Phew… I’m going to write this like I just launched myself on the couch and we’re on a video call to catch you up on the last… year. “How have you been babe? What’s new? What’s happening?” I ask you trying to avoid talking about me first. I’m so sick of talking about me. Not because I think I have become boring, oh hell no. It’s been a VERY entertaining year. It’s because I keep doing it, on the podcast, in real life with friends, at work when introducing myself, and for an underpaid job that is called promoting oneself. Inevitably, it sucks the energy out of me when someone goes: “Tell me a story! What’s going on? Let me live vicariously through you!” Welcome to socialising with anyone over 30. So I take a deep breath, put on my performative voice, and tell them about my kinky life and laugh with them. But I’m exhausted. Of performing. Of analysing. Of censoring (to protect identities). Of being a court jester.
I signed up for this though! We both always knew that it would be this way. I’d have to go first. The story has to start somewhere. Someone has to share first. Then the wonderful magic happens. “Interesting, I wonder how I would feel in that situation…” is usually how we start really exchanging some vulnerability. So here goes, another piece of me, yours for the taking.
Well, what do you want to know? The kinky shit? Of course! That’s the fun stuff, innit?
I have to admit, even I am surprised at how easy it’s become for me to talk about the increasingly weird situations I continue to find myself in. I’m not surprised with the turns I’m taking as much as I am with how openly others ask about them now.
You did what?! Wait, wait, wait… how did that even come about?
Ok, so I think I’ve blabbered about nothing for long enough. Let’s get to story time, shall we? FINALLY, they all thought in unison.
Fine. This story starts on Thanksgiving weekend. I went for drinks with Liam’s friends. (Sorry if this is triggering for anyone who read the book, don’t worry, it’s not going where you fear it might.) They inadvertently told me that he had actually met that Rachel gal way earlier than I thought, and was likely cheating on me for at least a year before deciding to move across the world with me. So that was a fun realisation. *Insert biggest eye roll ever.*
Because I am an emotionally stable human being, I went home to sob in Laura’s lap and proceeded to booty call the only other asshole that would make me feel worse than I already did. I’m just a gem like that. (#selfcare, am I right?) By the time Monday morning shone the shame onto my smart little brain, I resigned to spending the holiday alone and miserable, mindlessly scrolling through Instagram. That’s what you get for continuously, and now consciously, enacting toxic patterns Christine. *She shrugs her shoulders.*
Blissfully unaware of the consequences of such an innocent gesture, I sent this guy a fire emoji response on a story of him at the gym. He and I had previously only been in touch to potentially work on a project together. I didn’t think this would be out of line as he was hot as fuck. Ain’t nothing wrong with a little bit of thirsty positive reinforcement, right? I am still in utter fucking shock as to the events that would ensue.
To my surprise, he replied: “Grrrr.” My whole body shuddered with excitement.
He was my very personal epitome of Man. Tall, strong, dark, unattainable.
Oh, we flirting now?! Oh okay, Imma bring it.
“Trouble.” I replied.
“Oh you have no idea. Think of trouble, times it by ten, then add a ton of lube. #inthemostrespectfulwaypossible.”
I smirked, “Looks like you met your match.”
“That’s what they all say.”
Alright, settle down Mister, I ain’t got nothing to prove. “I guess you’ll just have to find out for yourself,” I replied matter of factly.
And there it was, the gateway message to the most gloriously unlikely “strictly sexy” relationship I’d start.
Because nothing exciting ever happens easily, we sexted meandering the cornerstones of our schedules and logistics. Miraculously, we created a window. We had an hour and a half to enact a fantasy. I was to walk in and take my clothes off, while he lay there naked, touching himself to porn I had selected. I was to sit next to him, and begin touching myself… while he watched. We were not to touch until it became physically unbearable. He had sent me his address and I followed the agreed-upon instructions. My heart was racing as the elevator rose to uncharted territory.
What if it’s total dud? What if we have no chemistry? What if something goes horribly wrong?
The door was unlocked, and I took my shoes off trembling. I walked the two steps around the hallway corner to the glorious vision of him, sprawled naked, facing me, stroking himself. My eyes were shifty. For the first time in what felt like ever, I was nervous. I could not hold my stare, focused on undressing myself without toppling. As I sat down, I took a deep breath, and finally met his stare as my fingers met my clit. It was the hottest thing I had ever decided to do with a complete stranger. I couldn’t help myself and put my left hand on his leg, squeezing with lust. After he eventually looked back at the TV screen, I dared look at his cock.
Oh my fucking god.
Thick. Full. Hard. Huge.
I really hope it’s as delicious as it looks.
We kept watching each other, looking back at the screen every now and then. The sexual energy in the air was palpable; we were suffocating with desire. I eventually turned to him, our legs intertwining, as we faced each other from the ends of the couch, incredulously.
What the actual fuck.
We were actively forbidding our hands from meeting the other, knowing full well it was a lost cause. I wanted so badly to inch closer. My whole body was aching for contact… He put his hand on my leg. I bit my lip. He gasped. Wetness. He squeezed. I caved. Folding my body in half, I climbed the length of his legs to clench my hands around his face and the electricity coursed as our lips touched. The surreal had collided with reality, as our tongues dove into each other. He shoved me back down, for his mouth to dive into me.
My hips rose to meet his wet tongue. My eyes rolled back as the convulsions started. It was almost violent the way our bodies collided, antithetically melting into each other.
His hand pressed down on my navel. His fingers were now deep inside of me, as he grazed me with all of his tips. I was being discovered by his adoration, and I had dissociated from my physical existence. I was floating somewhere, at his mercy.
I folded in half again, starting at his nipple. He had been playing with it previously, and I was thankful for the hint. As my teeth gently closed in on it, my hands travelled down his strong arms, to the start of his obliques. My tongue threatening his cock, my body still folded in half, my hands hovered over his balls. He lifted me and stood up so as to better penetrate my mouth. It was almost intimidating, his intimates taking over my face. Yet as my hands travelled up and down his body, my mouth was getting the best of him. He flipped me around to take a handful of my ass in his hands and collapsed overtop me, while I lay there, juicy and unbelieving, still hungry.
Spent, soft and tender, we were reduced to a puddle of affection. He cleaned me up, and leant me against his chest. While I gathered my senses, to realise that I was in a stranger’s arms, one that seemed so unattainable to begin with, he just stroked and squeezed pieces of me in admiration. “This body… holy shit.” “Umm, thanks?” “No seriously, it’s perfect.”
Needless to say my feeling chubby for the past few months was supplanted by feeling like a goddess. (I know I should say someone else’s opinion shouldn’t impact on how I see my body, but if you saw him, you’d get it.)
“Thank you.” I said looking up at him, to plant a gentle kiss on his lips. My tongue got lost in his and soon we were climbing each other again, fondling our most tender parts. Reality won the race this time as we both realised our time was up. The window was closing and the high was phenomenal.
He squeezed me and looked at me for a few seconds. “You’re fun,” he said before disappearing. As the elevator door closed, I put my face in my hands and took a deep breath. Some guy walked on half way down, and I couldn’t help but wonder: if the stupid grin on me doesn’t give it away, can he smell the sex on me?
I skipped and strutted to my car, and heard the familiar sound emanate from my phone.
“Holy fuck!!!!!!!!!!! FUUUUUUUUCK!!!!”
“My thoughts exactly,” I replied.
It’s crazy how things happen. It’s crazy how little, tiny, almost inaudible things become so loud and shiny that they eclipse the noise and the static of all anxiety. They always take me by surprise, although by now I should really know better.
That’s the thing: know what better? Isn’t this the point: to continue to be surprised by where life takes you?
Since the beginning of this year, I feel like I’ve had as many lives as the number of borders I crossed. Each destination having its particular role to play in the unfolding of Christine, the Author. I feel like every time I read something I wrote, or listen back to podcast episodes from just a few months ago, or even look back into my instagram stories, I realise I have grown leaps and bounds. I am changing. It’s fact now. It’s no longer scary. It could even be exciting if I wasn’t so stuck on expecting the worst.
I was smiling like my face was about to fall off. I was speechless, because there are no words to cover this gaping hole in logic. Perspectives change within minutes. When you realise in the evening that your day wasn’t at all what you had expected it would be, not even in your wildest dreams, it unlocks this cool butterfly thing in your belly. When that starts to happen repeatedly, you try not to believe that you’ve figured something out, because inevitably that undoes it.