Almost

I realized that I neglected to mention that M and I have been talking about fisting for quite some time. I have never been fisted and have read a bit about what it feels like, as well as some of the issues that attend the practice. The sensation is supposed to be unbelievable. I already have multiple orgasms for minutes at a time with regular fucking, so I am very intrigued.

I like the thought about opening up to M this way, and to trusting my body to her to fist. M would love to fist me, and she has quite large hands with strong long fingers. Both a thing of beauty, as well as a potential problem since I have a tight pussy. (We have remarked, at times, that I would be a straight man's dream fuck.) And done improperly, fisting can be physically dangerous to the fistee.

When she came to visit last, we spent quite a bit of time teasing each other, until I finally begged her to fuck me. I wanted her inside of me in the worst way, in way that is hard to explain. Sometimes I feel empty without her, I feel as if a part of my own body is missing when we fuck and she is pulling out of me (in an out stroke) or when she has not chosen to enter me. I sometimes find myself in a little panic of "Oh No!", when she's not deep inside of me. Curiously, this is not a sensation that I have felt with anyone else, even with the other butch tops who have fucked me. There is clearly something about this physical connection with M, this union, that fills a deep visceral hunger, it feels primordial. And it's when I do my most impassioned begging.

So we were teasing, and I begged her to fuck me, and I noticed that the outer part of my pussy was a bit sore from the previous days of fucking, so I asked her to go slow. She put one finger in me, and started to fuck me, while continuing to tease me. Then two fingers. I was very wet, and wanted more. But as she put three in, I noticed a bit of pain and we stopped for a moment. I asked her to let me move on her fingers, rather than her thrusting in me. I began moving my hips to take her in, slowly, easing myself on her. I was on my back on the couch, with my hips elevated, one leg over her shoulder, the other spread wide so she had easy access to my pussy. But since my head was lower than my pussy, I couldn't really see what was happening. I began to move on her, my body beginning to relax more, and feeling that familiar welling ache for her to be joined to me. I began to stroke my clit with the pool of wetness that was sliding down from my pussy. My clit was very hard and large and incredibly slick, and all I wanted was more of her. I began to beg her, for more of her, to fuck me, to fuck me deep. She looked down at me, her face full of want and love and lust, and she took control and fucked me, her three fingers fucking me hard, stroking me fast and deep until I came in an intense, consuming, endless orgasm.

With a grin on her face, as she slowly pulled her fingers from me, M said "You easily took four fingers past the knuckle, baby." I think we are getting closer to fisting, and if this is what I come like with four fingers past the knuckle, then I'll let you know when she's finally in, the world may just explode.

Pete Packy is a Dick

and I am in love with Pete Packy. And if you have never had the intense emotional and physical pleasure of sucking and fondling a packing cock, you are missing out on one of life's great pleasures. And this isn't hyperbole. I am in love with M's packing cock. She ordered it and wore when she came to visit me, and to say I was obsessed would be an understatement. M is, of course, thrilled to no end. She loves to watch my cheeks pull as I take the head of her cock in my mouth, she loves to watch me suck on her balls, and then groan as I take her fully into my mouth.

The packing cock is not really suitable for deep penetration or thrusting, but we found that we could just get him inside my pussy for an incredible sensation of soft fullness. Coupled with clit fucking, it is unbelievable. It is a perfect conductor of her body heat, and she loves to stick it in my mouth and get it all wet and slick and then pull it out and wipe it across my face back and forth, as I hungrily wait for her to allow me to fill my mouth, again. The suck that you can get on it is, of course, much better than with a standard vixskin cock, which is harder and less pliable. I can really work it in my mouth, with my tongue, with my lips, and I can graze it gently with my teeth, before M gets done with me and shoves it down my throat. We each play in our own way, I guess, luckily for us they seem happily compatible ways.

The other thing I love about M's packing cock is how beautiful the outline of it is in her boxers. You can see the outline of the head and how beautifully it curls against her balls. M has taken, however, to wearing it up, since she is a cocky butch, but however she wears it, I love it and love that she has no fear or embarrassment, only joy, pleasure, and desire. We are lucky to have found each other.

Compassion

It's warm and summery, and I am getting over a virus (not swine flu, thankfully) and severe back spasms. A hot rock massage and heavy duty Rx muscle relaxants have helped. But I haven't been good for much, dragging myself to appointments and meetings, and fights with G, a short fun visit with M who popped up for a short few days, and work on trying to create a new consulting business for myself, without enough energy or mental focus left to blog, so my apologies, I am sorry.

G is still not fully moved out, I had to pack her socks and underwear and clear out her closet to keep her from coming over every other day for 3 socks at a time. She was also finding a way of still doing her laundry here. Actually she would start a wash and leave for hours ("I'll be right back") expecting me to wash and fold her clothes and pack them neatly for her pick up. Old habits die hard (I admit I was washing, folding, and neatly bagging), and finally she did come back after 9 hours to find her clothes still wet in the washer. We agreed that she would wash and dry her clothes at her own house share. Her new place is quite nice and larger than this tiny house, so I feel less accommodating when she complains about how little space she has (which is why she hasn't moved all her things).

G did have an outburst in the last mediation/therapy session we had, and it became clear to me (with the help of the gay boy therapist) that her anger is ancient and deep and she can't always tell the difference between the present (where she is reasonable and friendly) and the past (where she is traumatized, vicious, angry, miserable, and cruel). In a perhaps inappropriate professional moment, after G stormed out accusing both gay boy and me of calling her crazy, I looked at him in a familiar and utter bewilderment, and he said levelly "It's okay, it's not you." I know I bear a lot of responsibility for what failed in the relationship but it was reassuring to know that some things really are not rooted in what seemed to be the reality I shared with G. I realized that she has, and has had, her out of control moments when we were alone, never when there was a third party (except for this first time with gay boy present), and I have felt bizarrely disoriented, alone, and stressed during many of our most intense interactions. I understand that G's mother treated her with a drunken cruelty, torture, viciousness, abuse, and sneering neglect, but it's a truth I am still unable to imagine in its full scope. And it breaks my heart.

I am learning to dial back, now, not to try to fix something I cannot, and find my own pleasure and joy in the experience of human consistency with M. I hope life sends G the peace and joy she deserves. I won't expect her to be fair to me, or even be in the present with me when we must interact, she'll just do the best she can, and perhaps in the end this all we can ever expect of each other - from each according to our ability, to each according to our need...perhaps everything ends up balancing out, not with each other, but with the universe of human beings we find in the totality of our lives. Perhaps this falls into life's lessons about love, compassion, and acceptance.