The Pedant spent the night last night and we had a whole bunch of sex that I enjoyed but ehhhhh…overall I’m left not knowing how to feel. I wish I could just be happy and glowy. But no. And I’m facepalming right now because my current ambivalence was completely predictable. I glossed over some red flags.
So like…I’ve been feeling really primal lately, and craving penetrative sex an absurd amount. Craving it with The Pedant specifically, that is.
The other day I texted him “I want your cock.”
“What would you do with it if you had access to it at the moment?” he replied.
“If I were at home rather than waiting for my shift to start, I’d be lightly petting it with my hand. I like the texture. I like how it begins to flex and grow under my touch.” (My end goal would of course have been fucking him, but I was starting at the beginning…)
“You enjoy that it responds to you, don’t you?”
“Of course I do.”
“You’ll get to see it do so again soon enough.”
I wrote this off as him being awkward at dirty talk, and perhaps that’s exactly what it was. The lack of reciprocity bothered me, though. No indication that he wanted to touch me back. Just “Oh you like touching my cock? Cool Imma let you do that.” But whatevs, he has a history of being awful at sexy talk and this exchange actually seemed like he was trying a bit harder at it than previously.
The next day he was like “I can come over on Wednesday. You’ll have a chance to lightly pet my cock then.” So…still focusing on that one small thing I said, and kind of making it seem like he thought this one act was my be-all and end-all. Um, okay. Moving on…
The day before he came over he texted me saying “I take it you’re looking forward to having me bound and stretched across your bed?”
I said “Understatement.”
He replied “I feel the same way. Work’s been really rough the last couple of days and I look forward to being at your mercy.”
And don’t get me wrong, I really did look forward to that, as well. But I’d had a really rough few days at work, too, and felt mentally and physically taxed to the breaking point. And The Pedant knew this. And it kind of bothers me that he was looking forward to lying back and receiving attention and it didn’t occur to him that maybe I would need a bit of that, too. I mean I think a more perceptive person might have asked “Are you still up for topping me, or…?” after I’d told him that I’d spent four hours that day holding a pose so difficult that my back muscles had started to spasm every time I inhaled. A more perceptive person might have asked whether I’d need a massage first, at least. But The Pedant was just, like…”Yay! I can’t wait to let you do all the work in bed later!”
And, okay, at that point I probably should have asserted myself. Asked for some dedicated attention from him before I tied him up and went to town on him. Insisted on a cuddlenap first, at least. But he was looking forward to the toppy sex and so was I and I guess I just hoped that it would be enough for me. I can lose myself in topping him, to an extent. It’s not quite as restorative as losing myself in something where I’m not driving the proverbial bus, but it’s still pretty good. And I was still holding out hope that he would get me off after (he’s been getting better about that; or is it just that I’ve been demanding it more?). And also I figured we’d probably watch Netflix for a while at some point, which always means I get petted without even having to ask. The Pedant is lovely and unselfish in that way; it’s not like he never gives me dedicated physical attention.
Anyway, this was pretty cool: I had told The Pedant that I wanted to experiment with sensory deprivation a bit, so to bring his earplugs when he comes. I also said that if he’s out and about perhaps he could look for a knitted headband thingy to use as an impromptu blindfold (I have a strip of cloth for this but if he’s lying down the knot would dig into the back of his head). He said he’d look around. Ultimately, he arrived at my place bearing a brand new, amazingly constructed leather blindfold and a silicone gag he’d bought at a sex store (ah, the perks of dating a guy who works full time but still lives with his parents…). He also (intriguingly!) brought some gloves and lube from his pre-existing stash. He doesn’t use gloves for anything he does with me, so apparently he’s still on board with me penetrating his ass. Every time we I do that, he gasps and moans at the time but then acts really blasé about the experience afterward (“Meh, it just feels like pressure”). I had assumed that he just wasn’t self-aware enough to even notice that it was feeling good, but now I’m thinking he knows but can’t bring himself to admit it openly. At any rate, I had not expected him ever to ask for ass play again in any way, so this was a fun surprise.
He took me for sushi, during which I told him about receiving the application for disability in the mail recently and angsted about filling it out, and he was so totally the calming voice of reason that in that moment I just absolutely adored him. In that way, he’s so good for me. I get in knots and he just…knows exactly which loop to pull to untangle the whole thing. And I love him. I do. Most of the time.
Back at my place, we started making out pretty quickly. It’s weird – used to be that when he’d come over, there’d be more preamble, or sometimes I’d be hoping to get down to naked times but he didn’t realize or wasn’t into it or I dunno. Nowadays though he gives off a palpable “I want to be fucking you” vibe the moment we’re behind closed doors. He won’t usually initiate anything; he just stands there being a sexual tension factory every time I get anywhere near him. I love it, usually, although on those vanishingly rare occasions when I don’t want to fuck right away it can feel like pressure.
But yeah…we almost immediately ended up naked on my bed with me on top of him. He stroked my back as we kissed and I realized that oooooh, my rough workweek had put me into that overstressed state where my sense of touch is way amped up. His fingers running over my skin felt fucking amazing and I was like “Yes please, more…” because when I get to that state, continued light pettings anywhere on my skin will fairly quickly give me some kind of massive endorphin burst in my brain – I think it’s the brain chemistry and tension release parts of an orgasm but without the crotch-feelings, for real – and I’ll go foetal and cry for a bit and then feel ONE HUNDRED TIMES BETTER. I could feel the release building – rumbling toward me like a freight train – but then The Pedant starfished on me and I was too much of a wuss to insist he continue touching me. After all, I’d promised a toppy sensory-deprivation fuck, and he’d been looking forward to it.
I handed The Pedant his ear plugs and he put them in. Then I encased his neck in the bondage collar he’d bought us a little while back, then anchored his extremities to the corners of my bed as usual and added the blindfold. I was hoping the sensory deprivation aspect would heighten his pleasure (and this was the reason I gave him for wanting to do this), but to be honest my main motivations were selfish. Normally The Pedant keeps his eyes closed during sex; he seems to focus on on sensation just fine without any outside help. But he could open his eyes at any time, and can and has caught me staring at him, and I feel awkward about that. He is so clearly not visual in bed that I feel like a bit of a freak by comparison, and also I think he feels self-conscious about being looked at when he’s being pleasured. So the blindfold would eliminate that whole thing and I’d be able to eye-fuck him as much as I wanted. I also hoped the blacked-out sight and restricted hearing would help him lose his inhibitions and maybe be (even) louder in bed, which would turn me on.
I’d meant to draw things out a lot longer than I ended up doing. I’d wanted to tease him for ages by touching him in unexpected places that he’d never see coming. But things got away from me, as they often do with him. He’s just so vocal that I can’t help following his sounds wherever they lead me. By the time teasing through touching with fingers/lips/tongue turned to teasing through straddling him and dragging the head of his cock lightly across my front entrance, I was soaking wet and dying for it and The Pedant was squirming and howling. I slid down around him and began to thrust while continuing to stimulate his nipples with both hands. Then on impulse I hooked my fingers through the ring on his collar and yanked his head toward me for a kiss, and ohhhhh holy shit that abrupt bit of aggression made him come. And he kissed me passionately at the same time so that he basically fed his orgasm-moans directly into my mouth. Gahhhh the hotness I can’t even stand it.
So, a bunch of times recently when The Pedant and I fucked, he helped get me off right after. And I’d thought he must have listened to me back in the day when I’d told him he was not giving me as many orgasms as I wanted/needed, but was that it? Or had I simply been telling him “Yo, my turn now”? I couldn’t remember. And I think the red flags I mentioned earlier had really gotten me wondering if The Pedant thought my main joy in life was servicing his penis, or what. So after the sex I unclipped him from the bed and then just kinda waited to see what he would do. And what he did was gather me to him and immediately fall asleep with the blindfold and earplugs still intact and the restraints still around his wrists and ankles.
I lay there for a while, too turned on to sleep but too self-conscious (and kind of too irritated) to masturbate. I mean goddammit if I wanted to be furtively getting off next to a sleeping partner who didn’t care to be involved, I would have stayed married. Finally I went out to the living room and watched a few episodes of Mad Men. I came back to the bedroom thinking I might be tired enough to sleep, but ended up touching and groping the sleeping Pedant instead. His nipples were no longer responsive – they’re his biggest erogenous zone when he’s turned on, but when he’s not they go dead or something. But his cock did get hard again when I touched it. Possibly out of reflex and not arousal per se, but still. And I’ve always wanted to wake someone up by fucking him, and The Pedant – though we’d never actually discussed it before – didn’t seem like the kind of person who would mind (he can seriously fall asleep instantly any time he wants and most times that he doesn’t want, so it’s not like waking him up would be a huge deal. And PIV isn’t invasive for him the way it is for me. I’d never penetrate him in his sleep, but PIV? Sure…).
So I climbed aboard. He woke up with a sweet, surprised little moan as his cock slid home. I brushed my thumbs over his nipples then and suddenly they were switched on again – his penis must have told them that sex was happening. Fascinating. I was fairly sure he wouldn’t be able to come again so soon, but he was making lovely sounds so I fucked him for a while (a few thrusts in he flung his hands up by his head, telegraphing that he wanted them restrained again…), then dismounted and got myself off next to him, then mounted again. My orgasm had taken the edge off my hunger a little bit but I still had a basically endless craving for his cock and his moans and his body at that point so I continued riding him for a while – even though his sounds had lost their urgency and taken on a familiar “holding pattern” quality – until finally he whispered “I think you’ve worn me out again” which I considered my cue to stop. Once again I unhooked the restraints and he simply fell asleep; once again I tried to sleep but was too restless and went and watched some more Mad Men.
When I returned a second time, The Pedant stirred as I climbed into bed and said he felt wide awake. I wondered whether this meant he would get up and want to watch something out in the living room; I probably could have fallen asleep properly at that point with some pettings and a tv show on. But he made no move to leave. I rolled on top of him and asked him to pet me, and he did, but somehow he wasn’t doing it right – it felt perfunctory. During our usual Netflix snuggles he’ll touch me, unbidden, with long light sweeping spirals over my back and legs that give me goosebumps and make me moan. This time, though, he used no finesse. His touch was a shade too heavy to really make my skin sing. And then I idly ran my hand up his chest and when I got near his nipples his arms collapsed by his sides as though I’d pushed a button and instead of asserting myself I just went with it and we fucked yet again. This time he did come, hard. When I dismounted, sitting on my knees on the mattress next to him, he more-or-less curled his body around my knees and passed out again. And by this point I was starting to feel pissed off. Like, did he think that my sole purpose in life was to make him happy and comfortable? That I got complete and total fulfillment from just riding his cock? That if he graced me with his fabulous presence and closeness, I’d be content to sit up awake and staring off into the dark? Like who cuddles up to someone who’s not sleeping or reading or doing something to pass the time?
I went out and watched yet more Mad Men and managed to get myself off twice without the use of the Hitachi (which was still in the bedroom), and then I was finally tired enough to rejoin The Pedant and attempt sleep. I decided that sometime after we woke up I would make damn sure he got me off. Hopefully he would offer to, himself – hopefully the only reason he hadn’t before is that he was so tired, but after a full night’s sleep he’d be ready to make reparations. But if he didn’t, I would assert myself.
When we woke up, he did not initiate anything sexual at all. He hinted that he was hungry and I made us some food; also he announced he would take a shower and I said go ahead but bear in mind I wanted to dirty him up again at least one more time before he left so he might wanna save it till after. He checked the time and said “Ah, okay, we do have time for another round before I have to go” but showered anyway.
After we ate I found I didn’t have the guts to tell him outright that I wanted him to get me off. Asking for it “cold,” with no sex in the air at all, would have felt like I was making him do a chore. So I started touching him and stuff, figuring I’d get his motor running and then do kind of a bait-and-switch. But damn, I guess even “his turn” was a chore he was doing for my benefit – at least at first – because he was just not responding at all. I’d go to kiss him and he’d basically just peck me on the mouth – I couldn’t get his lips to soften or open. As usual I ended up on top of him, and he idly caressed my back and every time I moaned from it I could feel his cock twitch, which was something, anyway. Apparently my pleasure turns him on at least a little. I ran my hands over his chest and kinda got some sluggish momentum going for him, and then told him “Hey let’s take care of my needs first and then I’ll ride you again.”
He complied, and I gave him a crash course in Hitachi 101 and let him actually do all of the stimulating himself for a change instead of basically jerking myself off while he did g-spot stuff. He did well; I came; he did not offer subsequent orgasms and I was too worried about imposing on him to ask for any. I didn’t necessarily need any more, either, but if I’d been with a different partner – someone who clearly enjoyed pleasuring me and would never compare my orgasms to anyone else’s or suggest that they were somehow lacking – I probably would have wanted the stimulation to continue just to see if there was anything else in the queue, y’know? And with a partner like that, there probably would have been.
And then I made good on my promise and got on his cock again – once I got it hard. He doesn’t maintain an erection while pleasuring me. Which I know not all men do but with him in particular it kinda adds to the baggage I’m feeling, if you see what I mean. When I mounted, his arms immediately began to go limp and I said “No, don’t starfish, I want to feel like you’re participating” and I put his hands on my hips. He obediently started rubbing my back and stuff.
An interesting interlude: as I fucked him, I realized that I never did do any ass play to him on this visit. And I might have liked to. Specifically, I was hoping to get him warmed up enough to accept a small dildo and then ride his cock while reaching back and thrusting the dildo in and out of him. The Pedant was being quite vocal and seemed like he would orgasm eventually, but not too terribly soon, so I said to him “Hey, I never got to use any of the gloves you brought. Should I get one?” He didn’t specifically answer, but he moaned harder, which was unexpected and hot. I told him I loved being inside him, and he moaned again. When I specifically asked “do you want me to fuck your ass?” though, he hesitated for a moment and then took my hips and pulled me more firmly onto his cock, indicating that he wanted me to keep fucking him. Fair enough. I stayed the course and pretty soon he was getting close – and using his hands on my hips to kind of set the pace, which I love (in limited quantities; a little bit is hot, all the time would make me feel like a blow-up doll). As he went over the edge his hands gripped me hard – holding me still – and his cock pulsed harder than I think I’ve ever felt. Like just hammering my insides, even though neither of us was thrusting. And his shoulders reared off the bed and I reflexively held the back of his head, cradling his face against my chest, as his cock kept on exploding inside me. It was fucking epic, and made me want to come again. But I couldn’t bring myself to broach the subject.
For the remainder of the visit, every time The Pedant noticed me wincing from sore thigh muscles, he smirked and said “you’re welcome.” Which…bitch, I got you off three times in a day and a half while you just lay back and enjoyed it; maybe you should be thanking me. The third or fourth(!) time he did this schtick I pointedly said “Maybe don’t smugly say ‘you’re welcome’ unless I’m sore from you getting me off, not vice-versa.”
He said “You enjoyed the orgasm I gave you. You enjoyed riding my cock. I consider it all a win.”
I said “I did enjoy both of those things, but for future reference I’d like the ratio to be a little different. Like 2:1 in my favour.” And The Pedant…said nothing. Not “Okay.” Not “no way.” Not “Noted.” Not even a grunt to acknowledge that I’d spoken. And actually that wasn’t the first such comment I’d made this visit that he chose to utterly ignore. I do not like that. At all.
In retrospect, another thing that triggered me – but I don’t blame The Pedant for this – is that during the first round of sex he called me Mistress. I recognize that he thought he was playing to my fantasies (although god, can’t he ever just ask me what I like?) but I strongly associate that word as being used by newbie sub dudes who are entirely porn-driven and do-me. Basically, in my mind if a guy is calling me Mistress it’s because he’s lost in his own little pseudo-D/s porn fantasy inside his head, not because he’s actually engaging with me as a person and trying to do what I want. I did address this with him the next morning – just saying that I appreciate what he was trying to do there but I’ve never liked being called by that honorific or any other. He was cool with it.
Oh god I also just remembered that when Round One of sex started he whispered something like “Are you excited that you get to own my cock for the next 24 hours?” which, again…I like doing things to his penis. I like it a lot. I like it so much that it turns me on and I want orgasms. And I honestly am not sure he understands this. I really think he’s somehow under the impression that his pleasure is my only end goal – that I’m just so darned thrilled to give him orgasms that it’s all I really need. I’ve fulfilled the highest possible womanly calling, or something, and now we can all go to sleep.
Any time I top a guy, it’s kind of a fragile state. There are many toppy activities I enjoy (but don’t orgasm from), but one wrong move from my partner and my headspace flips over from “I’m gonna do these things I love and elicit the reactions that turn me on” to “oh shit I’m just a service provider here to enact his fantasies for him.” And The Pedant’s stupid little “you’re welcome!”s made me realize that I think he should thank me. I am providing experiences for him. I know he loves to go nonverbal and starfishy and get lost in the sex, and so I give that to him. Yes, I also get things out of tying him down and fucking him; indirect and intangible things like feeling dominant and being turned on by his helplessness. But I lose things, too. My entire skin is an erogenous zone and I’m tying his hands down so he can’t touch any of it – and this also makes our sex life way more of a “this is my turn and maybe later you’ll have your turn” thing than if we were able to touch each other freely and switch positions and whatnot. For him to get me off I’d have to physically unchain him from the bed first, which frames my orgasms as a separate thing, an extra thing, rather than part of our sex. Also, I’m doing all the physical work of thrusting, and it leaves me sore for days. And before you say it, yes, I asked The Pedant if he’s ever wound up sore from being the active partner during PIV. He has not. If the shoe were on the other foot he would not end up with a bangover.
Anyway, aside from the sexual angst, we had a bit of an argument. Surprise, surprise, The Pedant was doing his thing of projecting his own emotions onto All The Men Ever, and also kept moving the goalposts whenever I tried to call him on it.
This time the issue at hand was his conviction that men don’t actually find dresses or heels on a woman aesthetically pleasing; they (meaning The Pedant, of course) think that shit looks stupid. If they like “girlie” clothes like that, it’s because skirts provide easy access to the vagina and heels tip the pelvis to make it easier to access the vagina from behind.
I pointed out that I’ve had partners ask me to wear lingerie etc. more often. Partners I lived with and around whom I was naked all the time. So this would seem to indicate that yeah, some dudes like the look of ubergirlie shit. And then for some fucking reason The Pedant thought it was relevant to pull up some naked-lady site he likes – as though its very existence proves his point – and he said that this is what dudes actually like: totally naked women with no makeup or heels or anything, not shit like the Suicide Girls. And I was like “But Suicide Girls is a pay site. A famous, thriving pay site. So, according to you, men don’t actually like Suicide Girls but pay for their content anyway, because…?”
And The Pedant said well, okay, these guys think they like that aesthetic because our culture tells them that it’s what they’re supposed to like. But they don’t actually like it. It’s just a cultural thing. And I was like “but we all live in this culture. Anything anyone likes, they like because the culture said they’re ‘supposed’ to or because they’re rebelling against what the culture told them to like. We don’t exist in a vacuum and I think ‘really like’ vs. ‘like because of culture’ is not a useful or productive distinction. It’s effectively the same thing.” I’m not sure if he gets that.
Then he said that, okay, maybe not every guy secretly thinks girlie clothes look dumb, but most of them do – and he knows this because his friends all do. And I was like “Hello! Selection bias. They’re your friends because you share a lot of the same opinions.” And then he said that one of his chick friends once told her bf to come pick out absolutely anything he wanted from a lingerie store and she’d wear it for him, and he picked a tiny little butt-floss thong, and this is apparently proof that didn’t care about lingerie and would rather see her naked. I pointed out that it may just mean that he likes very tiny, not-much-left-to-the-imagination lingerie (because a butt-floss thong? Is still not naked. And some guys like really really skimpy clothes), and The Pedant got that baffled stubborn look that he always gets when he doesn’t want to admit that he could be wrong about something.
He moved the goalposts again to say that he imagines guys who crossdress like the aesthetic of chick clothes (he said that chicks do, too; I wonder how female-presenting people got exempt from our cultural messages and are able to form opinions of their own? I wish I’d thought to ask); it’s just probably male-presenting dudes who like chick-outfits for their slutty look/ease of access. I asked why crossdressers would like the clothes for their looks and he said “because they actually wear them.” I said that most crossdressers I’ve known have been huge into the fantasy of being treated like a cocksocket and it seems entirely possible to me that lots of them are more about the slutty accessibility of an outfit than the actual look. He started to argue with me and I was like “HOW MANY CROSSDRESSERS HAVE YOU DATED, PEDANT? BECAUSE I’VE DATED A BUNCH.” That shut him up about that. This has been like the fifth time in a week that I’ve basically asked him how many dudes he’s dated, by the way, because he’s been on a real rampage lately of talking about how different he is sexually from other men.
The Pedant just has all these wacky generalizations about huge groups of people that clearly have no basis in logic or reality and he cannot admit that he might be projecting or mistaken. Ever. I could show him actual evidence that directly contradicts his theories and he’ll claim I misunderstood his point or that the evidence is faulty because um OMG LOOK OVER THERE IT’S A DIVERSION or sometimes he’ll just cover his ears and go “LA LA LA LA LA” and the entire time he’s doing these things, he thinks he’s being all super smart and logical. And it irritates the shit out of me and I kind of suspect that when I get irritated he secretly writes me off as Being Emotional Because Vagina and the whole thing makes me want to stab him in the head with an icepick a little bit.
So let’s just say that by the time he had to leave, I was pretty happy to see him go.
He used to offer me orgasms unbidden, you know. Not often enough, and I think most of the time it was to try to cover up erectile dysfunction, and he was largely incompetent at actually getting me off. But he did offer. I wonder if he stopped because he’s self-conscious about his skills (what with me finally confronting him about how bad they were…)? The thing is, a supportive, well-adjusted partner would opt to use his words and be like “So hey, would you teach me how best to pleasure you? Because I would like to know how to do that.” But of course, identifying his own insecurities and addressing them with me is not really The Pedant’s jam. And here we reach the part of the relationship where I realize that the personality glitches I broke up with him over are still there, and decide whether it’s worth it to keep seeing him.
It might be, for now. If I can get over my own insecurities about asking for orgasms, anyway. Like I’ve said before, the parts of sex where I do things to him are epic; he responds to me the way I’ve always fantasized a man would respond. I cannot state this enough. For years I fetishized and pursued virgins because coming-of-age movies etc. led me to believe that virgins would have a certain quality of astounded, breathless reverence toward my vagina. None of them did. The Pedant does, and his cock is I believe the first in years that hasn’t hurt me; it’s the perfect size and shape. If he can just get in the habit of clearing my accumulated sexual tension after PIV then I think the bedroom stuff and his general sweetness toward me would outweigh his occasional pigheaded arguments. And, I mean, I do own a gag now…