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. (See...you 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 hand...wow... 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.)
