Tag Archives: Mine


Mine seems to have vanished for the time being, as he sometimes does.

I don’t understand him. He tells me he loves me. He’s sweet to me when he’s here. When he’s going through a crisis of any kind he always talks as though his very first instinct is to come to me for comfort, saying that all he wants in the world is to be next to me, lying in my arms. He gives every indication that he cares about me…except he’ll sometimes go for a week or more without talking to me and I simply can’t do that when I’m into someone. I’ll miss them. I’ll want to talk to them. And no matter how busy or burned out I am, it’s never not possible for me to send a text message saying “I’m thinking of you” or “I miss you.” It takes seconds to do that.

This, in a nutshell, is why I don’t think of Mine as my sub or my boyfriend, even though I love him and enjoy spending time with him and am generally glad he’s in my life. There’s an element of inconsistency to him that makes me…”distrust him” isn’t quite it, because I don’t think he’s lying to me about anything. I don’t feel I can rely on him, I guess is what it is.

I texted him the other day asking a favour (nothing time sensitive, but still) and he hasn’t responded at all and it just bugs me. I’ve also talked to him about helping me move when the time finally comes and he said he will, but to be honest I think I’ll be looking to The Dandy or possibly my friend Dom to help me with anything that has a strict deadline. I’ll be paying for overlap between apartments so I won’t have to do all my moving in one day; I plan to go piecemeal. If I can manage to get Mine to haul his ass over here during that time, he can take a few carloads of my things for me. But when it’s getting down to the wire and I need the rest of it out by Tuesday or whatever, Mine is not the person I’ll be contacting. He seems capable of saying yes and then bowing out at the last minute because he has to work, or being two hours late and not letting me know.

Having more than one concurrent boyfriend (i.e., man that I love and see regularly and who agrees that we are in a committed relationship) has been my dream since I was a teenager but alas, I am not there yet.

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The mythical unstoppable juggernaut of male desire

Mine considers himself straight. He doesn’t want to date a man or kiss a man or touch a man. But he fetishizes fellating a man or getting an ass-pounding from one. He’s obsessed with making a guy come. Any man at all, really, but the bigger his dick, the better.*

I’ve known a number of guys with that fetish and I think it comes down to feeling desired. Straight men often don’t feel desired by women. That myth that women aren’t visual/aren’t carnal/aren’t into sex has fucked men up and made them feel as though they can’t possibly be sexy. And for whatever reason, instead of addressing that problem by adjusting their relationships with women, they seek out that feeling of desirability from other men. After all, the cultural narrative about men is that they’re all visual and carnal. Men (the stories go) never need to have feelings for someone in order to be physically intimate. Men want to stick their dicks in any pretty thing they see. They can’t even control it.

And so a small subsection of men starts kinking on the idea of being consumed by another man’s desire, of being used as a pretty, pretty object. They kink on the idea of unstoppable male desire even though they are men so they know men’s libidos aren’t really so indomitable.

The other day it occurred to me that often, once it’s clear to a man that I’m visual and carnal, he expects me to be the same type of always-on, ludicrous, frothing horndog that society purports men to be. Why men so often see physical desire in others as all-or-nothing like that I can’t fathom. But yeah. A few times, I’ve accidentally created a monster: tell a dude he’s hot a few times and suddenly he’s strutting into the room like “Okay, here’s my hot body. You may commence behaving like that wolf from the Tex Avery cartoon now.” But the thing is I’m just not that wolf all the time. If I’m in a sexual headspace, absolutely. Aroooooooo. If I’m distracted or something, though, I can’t always shift gears instantly, y’know? But I don’t wanna hurt the guy’s feelings so I end up faking it a little. It sucks because I genuinely do find my partners attractive, and I want them to know it, but then the weight of all their expectations and pent-up feelings ends up pushing me into performing desire that I’m not necessarily feeling.

I’ve only hooked up with The Dandy twice but already I can sense his self-concept of his body shifting from utilitarian over (tremulously, tentatively) to aesthetic. He’s always (he told me) been a nudist, and was comfortable being naked in front of me, but by the end of our recent time together his nudity had taken on a slightly different aspect, a sort of prickly awareness that I might be admiring him. His body was no longer this ignored shell, this means to an end; it was being seen.

I love creating and witnessing that shift. And I think men deserve to feel desired and am happy to do my part. But shit, some of them have so much pent-up neediness around the whole “being desired” thing and it all comes up at once and suddenly I feel like there’s a spotlight on me and I have to act stupefied by lust every single minute or their hearts will shatter. Let’s hope that doesn’t happen here.


*Pretty sure it’s because an erection is a symbol of his desire and to Mine (and many others), a bigger erection equates to more desire (hey maybe this is why some people fetishize trans women, too). Or, alternately, men are supposedly the carnal ones and having a penis is supposedly the defining physical trait of a man, so “more penis” equals “more man” equals “more sex drive”. (I’m not saying I believe penis equals man; I don’t. But for most of us, our first basic sex talk started with “boys have a weewee and girls have a hooha” or whatever, so the idea that gender is determined by genitals gets ingrained in us pretty young and needs to be unlearned.)

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Word nerd

So, this happened over the weekend while Mine and I test-drove the new bed (*cough*).

Me: Less vigorous, please.

Mine: This is only one.

Me: I said “vigorous.”

Mine: Oh. I thought you said “fingers.”

Me: No, I know, I picked up on that. [Pause] For the record, though, “fewer fingers” would be the correct form of that request, not “less fingers”. Even at a time like this I’d never use such terrible grammar.

Mine: [Chuckling] Noted.

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In other news…

I forget if I mentioned this but for ages I’d been thinking of getting a new bedframe – hopefully a loft bed sorta thing so I could stash my low dressers underneath and free up more space in the room. Everything I found was either too high or too low or too expensive or made for a child (who would probably be half my weight), though.

I mentioned this to Mine and he said he’d build a bed for me. So I gave him the specs and he designed it, got the lumber cut to size and bought bolts etc. using his employee discount (he works at a home improvement store), brought it all over on Saturday night, and assembled it while I was at work on Sunday.


Interesting side note: I’d been worried that maybe the height of the bed would freak me out and I wouldn’t be able to sleep in it. But Mine made it sturdy as hell and also nice and wide (I have a double size mattress and the bed is made for a queen size – I will upgrade at some point). And – I wasn’t expecting this at all – being closer to the ceiling like that makes the bed feel enclosed in a way that I really love. It’s like a super secret awesome fort up in there. I suppose humans must have some lizard hindbrain that feels safer in a small den or burrow.

I haven’t even put both dressers under the new bed yet but it already seems way bigger in the room just having that empty space visible under there. Oh and btw the bed cost me less than $200. It’s nothing fancy or anything – just raw wood, kind of industrial-looking – but I don’t need it to be fancy. And with it being so plain and industrial I won’t feel like I’m defacing it when I screw a bunch of bondage rings to the sides.

And btw I know the bed is sturdy because Mine and I tested it out. 😀














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MOAR anal adventures!

So weirdly enough I had almost a repeat of the incident with Mine, this time with The Jock.

I fucked his ass with a dildo. He got all ecstatic and moaned and flailed but then asked me to stop.

“Does it hurt?” I asked.

“It feels like I have to pee or something,” he said.

“That’s probably a prostate orgasm building up,” I said, grinning. I asked if he wanted to continue and he did. I reassured him that if he felt something building up, it was okay to let go. But he ended up asking me to stop for the night before anything happened. I think either he was too afraid of peeing, too afraid of the intensity of the feelings I was giving him, or feeling a bit rubbed raw from all the thrusting.

Another weird parallel between that night with The Jock and the other night with Mine: both of them separately came up with the idea of going down on me while I used the Hitachi. I hold the vibrator midway up the shaft of my clit, so the tip is still accessible for licking if one is careful.

Turns out oral plus Hitachi is the best combo evaaaaar, and I can set the Hitachi aside midway through my orgasm and let my partner’s mouth carry me through to the end. RAWR.

Both boys are quite enthusiastic about oral, too, and will go down without being asked. And they’re both pretty good at it. …Well, The Jock is pretty good. Mine is phenomenal. They’re also both good at petting me.

I actually got it into my head that it would be super fun to have both of them paying attention to me at once. Sadly, although Mine would be up for it, The Jock emphatically is not.

For years now I’ve had multiple partners in my life more often than not, and there’s always one – and only one – who’d be down for a threesome. This seems like one of those ironic curses the Greek gods would put on people. Woe is me, etc.

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Wanna hear the saddest story ever?

This is both sad and horrifying.

So, Mine has told me before that he’s bipolar and that he checked himself into the psych ward back in the day and got treatment. He only ever told me stories about the mania part of his illness, so I thought he’d managed to figure out that he was manic and that he needed help. Which is why I’d been hoping The Veteran might have a glimmer of rationality left and take me seriously when I told her she’s having a manic episode.

But no. Mine told me the whole story when he was here last. What actually went down is that his mania had swung the other way, into depression. A deep depression. Plus he’d alienated his friends and family and gotten hugely in debt during the mania part of the cycle so his life was legitmately fucked all up way beyond just his brain chemistry telling him that things were hopeless.

He decided to kill himself. He drove to the ‘States where all the guns live and went to a shooting range and rented a gun. He’d wanted little one – a revolver or whatever – but all they would give him (or all they could give him, legally? I forget) was some bigass submachine gun or something. Mine was afraid that if he shot himself he might also accidentally shoot some innocent bystanders, so he ended up just firing a few rounds into the target and then leaving again. He then came back to Canadaland and checked himself into the hospital because of the suicidal urges.

Mine says that when he was manic there is no way in hell he ever would have recognized that anything was wrong – part of the illness is that it convinces you you’re doing great and everything’s fine.

So I guess my attempt at saving The Veteran was doomed from the start.

And I guess Mine isn’t as self-aware as I thought, or rather, that self-awareness was impossible during the most chaotic part of his illness. I really liked his hospital story better when I thought he had diagnosed his own mania and set out to fix it. The reality breaks my heart.

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Anal Extravaganza!!!!!!

So, there’s a new boy – a 25yo I met through FetLife. He looks a bit like Ashton Kutcher, facially, and his body is…pleasingly beefy. He’s got a bit of extra weight on him, so he’s not cut to the point where hugging him is like hugging a pile of boulders – there’s a softness. But his biceps are so huge he has a hard time finding t-shirts that fit him. I mock him for this: “Awwww, the poor hot boy can’t fit into normal human clothes. Hot boy haz a sad.”

I’m always dubious when a young’un claims to be a masochist. I’ve had a lot of guys say they wanted to be hurt but then get spooked over the tiniest little thing, like when I pulled their hair as I kissed them. This guy, though – we’ll call him The Jock – has some experience in this area. He’s played before with another dominant (one about my age, actually) and he knows at least some of what he likes.

And even if he hadn’t had any experience, he has that quintessential thing that masochists have – he sees me and recognizes me. When I start feeling toppy and sadistic, I get a predatory expression on my face that scares most people. With him, my inner monster leaped into my eyes and (metaphorically speaking) he looked at it, smiled, and said “Oh hi.”

He knew my monster. He welcomed it. He watched it with joyful fascination to see what it would do next.

This is all just by way of introduction. The thing I want to tell you is that I fucked his ass with a dildo the last time he was over. He’s fairly stoic when I do really mean ouchy things, but my gentle-yet-firm assfucking had him howling. It was super fun and I’m eager to experiment some more. I forget whether he said he’d ever done any ass play before but my feeling is there can’t have been much – maybe just him, experimenting alone and unable to thrust too fast because the angle was awkward. When I fucked him, he had the look of someone who was treading fairly unfamiliar territory.

When his ass was worn out and he needed to stop, we had missionary PIV sex (our first time). Turns out he’s a jackhammerer from start to finish – straight-up using me to jerk off into – and he takes a while to come, so I don’t think I’ll bother with that again unless I’m trying to get off at the same time. For a minute while he fucked me he put his hand around my throat and applied a bit of pressure, which…didn’t make me panic per se, but made me wonder if I should panic. I never got any kind of scary violating vibe from him but why would he ever think I would like to be choked? I knocked his hand off me and he got the hint and didn’t try again.

Oh, just as an aside: he’s really good at reading and transmitting body language and this has been an absolute pleasure for me. I don’t mind being super blunt in my intentions or using my words to negotiate, but with him I don’t always have to. One time I had his hands anchored to the corners of my bed and I was just kind of exploring him – caressing, biting, hitting, just kinda scoping out my options. At one point I ran my nails lightly down his side, and, all within the span of like three seconds:

  • He yelped and flinched.
  • My eyes lit up because I’d found a thing that makes reactions, and I like reactions.
  • I tentatively poised myself to run my nails over him again.
  • He made a “NOPE SERIOUSLY DON’T” face.
  • I said “ticklish in a bad way?” just to make absolutely sure I understood, and he nodded so I moved on to other things.

This seems like such a basic level of communication but I feel like most guys would not have read my “OOOH FUN LET’S DO THAT SOME MORE” signals, or would not have made such an obvious “NOPE” expression in return. So often when a guy makes a sound or a flinchy motion I have to ask “good or bad?” – sometimes several times. It’s not the end of the world that I have to do that. Butthis was a refreshing change.

Anyway, after the PIV I had him help get me off by continuing to fuck me with my dildo while I Hitachi’d myself, as usual.

What I love is that he gets the whole thing where my arousal and sadism are linked together. After I came, he was still sitting between my legs. I was all ragey from coming and I sat up, said “I mean this with affection…” and just started punching him in the chest as hard as I could and snarling “motherfucker” and hitting him some more. He took it and liked it. And then he crawled up the bed and snuggled me and stroked my hair and we dozed off for a bit.

So that was fun.

But the thing I really want to tell you about is when Mine came over the other day.

Mine had been saving up his orgasms, edging every day but never coming, for two weeks. I hadn’t asked him to do that – not directly, anyway. I did tell him once in passing that I’d like to fuck his ass while he was really pent up from abstaining, and see if the desperation would help push him over into a prostate orgasm. I’ve always wanted to see a guy have an orgasm without anyone touching his cock (whether it was from prostate stuff or just a Jason-Biggs-in-American-Pie situation). It’s been a huge fantasy of mine since basically forever. And Mine is more responsive to ass play than almost anyone I’ve played with, so I figured if anyone could get there, it’s him.

I have a dildo that’s attached to a set of plastic “brass knuckles”; I bought it mostly because I loved the violent connotations but it’s also fantastically practical – way easier and more ergonomic than trying to hold the slippery base of a dildo in my hands and pump it in and out.

So I was moving this girthy, realistic dildo mounted on brass knuckles in and out of Mine, mixing up the speed and depth and seeing what worked. He loved it when I hammered him pretty fast and hard, but he kept asking for breaks. I’ve heard that guys will often get freaked out by the approach of a prostate orgasm (and/or think the building pressure means they have to pee, and therefore not want to release it) so after the third or so time that Mine said he needed a break, I asked him why he wanted to stop. Was it hurting, or just too intense? He said it was too intense. I was like “Well, as long as it’s not actually hurting, I mean…what do you think would happen if we just pushed through the intensity and out the other side?” He said he didn’t know but he was willing to try.

I started fucking him again with long, firm strokes – rhythmic and fairly fast but not jackhammering per se. This whole time, by the way, Mine’s hands were anchored to the bed; I knew how totally pent-up and desperate he was to come, and I wanted to torment him by making it so he couldn’t touch himself no matter how turned on he got.

My strokes with the dildo quickly brought him to the point of squirming and gasping again, and this time he didn’t tell me to stop. And then he cried out that he was going to come.

What happened next may be one of the most amazing moments of my sex life, ever. I maintained my thrusts at a steady speed – not wanting to change anything and maybe scare whatever was about to happen away – and Mine’s ass suddenly clenched harder than I thought possible, almost pushing me out. Then released. Then clenched again. Over and over, rhythmically. This was not something Mine was doing on purpose; this was his body taking over, and the contractions were so strong that I had to put my other hand on the brass knuckles, too, and use all the strength in both arms to keep the toy inside him. I surreptitiously watched Mine’s cock to see if anything was coming out. He howled and thrashed and clenched and howled some more (and nothing came out of his cock) and finally he sort of collapsed back into the mattress, sobbing in frustration, and told me he’d been right at the edge of a huge explosion but he’d lost it somehow. Watching him go through that had been so intense that I was feeling a little teary, too. Mine asked me to please free one of his hands from the restraints, and when I did, he put his arm around me and yanked me down into a hard one-armed hug.

I stayed lying on top of him like that and we talked about what had happened. He said he’d never felt anything like that before in his life. That it was definitely an impending orgasm, and would definitely have made him ejaculate had it gone to completion, and yet the sensations originated from an entirely different point than his usual orgasms. He thanked me for encouraging him to push past his fear of the intensity and keep going. He asked me what it was like from my side and I said I felt like a fisherman who had a huge blue marlin on the line and was trying desperately to reel it in. I sat up and briefly pantomimed fighting hard against a force of nature while panicking. Mine chuckled. He still seemed borderline tearful at having been so close to coming but not getting there. It was hot. He was really pent up.

Shortly after that I finally let him release all that tension. 😀

I definitely want to explore this some more. I’ve had times with other guys where they vocalized a bunch during ass play and maybe a bit of liquid dribbled out of their cocks and afterward it was like “I…don’t know what that was. Maybe an orgasm? Or an almost-orgasm?” but nothing – nothing – was ever as absolutely unmistakeable as what happened with Mine. There was no “maybe” about this. One day, I will take him all the way there. And then I’ll practice until I can get him there consistently. And then I’ll deliberately stop just short of the mark to make him cry. 😀




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