| ann. |
[Aug. 20th, 2004|02:00 am] |
Carin and I had an... outing... this evening. I'll start at the beginning, and go forth from there. For that's the best place to start, isn't it? Isn't it?
Ann is Carin's friend from her Des Moines days. They go way, way back. We weren't originally going to go see her, since she was on her way out to school. She's doing a project on the Western corn rootworm, and needed to be up late to work on it. (She's a biology dork, which is a completely different sort of dork from my dork, see.) Carin was excited about the prospect of me meeting her, so we drove over, it already being rather late at night, and said hello.
We chatted... more so, they chatted. I looked around the room, took in my surroundings, tried to look pretty. Carin had mentioned that Ann had a desire for (imagine villainous hand-rubbing here) a bit of violence, and I had some stuff in the car. 'Course, I don't really own toys any more; I had the collar which is on Wikipedia, and some other little pieces. Nothing big. I brought them in for show and tell.
I showed Ann the pieces. Said that the collar would look hot on her, so put it on. It did. While Ann had work to do, and places to be, I was being selfish, I was, and she didn't really mind too much. Carin, too, was interested. And so we tied her up. Sorta. A bit. Not really. I will someday score a rematch, and actually do this competently, with real ropes, not... well, whatever I could scrimp up. There are few things more frustrating than having my competence cut out from under me mid-top.
Ann is a brat. Reminded me of Rek in a few ways. I'm never quite sure how things are going, how to interact, really. I think I adapted better than I had in the past, but still, I'm never quite in control with brats. Not that I'm deadly serious when I top; I like to think I have a sort of dry, hypnotic wit going on. I was surprised to find out that she had enjoyed it; I can never tell with that attitude.
I, for one, enjoyed it. Under the constraints of no noise (Ann's mother was sleeping not so far away) and no toys (there was nothing silent in the toy bag), Carin and I still managed to make a lot---a lot---of scratch marks on her back and chest. Also bite marks. The play focused largely on sharp things. Big, bright eyes on that one. Mmm, good.
Oh, also on hair-pulling. I demonstrated proper hair-pulling technique for Carin, and had her try it out. Also kissing. I... I'll admit to being typical in some respects. I have a voyeuristic streak in me, and that streak extends quite naturally to kissing. (Kissing of any sort, really. Boys or girls, though girls are funner to actually kiss, being less... bristly.) So, yeah, I'll admit it. I shamelessly watched them kiss and make out, because it was hot.
And, I will say, it was hot for Carin as well, who was fully clothed (as was I; Ann lost her above-the-waist clothing in stages over the evening) when I started counting down at her. And she was quiet, yes, but she'd had that orgasm sort of waiting, building up even if she hadn't been paying attention to it. The cutest ones are the ones that take her by surprise.
Because of time constraints, and tiredness, we wrapped things up. Leaving a lovely set of scratches on her back, a lovely set of bites on her neck, Carin and I took our leave. Nice to meet her, it was.
And so we wandered our way out. I brought the supplies out, gave Ann a hug and went to go start the car, letting Carin and her do their friends-thing, for they have a long, long history together.
Carin was quiet when we left. She internalizes things, it's a combination of the way she is and the way her family is. I don't internalize. Well, not in the same way. I value my solitude, I do, but she has a lot of trouble talking about what ails her. And, in this case, she was feeling ignored, and left out. It took some doing to coax that from her. I suggested that we go to the hot tub.
And so we soaked in the hot tub, the overchlorinated water doing its best to bleach the life out of our hands, and talked for a while. For a long while. Because I don't like to leave things to fester. I'm not a festerer.
Odd, that we could be in the same room, perceiving the same first-order information (is that even a phrase? it should be), and come to such different inferences and conclusions.
She had felt like a third wheel, like she was being ignored and, I suppose, cast aside. And, I think, I did leave her to blend into the woodwork. I hadn't, I suppose, realized that I was In Charge there, and that if I didn't tell her to do something, she'd mostly sit on the floor and worry about getting in someone's way.
Insecurity, too. Like I was ignoring her because I suddenly had lost interest in her, would never see her again, being hypnotized by Ann's great big breasts. (I don't really know quite what to do with all of that, but I suppose there's a level of cultural conditioning that makes large breasts intimidating.) We all have those fears. Doubts about ourselves. I know I do. (Not about the breasts, though.)
And, I think, maybe the root of it, or at least part of the root of it, was that Ann is not into girls. Ann is somewhat flexible, Ann is a good kisser, but it means more to Carin than it does to her. I can't really grok the kind of hurt that's gotta be. I can easily conceptualize my attraction toward people of an incompatible orientation as the creepy slobberings of an overly hormonal postadolescent. But for it to be a friend, who I get that close to, but still so far away? Can't imagine.
Carin kept deprecating herself, talking about how she'd just have to "get used" to... I'm not sure what to. She gets a lot more play than I do; the first new person in damn it, I'm not going to count the months, was someone I met only through her good graces.
I said my piece, that when I say that I love her, I do not say that lightly. That I want to right by her; I don't want her to put up with my... peccadilloes... (I didn't know that I had peccadilloes). I'm not going to up and forget about her if I meet and fall madly in love with someone else, much less if I have a pleasant evening of back-scratching with someone else. As I said, I do not give of myself lightly.
What lesson is there to be learned? I suppose I can say that however much negotiation and sensitivity is required for a two-person situation, the amount required for more people will increase exponentially. That being perceptive, and not getting too focused---as, I will admit, I was; my headspace is like that---can prevent an uneasy situation from becoming a bad memory. I will not say that group situations always lead to bad juju. I refuse to believe that, especially since I've had a couple that have led to very nice juju.
I will admit, I will, that I have a desire to go adventuring with her, to take turns beating on some cute little submissive thing, to... fuck, I'm not going to start enumerating pleasant fantasies amidst all of this. They're fragile, see. The point is that I don't want her to feel threatened, because she isn't threatened. She's very, very special to me. And, as incongruous as it sounds with what she saw this evening, it was special and good to me because we were doing it together. Which sounds hollow and stupid now that I know she was feeling specifically left out for most of it. This is, I suppose, a silly idea that I had. I'm living in my own little world, which does not dine at the same table as hers.
I feel the strange urge to ask for advice. From those wiser than me? Older? I don't know. What sort of advice am I going to ask for? How to con my ladyfriend into providing me with a steady diet of hot, two-girl action? Ugh. I'm too tired to put links to a dozen posters in ![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif) sextips, bad_sex and so forth telling stories about how their boy foisted another girl on them, and it turned out so, so terribly.
Our hands were so dried out from the hot tub that we had to soak them under the sink to keep them from cracking. Letting the water osmose in the other direction. Or whatever it is that undoes the effects of chlorination.
I do like to discuss things to death, don't I. Don't worry, I think this is the navel-gazingest it gets on this trip. |
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