Thursday, March 28, 2013

Ice Cubes! Blow Jobs! Sex! (And not necessarily in that order)

Do you remember when you lost your virginity? And with whom? Of course you do. Everyone does. It's ... usually ... a pretty momentous occasion in a person's life. That's not to say the event itself has to be momentous. For every story of "It was amazing, we were in love!", I've heard three more that are filled with anticlimactic feelings of regret, humor, embarrassment, hilarity, shame, "It was ok", "That wasn't what I expected" and "What the fuck was I thinking?"  And aside from the occasions of actual tragedy, often the overwhelming feeling is one of ... "meh". 

You know I've wondered ... why do they call it "losing" your virginity? I didn't lose it. I gave it to someone, willingly, all wrapped up in pretty paper and a bow (or a soccer jersey and jean shorts, as it were) after thinking long and hard about this important life decision. And of course, I gave it to Jack.

Ok! You're right! I didn't think long and hard about it. I've already written about how I decided I was going to give him this gift practically the moment I met him. And my decision only grew more resolute as that summer wore on. Jack's "strategy" of continually telling me it wasn't going to happen was paying off. As the summer wore on I just wanted it more and more. The heavy petting, the fondling, the stroking, the sweaty tussling in the back of his car ... it was all just a prelude ... a months-long foreplay session. 

I knew he would "give in." That it was his plan all along. I knew he could not resist my wiles. But it was still after midsummer when it finally happened.

Finally! The "First" that really counts

It was a beautiful summer day, and we were at Jack's house as we often were. His mother worked, and an assortment of friends could usually be found hanging around. That day it was just Jack and I, and his brother Scott and his girlfriend Jessie. We were fooling around, listening to music, trying to decide if we should do something. Eventually Jack and I wandered off to his bedroom. It was nice. There was air conditioning. 

Once the door was firmly closed and locked, Jack looked at me with a slow smile and pushed me down on the bed. I laughed and pushed him away with my bare foot. That was all it took. He was still smiling when he jumped on to the bed, but his eyes had changed. The sparkling good humor was replaced by the swirling darkness that I loved so much. It made me tremble. He quickly straddled my legs, trapping them beneath him. He ran his hands up my legs, over my waist and under my shirt. His warm palms were smooth over my skin, and my stomach muscles clenched. Reaching further, he cupped by breasts, and I was sure he could feel how hard my nipples were through the thin cotton of my summer bra. I gasped a little as he rubbed his thumbs over them, and that touch sparked a wave of electricity that traveled down the length of my body.

"Take off your shirt." Jack said, still smiling that smile. I wriggled and pulled my shirt over my head, as Jack was still straddling my legs. I tossed it aside and looked up at him, a little breathless. He was already shirtless, it was a warm day. I took in his dark wavy hair, his dark eyes staring down at me with hunger behind them. His delicious mouth curved into a smirk as his thumbs continued to trace circles around my hard nipples. He had curls of dark hair on his chest and around his navel, and my gaze lingered on the waistband of his white soccer shorts. Liquid heat began to gather in my lower belly. God, I wanted him.

Jack ran his hands lightly back down my stomach, his fingers tickling my smooth skin. I laughed and squirmed, and the tingling sensation ran over every inch of my skin. His hands paused just for a moment at the button of my jean shorts, and then he unceremoniously shucked them off, without even sparing me a glance. He threw my shorts to the floor and went back to his position, straddling my legs. His eyes swept over me, taking in my trembling body, laying there for him in my bra and panties. I rested my hands on his knees and the contact sparked something in him. Suddenly leaned down and pressed his mouth to mine, hard. The next several minutes were a riot of tangled limbs, heavy breathing and roaming hands. I couldn't get enough of him, I wanted to taste every inch! I kissed his necked, tongued his ears, licked his shoulders. I loved the musky salty taste of him. I felt like I couldn't get close enough to his warm skin so I wrapped my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck. His mouth was hard and soft at the same time as it explored my mouth, where his tongue pressed insistently against mine. My neck, where he sucked and bit hard enough that I was sure he would leave a mark.  He pushed my bra up, not even bothering to take it off, and licked and flicked my nipples with his tongue. That almost undid me! The heat exploded in my belly and my hips bucked uncontrollably.  I pressed myself even harder against him and I could feel the hardness between his legs. I reached down and stroked him through his nylon soccer shorts and was rewarded with his low groan, almost a growl, as his hot mouth roamed my breasts. 

I closed my eyes and whispered his name and the next thing I knew he was laughing low in his throat as he pulled off my panties with his teeth. I laughed too, shakily. I had managed to lose the bra and my whole body was trembling, though not from the a/c. The heat of our bodies and the intensity of our tangling was quickly overpowering the overworked window unit. When I was completely naked, Jack kneeled up again and softly stroked my upper inner thigh, not quite touching me between the legs. I was a quivering, molten pool of desire, I was ready to do anything he wanted. 

"It's getting hot in here," Jack laughed. "Are you thirsty?" 

"Uh, uh" I probably mumbled. I'm not sure I was capable of putting a sentence together at that point. 

He laughed again, jumped up, and left the room. 

Whaaaa? He was stopping? Now? I mean, I WAS thirsty, and hot, but I didn't want to him stop for anything! Not even if the house were on fire!

Jack returned quickly with two cups. He took a couple of sips out of one and handed it to me.  I drained the cool water and leaned over to put the cup on the side table. I noticed the light was fading outside, the afternoon was wearing into evening. When I turned back he was standing by the side of the bed, still holding the second cup. He shook it when I looked at him. It rattled. It was full of ice.

"Lay back, Shea, I think we need to cool off." He grinned slyly. 

Cool off? That was the last thing I wanted! But I did what he said. 

He stretched out next to me and balanced the cup on the bed between us. He plucked an ice cube from the cup and popped it into his mouth. Then he reached for me and rolled me towards him, his warm hand on the small of my back. He brought his mouth level to my breast and blew on my nipple. Oh! His cool breath made my nipple contract and sent shivers down my spine. I held my breath as he pulled me even closer and closed his mouth on my hard nipple. So cold! He pressed he ice cube against my hard  nipple and rolled it around. I tried to stay still, but I couldn't! It was too cold! I let out a little shriek and rolled away from him across the bed. He grabbed at me but missed. 

"Hey! Get back here!" Jack scolded, laughing. He moved across the bed toward me. 

"No!" I squealed. I tried to protect my naked skin with the sheet, but he was too strong for me. He ripped  away the sheet and pulled me back towards him by the leg as I squirmed and giggled. "Nononononono!!!"

He pinned me to the bed by straddling my knees again. I couldn't stop laughing. I tried to push him off, but he was determined to have his way. The cup of ice had upended on the bed and a small pile of melting cubes was making a wet spot on the sheet. He selected another piece and held it in front of my face, taunting me, letting cold drops of water fall to my chest. 

"Now, you hold still," Jack admonished. 

"Jack! C'mon! Don't!" I squealed again. I was giggling uncontrollably, I couldn't stop. 

Jack sloooowwwlllly lowered the ice cube to my breast again. He rubbed it around and around my nipple, slowly letting it melt against my hot skin. Water dribbled down my sides, leaving icy cold streaks. He moved the shrinking cube to my other breast, repeating the ritual. I started panting between the giggles. I don't know if it was because of the giggle fit or the undeniable arousal I was starting to feel. I started feeling that tingling sensation start to build back up again, in my stomach, between my legs. 

Jack's eyes were intent on my face, on my reaction as he ran the dripping ice cube quickly over each nipple and down between my breasts. He smiled when he felt my hips rise just a bit off the bed ... so he didn't see my hand sneak out and grab my own piece of ice. I brought my hand up like I was going to stoke his chest, and at the last minute I pressed it against his stomach right between his belly button and the waistband of his shorts. 

"Argh!" Jack yelled as he tried to jump away, and it was enough for me to get free. I leapt off the bed, but where could I go? I was naked! And he knew it. 

"Oh, you are in trouble now!" Jack grinned wickedly at me. I could see he meant it. I tried to keep the bed between us, but the room was not that big. 

"No more!" I laughed, breathless. "Truce!" 

"No way." His evil smile matched his dark eyes. 

I tried to stave him off by showing him I was armed. I held out my hand and my pitiful little ice cube melted in my palm. We both burst out in fresh laughter. Jack jumped onto the bed and grabbed the rest of the cubes. 

I backed away. "Truce?" I tried again.

Jack just smiled. He was kneeling up on the bed now, and crooked a finger to beckon me closer.


"Come here, Shea."

"No way!" But looking at him, there on the bed motioning to me, giving me that intense look, he was hard to resist. I took a step closer. He lunged forward and grabbed my wrist, pulling me onto the bed. He pressed the ice in his hand to my lower back and I screamed for real, like a cartoon. "Eeeeek!!!"

We were wrestling on the bed, both laughing when there was a sudden pounding on the door. We froze and stared at each other. A voice on the other side of the door called out.

"Hey! Let me in! I want to play, too!"

It was Scott! Either Jessie had gone home or they were taking a break.

"Go away, Scott!" Jack yelled. 

Scott was laughing on the other side of the door, and still pounding away at it. 

"C'mon guys, let me in!"

Jack and I burst out laughing. He raised his eyebrows as if he were considering the idea. I smacked him on the arm. He shrugged.

"No!" Jack yelled. "Go away! Find your own fun!"

"Aw, man!" Scott gave up.  We could hear him walk away muttering, "What the hell are they doing in there?"

"What ARE we doing in here?" Jack asked me, suddenly serious. I was on my back again on the bed and he laid between my legs. It was all I could do not to grind up against him. I was still completely naked, he was still wearing his shorts. Why didn't this bother me? 

"This?" I asked, and kissed him. 
"This?" I licked and kissed his neck.
"This?" I whispered in his ear as I ran my hand down his body and found his erect cock. I rubbed him through his shorts with the palm of my hand.

Jack growled back in his throat and put his hand to his mouth. I saw he still had a sliver of ice. I opened my mouth to protest, but the look in his eyes stopped me. He ran his cool tongue down my stomach, over my hip bone, down down down until his head was between my legs. I could feel his cold breath on my warm pussy, and I let out the breath I didn't realize I was holding. 

"Aaaahhh..." I could feel the bit of ice on his tongue as he slowly licked and sucked the delicate folds of my warm flesh. He had only given me head once before, and it hadn't been like his. I couldn't help but open my legs wider and put my hand in his dark hair. 

"Jack," I whispered. "Jack."

The room was getting warmer and my breath was coming faster. My thighs were starting to tremble around Jack's head. I could smell the aroma of my arousal in the close room.

Jack kissed back up my stomach and chest until we were face to face. 

"Are you sure you want to do this? Are you really sure?" Jack looked into my eyes, trying to determine if there was any hesitation.

"Yes, yes, yes ..." I whispered. 

Jack took a deep breath. 

"Ok." He said, and smiled. 

My stomach dropped. Oh! Was this really going to happen? Finally! I was suddenly nervous.  Was it going to hurt? Would I bleed? Does he have protection? I should make sure he has protection, I'm not going to be that girl who gets knocked up the night she loses her virginity.

Jack got up and started rustling around his desk. Sudden music wove its way through the room, ethereal mood music of some kind that I had never heard. I smiled. Nice touch. 

The casual and easy flirtatious sexy feelings I had all afternoon were suddenly gone. I felt awkward and unsure of myself. Should I just lay back? Should I get up and stand behind him at his desk? Put my arms around him? Should I do a jig? I felt all knees and elbows, trying to strike a sexy pose on the bed.

Jack finally turned and crawled back onto the bed with me. He knelt next to me and finally took off his shorts. I hadn't seen him entirely naked before this, and I couldn't quite bring myself to look at his erect cock. I was struck by sudden shyness. Without saying anything, he took me in his arms and kissed me passionately, deeply. Not roughly, like he sometimes did, but there was possession in the kiss. One of his hands found its way between my legs and started to stroke me gently there,  pushing against my tight opening, circling my clit. My body responded and I arched up against him. I could tell he was restraining himself as he took in my entire body, hand and mouth everywhere, neck, breasts, belly, touching me, but in a controlled way. Only the sweat beads forming on his lower back gave him away.  

He kissed me again and I moaned into his mouth. I wanted to just melt into him so that his blood was my blood, his heart beat mine. I felt so totally his at that moment. 

He whispered in my ear. "Just tell me if you want to stop, and I will."

I moaned something incoherent.

"Look at me." Jack pulled away so he could see my face. "I mean it."

"Yes, Jack." Was all I could manage. 

Jack propped himself up on his elbows and I felt something new. I put my hands on his chest and might have uttered something like. "Ohhh!" He was using the head of his cock to rub my clit and tease my pussy. It was smooth and warm and felt like heaven.  The next sensation is one that I find so hard to describe accurately. The feeling of his cock pushing into me, very slowly. Just a little. Just the tip, as we like to say. I had only felt Jack's fingers inside me, and this was a much different, much ... fuller ... feeling. It felt good, amazing, really, but I couldn't help but tense up in anticipation. 

"Try to relax, Shea ..." Jack breathed in my ear. Did he sound just the slightest bit amused?

I couldn't help but laugh a little, "I am trying!" I tried to let the strange music wash over me, drums and flutes and ... rainforest sounds? What were we listening to?

He pushed just a bit harder, and at the same time resumed those delicious wet circles around my clit. I couldn't help but push toward him, further down onto him. It didn't hurt, not at first. He pushed gently in and out of me, trying to get me to relax by stimulating my clit with his fingers, and my nipples with his mouth. I arched up to meet him again and again, my head titling back, trying to breath, breathe, breathe, don't hyperventilate! I was starting to feel lightheaded as the pressure of Jack's cock pushing into me increased. (Have I mentioned I have a weird tendency to faint at odd moments, mostly due to new or intense physical stimuli? No?) I focused my attention for a minute on the window behind and above me. There was a blue curtain or shade, and the summer sun was setting outside. This beautiful blue glow was lighting the windwo like an aura. The beautiful ethereal music was like a dream. About rainforests. 

Jack's restraint was wearing. I could feel the tension in his body, the sweat on his skin. I didn't know exactly what it was, but I knew he wanted more than what he was doing. I tried to show him with my body that I was ok ... that more was okay. I opened my legs a little wider, so he could get even closer to me. I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed every place I could reach. 

"Are you ok?" He whispered.

"Jack, Jack ... Jack," was all I could reply.

It was enough for him. His movements became more insistent, he pushed harder into me. I gripped my hands on his upper arms. There were a few moments of pain, I'm not going to lie. I gritted my teeth. The strange combination of pleasure and pain was ... alluring. And then and then and then ... he was ... through, further into me, all the way in. I gasped in surprise. Jack groaned like he had been holding it in, waiting for something. He pushed harder and faster, really moving in me now, and I held on to him and the pain faded and though I can't say it felt as good as it would feel even a week later (I think I was too nervous to be as wet as I would get later with Jack), the incredible sensation of ... friction ... was so surprisingly ... wow. It was incredible. I did not think I would feel that much pleasure the first time. 

Jack came inside me with a low groan, and rested there a moment with his forehead against mine. I put my hands in his hair, where it was curliest, at the nape of his neck. The sheets were a sweaty mess under us and there was a musky scent in the air that made me feel tingly all over again. I could feel a delicious ache already starting between my legs. He pulled out of me with another moan, but stayed on top of me. "Shea, are you ok?"

"Whoa." I breathed. 

He raised his head and looked in my eyes. "What?"

"I did not expect it to feel that good." I laughed.

Jack's eyebrows shot up with an expression that I couldn't quite read. Let's say it was a near smirk.

He shook his head at me and said again, "You're ok?"

"Oh, yeah," I laughed again. "I'm more than ok. Can I ask you something though?"

"Sure." He looked at me expectantly.

"Where the hell did you get that music?" 

He opened up his mouth to reply, but a pounding on the door stopped him. It was Scott. Again.

"Jack! Dad's on his way over! He wants to make dinner. You guys better ... uh ... get out here soon!"

Jack and I stared at each other. I put my hands over my mouth. So much for post coital bliss!

"So you want to uh ... meet my dad?" Jack asked hesitantly. 

And about 20 minutes later, I did. We had dinner. It was the most secretly erotic dinner I think I've ever had. And the whole time all I could think about was how I had just had sex with his son. And I loved it. I couldn't wait to do it again.

I know, I know! I promised blow jobs! But this post is long enough, and I think in order to give blow jobs the philosophical musings they deserve, I want to dedicate the next post to my first one, and the wonderful hummer, in general. Stay tuned.

Saturday, March 23, 2013

A bit of poetry, for your viewing pleasure

A brand new post is coming soon, the minute I find the time to finish it. In the meantime, I offer this poem I wrote some time ago.

I've tried my hand at writing poetry, erotic and otherwise, and I don't think I really have a knack for it. I kind of like this one but it's ... I don't know ... not quite there.


Your hands in my hair, twisting, pulling ... hard.
Your fingers around my nipples, twisting, pulling, pinching ... hard.
Your mouth on mine, devouring, claiming, kissing ... hard.
Your cock, hard, sliding between my lips, over my tongue, bruising 
the back of my throat, thrusting, thrusting ... hard.
Your cock, hard, sliding between my lips, penetrating me, the velvety 
wet dark depths of me, filling me up,thrusting, thrusting, thrusting ... hard. Harder. Harder!
Your hand on my back, pushing me down, hard. I ride the wave of electricity, feel the heat, 
the friction, that perfect spot that makes me cum, hard. 
I push back against you, hard. I feel the warmth between us, the wet. I feel that unmistakable 
swell inside me right before you come. Harder.

This empty space you left. This cold empty place. It makes living this life without you so.fucking.hard.

Check back soon for "Ice Cubes! Blow jobs! Sex! And not necessarily in that order"

Wednesday, March 20, 2013

Fucking Cyberstalkers

Due to some seriously annoying cyberstalking, I had to move my story from a previous blog to this new version. I hope anyone who was reading me there, and cared to, has found their way here. I didn't want to lose any readers, but I didn't see another way. 

To new readers: Hi! I hope you enjoy reading this story of the discovery and exploration of what it means to me to be submissive.

Shame! Confusion! Lots of Masturbation! aka: It wasn't all fun in the sun.

As I try to tell this story, at least this early part of the story, I sometimes find it hard to separate the feelings I have for and about Jack now, with those feelings I had about him then, in our earlier relationship. I was so young, and it was 20 years ago. Some things seem as clear and detailed as if they had happened yesterday. Other things ... are fuzzy. But one thing that remains clear is the memory of the conflicted emotions I experienced that summer.

Does Feeling Submissive Make You Weak?

Sometimes the feelings I had back then were hard to process because my relationship with Jack was so different. Not only because he made me feel different, like I described in the last post. But because it was my first "adult" relationship. Jack was the first boyfriend I had that I wanted to spend time with more than I did my friends. I had three close girlfriends and we were nearly inseparable. I had broken up with a boyfriend or two in the past because either I or they thought he was getting in the way of our tight knit friendship. But that summer felt different. We had graduated, we were all going off to college in the fall. We had jobs. We still spent time together that summer, but for me, that summer was all about Jack. And I didn't care.

Mostly because I was afraid that summer was all we were going to have. Jack made it clear, from the start, that our relationship had to end when I went away to college. He said we couldn't get too serious. He would warn me not to get too attached. He would say it was because he didn't want to make it hard for me to leave. He wanted me to be able to experience college life to its fullest, without being tied to him, or a long distance relationship. He would say it was for my own good. This turns out to be a theme.

I think he meant what he said, for the most part. But I think it was for his own good, too. Of course it was. He didn't want to be tied down to a long-distance relationship. I didn't understand this at the time. I would have done anything for him, I wanted us to stay together, even after I went away to school.  And I thought that if he loved me in the all-powerful way I loved him, he would want that, too. He would want to overcome any obstacle to be with me, no matter what. But he didn't. And looking back, I understand. He was twenty years old. I was going to be four hours away. It's simple math, really. He just did not want what I wanted. 

But deciding we were not going to get too attached, and actually resisting the pull of the undeniable connection we had, turned out to be two separate things. Our summer was not all beauty in the darkness, and sexual exploration. It was actually very confusing for me. For a lot of reasons. 

 I had already fallen for Jack. And most days I was sure he felt the same about me. I could see it in the way he looked at me. I could feel it in the way he touched me. When he whispered my name in the dark as his warm hands roamed my trembling body, I could hear in his voice how he longed to possess me. And he did. I assumed that the fire between us was much stronger than his need or desire to "do what was best for me." 

But some of the time, I would feel less sure. He would get distant, and pull away from me. He did not like to talk about himself, or his feelings. That was part of why he was so good at figuring out other people, especially women. The more he distracted people by being so interested in them, the less likely they were to spend too much time trying to figure him out. I knew this, and so I never pushed him on it. I didn't want to push him away. Plus, ever since the battlefields of Jr. High, I had always strived to be just a little bit different. To not conform. To not be "just like the other girls." The last thing I wanted to be was the girl who bugged him too much about the status of our relationship. 

But maybe I was wrong. Maybe things would have ended up differently if I had acted differently. Pushed him more. Been more ... assertive. Would that have made me more irresistible to him? Maybe he would have found it harder to ... make the decisions he did. 

But I'm getting ahead of myself. 

So ... I was confused sometimes that summer, wondering how he really felt about me. He made me feel like he loved me, that I was special. But then he wouldn't call, or he would seem distant. When we were together, sparks would fly and the world would disappear, but then his friends would warn me that he was flirting with other girls, maybe even doing more than just flirting. My friends would wonder why it didn't bother me more that he ran so hot and cold. 

I would wonder, too. I would tell myself, and I would tell my friends, that it was ok, the way he acted towards me, because he had always said that we couldn't get too attached. That the summer was going to be all about fun, and nothing else. They weren't buying it. They could see how I felt about him, and they didn't want me to get hurt. I didn't want me to get hurt, either, but most of the time, I honestly was not bothered by the way he acted. I think part of it was, I felt like I understood him. I think he felt this irresistible pull towards me, and was fighting it. I think he was trying to fool himself into thinking we were just a casual thing. I think he was trying to protect himself from how he felt about me.

But that was only part of it. Sometimes the thing that bothered me most was how much I wasn't bothered by the way he acted. The thing was, I knew I was his, and so it didn't matter. God, it's so hard to describe these feelings I had. They were so confusing to me. I knew I should have been more worried when I would hear about him with other girls. Or mad! Why wasn't I mad? I mean, part of me was. It's like I had these two Sheas inside of me, in conflict. One was a regular 18-year-old girl, in love and worried that her boyfriend didn't feel the same way she did. Worried when he didn't call, or when he acted distant, or ignored me altogether. 

But the other part of me was this OTHER Shea. The Shea who felt that everything was ok as long as he was happy. The Shea who felt that nothing else mattered if she could make him smile, or laugh, or surprise him with some witty comment or unexpected observation. This Shea felt that it didn't matter what he did or didn't do when they weren't together. It was only the time they spent together that mattered. That Shea thrived on the darkness and intensity. It was from her that the dark fantasies came from. I was that Shea in the dark of my bedroom, my hands between my legs, sweaty, moaning, creating new fantasies. 

I had this desire, this urge, to throw myself at his feet. Or, really, to lay at his feet, looking up at him. Thinking about this turned me on like you would not believe. I would imagine myself naked, laying on the floor as he stood over me, fully clothed. Just looking at me, staring down at me with that darkness behind his eyes, like he was going to devour me.  And I would feel so exposed, so vulnerable. Scared even! I would imagine that he could do anything he wanted to me, that he WOULD do anything he wanted to me, and I wouldn't care. I wanted him to watch me as I touched myself. I wanted him to see me as I teased my nipples, as I pressed my fingers between my legs. I wanted to lay there, trembling, and beg him to touch me. I wanted it so badly! I lay there in the dark, rubbing my fingers against my soft pussy and writhing in the sheets, and as I climbed to orgasm I would whisper, "please, please please." I was masturbating more and more as these thoughts and fantasies consumed me.

But then the other Shea, the everyday Shea, would come back and I would feel confused. Ashamed, even.  I didn't think I should feel that way, because I thought it meant I was weak. Shouldn't I stand up for myself? Play hard to get, even a little? Where was my self-respect? My dignity? Shouldn't I be mad when he didn't want to spend time with me? When I felt him pulling away? I would feel sad, and a little hurt sometimes, but never mad. I could never be mad at Jack.

I was ashamed of those feelings, so I never told Jack about them. I didn't want him to think I was weak. I didn't want to seem like a doormat, that he could walk all over. I wanted to be strong. I wanted him to respect me. I wanted him to desire me. I was a cool, smart, interesting, fun girl to hang out with.  I felt even more cool smart interesting fun when I was with him, because I knew he loved those qualities about me. He loved that I was a writer, or aspired to be one, and he encouraged that in me like no one else did. How could I let him know how weak I was on the inside? Girls were supposed to play hard to get, right? We were supposed to make the guys earn it, weren't we?Aren't we taught that a guy doesn't want a girl who throws herself at him? And god, I wanted Jack to WANT me! Guys like a challenge, right? I was so afraid if he saw what I felt on the inside, he would think I was weird. Or worse, boring. (Would ANY guy think a girl dying to offer herself to him, naked on floor, was boring??? Ah, the folly of youth.)

Back then, I didn't know what it meant to be submissive, sexually or otherwise. I wish I had. I would have understood that it didn't make me weak, it made me stronger than I ever thought I could be. 

But I didn't know. So I tried to hide it. Though I'm sure it seeped out of every pore in me. I think Jack could sense something. It called to him. He could see it in my eyes. He could feel it in the way my body moved when I was with him. But he was young, too. He didn't understand it, either. Oh my god, how much more would we have explored that summer, if only we had known!

This post has been harder to write than I thought. I'm still not sure I'm explaining correctly how those budding urges of submission made me feel. How confusing it all was. And exciting. And confusing. I can still feel that roiling mix of emotions now, as I remember those days. 

But that's enough introspection for now. This got more serious than I intended and it's making me sad. Next up: SEX! ICE CUBES! MY FIRST BLOW JOB! And not necessarily in that order.

The sexual stirrings of a young sub-in-the-making Part II

I want to get back to the story of me and Jack. This is the story I need to tell. I still want to talk about our past, because I think looking back is important. To me, at least. In exploring who I am, sexually and otherwise,  sometimes I wonder. Am I wired this way? Or did I become this way because of my early influences? How is a person's sexual identity developed? And how much control does one have over it?

Sexual Awakening Part 2

Have you ever been with someone who's very presence made you feel ... different? Not at all like yourself but ... more like yourself than you thought you could feel? Someone who not only looked at you but into you? A person who would hold up the figurative mirror and say ... "Look! Really look and SEE."

That's what Jack was to me. 

He and I spent that summer together. It was dizzying. Our first kiss was in the warm summer rain, like something out of a movie. The electricity between us was unbelievable. Every time our lips met, or our hands, I would literally feel little sparks on my skin. I felt this ... power ... and it wasn't the power that he had over me, not at first. It was something between us, something that happened when we were together. I could see it, shimmering in the summer air.

I felt like every day was important. Lazy summer afternoons could turn quickly into something more. Something unforgettable. Little moments were filled with intensity. A conversation could start about something perfectly ordinary, but between us it would change, grow, and before I knew it, I was sharing something with him that I had never shared with anyone. Private things. Sacred things. Like the dark fantasies I had, things I could only talk about, even to him, in the quiet of his car on a dusky summer night. He would turn a light on it, and try to make me see that it didn't mean I was twisted. A freak. But his light was not the bright sunshine of a cloudless day, with the birds chirping and the breeze blowing. Oh no. His light was the kind of light that hangs just at the edges of the dark side of the moon. Intensely bright, but you didn't know what was hiding just beyond it's sharp edge. But god, you wanted to look.

I could tell him my secrets. He insisted on it. His curiosity was boundless. He wanted to KNOW. He wanted to SEE. He loved nothing more than to figure it all out, to learn something new, and people were his favorite subject. 

And for reasons I could not fathom at the time. I was his favorite subject of the summer. He saw something in me that was hiding. He saw something worth figuring out. It lived  in the language of my body. The inner me that I tried to hide, slipping out under his influence. 

I saw something, too ... not the same, but similar, perhaps, in him. On the outside, he was handsome, charming, always smiling, laughing ... but there was something in his eyes. Something dark that was always waiting, just under the surface. I would see it more often, the more physical we became. If I pulled back from kissing him, if he let me go for a moment, to catch my breath, I would see it in his eyes. A dark look simmering below the surface, like he wanted to devour me. Sometimes, just sitting in his car with him, or laying on the couch in the darkness of his basement, I would be overcome by the connection between us, and I would tremble uncontrollably. So much so my teeth would chatter. To this day, I've never felt that with anyone else. What was it? Just a chemical reaction? Adrenaline? He would notice, and I would tell him I was cold, but jesus, it was the middle of the summer. He would laugh and reach for me, knowing the lie. His hands were always so warm on my skin.

He wanted to know more about the fantasies that I was so reluctant to share, even with him. He prized them out of me, coaxing and insisting, his curiosity unquenchable. I told him haltingly, looking for the right words, that they went as far back as I could remember. Way before I even had an inkling of what sex was. The first one I can remember, I was probably in ... second grade? Maybe third? It featured Dolly Parton and Sylvester Stallone.  Don't laugh! It's true! I don't know why I picked them. Have they been in a movie together? Did I see a commercial on TV? In my mind, they were standing on a porch. He was talking to her quietly, and she was backing away from him. She backed up as far as she could go, before she hit a wooden post. He kept advancing, and grabbed her arms and started kissing her. She tried to pull away from him, but he was too strong. She tried to push him away, but he held her hands tightly behind her back. She struggled against him, but he was relentless, continuing to kiss her. Finally, she gave in, and started kissing him back, but even after she gives in to him, he still holds her hands behind her back.

Pretty tame, I know. But for an eight-year-old? Where did I get that? And while I let these images wash through my head, I would lay on my stomach in my bed, in the dark, with my hands between my legs, and rub myself against my hands. I wasn't touching myself with any knowledge, not really, I just knew it felt good. That was also something I had been doing for as long as I could remember. Not completely unusual for young girls, I know, but I did it a lot.  

Another fantasy I shared with Jack was the playground fantasy. This one started when I was older. Maybe junior high, maybe high school.  I would be on a playground, after dark. Standing under that piece of equipment that's actually hard to find these days, the metal honeycomb thing? A man would come up behind me. I couldn't see who he was. He was silent. He would grab me, touch me. Hold my wrists against the metal bars with one hand, while his other hand roughly explored my body. Pulling up my shirt, my bra, to feel my breasts. Pulling up my skirt to push his hand between my legs. And at first I'm scared. I struggle. I cry out.  I push back against him only to feel the hardness of his body, of his cock, pressing against me. His grip on my wrists is too strong, I can't get away. And then I realize I don't want to get away. What he is doing to me is too arousing, and I don't want him to stop. The tighter his grip on me, the more excited I become. This faceless man, forcing himself on me (and did he fuck me, in this fantasy? Not at first, but I'm sure, once I experienced sex myself, the fantasy changed to include that as well) restraining me while he had his way with me ... I think this might have been the fantasy I was engaged in when I masturbated to my first orgasm. 

And from those early days, until now, just about every fantasy I've ever had, every scenario I've created in my head to get myself off ... have all included elements of bondage, restraint, reluctance. I don't know why this is. Am I just wired that way? I can't imagine one television scene at a tender age, if that ever happened, would be enough to set me on this path. So ... why? When I was young, even up to that summer with Jack, I tried not to think about it too much. It was something I hid, ashamed. It was not something I talked to my girlfriends about. But I wondered, did everyone else get so worked up reading those god-awful Flowers in the Attic books? My nice high school boyfriend gave me a book to read, called Slave Girl of Gor. God, I loved it! I wanted to wave my hand in the air and squeal, "Pick me! Pick me!" And then there were the Anne Rice Sleeping Beauty books. That was a whole summer's worth of masturbation material. It was my secret, in the dark of my bedroom, as I groaned and sweated, grinding against my sheets.

It was my secret, until I told Jack. I was afraid he would think I was a freak. I didn't even tell him about the masturbation, that was just too mortifying. I didn't want to talk about those fantasies. But I was powerless against his inquisitiveness. His dark looks. And guess what? 
He didn't think I was twisted. He was fascinated, he wanted to know more. Why did I think these images turned me on? How did it make me feel? Why did I feel like it was so wrong, it was natural to have these kinds of fantasies ... I was so relieved, on the one hand. Talking to him about these thoughts I had, the images that got me all sweaty, was so easy. It didn't feel weird at all. And on the other, I was so aroused. Just talking to him about these dark dreams of mine was a turn on.

To his credit, I think, Jack didn't use this knowledge against me. Looking back, I'm not completely sure when these conversations took place, on the trajectory of our physical relationship. But he knew the power he had over me. He knew I would do almost anything he asked. He did not abuse that power. In fact, he insisted, he was going to send me away to college a virgin. This would make me laugh. He was going to be my first. I had decided that the night I met him. And it was going to happen that summer. Did he really think he was going to be able to resist my feminine wiles for four months? No. He was not. And I never bought it. I think his vigorous protestions were all for fun. He all but admitted it later. You know the strategy. Get me so turned on and frustrated that I was practically begging for it. "People, I couldn't help taking her virginity! She insisted! She wouldn't take no for an answer! I had to put the poor girl out of her misery!" Uh hunh.

I also, on some level, knew this truth: I belonged to him, body heart mind soul. And he knew it. And there was no way he was going to let some idiot frat boy be the first to fuck me. He wanted it just as badly as I did. But, in what seems to have been a precursor to our later relationship, he was going to make me wait. He was going to build anticipation until I was practically drooling. He was going to make me beg for it.

The First of the Firsts

But there were other firsts that came first. Talk about building anticipation. I experienced so many "firsts" with Jack. One of my very favorite memories of that summer revolves around one of them. 

My best friend at the time, Katherine, had a little thing going with Jack's good friend Nathan. One weekend, Katherine's parents were out of town, and we decided to entertain the boys at her house. We would cook them dinner, we would procure some alcohol ... we would see what happened after that. I was jittery with excitement. I really thought this might be the night. Jack and I rarely got to spend any significant time alone together -- I lived with my parents, his brother and mom lived with him. It was summer, there was always someone around. But Katherine's big empty house? A romantic evening? It seemed like the perfect opportunity. 

Katherine and I set the stage and cooked a truly magical, almost epically inedible pasta dinner. The guys were good sports and gamely ate as much as they could. I'm not sure how much time passed between the dinner and the pairing off into separate rooms, but I suspect it was not long. Katherine and Nathan adjourned into her bedroom, and Jack and I were left standing somewhat awkwardly in the living room.

Suddenly he gave me one of his dark looks. My heart started beating in my chest "Just come here," he said, and pulled me to him. We stood there, in the middle of the living room, kissing, and oh my god, how I loved kissing him. The familiar buzzing in my head, the feel of his mouth pressing into mine, his warm hands on the small of my back, the electricity that surrounded us. And the unmistakeable tingling sensation of sexual arousal that started at my lips, traveled down my neck to my breasts, and hardened my nipples to tingly little stones. Then it would spread to my belly where it would ignite and shoot almost painfully to that tender area between my legs, which would start with the throbbing and the swelling and the aching. I remember clinging to him, moaning into his mouth, wanting ... wanting ... wanting. I remember his hands on my body, cupping my flushed breasts, rubbing and squeezing my ass, playing with the hem of my too-short skirt. And then his hands were under my skirt, but still over my panties, one hand on my ass, the other pressing, caressing the damp material between my legs. I was sure he could feel the throb of my heartbeat through the skin of my behind, beating in the soft flesh of my pussy. 

 When he slipped his hand down the front of my panties to stroke the warm, downy softness, it was a delicious shock so sharp I cried out against his mouth. "Shhhh ... " he breathed, kissing my neck, my shoulder, my mouth. Feeling his fingers pressing there, exploring, stroking, without the sensation-dampening barrier of cotton ...  it was something I had only experienced once or twice with him, and it made my legs tremble. He was the first guy I had been with that knew what a clit was and what to do with it. But until that moment, this was about as far as we'd gone, physically. Clothing mostly on, warm hands on bare skin ... gentle stroking ...

And then, for the very first time, perhaps encouraged by how undeniably wet I was, he delicately slipped one finger inside me slowly, pulled it out, and then gently pushed in two. I will never forget that sensation. It almost brought me to my knees. Every nerve ending below my waist was on fire. I could feel the blood rushing from my head downwards. I gasped, moaned, and pressed myself harder against him. As he continued to fuck me with his fingers, pushing in and out, rubbing my clit with his thumb, I couldn't control myself. My whole body was shaking, and I couldn't even kiss him anymore. I just buried my face in his neck, panting, and clung to him, legs trembling. I wanted to melt into him until there was nothing left but that fiery feeling of his fingers inside me. I could hear the sound of them pushing through my slick wet flesh. I could feel my muscles starting to clench around his fingers, the deeper he pushed them into me. I could feel the rush of sensation building inside me, and I knew I was going to have an orgasm. But not like the little spasms I enjoyed by myself in the dark, alone in my room. God, this was going to be something entirely different. I felt like I was standing on the edge of the abyss, and all I had to do was let go, and I would fall right in. 

And so I let go, and for the first time I felt the incredible bursting, rushing sensations of a real orgasm. That feeling of falling fast, but rising, all at the same time. My cries were muffled against his neck, but I felt like I was being turned inside out. The buzzing in my ears made me so light-headed (I was probably hyperventilating) my knees buckled, and I literally almost fell. Jack, without taking his fingers from inside me, had to guide me a step over to the couch and we collapsed onto it. My muscles were still spasming, and I couldn't catch my breath. We lay there on the couch for a while, and I didn't even have the strength to put my arms around him. But he still had his fingers inside me, and he cupped my throbbing pussy gently with his hand. I'm sure he enjoyed feeling the warmth and the wet. He started to kiss me again, and when I had the presence of mind to breathe an "Oh.My.God." I could feel him smiling against my mouth. 

And in the back of my mind a thought began to grow. If third base (or whatever the hell base THAT was) felt so incredibly good, what was sex going to be like?And I wanted it even more. Maybe that was why he was smiling so much ...

Why do I want to bite everyone I make out with? Part II -- In which I actually talk about why I want to bite everyone

Ok, the biting thing. Let's talk about that. 

I first noticed I was doing it in high school. Well, of course, that's when the making-out thing was really happening, so ... duh. And it wasn't with every boy I made out with. Not with my first high school boyfriend, freshman year. I remember kissing him on the loading dock after a football game. I remember my back against the brick wall, and him leaning against me. I remember his strong hands with his long, lean fingers, gripping my arms. I remember how he smelled, woodsy, smokey ... he smelled like a man. Oh, yeah, I liked that boy a lot. And I never had the desire to bite him.

But let's look at a different high school boyfriend. I wasn't even really that into him. He was a friend, he had a crush on me, he asked me out in front of the entire girls' and boys' basketball teams. So I said yes. (We may have to get into the psychology of that later, it may have bearing.) And then I endured a few months of his truly terrible kissing. Ok, I didn't actually bite him, but I pinched him. On the arms. On the neck. A few times. Hard. Yes, while we were making out. Yes, he thought it was weird! And no, I did not explain myself. When I finally realized it was stupid to keep going out with him,  I think he was a little relieved. 

How about my serious high school boyfriend? The one who gave me head for the first time, so delightfully? Did I ever bite him? Not at first. When we first started going out, there was still some mystery, some allure surrounding him. He was a really good kisser. He smelled good. I would get butterflies in my stomach and tingly between the legs when I knew we were going to be getting hot and heavy. I felt like there was potential for ... something. But that something never materialized. I would have this feeling of ... expectation ... that was never satisfied. He was so nice ... and when he touched me he was SO soft and SO sweet and one night I was kissing his neck and I ... bit him. Hard. He even yelped. I couldn't help it! I felt so frustrated! His gentleness made me want to scream! I didn't want to have sex with him but I wanted I wanted I wanted! He didn't mind the biting. I guess he thought it was kind of hot (and I guess it was!) and because he never stopped me I kept doing it. I would bite his lip as we were making out in the car. Just a nibble at first, teasing, his bottom lip between my teeth. I could feel him tense up, waiting, waiting, and then I would suck his lip and bite! Hard!  I would try to just lick his ear, kiss it like a nice girl would, but I couldn't stop myself. His ears, his neck ... I would grab his arms and dig my nails into the backs of his biceps.  Eventually he asked me why I was doing it. He was SUPER polite about it. He was a very curious person and would ask me all kinds of questions about everything. He asked me if it turned me on to bite him like that. Hunh. It was a question that kind of stopped me in my tracks. Up to that point I wasn't really thinking that much about it. It was up to that point an unquestioned compulsion. So I sat there in the front seat of his car, classic rock playing on the radio, and thought about it. Was it a turn on for me to bite? Was the act of inflicting pain exciting to me? And the answer was ... no. It wasn't. So why was I doing it?

I bit the next boyfriend, too, though our relationship was short lived. He was nice, again, more of a friend than a boyfriend. It was my senior year, and we were driving around in his car. He asked me to go to prom with him and we starting kissing. I bit him. Like, really hard! He pulled back and yelled, "Ow!" I just laughed this kind of crazy laugh, because I didn't know what the hell I was doing! And he got this look on his face. This wide-eyed, amazed, worshipful look on his face. Like me and my biting ways were the best thing that had ever happened to him. That look made me want to slap him. I broke up with him before prom. I guess that wasn't the reaction I was looking for.

How about Jack, you are wondering? Did I ever bite Jack? I'll have to get back to Jack. We still need to continue with his story. But I'll give you a preview. I did bite Jack. But what's important is what happened when I did.

Once I did start having sex, the biting didn't stop. I think in some cases it actually got worse. I briefly dated a young but well-hung 19-year-old when I was in my early twenties. We only had sex once or twice, but he probably still bears a scar on his shoulder ... just sayin'. But there was also a very intense boyfriend in college (whom I will dub my "asshole college boyfriend") and I don't think I ever bit him. I was probably afraid to. But also, he was a "bad boy", he was angry, he was intense. He had a strong personality. Not in a good way, it became clear, but it had an affect on me.

The sex biting was the same as the kiss biting. There I would be, all naked and, ideally, sweaty, with a guy that I presumably liked enough to have sex with, and I'm feeling it. Our bodies are moving, he's over me (are we surprised that I like to be on the bottom?), doing his thing, and ... and ... and ... what? What is missing from this picture? I'm turned on, he's obviously turned on, and maybe I'm kissing his chest, his shoulders, my legs wrapped around his waist ... my hands gripping his upper arms ... everything seems to be going well when suddenly, I feel it. The overwhelming urge. I need ... something. But I don't know what it is! It's like a wave washing over me, this ... urge, this expectation. I have this perfectly nice guy with a perfectly nice cock fucking me and ... it's not enough! I'm certainly not going to have an orgasm, no fucking way. Because no matter how great the sex is ... it's not enough. And the combination of that need and frustration would cause an uncontrollable reaction in me. I would bite. Chest, shoulders, neck, legs, it didn't matter, nothing was safe. (Well ok, the cock and other extra delicate parts were safe from the biting, don't worry fellas!) And the bitch of it was ... biting during sex is way more acceptable than biting during kissing! It's not altogether uncommon. So it was a total turn-on to whatever guy I was with. It just proved I was feeling the passion, right? Unless I bit too hard. And even then, I would get a chuckle, or a pat on the head, like, "Look at little Shea, getting so hot and bothered she can't control herself, that's so cute. I must be amazing in the sack!" And oh, that would make me so mad! I would want to scream! Or kick someone! Mainly my lover of the moment. Right in his stupid satisfied face. I just could not get the reaction I was looking for. Well, (spoiler!) until Jack.

Because, what I finally figured out, years later, was that I was trying to get a very specific reaction out of these boys, these men. But I didn't want them to like it. I wanted them to NOT like it. Even if it turned them on a little, I wanted them to grab me by the hair, hard, and pull my biting mouth away from their delicious flesh. I wanted them to grab my arms, hard, and hold me down until I stopped. I wanted someone to sternly command that I cut it the fuck out, and threaten consequences. I wanted someone ... ANYONE! ... to bite me back. Ultimately, looking back with what I know now, what I really wanted? I wanted a man to punish me.

I eventually stopped biting. I wish I could say that it was because I finally got what I needed. Sadly, the opposite is true. There came a time in my life when the frustration got to be so much, I just pushed it down down down, until I stopped biting because I just stopped caring.

In the next post, I will continue with Sexual Awakening Part II. What happens when I start dating Jack at age 18? What happend when I bit him? You're curious, come on, admit it.

Why do I want to bite everyone I make out with? Or: The sexual stirrings of a young sub in the making

I'm not sure how to begin this story. How to recount the tale of how I went from what I thought was, (what I was pretending was), a perfectly normal life as a mom and a wife in the 'burbs, to life as a secret submissive, obeying my Master's every command, while still living my "real" life. I'm hoping in the telling, I will discover even more about myself than I already have. I guess I should start at the beginning. But there is the beginning 2.5 years ago, and then there is the beginning, 22 years ago. 

Sexual Awakening Part 1

Maybe I should give a brief history. Or one not so brief. Twenty-two years ago, or so, I had just graduated high school. I had had a lot of boyfriends, a few serious, most not. I was a virgin. I had not even really considered having sex with any of my boyfriends, even though a few had politely inquired. One even asked using the immortal words of KISS, as in, "I was made for loving you, baby, you were made for loving me!" Even in the face of such romantic witticisms, it was easy to say no. 

But I felt the stirrings inside me that I suppose all girls that age feel, and enjoy. I loved making out with a boy who really knew how to kiss. I had been taught how to kiss by an older boy named Jed in the woods behind the high school when I was 14, so I felt like I had the experience to know the difference. I had come across plenty of mediocre kissers, a few really good ones, and a few really terrible ones. You know the really bad ones? The boys who make you feel like some milk-bone treat a dog has just slobbered greedily all over? But the good ones made you want to do bad things, and left you feeling all tingly between your legs.

I hadn't progressed all that far beyond heavy-petting, truth be told, by the time I graduated. The constant hand up the shirt, sure. An occasional hand down the pants, over the panties, definitely. Once a memorable session of making out in a truly uncomfortable position with a "boyfriend" I barely knew, his hand down the front of my jeans, inside my panties, doing ... something. It's only memorable because all I could think the whole time was that if what he was doing was supposed to feel good ... he was doing it wrong. 

One of my more serious boyfriends was in my junior year of high school. I had seen him in the halls of my high school all the previous year, but didn't know who he was. He had brown hair and deep, soulful brown eyes. He had a full, pouty mouth. He wore jeans and cowboy boots. He wore a denim jacket with a corduroy collar. I never saw him smile and he was always alone. I decided I loved him.

Coincidence and a random mutual friend finally brought us together and we went out for almost a year. Of course, he turned out to be sweet, and thoughtful and kind and ... smiley.  He was a very good kisser. We'd roll around on the floor and rub against each other and do the things kids did without actually doing anything. He politely informed me one evening that, if I thought I was ready for sex, he was ready, too. I politely answered back that I'd let him know. And the thing was, as heavy as our petting got, it never even entered my mind that I was ready for sex. Not once. 

I did let him go down on me once. Sadly, for him, I never returned the favor, but I did lay on the floor of an empty house one night, shorts and panties in a bunch beside me (I remember exactly what I was wearing that night. Isn't it funny what we remember sometimes?) and spread my legs for him. And it felt good. It was exciting. I think I actually made him stop because I was starting to feel lightheaded. Probably from all of  the heavy breathing. And as I lay there, experiencing this new, totally enjoyable experience, his brown haired head between my tanned thighs, I was thinking to myself ... well, I don't really know what I was thinking, it was kind of surreal and felt really naughty and my head was floating away a little. But still, the thought that this act would lead to anything else? Not even on my radar.

So eventually I broke up with this nice, sweet, kind, good-kissing boyfriend for the same reasons I broke up with almost all of my boyfriends. He was too nice. I know that's not unusual for girls that age ... always searching for that bad boy with a heart of gold ... but looking back now, I think there was another dimension to the bad boy that I was looking for, I just didin't know what it was.

Fast forward a year or so, and a boyfriend or two later. It was right around graduation and I was at a party at my friend Scott's house. I went upstairs looking for the bathroom, and I saw ... HIM. I can see it now like it was yesterday. The memory is seared in my brain forever. I was walking up the stairs, and I saw the back of the head of a girl in my class, this cheerleader who I did not care for, Traci or Tiffani or Jenni. Then I saw who she was talking to. He rose up off the couch and looked at me. I swear our eyes locked. I'm pretty sure I blushed. There was a sudden buzzing in my head, it was the strangest thing. Who was this guy? I don't remember if he introduced himself, or if TraciTiffaniJenni introduced us. Or if I just figured out who he was later. I feel like she may have said, "This is Jack, Scott's brother."  I don't think we talked, just said, "Hey." And I continued on to the bathroom. 

I don't think he ever came downstairs and joined the party, but the image of him stayed with me the rest of the night. He had dark wavy hair and dark, penetrating eyes. That's what stuck with me. The way he looked at me, into me. My dislike for TraciTiffaniJenni increased irrationally  because she had been talking to him. Flirting with him, I was sure. This is going to sound so totally made up, but I swear thinking about that moment when our eyes met made the hair on my arms stand up. 

I spent a couple of weeks trying to think of ways to ask Scott about his brother without sounding like a total lunatic. Then fate and cheap beer brought us together again. This time post-graduation, at another friend's party. I walked into a room with my girlfriends and there he was with Scott, the ubiquitous red solo cup in hand, talking in a group. I got that buzzing feeling in my head again as I walked towards him. I saw him smile at whomever he was talking to and felt butterflies. I felt ridiculous. 

I talked to Jack the rest of the night, and I was probably trying way too hard. I wanted him bad. I was flirting my little heart out, even though half of the time I couldn't even hear what I was saying because of the buzzing in my head. Just seeing him smile at me, look at me with those dark eyes, made my knees weak and my insides all melty. I had never been affected like that by someone I had just met. There was this electricity between us that I could feel, racing all over my skin.  I knew, without a doubt, that Jack was going to be the first guy I had sex with. I KNEW it. I WANTED IT! I just had to get him to ask me out first. Which he did by the end of the night. He could feel it to, I could see it in his eyes. And ... I remember exactly what I was wearing.

And this is how I met the man who would eventually become my Master. The man who would possess me like no one else ever would. Or could. He helped me discover who I really am, and what I really need, and it has been a journey both exhilarating and heartbreaking.

It's a story I plan to tell as this blog progresses. I've never written a blog before, so please read with some patience, if you're reading at all. 

Oh crap! I promised in the title to explore why I want to bite everyone I make out with! Well, maybe I'll get to that in Part 2 of Sexual Awakening. I bet you can't wait.

An Introduction to The Taming of Shea

Hi. My name is Shea. I have a story to tell you. It's about a journey. It's about finding myself. It's about love and loss, and reconnections, and more loss. And sacrifice.

Oh, and there's a good dose of Dominance and submission thrown in. You know, just another day in the suburbs.

Please stay tuned. Things could get interesting.