them, my nipples darkly pink in the darkness with his fingertips goading them to wake up, becoming pointed and alert. My breasts belong in large, strong hands....this fact cannot be denied. His voice caught as he spoke,
"You don't know what you're doing to me, you're driving me crazy. Wow."
The night around me cradled us as much as he cradled me, adoringly speaking to me, his voice constant and smooth. His tone truthful, honest, exposing. I can't help but to be irresistibly and essentially female, I apologise. But not really.
I love when men complement you on the things that normally aren't complemented on, the little things, the little things they notice that light your eyes. I love myself and my body, in fact I'm my most constant lover. Though my confidence isnt 100%, especially since Im not as fit as I was a little while ago and thus Ive been feeling a tiny bit less than a perfect vamp. Compliments seem amazing to me, especially if they're mused by parts of me that I really don't find much passion for. For instance, it seems remarkable to me that Gadget loves my arms which have always looked a little too muscular and built beneath my slightly broad shoulders. Its also remarkable that he finds such a way with words about them, and other bits of me as well,
"I can't get over how appealing your arms are to me. I mean yes they're muscular, but I love that. They feel so good to me."
Sitting on the deck in the extremely early morning, the stars and the color of my neighborhood reflected on the river's surface was making me sleepy and amorous, my skin lit with both heat, bodily contact and the dark air. But soon it became late and he left me with a soft kiss at my door, to a drive and to bed and then to work the next day. As I tiptoed through the dark house to my room, my lips softly cooed with happiness, a smile once again radiating there. In my room after peeling off my tight and sleepy jeans, I lay on my silky bed in my thong and my camisole. My hands trailing over the tops of my thighs, over the tops of my hips and my stomach, moving any fabric they came across.
When my fingertips found their inevitable way to my kitten, I sighed and imagined so many brilliant things. My fingers slid all up and down the slit of my slick lips, seeing all the things I wanted and his touch had provoked in me. I imagined his soft lips, so smooth and gentle on my skin, on my face and my hair. I daydreamed his palms move down over my hips and my legs. I tried to imagine his breath on my skin, his lips touching my inner thigh before intimately caressing the inner folds of my slick kitten.
I felt so heated and passionate and so lit with the need, not just to orgasm and be touched, but to be taken and filled, possessed. When I came I bit deeply into my bottom lip, a soft cry in my throat as I writhed under my silk duvet. My body calmed and I was still, my hand rested on my kitten inside my thong with the other lying quietly on my chest, my fingertips gently resting on my breast.
I drifted off to sleep softly and in a cloud, my body still hungry, still needing to be owned and possessed, if only for moments. Peace can be found in little moments, in little words, with people who can surprise you and bring out the best in you. We all live for the short moments that give us happiness and peace, fulfillment.
I was waiting for my fulfillment with a mind that was not quite as quiet as my body nor my sex drive.