Purveyor of Pleasure

Pleasure is my business, my life, my joy, my purpose.

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A Femmetastic New Project

I have a new project which I’ve been working on since the beginning of the month, so it’s not brand-spankin-new, but it’s still new for me: The Femmes Guide to Absolutely Everything. This will also be a collaborative effort (as it is my summer/fall for collaborative writing projects), like BestSexBloggers.com which you all should check out, and the newest collab blog Kinky Sex Link which just launched today!

The Femmes Guide (as I usually call it for short) has some of my absolutely favorite femme bloggers participating. The author list thus far (in alphabetical order) includes:
Bevin Branlandingham, Catalina of CatalinaLoves, Ellie Lumpesse, Essin’ Em, Hussy Red, and (last but not least) Miss Avarice. I’m very fortunate to have all these wonderful amazing femmes willing to work on this project with me!

The basic premise is:

The Femmes Guide is a sex-positive femme queer collaborative blog meant to be a fun, enjoyable, educational, and sometimes snarky look at femmeininity and femme culture. We aim to create a resource for the online femme community, where femmes can gain helpful information about navigating in this world as a femme, learn about the way others view their femme identity, and come to a greater understanding of their own femme identity through the sharing of information.” There are four sections: How Tos, Reviews, Advice, and Musings.

One interesting thing that has been brought up, and I’m not sure if it is a product of my limited blog-o-sphere or a product of the types of bloggers out there, is that all of the authors thus far are white, well-educated, fatgirl (or ex-fatgirl) femmes in our 20s and 30s. Of course, we are diverse in other ways, in our experiences and viewpoints, and in our choices of partners, to name a few. I do believe part of the lack of diversity is because of the type of people who blog, but that’s not all of it either. I really want to open up the site to femmes of all different backgrounds, ethnicities, sizes, etc. so if you are someone who is interested, or if you know someone who might be interested, check out The Femmes Guide and email me (femmesguide*at*gmail*dot*com).

I’m so super excited about this new project. It already has a lot of wonderful information within it from each of the amazing authors. I encourage you all to look it over, and feel free to tell me what you think!

The (Leather Daddy and the Femme) Bibliophile HNT

Click here for the larger version.

In true FFToy fashion, because I have been completely devouring this book and it’s the only thing I can really think about and because it is not only crazy hot but in some ways a perfect articulation of some of my own desires, I decided for my HNT this week it should include the book that has been on my mind since I started reading it. The Leather Daddy and the Femme is not a perfect articulation of all of desires, but it is damn close. I highly recommend anyone who hasn’t read it to read it. Once I have finished it (which shouldn’t be too long) I will write a review of it. Should be fantastic.

If you look, you can see one of my tattoos peeking out above the book (no, it’s not two spoons, promise) I call it “lovers entwined.” But you do get to see my pretty polka-dot bra I got from Lane Bryant, as well as a bit of my collar, both public and home (the heart necklace is my public collar). My hair looks less red than it is, but that’s mostly ’cause of the light.

I have nothing terribly interesting to say tonight. Happy HNT, hope you enjoyed the picture, and go pick up The Leather Daddy and the Femme. Oh, and keep an eye out for the book review, coming soon.

Size vs. Health

I came to a realization over this past weekend, in fact I came to many realizations, but this is the one I’m going to share with you today. I don’t usually talk about personal things that don’t relate directly to some aspect of my identity. Although this does relate to my fat identity, but in a different way than I would normally post about it (not sure if that makes sense). Basically, this is the kind of post I would usually reserve for LiveJournal and not for this blog, but it is something that I need to talk about, and something that I feel I should share on here.

I haven’t been taking care of my body well enough. I’m so focused on sex and sexuality but I have been ignoring the physical, which seems contradictory but somehow it still happened. I have been trying to live as a disembodied mind, seperate from my body while at the same time sexual and loving it… it hasn’t been working so well.

I’ve been signed up with a personal trainer since January and I’ve been going (though not going to the gym as often as I feel I should) but I haven’t lost that much weight or changed my body that much. I have been eating better (though not all that much better) and I haven’t been losing weight, and it’s time for me to change that. I have known this for a while, but there’s a difference between knowing something and realizing something.

This brings me to an interesting struggle. I love being fat, I love being a bbw, but I am currently unhealthy and that is a problem. There is a difference between being fat and being healthy, and I’m way past healthy. Four years ago I went from a size 24 to a size 14. I doubt I will ever be smaller than a size 14, and I’m more than okay with that. My body type doesn’t lend itself to being smaller, and a 14/16 is (I think) the most attractive and ideal body image for me. Currently I am back up to a size 26.

I am heavier than I have ever been in my life before this, I am uncomfortable and I teeter between being unhappy with my weight and being depressed. The strange thing is that while I can get depressed with being unhealthy I still love myself and my body, just not where it is right now. It seems like a paradox, and it kind of is, but it somehow works.

The main reason I am talking about this is because my health is something I’m dedicated to change, but I’m also talking about this because there is this crazy paradox within society. The emphasis should be on health rather than size, but it’s hard to seperate one from the other. Most people equate them when, in reality, they can be worlds apart. Skinny people can have just as many or more health issues than large people, but we don’t always think of that. However, in my current state I am unhealthy, and I realize this.

Dominus and I have talked about both of our health issues. Basically he is in the same situation as I am. If we could be disembodied consciousness’ (which could still have sex) we would, but then we’d also miss out on all the fun things that bodies can do. We have decided to start a new routine which includes not only bodily health but also spiritual health, something we have been putting off since we lost our temple. We are going to create a new temple for us to work within as well as incorporate yoga (vinyasa, pranayama, and kundalini), the five Tibetan rites, and Tai Chi into our normal routines. I am also thinking of taking up bellydancing again.

This will also change our sleeping and eating patterns (for the better, I’m hoping) and switch our usual meal-a-day together from dinner to breakfast, which I’m a big fan of. It is rather ambitious, but it’s necessary. I’ll sneak little updates into my posts.

My Dick is a Girl

I’ve been thinking a lot about femme cock lately, ever since I posted on the subject. I haven’t only been thinking about the acquisition of one, however, but also what it means to have a femme cock, and what it means that my cock is femme. On one hand, it’s a very minuscule difference. I mean, what does it matter if my cock is femme, butch, genderqueer, a dildo, or any other label that I put on it? It’s still a cock, right? It’s still a piece of silicone. On the other hand, cocks are not thought of as femme or feminine. Cocks are, as we generally associate them with males, usually considered a masculine item.

So, what does it really mean to have a femme cock? What’s the big deal? For one thing, when a cock is strapped on it is pretty much assumed that the strapper is masculine in some way. While there are many people who do not make this assumption I would say that the overwhelming majority do. Though it does seem like pegging (female penetrating a male with a strap on) has been getting more popular lately with videos like Bend Over Boyfriend and lots of beginner strap-on kits popping up all over the place. Even then, however, the penetrator is still thought of as taking on the masculine role even if the penetrator isn’t thought of as masculine.

Penetration is nearly always considered a masculine act, even if done by a feminine body. Rarely do you see a dildo called Felicity or Sophia, instead we see Leo, General, Magnum, and Throb. That’s not to say that there aren’t female-named dildos like Goddess, Mistress, Wanda, and the ever delightful Vicky Venus, but they are nowhere near as common as the others. There have always been vibrators with feminine names, because they are trying to appeal to their target audience, but if you delve into the realm of “realistic” dildos… well, I’ll just say I have yet to see a dildo marketed as realistic named anything feminine (though there could be one or two, I can’t claim to have seen all the dildos in the world). I’m not saying that they should be more common, I wouldn’t make that call, but I am saying that thinking of a dildo as feminine or thinking of penetration as a feminine act is not common.

But what does it really mean for a femme to have a cock, or for a femme to pack? There are infinite ways in which a femme can pack, and an infinite number of reasons and desires which can come out of packing/having a cock. I can’t help but think of an excerpt from The Leather Daddy and the Femme when thinking about femme cock, and the infinite possibilities:

It was lavender silicone and not shaped like a cock at all. It wasn’t even meant to be a cock, on her. She never got especially turned on to cocks–but strapping on something to fuck with, something that let her pin me to a bed or a wall and let her cunt-energy come exploding out of her and into my cunt or asshole, she liked that just fine. […] She didn’t think of it as a cock so I didn’t either, but I sure did take it seriously.

This is part of the way I think of my cock, I declare it as a cock but I don’t think of it as a cock but as an extension of my cunt, which is also why I’m not very attracted to realistic-looking cocks for my own personal cock. I wouldn’t be against a realistic-looking (and feeling) cock in my collection, but that wouldn’t be my main cock.

The more I read in The Leather Daddy and the Femme the more I work with and figure out my own gender queerness. My sexuality is so tied in with my gender, and it’s interesting to have this lovely femme woman as well as a butch boi within me, both aching to get out and both who desire to wear a cock.

This brings me back to the question: what does it mean? Obviously, it can mean a lot of different things depending on who is wearing the cock and who is viewing/feeling the cock. Is there a big difference between someone who embraces femme packing or strapping on than someone who embraces butch? I think there is. That’s not to say that the same meaning couldn’t be applied to the cock or the wearing of the cock in both cases, because it could be, but there would still be a difference. What would that difference be, I’m not entirely sure. Something I’ll have to think on more and get back to you.

FetLife Encourages Great Snark

I just have to share this. I recently greeted someone on FetLife and got this email back:

Thank you for the message. We are close in states.
Do you have Big Tits and Big Ass?

So, I (of course) had to reply after reading his profile which simply reads:

I am new to lifestyle. Like Big Tits, Big Ass. I’m Rich.
I live in Farmington New Mexico.
I have a house, Horse and goat for milk.
I’m here to learn and get Big Tits and Big Ass. I like Dumb Blond but Red can be dumb too.

I replied, and he responded, back and forth. The last two were sent within the last 12 hours:

Me: “I do have big tits and a big ass, but I’m not dumb so I don’t quite fit your other criteria.”
Him: “You can act dumb if you are smart.”
Me: “True, but why would I want to?”
Him: “Cause I am so good.”

Now, I have yet to respond to his being “so good,” and I’m debating if I will. On the one hand, it needs to be addressed, on the other hand anything I say will just go in one ear and out the other at this point, I’m sure of it. Either he is joking with me (which is possible, but not too probable) or he is simply oblivious and naive, which is possible considering his profile. If I do reply it will have to be with something damn perfect.

I am seriously more than amused at this point. I love FetLife, I think there are many wonderful things that happen there, and I love being a greeter, but it’s times like these that I remember that places like FetLife in some way encourage this kind of behavior as well. That’s not to say that FetLife is going around saying “come join here so that you can make and ass out of yourself” or something like that, but it is easy to use, free to join, and attracts the undesirables as well as the desired.

This isn’t exactly bad, as it will help a lot of people figure out things about themselves, even (maybe) the idiots and asshats who think they can just send messages to anyone, including someone whose profile clearly states “owned and collared by Pantos” and although it says I am Polyamorous it says I’m looking for a Mistress or a sub specifically, does he fall into either of those categories? Hmm, let’s think…

Maybe I can use this opportunity to educate him on the finer points of profile diving so that he ends up messaging just those people who might actually be interested in him. Perhaps I could take this opportunity as a way for me to get rid of one of the HNGs out there, to help a poor misguided and delusional man, so that he may come out the other side of it somewhat knowledgeable and not so much hitting on anything he sees. However, I seriously doubt he would take what I said into consideration, which means I can use this opportunity for a much needed snark.

Review: The Sensual Bulb Glass Dildo

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I am a sucker for glass dildos, they are my absolute favorite kind of dildos out there, and that’s saying a lot because I love dildos. Though I have never owned a steel or wooden dildo and I have a feeling I would love them just as much since the main reason I love glass is because of the hardness. I love the way rock hard dildos feel within me: sleek, smooth, and, well, hard. The sensual bulb is no exception.

The Sensual Bulb is only about 4 1/2 inches long, which is somewhat small for a glass dildo, and definitely smaller than I was expecting. This isn’t bad, however, and I’ve found that the length is just about perfect for great g-spot stimulation, the bulb at the end of the toy can press against the g-spot nicely while the flared base is easy to hold and perfect for maneuvering it to just the right angle.

This toy is also wonderful for anal play as well, as the base is nice and wide (you always want to use toys with bases anally so that they don’t get sucked up inside!) and it’s not too big for those of us who don’t want anything humongous going into our ass. I wouldn’t recommend it for long-term plug wearing because the base is rather wide and could be uncomfortable after a short amount of time, but it is a wonderful toy to use anally. I also generally love glass dildos anally again because of the hardness. Not to mention that glass dildos are non-porous and very easy to clean and disinfect, which is something I look for in any toy I get but especially toys that I want to put up my ass.

The Sensual Bulb is absolutely gorgeous, I love the cute butterfly etched in the base, and the purpley pink color of it, which I believe just adds to the beauty of the toy. All in all The Sensual Bulb is a wonderful shape and perfect for both vaginal and anal play. Obviously since it is not too large it won’t satisfy those who desire a lot of girth to their toys, but if you want to enjoy a well-crafted glass toy that will hit the g-spot or to use anally, this is a wonderful toy to have on hand!

Sex Toys and Vibrator Reviews at VibeReview

And don’t forget about the The Obama for President Coupon! Who wouldn’t want 10% off?

Semantics Sunday: Fucktoy

So it’s not exactly Sunday, but I can fake it.

Fucktoy is a word I have been struggling to find my own definition of. When I started this blog I originally bought ofpleasure.com which I still own and which points to this domain. I then changed it to ofpleasure.com and now to ofpleasure.com. The change from cuntpet to feminist fucktoy happened when I realized that cuntpet was an identity, and it would be like owning slave.com or submissive.com and having that as my personal blog, that is, it would be centering this blog around one identity when I am many. I wanted to change that.

I found a shirt from dyketees.com which says “Feminist Fucktoy: Don’t hate the player – Hate the shame” and I absolutely fell in love with it. That shirt is what inspired me to change the name of the blog and website to The Feminist Fucktoy (and then femmeinist came later, of course). I chose the name before I started embracing my Domina side, and so fucktoy has been somewhat difficult for me to embrace as a Domina, but that’s why I defined it the way I did originally in the masthead.

I don’t believe that a fucktoy is someone soley used by another for their pleasure, which is what a common definition of fucktoy is (from what I can tell). Fucktoy is similar to slut in that sense, the common definition of slut is someone who fucks around but who isn’t gaining pleasure for themselves, only giving pleasure to others. In reality a slut can be many things, but the way I choose to view it is that it is someone who embraces hir own sexuality and chooses to engage in sexual activities in order to experience pleasure, both giving and receiving of pleasure. That is how I view fucktoy as well.

A fucktoy isn’t necesarially the one on the bottom, either, despite “toy” being part of the term, which we often equate as something being used. The beauty of a term like fucktoy is it combines an action with a (seemingly) inanimate object: fuck with toy, but toys are not always inanimate, they can do wonderful things (the SaSi comes to mind) and can embrace their given purpose, which is to bring pleasure in one form or another.

So, my (new) definition of fucktoy is as follows: a person who enjoys sex and sexuality with the purpose of giving and receiving pleasure for the benefit of all involved.

Are you a fucktoy too?

It's Just Breath Control

I sat astride his chest, “It’s just a thrill,” he said,
as he relaxed on the dark, dark bed,
“it’s just breath control.”
He whispered “Hold me here” and I did and his head fell back.
He whispered “Press harder” and I did and his eyes rolled back. It’s just breath control.

-“Breath Control” by Recoil

This post comes to you by request of the sweet, lovely, and brilliant Elizabeth (I may have a bit of a crush, shhhh… and let’s not mention her partner Gabe as well… they are both amazing and fabulous), she asked me about the allure of breath play, what I see in it, and why it’s appealing. This is something I’ve been thinking quite a bit about lately, as both the play parties we went to ended up with me desiring breath play at one point or another. It really is something that I highly enjoy, and I don’t ask for it as often as I feel the desire for it.

One instance in particular comes to mind for me to talk about. This was back when I still lived in Ashland, Oregon and Master was coming over for a weekend at a time to visit. I think it was around his birthday in December 2005, our relationship was still pretty new, especially on the physical level, and we had played with breath play a little bit already, but this was the first time I remember experiencing a big “wow” factor, it was what turned breath play from a casual desire to a permanent kink.

We were cuddling on the couch, watching Buffy or Angel (I don’t remember which) as we usually did. Pretty much all we did when he visited was fuck, eat, and if we could pull ourselves out of bed, watch Buffy or Angel (as I own all twelve seasons and make everyone that gets close to me watch through them with me). I forget what provoked it, I may have asked for it or we may have been talking about it, I’m not sure, but I do remember that he had me breathe in deeply before covering my nose and mouth with his hand (my favorite way of experiencing breath play).

I took a breath and we looked into each others eyes as he began controlling me. He held me past he had before, making me light headed and a little dizzy, but in an exquisite way. I felt completely under his power, extremely helpless, and a little out of it in a weird way. I was completely conscious, but felt almost drunk or just loose, basically I was a lot less self-conscious and my overanalytical brain was shut off a bit, I was in the moment rather than overthinking everything as I usually do.

So, basically, there are three main factors which I believe contribute to my enjoyment of and desire for breath play: control, vulnerability, and headspace. The control aspect should be fairly obvious, the Top is controlling the breath of the bottom, controlling something which is usually automatic and subconscious. It brings focus to the mundane and is a way for the Top to illustrate the power ze has over the bottom, because ze controls not only the bottom’s conscious actions but also the unconscious. It can easily be worked into mindfuck scenarios that way as well.

Vulnerability is pretty obvious as well, I think, basically the bottom is putting hir life into the hands of the Top. If the Top was to hold on for a little longer ze could make the bottom pass out or even die (though, of course, none of us would pick Tops who would even consider doing something like that, but the threat is there). The bottom is completely under the power of the Top, and must trust hir completely in order to engage in breath play, and I believe, like all edge play, if done correctly it can strengthen the bond between Top and bottom.

I find that breath play gets me in an immediately vulnerable, helpless, and (basically) a submissive mindset. My brain shuts down a bit (in a good way) and I am taken into a form of sub-space. I am able to dip into that mindset quicker than any other method which we have played around with. In some ways it’s a very spiritual experience as well, as I find all sub-space or pain-space to be, which is really a seperate post I’m working on as well. It brings me more into the serving aspect of my personae, which doesn’t usually happen very easily.

That said, each experience I’ve had with breath play are all slightly different, but they are all slightly the same. The mindset which results is not always identical, and it also depends on what else it’s coupled with and the intensity of it. If we do a short amount while Master is fucking me the affect is completely different than if we are doing nothing but breath play (like the scenario above) or if he is caning me and holding my breath (like the experience at the play party). Every experience slightly varies but the core tenants are the same: control, vulnerability, and headspace/mindset.

Genderqueer Drag Quing HNT

Click here for the larger version.

In honor of the Femme Conference which starts tomorrow (more info at the Femme Collective site or my post a while ago) I thought I would post something gender-related. It isn’t exactly naked skin, so half-nekkid might be a little bit of a stretch, but sometimes clothes can make me more naked than nakedness ever could.

The above images (yes, there is a second image if you click on the image above) are representations of me, really a mixture of my drag king and drag queen sides, hence the title, drag quing. All of the clothing I am wearing is mine, the shirt is actually the same shirt I wore to my Junior Prom, all those years ago, though I had a different black suit (not pinstriped) and a pink tie on (which matched my date’s dress–also pink hair and pink socks to match). I love suits, both on myself and on others.

Gender is something I’ve been thinking a lot about lately, specifically my gender but also gender in general. Sometimes I miss the butch side of me, the side which used to be most prominent, but has now taken a back seat to my femme-ininity. I sometimes wonder where that butch went, the baby butch I was in high school has morphed into this femme identity, and sometimes I want to bring my butch back.

Recently I shaved Master’s head, and ever since I have been missing my own short hair, my own shaved head. At the same time I love the long hair that I have now, it is the longest it’s been since 8th grade, approaching where it was then, even. I have these mixed emotions about it all. It’s not like I think I have to pick butch or femme, that I have to be one or the other. I know that I settle somewhere in the middle, and that I can decide what gender I feel like expressing at any given moment, on any given day. But it is still hard to reconcile the genders within me, as society makes it difficult to be in that middle-ground.

So, this is my blending of my identities. The long red hair, red lips, red fingernails, with the black pinstripe suit and tie. You can’t tell from the way I’ve cropped it, but I also had on a fedora, a short black skirt, fishnets, and my black doc martins. Perhaps someday, once I get my tripod and a remote for my camera, I’ll show you the whole package. This is my genderqueerness, and I thought you all might like to see it.

The Day We Met

A couple weeks ago Master and I had one of our three anniversaries. Yes, one of the three. Now, I’m not big on anniversaries, I don’t demand gifts or things like that, and this last anniversary passed with little recognition until a few days later when I realized it had passed. I do like anniversaries for the sheer and simple fact that it is a way of marking the time we have spent together, a way of remembering the day we met, or the day we collared, or the day I moved a few hundred miles East to be with him (those are the three anniversaries if you didn’t figure).

I like remembering the day the anniversary celebrates, so I thought to commemorate the anniversary of the day we met face-to-face (which was actually two weeks ago, July 29th) I would tell you a little bit about that day.

First, to tell you about the day we met face-to-face I have to give a little background about how we met and all that other stuff. I have a little bit of it written in my about page but it doesn’t go into great detail. I haven’t really talked about how we met in this blog yet, just where we are now.

Master and I met online on irc.sexnet.org in late 2004, December or so. I had just gotten out of a relationship and was rather sour on relationships in general, he was still married and rather sour on relationships in general as well. I had been told by a friend of mine that he thought I was one of “Pan’s girls” (Master goes by Pan or Pantos online) as in, someone that he scened with on a regular or semi-regular basis. I had never really interacted with Pan although we had similar friends and had seen him around since 2002, so I told him that, and he was surprised because, as he said, Pan and I have really similar desires and sexual tastes.

Needless to say I was intrigued. I made it my intention to get to know Pan better, to talk to him, see if we really were as compatible as J had said. Obviously we were otherwise I wouldn’t still be with him three and a half years later. We began talking, just getting to know each other at first, and then it moved to more. We both declared that we didn’t want a relationship, that we would just be friends and have fun online and chat on the phone and whatnot, but that we weren’t looking for anything serious. I had a crush offline that I was trying to subtly get with, and I talked about her with him, and we got to be good friends.

We talked about him coming to see me in March of 2005, though only idly, and so it didn’t really happen. We were in and out of touch for quite a while, talking most days but not quite every day, that usual online stuff. One night in June we were talking (he was drunk) and he told me that he loved me, that he was in love with me. I was surprised because we had sworn to each other that we would be just friends, but not that surprised because I had suspected he felt for me more than a friend. I knew I felt for him as well, and him telling me that allowed me to feel what I felt for him. I told him I loved him as well, and we started talking about him coming to meet me.

I moved in June, and went home to Alaska for a couple weeks, and then when I came back to Ashland we started seriously planning. He was going to come over on the weekend of the 22nd, arrive Friday night then leave Sunday night, be back home in time for work the next day and all that. He wasn’t able to get on a flight that weekend, he was flying standby at that time as his (ex)wife works for Delta and so he got free flights. And a side note on the wife thing, they were polyamorous, and she knew about me. He was not cheating and I wouldn’t have been with him if he had been. However, I did know that he had been unhappy with her for a few years prior to us being together, so I was a catalyst–though not the reason–for him eventually leaving her.

Back to the story. He wasn’t able to get a flight on the 22nd, which we both bemoaned, and catching a flight the next day would just not be good enough, since we would have even less time together. Since the Medford airport is so small there was only one flight from SLC to Medford a day, so it wasn’t like he could hop on a flight an hour later. We grumbled and were upset but he told me that he would try again the next weekend. And so, on July 29th, 2005 he hopped on a plane from SLC to Medford, then took a taxi to my apartment and knocked on my door.

I remember I had dressed up for him. I put my hair in pigtails, wore a black button-up shirt and my short yellow and green plaid schoolgirl skirt with thigh high fishnets and a garter belt. I was looking hot, and I knew it. I had just moved into the apartment and had very little furniture at the time, though I did have a bed upstairs, and a chair and futon in the living room, but that was it. The living room was large and spacious with just a few scraps of furniture in it. I opened the door, we said hello, he set his luggage down, and then we proceeded to maul each other. He pressed me against the door, we kissed hungrily, he slid his fingers under my skirt…

The first meeting is somewhat of a blur, honestly. I remember kissing him seconds after he came through the door. I remember us not making it two feet before just getting down and fucking right in the living room. He had me kneel and take his cock in my mouth while still against the door, then we moved and he fucked me from behind, my cunt and my ass. It was a whirlwind of excitement for the both of us. Nearly eight months of foreplay had led us up to this point, and there was no way we were leaving any inch of each other untouched.

I remember cuddling up next to him lying there on the floor of my living room, both of us spent and happy after an uncountable number of orgasms. We were cuddling my favorite way, him on his back and me on my side facing him, my head fitting right in that nook that still feels like it’s made for me. We were grinning like fools and so amazingly happy, and all I could think was how perfect we fit together.

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