In the right zone
I’ve been thinking a lot about erogenous zones lately. Perhaps it is something to do with the attention some of those areas of my body have been receiving of late. It amazes me how immediately a touch can leave me a helpless puddle, whereas another makes me want to sink my teeth into flesh.
It’s been good to take a break from writing here, though a lot has been going on as well. I’ve secured myself amazingly affordable housing in the great city of San Francisco, and have devoted the rest of my energy and time between finding a job and preparing for Burning Man. I would never have recognized the direction my life is going a year ago, but I find myself more comfortable, more stable, and – dare I say? – happier than I was a year ago as well. I take these to be good signs that I am heading more towards a self I am proud to embody.
I also find that I am traveling further and further away from the kind of intimate relationships I have been used to and discovering the shadowy realm of multiple play partners. It has been a mind opening journey, certainly, but I’m not sure where it will land me in the end.
Experiences have abounded though: my first fireplay and cupping scene, a more disciplinary kind of play involving very high heels and a leash, rough manhandling and rope at a public nightclub, sleeping in a cage while shackled…
Am I starting to sound like a sexual deviant yet?
I find these scenes flashing through my head at random times, all involving different guys I still know so little about. It feels a little dangerous, or at least not entirely safe. Nonetheless, my mind starts naturally to wander through these memories: of tipsily standing on way-too-high heels, leash tied above my head to a metal bar – a leash I am straining and practically strangling myself on because I am coming too hard.
Or of being pushed into an alcove on a public street after going to a kinky party and being pressed against the wall from behind, hands roughly pushing and groping and dirty whispers passed to my ear.
Or, from a little while back, of having my head encased in plastic and electric tape, feeling my breath becoming shallower and more frequent as the air is slowly used up, almost hyperventilating before a hole is ripped open near my mouth. And then to be fucked through that hole, so that I could only breathe when he withdrew anyway. And then at the end, to have my face untaped, finally be able to open my eyes, only to see the thin edge of a knife almost touching my eyeball.
Huh. Well, I initially started writing to talk about some of the lovely sensitivities of certain parts of my body, but I seem to have wandered off that track. It’ll have to be a post for another day.