But it's not just about that. It's also about communication and asking for things we want both in and out of bed - but don't worry perverts, it also includes generous use of the word “whore” and aftershock orgasms two hours after the initial event.
So, I drove four hours to see this guy. I like him. I like him enough that it wasn't shocking at all at breakfast when I gave him some of my bacon. And dudes, I really, really like bacon.
On the way there, I decided this would be an awesome time to talk about “us.” So, using my years of experience in relationships, and everything I've learned from reading advice columns, and some things I've picked up in my psychology classes I said, “Hey, so I've always meant to come up with an alternative to 'I want to talk to you about something' that doesn't sound scary, but I can't really think of anything, but can we pretend that I did? And can we also pretend that I just said the thing that means, 'Hey this isn't bad and it might even be good, and stay calm, and let's talk about us'?” (← I am 90 percent certain I punctuated that properly, and if I did, I want a grammar medal.)
I was operating a motor vehicle on icy roads so I couldn't actually see his reaction, but I strongly suspect there might have been a tiny bit of amusement on his face when he replied, “Um, ok.”
So then I told him I wanted a scheduled phone call each week. I wanted to talk at other times too, but I wanted like one night each week that he'd set aside time and I'd set aside time so we could chat. And then, actually displaying some communication skills I added, “Basically, it's not about the phone call. I just want to feel like I'm a priority to you. Not your number one priority or anything, but you know, in the upper tiers...”
And he said, “Ok” and then we went over our busy schedules and getting to the point: every Thursday night, I'll be chatting with him about life, the universe, and everything, and it's going to be awesome. When I pulled into his driveway, I promptly attacked his face with mine because, as I explained, “Good communication makes me hot.”
We went in, fooled around (where “fooled around” is defined as “he came on my my face”) and then played computer games naked, as God intended. Time flew by as it often does when fun is being had, and then we realized we had an hour left before I had to drive home. “What should we do?” he asked.
And here's where I insert some background:
So I would tell you the amount of time that passed between when I first learned that fisting is a thing people do and deciding I wanted to have it done to me, but at this time science can't measure anything smaller than 12 attoseconds, and I'm pretty sure it was less than that. My point is I heard about it and immediately wanted to do it. So I read up on how (step one: apply lube, step two: apply more lube, step three: seriously, you can not have too much, go on, add some more lube, etc.) and tried it with my then boyfriend. And we failed. And over the years (yes, years – really want to emphasize that this has been a quest of mine for a long time now) I would occasionally try it with someone and fail... but we always enjoyed the attempt so I was game to try it again a few months later.
More recently, the new guy and I were sexting when he brought up fisting, and I learned that he'd managed to accidentally fist a former girlfriend. He was just fingering her, as you do, and she wanted more so he added a thumb, and well, you know. So I'd been thinking about getting his hand inside me for a while.
“Well,” I said, “we could do really sweet things to each other which would be fine with me, or...” and here's where I got a little shy but still pushed forward with the conversation, “we could try to get this,” and I briefly squeezed his hand, “inside of me. You know, if you want.”
“Ok,” he said. He's very amenable to things. “Let's do the second one.”
So we did a quick scramble to make sure I had something to lay on so we didn't get lube all over his bed, and we got started.
Now, this post is not designed to give you instructions on the art of fisting. The internet has all sorts of articles out there that will tell you about that; this post is more about what it felt like for me.
He started with a finger and worked up to three pretty quickly because I was really, really turned on. He lubed up and added a fourth finger and told me to let him know when I needed him to stop. Then he started pushing. It felt good for a bit, then it felt ok, and then it hurt. So he backed out slightly, moved around some, and tried again. Eventually we got to where most failed fisting attempts get: that stupid knuckle on the thumb. I swear that thing has no purpose except keeping hands out of my nice lady bits. (Seriously guys, opposable thumbs are probably just called that because of how opposed they are to getting inside vaginas.)
This is the point where in the past, partners have told me to breathe deeply, or to push out, or some other thing that was designed to make me relax without them having to actually use that word (because telling me to relax while having sex with me is a really bad idea), and it's never worked.
While he was moving very gently back and forth, I was suddenly overcome with two really different urges. I wanted him to talk dirty to me and I wanted him to be really, really nice to me. So I said, what I think is the best line I have ever said during a sex act...
“I have conflicting instructions for you: Tell me what a whore I am and do it really respectfully. Go!”
And because he's who he is he didn't miss a beat, “Georgeanna,” he said – and my name has never been said with such tenderness - “you are such a whore. In fact, with all due respect, I have to inform you that you are my whore...”
He probably would have kept going. He probably had even more amazing things to say in the amazingly kind tone he was using, but the whole possessive pronoun thing works wonders on me, and I interrupted him with a lot of stuttering, “Wha-wha-what is going on? Oh my God, something, something is happening, and oh my God, what just happened?”
He looked directly into my eyes as he said, “It's all the way in, baby.”
I could stop right there, right? Like that's a great story in and of itself, but, my friends, it gets better. So much better.
“I want to see!” I exclaimed, even though I didn't mean I wanted visual proof – I just wanted to reach down with my hand and... yep, I could feel his arm and then it just disappeared before I got to his wrist because he was inside of me.
“You want to see?” he asked, “well hand me my phone, and I'll take a picture for you.”
And even though that wasn't what I'd meant, that sounded awesome, so I got his phone to him and he snapped a couple of pics (no, you can't see them), texted them to me, and then laughed, “I can not believe I'm sexting you while my hand is inside you.”
Then he put the phone down, and he started moving. I don't know what he did exactly, but it felt really good. It was definitely slow and gentle, but knowing his entire hand was in there was mindblowing. I came really hard... twice. I could have come a third time, but I was pretty sure it was better for him to disengage while I was still really turned on so he pulled out slowly and then held me because I got super clingy afterwards.
So people that have had the joy that is dating me know that I will occasionally say, “Hey this isn't a big deal, but it is, you know, a deal.” Usually this is in reference to something like me leaving a toothbrush at their house or them meeting my husband. While I was hanging on to him for dear life I whispered, “That was a big deal.”
H took a breath, said, “I know,” kissed me on the forehead, and rubbed my back some more.
Driving home I learned that maybe fisting isn't a good idea before getting in a car because I left his house at 4:15 and at 6:30 I was still having the occasional minor aftershock orgasm. Which was making me pretty happy but probably wasn't the best thing to have occurring while on the road.
Anyways, that's the story of that time I talked about my relationship with someone, and then he held hands with my cervix.