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“do you know the word ‘polyamory’?”, aka kitty meets a kinky friend on the moon

I’ve left civilization God knows how many miles behind me. Headed for the icy depths of the southern tip of the globe- to the place in which all the hot girls prance about in sexy parkas. It’s difficult to imagine a more isolated place in which to meet a friend. But I somehow find connections in all of my wanderings. Even here.

Of course I’m not entirely alone. This time, I’ve come with a group of my friends, well, at least professional acquaintances. I’m sitting on this comfy red couch, among aforementioned acquaintances. I do have one or two close(ish) friends in the group, but she isn’t one of them. She is simply this woman with whom I’m conversing, our first time meeting. Though I’m pleased enough by her wit and intelligence to wish to get to know her better. And then she asks me a question.

“Do you know the word polyamory?”

She isn’t aggresive about the question. She suggests, by her tone, that she is not even listening that closely to my response. Our conversation isn’t serious at the time. Just lighthearted small talk. Like with any vanilla acquaintance. I don’t have a drink in my hand to take a convenient pause, so after a beat I say,

“Actually, I’m in a polyamorous relationship.”

I don’t know what makes me say this, but if she is going to open herself up in this manner, I may as well jump in. She shouldn’t have brought it up, if she didn’t want an honest answer, right? Plus, she’s really nice. I believe I won’t weird her out.

I say the truth, and she doesn’t flip out or anything, but she is curious. We talk about our partners, our lives. I find the words flow freely, easily.

I haven’t quite done this before. Opening myself up to a person I barely know in a non kinky scenario. Sure, I’ve talked to strangers about my kinks before. But I was already at an event. They’d already made themselves a little vulnerable to me, as I did for them. This time, I willingly put myself out there, without any idea of how she would react. All she did was ask about a word; I admitted to a practicing lifestyle.

I have mixed feelings about the whole thing.

I feel relieved, validated, heard– but I’m also questioning my judgment. Should I not have said anything? I’m nervous I prematurely let my guard down. Did I make a mistake? Did I share too much personal stuff? But I want her to be my friend. I’m tired of hiding who I am from my friends. And while I am normally excellent at compartamentalizing my life, I admit I’ve got sloppy.

She reacted well, true, but what if she hadn’t? I wonder if I’ve done something stupid. Here I am just saying anything to anyone? Is that brave or stupid, or is there a difference? Perhaps I’m too harsh on myself. You might call it “courage,” rather than laziness or stupidity.

I’ve relaxed my guard, as I’ve grown in confidence (which has a lot more to do with financial security and my ever strengthened role within my family and tribe, than it has to do with personal maturity). This isn’t limited to my kinky/poly self, either. I am more outwardly facing with my many roles in life, particularly, of late, my stepmom/friendmom role. I used to shyly hide in the background, not wanting to overstep. Now, I come support them in public whenever I feel like and openly talk about coming to future events.

I don’t think I’ve undergone a 180 degree flip.

I’m not going to be openly bisexual, poly, kinky, etc everywhere. Absolutely not on social media. I’m just not comfortable posting about my personal life, especially when it comes to the munchkins.

I am not at all ready to simply be OUT about ME. Yes, I’ve told more of my friends about my blog- in which I hide virtually nothing of myself- but I am not at the point where everyone in my life knows everything about me.

Yet I wonder if I need be as discreet as I’ve been before.

I’m in the middle of nowhere, and I’ve found this kinky soul creature. Because I let myself take a chance. I mean, I’ve been told I draw kinky folk out of the woodwork before- but this is ridiculous.

Six months ago, I don’t know that I’d have made the same choice. Would I have exposed my “secret” life? But it felt so good.

Can I afford to be a little more open with my -close- professional friends, instead of only talking about personal stuff with my kinky friends? I still need to be quiet about personal affairs with clients and extended network, but who doesn’t? What about the people I actually care about?

I feel like I am on the moon- and I can be anything I want to be.

Now that I’ve broken the ice on this one, what do I do next? Do I change my behavior, or just enjoy this connection and let it go?

Because this being frank thing- it’s nice. Later, we’re talking and she explains she trusted me because I led a group discussion on consent. I had mentioned the topic to a few in our group and they responded positively (when I got to my group discussion, a few people were already there and the daughter of one of our group looked at me with excitement, “We’re your group!”). It’s a topic the vanilla world doesn’t talk about much, my newly found friend says. I agree, though, like her, I wish it were different.

But I suppose, after that little incident, it is already different.

Perhaps I will allow both my worlds to blur a little more than I did before. Let some of my less socially approved interests slip out in casual conversation. Or subversively include “code” words to see if anyone picks up on them (like “consent” or “compersion” or “this one time with rope at band camp.”)

Or perhaps I will own the “princess by day, slut by night” life. During the day I will be good and proper. At night, I’ll loosen up over drinks with coworkers and, perhaps with a select few, tell stories of what I really did over the weekend. Of course I would try to be good, but I make no promises.

Which shall it be? Feel free to help me decide in the comments below!

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art of the followup question in relationships, the

“What are you into?”

Someone- several someones– on Fet got mad. They said the question was trite, boring.  ‘What was the best part about your day?,” your mother would ask you at dinner, after you got home from school.  And secretly, you hated that question. And “What are you into?” starts to feel quite a lot like that inquiry.

Nobody likes this question, but it’s okay, you see, because

It’s not about THIS question.

It’s about the follow up questions.

Ever watch the news? The reporter asks Man #1 a question.  Man #1 glibly spouts off his talking point.  You can TELL it’s a talking point, because you’ve heard the same phrase from a dozen others.  The reporter then moves on to the next question— and you’re left with, “Um, what?  They didn’t answer the question, they just handed you a talking point!”  All you have to do is ask one single stupid follow up question and most talking points will break down.  Because they aren’t expecting ANOTHER question. 

There’s precious little follow up in journalism, which is a pity. 

It’s the same in relationships.  

Someone who is “good” at relationships asks these follow-ups.  Not all at once– you’re dating someone, not interrogating them.  Slowly, over time, more and more comes out.  You’re into rope?  Cool.  Now I know that you’re “98% rope bunny” mention on your profile is real.  Or, real-ish.  You recite a list of basic interests that more or less match up with your profile, too.  Great.  At least you just didn’t blow off the questions or forget to update your profile in ten years— and actually none of your fetishes, interests, hard limits, etc are accurate.  

So I keep probing (so to speak).  I find out the subtleties of how the rope feels on your skin.  The feeling of safety or comfort— or perhaps it thrills you to feel scared and vulnerable?  

Obviously there is much, much more to you than a simple listing of interests.  But I am into my things, as you are into yours.  If I start spending time with you on assumption that you are into the things you say on your profile— without even ASKING you about it— I may end up sorely disappointed.

I mean, when was the last time YOU updated your profile?  Is it accurate?  As I write this, I honestly don’t even know what I said I’m into.  It’s probably right.  It might not be.  

So ask me what I’m into, please.  It’s as good a starting point as any.

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eight years later, or how I grew with those I love

This is about romantic love.  Should you not care for romance, I hope you don’t feel unseen.  Love can be for family, for friends, for self, for so much more…but this is about my romantic loves.

Eight years ago,

I met my first partner to share my journey. We agreed on three weeks, then the summer….then…

Seven years ago,

I made up my mind that I’d actually give this relationship a real shot, no matter how hard it got. That I wouldn’t put an expiration date on it.

Six years ago,

I agreed to be his slave, for ever and always.

Five years ago,

I introduced my master to my family by rolling him into our New Year’s Eve celebration— only myself, my immediate family and my brother’s girlfriend— at my apartment. My longest relationship before that had maxed out two years, and they’d only ever met one of them (to the best of my recollection). (And I still had to actually TELL them, this is my boyfriend, cause they assumed I just invited a good friend over to spend the night with me on New Year’s. My dad had no clue.)

Five years ago,

he introduced me to his immediate family, as well, in time to be formally introduced to his father. He didn’t care that we weren’t married, only that we made his grandchildren happy.

Four and a half years ago,

we took our first selfie on the way to a Fourth of July party. It was so unexpected, I didn’t even recognize what he was doing at first.

Four years ago,

I moved in with my master. We were basically living together after the first two years, but I gave up my own apartment at that point because it didn’t make sense to pay two rents.

Three years ago,

he told me “I love you.” He’d shown it since the first day, but the words came slower. When I’m really down, though, he goes back to using the code phrases he used to say. Because that is the easiest way to cheer me up. Not that I don’t like hearing the three little words.

Two years ago,

I met the rest of my current little polycule—my now girlfriend and my…well…we still haven’t really put a label to it— and the last two or three past years I’ve built friendships with most of the people I am close to in the community.

Just a little over a year ago,

I formally asked my girlfriend to be my girlfriend.

Last weekend,

I stood with my partner and his family while his oldest recognized me as an official part of her family, to her whole family that she brought together. I am not sure I have ever been prouder of a human being. Today, his family told me how happy they were that I am theirs (well, they’ve done so before, but they reiterated today.)  I looked at my partner and I felt loved.  I felt accepted.

And I still have my biggest milestones ahead of me. I may move slowly, but things keep happening!

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when the kitties play: my first all female orgy

As per usual, I begin the evening awkwardly.

Sitting on the couch with my vodka cranberry.  By which I mean I began awkwardly.  The particular circumstances vary.

I will hate it, I will want to run home, I will think nobody here could ever find me desirable.  This will last approximately half an hour to an hour.  “If you need to wait an hour to be ready, that’s okay,” my partner says.  It’s a good thing to remember.  After all, why am I going to a party to not do what I want?  I remind myself I’ve shown up late, and everyone else has already had time to adjust.  But showing up early doesn’t help, either.  It’s a fine balance to arrive at the right time; not so late everyone’s already hooked up, but not too early, so that only one other small group is there and ignoring you. 

I’m at a swinger party with my partner at a new location. 

New crowd.  I am fully aware I am not the only new person here—nobody ever is— but I still feel like everyone but me knows someone.  I see all the little groups chatting away animatedly and wish I had one of my own.  Should I have brought someone else with us? He asks me which of the women I find cute (he knows enough to not ask me about the men).  I shrug.  I feel very young in this crowd. 

That’s not unusual, but it takes me a while to seek out anyone within even ten years of me, which is about my comfort level as age gap goes. I scoot up to this one group, trying to make my way into the conversation— and then, almost out of nowhere, this attractive dark haired woman walks straight up to me and asks me how I am.  It hasn’t even been half an hour yet.  

She introduces herself and her partner (I feel an immediate comfort with him, which is unusual with males who generally hit my flight or fight button).  I introduce my partner, and we fall almost too easily into conversation.  They are new to the scene, about a year.  Her name is Sarah (I’ve changed the name she gave me, even though I know it’s a fake name).  His is Jason.  I’m trying to recall all the details, but they grew up in this city (although I’ve been living here longer).  They seem very loving and sweet with each other, which I find endearing.  Too often, I end up talking to a couple were one of them has clearly been dragged to the party.  It’s no fun talking to someone like that.  

Mid conversation, a woman materializes and motions the couple to a semi private, invite only, room. 

I am not sure if I’m included, so I try to gently say that if it’s okay, I’ll join them…and I get swept into the private party.  Soft play only, she says to me, and I nod assent.  I’ve told her I’ve been doing this for a long time, so I think she expects I want more, but I don’t.  Soft play helps me open up to someone I’ve only just met five minutes ago.

It’s cool in the room. 

There’s a window in one of the walls, so that anyone at the party can watch.  I’m wearing a red and black mask, my red and black slip dress, no shoes, black boyshorts underneath.  I don’t normally wear panties, but I feel a bit protected with them.  It’s myself, partner, the couple, and the couple who invited us.  I can’t remember exactly how it happens, but the three girls end up on the bed— sans the guys.  We look and giggle at them, because they look ridiculous, scrunched up beside each other on the small couch.  Then we forget about them.

Soft, gentle kisses. 

I sit back on my feet and watch the kissing.  Slowly, I move forward, allowing myself to be drawn into the beautiful bodies next to me, all three of us intertwined.  Amy gladly welcomes me into the mix. Touching, squeezing.  The touches deepen in intensity, becoming ever so slightly rougher.  Pinching, biting.  Is the biting okay, one woman asks.  I love that everyone is whispering consent, making sure of the comfort level of the other.  I lose myself in the feminine energy.  I even find myself kissing the first woman, and I very much want it.  I want all of it.  I’m vaguely aware of the guys watching us, and I wonder if I should be turned on by it.  The truth is I barely register them.  I’m too busy being surrounded by skin and moans.

A fourth woman wants to join in. 

I didn’t even see her come in, until she’s sitting on the bed. She says she’s never done anything like this before.  We’re all gathered in a circle.  I ask her, do you want a massage?  I love giving massages.  She looks at me and says, sure.  She lies down.  I ask her to relax and stretch her arms out.  As I’m straddling her, the two other women start massaging and playing with my breasts.  I’m getting very into it, grinding myself back and forth on her back.  She’s moving, too.  I start wanting to come, and I’m coming and asking her if it’s okay.   I am completely swept up in the attention.  I want this to last forever.

I ride on the woman, as I massage her, losing myself in the wave after wave of orgasm crashing around me.  After a while, I get up, worried that she is getting squished.  “Rosy” and the Hispanic woman (she never said her name) start making out.  I focus my attention on Sarah.  She’s the one I have a crush on, anyway, and I’m glad to get to move on to her.  I let myself flow into her. 

I remember her asking if I wanted to lie down, as I was starting to play with myself, and I’m playing and making myself come (very wet from earlier) and she moves up and starts dancing, shifting her body from side to side with her mouth slightly open, looking at me.  It’s beautiful, and I see the other couple twisted in each other next to us.  I glance between her and them. 

We’re strangely and perfectly comfortable with each other. 

Our dance isn’t orchestrated, but it feels that way.  We haven’t had a single awkward pause.  Or if we did, I missed it while I was in lost in my head.  Every so often, I have to pull my mind out of the clouds.  I’m not disengaged, I’m just feeling every tiniest emotion heightened.  

Everyone has naturally settled into this smooth rhythm.  Nobody is left out.  I hate those porn scenes when the two girls are fighting over the guy, and one poor girl gets unceremoniously dumped aside.  Here, every woman has attention of at least two other women at all times.  When the first two women kissed, they both put their hands on me.  When the fourth woman joined, we paused to include her.  

I’m so grateful for my partner’s presence in the background, because I know he’s keeping the guys away from us.  I’m slightly annoyed, because one guy keeps demanding, “Take your clothes off!” as if we’re fully dressed, even though we only have panties on.  Usually, I’m down to nothing by now, but I’m taking my time with the ladies.  Leave me alone.  I’ll be naked when I want to be naked.  The other women don’t say anything, but they don’t make any move to take off the little they’re wearing.  

We continue, ignoring everything but our own desires for each other.  When the scene is “finished,” and we’re completely naked and ready for a change in pace, the men join in.  

And I enjoy it…but..I’m glad I got my girl time in first!

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this one time in an unidentified prudish country…

I’m generally not the type to seek out a kinky relationship.  As in, I need a domme or a rigger or an impact dom.  Is that you?  Great, let’s meet and see if we’re compatible, kink wise.  Now let’s figure out when we can find time to play together on a more or less regular basis.

If that is you, I am not judging, but it’s not my experience.  I prefer the “vanilla” relationship to build first, the friendship and the connection to happen initially, and if I see you as someone who fills a necessary kinky role within my life, I’ll try to deepen the relationship and make it last.

This story is a time when I did just seek out a kinky experience, but it is unusual for me, so it’s not crazy or anything.

Sometimes kink is described as a flavor of a relationship.  Or something on the side.  The icing on the cake.

As I grew in comfort, kink became less of the icing and more the flavor of the cake.  I needed the cake to be substantive, but without kink, it was just a plain cake.  Not a chocolate cake or a lemon cake.  Would you want a cake that is just…cake flavored?  Just eggs, butter, flour, sugar– that’s basically a pancake.  Tasty, but falls flat.  Okay, that was a bad joke.

Until, one summer day…

My first experience where kink was the sole focus of the relationship happened around twenty-four.  There wasn’t  a relationship.  Just one night of play only.   I don’t remember their name, though he was male. Older, I think. I probably shouldn’t have taken this risk, and I wouldn’t encourage anyone else to do the same, but this WAS one of my first times pursuing kink.  May as well be honest about my stupidity.

I met him online. Most likely OKCupid. All I knew about him was his his face and….something that made me believe he would want this, too.  I forget what.  He came over, I opened the door to my apartment. One large room, with a bathroom off one side, and a kitchen area off the other side.

He asked me to strip naked with my arms held in front of me. He blindfolded me with a silk tie. I can’t remember how long I stood there, but eventually, he moved me onto my back. He tied a harsh rope around my arms and legs to restrain me.  I felt an ice cube run up my body. Next, he told me he had some wax, that he wanted to pour on me. I remember liking it, can’t remember whether itw as very hot. “This won’t hurt you,” he said, “It just simulates pain.” He then proceeded to run up a Wartenberg Pinwheel, tracing my breasts, down my stomach. He took a feather duster(?) and tickled me lightly all over. I love giggling during an experience. I may be neglecting a few sensations, but this is what I can remember of it, from about ten years ago.  Afterward, he untied me and he made sure I was okay, and he left.  Never even took his own clothes off.

I don’t think I saw him again.  I still remember how it felt.

I wonder if he remembers, too.