Friday, November 30, 2012

In which M pushes his boundaries and I get finger-fucked

Holy shit holy shit holy shit.

After two years together, I thought I had M pretty well figured out. I thought I knew his boundaries, the hard line he draws around his comfort zone. Well...tonight?

Holy shit.

I had a hot night of sitting around the apartment, writing smut in my yoga pants planned. He had to work at the shop until eight and then he was going to either come home or go out with the guys. But then he called me, said he wanted to go out with me and would I please come meet him at the shop please please baby please. Who wants to hear a grown man beg? Okay—some of you want to hear a grown man beg. Me? I only like to hear my own voice doing the begging. Fine. I gave in, said I would come out. “But if you’re dragging me out into the cold, I want some action while I’m out there,” I told him. When he’s being totally honest, M will tell you he gets off on fooling around in public almost as much as I do, but he gets way more nervous about it. If we pushed things as far as my fantasies go, we’d for sure get arrested. But we never push things that far. I guess he’s always a little afraid about how far I’m going to want to take things.

Anyway, he promised me we could play a little while we were out, so I swapped the yoga pants for something a little (a lot) more easy access and hopped the Q train into Manhattan to meet him at the shop.

What was I wearing? Of course you want to know, right? Let me set the scene. My tall black Frye harness boots, black thigh-high stockings, a flippy little gray schoolgirl skirt (with white cotton panties underneath because that’s ALWAYS the right answer when you’ve got a schoolgirl skirt on), a black t-shirt with a pretty low v. And my peacoat, because damnit it’s winter in New York. Nothing too over-the-top. I like to go subtle with my slutty. The subtle was the skirt with the wide hem so I could spread my legs as wide as I wanted. ( didn’t think of that, did you? Go with the overtly slutty tight mini skirt and you’ve got to hike the damn thing up practically to your waist to give your guy access to the goods. And then your ass is arrested or at least tossed out of the place for sure.)

So I get to the shop and cool my heels while the guys are finishing with the clean up and then J, another artist at the shop, says he’s going to take us to some place he knows out in Queens (and I’m thinking QUEENS? I came out into the cold all the way from Brooklyn because M promised me some fun and now I’m getting dragged out to Queens?!) But I went with it. Me and M, J, and then C and R, the other two guys from the shop, followed J out to Roosevelt. C and R both said their girlfriends would meet up with us when we got there so it was going to be a big-ass group. Which...okay...that’s actually a lot of fun, and I like all the guys from the shop and all us girls get along really well so... not the night I’d been expecting, but okay. That was fine.

J’s Colombian and he led us to this seriously sketchy Colombian bar/salsa club/restaurant/I don’t even know what. If there is a Colombian mob, they totally run that place. But the music was good and the drinks were cheap, and we settled into a big table in the back. It was pretty dark, too, so my hopes for some illicit public fun were somewhat buoyed.

Guys, I had no idea.

Again...I tell you...holy shit.

So we’re sitting there and talking and drinking. I’m sitting between M and J with my back to the wall, looking out at this crazy bar, gorgeous Colombian girls dancing with old men with creeper moustaches and fucking potted plants everywhere—not like fancy restaurant type plants—I mean like the spindly spider plants your aunt Alice keeps on her kitchen windowsill. That kind of thing. I’m just watching the people—I love to watch people—and sipping my beer, and then there’s M’s hand on my leg under the table, easing up my thigh. I bless my easily flipped-up skirt as his hand skims along my inner thigh and he starts to strum his fingers along the crotch of my panties so so lightly. This soft, teasing touch tracing up one side of my pussy and down the other with a fingertip, then all of his fingers dragging slowly right up the middle from bottom to top and down again and I’m getting wetter and wetter. I kiss M and tell him I’ll be right back. Go to the ladies room and take off my panties, getting a good laugh at how wet they already are. I go back to the table and drop the wadded-up panties in his lap and sit back down. The other guys see, of course, but they’ve been out with us before and I think they’re used to me.

Yeah. I thought I had it all figured out.

M’s hand goes back to my lap and I spread my legs and look out across the room and there’s an old man with a perfect view and he sees me. He nods his head to let me know he sees me and I smile because I don’t care. No—I do care. I WANT him to see me. There I am, no panties, spread wide and M working my clit in lazy circles. I mean LAZY circles. I start to wriggle a little, getting impatient. He laughs at me and looks at J and then I feel J’s hand on my leg under the table, J’s hand sliding along my thigh. Jesus christ. I look at M and then down at my lap and he sees J’s hand and he leans over and kisses me and says, “Is this okay? I thought you’d like it.”

Like I said, I thought I knew where M’s boundaries were, and I thought they were inflexible. I was wrong. Granted, he had (still has) some making up to do after the threesome debacle a while back. So this was his way of apologizing, I guess. (And yes, he also apologized by saying he was sorry. Over and over. But still.)

So I said yes. Okay...I think I actually said something like “holy shit, are you sure?” and then I leaned my head back against the wall and watched that old man watch me as M went back to work on my clit—but properly this time, and trust me after two years that boy is WELL trained as to what my clit likes—and J... This blows my mind. He’s a great guy. I’ve known him almost as long as I’ve known M. He’s super sweet. He’s totally cute. But I never thought of him in a sexual way. It just never occurred to me. And not just because he’s M’s good friend. Believe me, I’ve harbored plenty of fantasies about some of his other friends. But J... He slipped right under my radar. Maybe that’s why M chose him. Maybe that was less threatening.

So M was circling my clit (okay, should we be precise in case you and I ever find ourselves in a situation where you need to get me off? I can’t handle direct pressure to my clit until the very end. He was circling just above my clit, pressing the hood into my pubic bone. THAT is how you get Jami off, my friends.) and J was stroking my inner thighs and brushing against my pussy lips and his He’s got great hands, great touch. Just the simplest touching along my thighs and I was desperate DESPERATE to have him touch me more. And then his fingers slide toward my pussy, then tease the opening and then he’s got two fingers inside me.

HOLY SHIT was that old man across the room getting an eyeful.

M pulls me toward him and holds me against his chest with his free arm, kissing me and whispering in my ear and J is pumping those fingers into me, starting off slow and gentle but then he’s building and building, curling his fingers just right to hit my g-spot. We’re not even trying to hide it anymore and I look at C and R who’re practically drooling across the table from us and I kind of stammer out, “Your girlfriends aren’t coming, are they?” which totally cracks everyone up and then either C or R is like, “No, just you,” which was also pretty hilarious at the time and I look up at J and he’s looking at me like he wants to bend me over the table and fuck me and as soon as I get that image in my head—my chest against the wooden table, J rearing up over me all big and sweaty while M and the rest of the bar looks on—I came. I came hard and M covered my mouth as I came because I can get kind of loud but he covered my nose too and it was hard to breathe and that made me come even harder and... Jesus Christ.

And then M dragged me into the bathroom and bent me over the sink and fucked me until I thought we’d rip the plumbing right out of the wall. I watched the two of us in the mirror, all flushed cheeks and bright eyes and it was... It was just good. We were right there, the two of us, totally together in it.

It was a setup. The whole thing was a setup by M. To give me a little bit of what I’ve been wanting. A fantasy of mine that he doesn’t share, but he figured out how far he could go comfortably—and then went just a little farther than that. For me. And he surprised himself by how hot it got him. He thought it would be hard to watch J touch me like that, but he said once it started it wasn’t hard at all.

When we came out of the bathroom, C and R’s girlfriends were there and they pulled me aside and R’s girl was like, “These guys just told us some crazy shit about you, girl.” And she thought they were lying. I told them what happened and R’s girl looked at me like I was crazy but I recognized the look on C’s girlfriend’s face. Jealous. She was totally jealous.

Now it’s crazy late. M and I came home and made love, sweet and slow this time. He’s asleep. He’s got to work tomorrow and no one wants a sleep-deprived tattooist working on them. Me? I’m too excited to sleep. I keep replaying it all in my mind. I think I’ll be coming here to read this blog post again and again for quite a while.

I wonder how far we’ll end up taking things...

Before he fell asleep tonight, M said, “I love you, you crazy fucking slut. I want to marry you.”

And I totally melted. Because I am a crazy fucking slut. And he knows that. And he loves me.

(Don’t get too excited. We talk about marriage from time to time. It wasn’t a proposal.)

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