Wait, how?
13 August 2008 23:33![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
amulExcerpt from a conversation had Elsewhere.
Her: Wait, so how did you meet your girlfriend?
Like I said, the party was themed after the Kushiel's series by Jacqueline Carey, so all the hosts and hostesses were wearing red outfits with open backs, revealing fake marque/tattoos, and many were wearing leashes and collars, with matching red leash-handles they wore around their wrists.
One of the hostesses, who would someday be my beloved Lacuna Diving Bunny, sauntered over to my friend and I and started talking to him. I ended up in a conversation with someone else, so that we were two separate pairs of conversations with no overlap. The person I was talking to got distracted for a few seconds, during which time I turned to the hostess talking to my friend, pointed to her leash, and asked if I could hold onto that. She handed me the leash just as my conversational partner returned her (his?) attention to me, and the conversation once more returned to two pairs.
About twenty minutes later, my friend moved on to a different locus in the party, and the hostess tried to walk away, only to discover the hard way that I was still holding on to her leash. Without missing a beat in my conversation, I reeled her back in, finished my conversation (another five minutes, at least), and then turned my attention to her.
Several hours later, we were still chatting, I still held her leash, and we'd shared a few drinks. She asked for her leash back so that she could go to the bathroom. When she left, I told myself that I'd occupied the attention of the prettiest girl in the room long enough, and I should gracefully let her move on. I faded into the background a bit, not really talking to anyone, but just sort of basking in the conversational afterglow and watching the tides of the party.
I saw her step back into the space she'd last seen me in. Watched her survey the room, peering into the corners and examining every group. She had this look on her face that said she'd lost something important. When she caught my eye, her face exploded into a smile that lit up the room (I always thought that phrase was a metaphor. Until then, I'd never actually seen a room grower brighter from a smile cast your way). She took three steps toward me and in the same fluid movement, slid her leash back around my wrist.
I'll tell you plainly, I masturbated over that moment several times over the next few weeks: the way her eyes lit up, the coarse nylon sliding back onto my wrist.
At that moment, I realized that her flirtations had not been merely a part of the evening's theme, and we negotiated quietly. I told her that I wanted to kiss her, but that she should know I was poly, even though I didn't have any partners at the moment. She replied that she was poly too, and that her husband would be getting off work soon and coming to the party. We established our boundaries, chatted about our rules, our beliefs about relationship styles.
Yet, I waited until her husband arrived before making the next move. When he arrived, I waited for an appropriate moment and introduced myself, "Hey, your wife has been saying some things, and I wanted to double check with you before believing her." He replied, "Whatever she told you is true. I trust her." I grinned, "That was a much shorter conversation than I thought it would be. You just got off work? Let's do some shots."
About an hour and 10 shots apiece later, I was necking with his wife on a couch, while her husband lay in an inebriated puddle on the floor next to a St Andrew's. He kept giggling, pointing at me and telling the girl tied to the cross, "I like this guy. He did shots with me."
Her: Wait, so how did you meet your girlfriend?
Like I said, the party was themed after the Kushiel's series by Jacqueline Carey, so all the hosts and hostesses were wearing red outfits with open backs, revealing fake marque/tattoos, and many were wearing leashes and collars, with matching red leash-handles they wore around their wrists.
One of the hostesses, who would someday be my beloved Lacuna Diving Bunny, sauntered over to my friend and I and started talking to him. I ended up in a conversation with someone else, so that we were two separate pairs of conversations with no overlap. The person I was talking to got distracted for a few seconds, during which time I turned to the hostess talking to my friend, pointed to her leash, and asked if I could hold onto that. She handed me the leash just as my conversational partner returned her (his?) attention to me, and the conversation once more returned to two pairs.
About twenty minutes later, my friend moved on to a different locus in the party, and the hostess tried to walk away, only to discover the hard way that I was still holding on to her leash. Without missing a beat in my conversation, I reeled her back in, finished my conversation (another five minutes, at least), and then turned my attention to her.
Several hours later, we were still chatting, I still held her leash, and we'd shared a few drinks. She asked for her leash back so that she could go to the bathroom. When she left, I told myself that I'd occupied the attention of the prettiest girl in the room long enough, and I should gracefully let her move on. I faded into the background a bit, not really talking to anyone, but just sort of basking in the conversational afterglow and watching the tides of the party.
I saw her step back into the space she'd last seen me in. Watched her survey the room, peering into the corners and examining every group. She had this look on her face that said she'd lost something important. When she caught my eye, her face exploded into a smile that lit up the room (I always thought that phrase was a metaphor. Until then, I'd never actually seen a room grower brighter from a smile cast your way). She took three steps toward me and in the same fluid movement, slid her leash back around my wrist.
I'll tell you plainly, I masturbated over that moment several times over the next few weeks: the way her eyes lit up, the coarse nylon sliding back onto my wrist.
At that moment, I realized that her flirtations had not been merely a part of the evening's theme, and we negotiated quietly. I told her that I wanted to kiss her, but that she should know I was poly, even though I didn't have any partners at the moment. She replied that she was poly too, and that her husband would be getting off work soon and coming to the party. We established our boundaries, chatted about our rules, our beliefs about relationship styles.
Yet, I waited until her husband arrived before making the next move. When he arrived, I waited for an appropriate moment and introduced myself, "Hey, your wife has been saying some things, and I wanted to double check with you before believing her." He replied, "Whatever she told you is true. I trust her." I grinned, "That was a much shorter conversation than I thought it would be. You just got off work? Let's do some shots."
About an hour and 10 shots apiece later, I was necking with his wife on a couch, while her husband lay in an inebriated puddle on the floor next to a St Andrew's. He kept giggling, pointing at me and telling the girl tied to the cross, "I like this guy. He did shots with me."
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Date: 14 Aug 2008 05:39 (UTC)no subject
Date: 15 Aug 2008 06:06 (UTC)