My husband recently allowed me to feature a photo of him on the blog for Sinful Sunday. He has found a new sort of acceptance with his body, and I have found a similar sort of acceptance lately. Not with my body necessarily, although my feelings about it are wrapped up in this as well. I have found an acceptance with my sexuality, what turns me on, what I like and who I like to get me off.
This isn’t new really, but more of an evolution. As I lay in bed last night, I replayed the sexual scenes of my past. The awkward but triumphant moment when I put a penis inside me for the first time, the strange encounter I had with a girlfriend in college, and the first times I had sex with my now husband. Most of the sexual exploits of my past are fondly remembered, but it wasn’t until I really let go of myself that they became more than just good and became something extraordinary.
My husband was the first partner to really dominate me, and if you’d asked me then, I never would have seen him as a dominant man. He was so sweet and polite, until we got in the bedroom and he would pull my hair and force his cock down my throat. I loved it, and I remember telling one of my girlfriends that the sex with him was inspiring. I think that’s the word I used. Inspiring. Because it made me think and dream. It wasn’t just an act that gave me an orgasm, it was an experience that kept my mind busy with sexy thoughts until the next time I saw him. He still does that for me many years later. He inspires me. He inspires many of the stories on this blog, and he inspires me to break past my own barriers and be the person I want to be.
We had a busy weekend filled with lots of sexy fun. Saturday night, we drove down to Atlanta to celebrate my best friend’s wedding. While most of the trip was filled with friends and booze and one of the oddest strip clubs I’ve ever been to, there were a few moments that really stood out to me. We met the girls and their partners downstairs for a drink, but I had to leave a little early to go up and shower. Alone in my room, the bubbles of a sparkling rose making me bold and giddy. It was dusk, the sinking sun and turned the sky a grey blue and the streetlights were casting a yellow glow. Our hotel was on a busy street across from three bustling restaurants, and I had no shame. I stripped down in front of the window, enjoying the cool quiet air of our room and the silent shuffle of busy people below me. I stepped into the huge open shower and faced outwards as I rubbed my skin with a sudsy cloth. I liked that someone might see me, they just might recognize that I was naked. And so, I embraced the little exhibitionist in me, choosing to dry my hair and apply my makeup in the nude. I was still naked when my husband came up from the bar. He rushed to get ready so he could go down early and take some photos of me from the street. They didn’t turn out, but I certainly didn’t mind posing in the window for him.
After a night of partying, we were finally able to sneak off for a moment together. It was late, after two in the morning and we were buzzed on gin and not quite ready for bed. We ditched the party and stopped off at the swanky hotel bar right before it closed. The bartender served us lovingly created cocktails in fancy 1920’s crystal glasses and we found a secluded spot in the library. We sat down on a plush velvet couch, my hand grazed the bulge in his pants, and my dress rode up my thighs to a nearly inappropriate level for public decency. I didn’t care. We were alone, and the buzzing in my ears from loud music had finally started to settle. We talked about our other partners, about our own relationship. We joked about a blowjob, and I was two seconds from unzipping his pants when the lights got brighter. We laughed, and I put my hand over my mouth. How could I be so brazen?
We downed our drinks and left them at the bar on our way upstairs. We were still drunk and horny though, and when we got upstairs, he ordered me to remove my dress and stand in the window once more. He fucked me, pushing my face into the cool glass, pulling my hair, grabbing my hips in his fingers, leaving scratch marks and little bruises for me to feel later. I screamed and moaned, hoping someone would see or hear. I don’t know if anyone did. It didn’t matter anyway. It was just the feeling of being on display, the need to be fucked and used that I craved. He pushed me down on to the floor and spurted his come into my mouth, and finally, it was time for bed.
It was Friday night that made the idea of this post pop into my head. We were at a play party, the three of us went together, V, me and him. He tied me up first, my legs spread, my body contorted and hung there to be looked at. Then he tied V, strung her upside down on a spinner and just let her go. She smiled that sweet shy smile as she spun around like a ballerina, her arms gracefully stretched out then pulled in tight. She looked so beautiful in the sparkling club lights, and he looked so proud. It was later, as I stood next to her, my arms wrapped around her tiny waist and my head on her shoulder, that the thought came to mind. He was mid-scene with a new friend, her body tied awkwardly on its side while he beat her with all his favorite implements. She laughed, her head thrown back, and she yelped, her brow locked in concentration. I turned to V and told her that I never expected my life to turn out like this. That I’d be happily arm in arm with another woman while watching my husband happily beat another eagerly consenting woman.
It’s strange, this evolution of acceptance. This acceptance of non-monogamy, of masochism, of exhibitionism, of bisexuality, of my own sexiness. It’s so outside the norm, yet it feels so completely comfortable. I can have a romantic moment with my husband that includes discussing other women. I can be a sexy woman in my late thirties and want to show myself off. I can be married to a man and have sex with other women. I can be me, and I don’t have to settle for anything less. I hope this life continues to surprise me and I hope I continue to evolve with it.