Well, this was gonna be a post about butt stuff and safe words and a soft dom, but it didn’t quite go that way.
I try to plan things…but then life happens.
This man I am fucking has yet to find a good nickname, and I find myself accidentally calling him by the one on his business card. I never do that, it’s weird.
He is saved in my phone as “A Good Sex” from a conversation we had about how good sex makes my head quiet for awhile, to which he responded “did I do a good sex?”
The amount of joy that one sentence sparked was, a fucking lot. And yes it was, and continues to be, a very good sex.
I have my own very uniquely cultivated vernacular, as I’m sure all of you are very aware. Stolen tidbits from funny YouTube videos, books, movies and song lyrics, plus inside jokes from friends and family. Point being, it’s mine and I am not ashamed of it, but I do spend a lot of time explaining myself.
It was jolting and strangely comforting to meet someone who speaks my weird little language almost as fluently as I do.
But I digress…
For blog purposes, I think I’m gonna have to go with Darkling.
He is Ben Barnes’ doppelganger, as previously mentioned.
As I am typing away, I don’t even know if I want to publish anything about him.
He knows about the blog; permission has been given. As much as I want to remember all the funny subtle moments, they feel private somehow, sacred maybe, but that is a big word.
This is a new emotional reaction for me so I don’t know how to describe it. I haven’t dissected it yet.
I do want to remember that we were cuddling naked on the couch and somehow transitioned from watching Creature Comforts and Rejected Cartoons on YouTube to Andre Bocelli and highlights from American Idol. Laughing hysterically to full body goosebumps, and then more sex.
I came home yesterday afternoon and babbled at Mandabear for 15 minutes straight about how wonderful the night before was and showed her a couple videos, but that’s different.
I just thought about another reason why I don’t necessarily want to share too much about the Darkling.
I have a bad habit of comparing and contrasting my current “this one” to ‘that one’ or ‘that other one’, finding comfort in similarities when they are good, and relief in differences when the ones that came before were lacking in certain areas.
That’s not terribly fair really.
A man is good because he doesn’t do that particular bad thing I didn’t like before?
Nah, fuck that. He is good because he is good.
I am done comparing.
It does really help that he doesn’t remind me of anyone. Darkling is very much just himself, and it’s a really good self. A confident, sexy self really.
And I like how much of myself I am when I am around him, I am equal parts confident, sexy and super dorky. All of these things are well received and reciprocated.
Am I super comfy after he fucks my face and all my make up is everywhere I didn’t put it?
No, not really.
Do I hide my face a bit, yep, definitely
But then he says something hot or funny and I forget about feeling insecure and I just get up and wash my face.
He is also absolutely hilarious, and belly laughs have been few and far between since the plague started, and for the 2 years before that I was equal parts stressed out, heartbroken and hungover. So this is good.
I know it is going to sound cliché and it is going to be a bumpy transition paragraph, but just hang on.
Once upon a farm life ago I spent every waking minute either on Facebook paying attention to what everyone else was doing or trying to fake and capture ‘good’ moments on camera so I could post them on Facebook and pretend I liked my life.
I stopped that. I left and built a life that I actually did like.
But I was still addicted to Facebook and afraid of missing out on social media things.
And I used my accounts as a diary so I could keep my current thoughts and happy experiences for future joy.
I was still not fully present in the present. Too much of me lived in reliving past experiences.
And there were a lot of parts of me that preferred to live in projections of the future.
Herein lies a HUGE problem.
I thought I’d got better at living. I kinda did.
But then Final Boss happened, and although I had every reason and right to believe there was something substantial there, it wasn’t real. I took his words and built a life on those. I projected way too far into the future and then had no idea what to do with myself when it didn’t happen.
The one after, I was actually forbidden to do that but it didn’t stop me. I totally did that and it ruined me.
I looked too far ahead and I forgot to be in the moment.
And it’s kinda dumb.
I want the thing I have right in front of me, but then I end up worried about ‘next time’ while ‘this time’ is happening? That makes less than zero sense. Why did I do that?
To be fair, I didn’t realize it was happening until I stopped.
I don’t think I knew how to be any other way.
And I honestly don’t know how or why I stopped, I just did.
Darkling and I had a fabulous first date, so fabulous in fact that I broke the rules.
He drove me home from tacos and we had 2 good sexes, and in between I showed him my toys and told him I watch monster porn while we snuggled.
He had to go home that night and I just kinda shrugged as I closed the door behind him and thought, “well that was fucking awesome.”
Did it help that he stopped mid fuck and said “I want to do this again with you”…well ya.
But that could have easily been negated by the toy tour and porn confessions.
I showed him a lot of my weird really fast.
And, to be fair to my neurosis, how many times have I heard promises of the sun and moon and more dates and moving in together and all the other things I wanted to hear and it turned out to be nothing but lies and pillow talk?
A fucking lot.
Never believe anything a man says when he is balls deep in your pussy.
I should get t shirts made with that on it.
I honestly have no idea how or why it was different this time, but afterwards, even whilst my pussy was still humming and thrumming and incredibly pleased, I was just happy that it happened, instead of worrying about it never happening again.
Most people stress about the bad shit happening, I don’t. I’ve lived through everything I was ever afraid of, things that would kill other people, sometimes more than once. And just like my third car accident, I handled the bad with grace and strength.
I am weird, my worry centers around the good things never happening again. I have a lifetime full of anecdotal, concrete reasons for this. But I survived the loss of those too, so you know what? Fuck it.
We were getting ready to leave yesterday morning and I mentioned I had brought clean clothes because I had planned on showering at some point instead of watching nature documentaries and snuggling all sex soaked for 3 hours. He asked if I wanted a quick shower. I said “no, just because I had something planned out doesn’t mean it has to happen. I brought sex toys too and we didn’t use them. I am more than happy with how things went.”
It’s true.
Planning ahead is important, yes, but living in the moment with clean pants and vibrators in an easily accessible backpack by the front door is better.
I was going to write a post about our second date and how the sex was so good I accidentally called him Daddy, which I did, and I will write about a some point and post to Patreon.
But this was good too.
https://www.patreon.com/sarahthegoodwitch