Left Brain, Right Brain // 1:47 – 2:21

We quickly (and excitedly) made our way to the dive bar Mr. Martini had in mind for the evening & took our seats towards the back. I anxiously waited & sipped on my Screwdriver while eye fucking the gorgeous waitress and complimenting her/her tattoos any chance I got. After 10 minutes inside with the music & drunken yelling, I realized I wasn’t tipsy enough to be exist in the dimly lit booze den so we made our way to the patio to finish our drinks and wait.

After sitting out in the sunshine for a few minutes, admiring the sheer amount of dogs people bring to this place we see Mr. Martini strolling up, looking fairly determined and confident. Quite the change from the puppy dog I saw in his car at the gas station parking lot a few evenings before.

He walked up, found us & got himself (and me) a drink from the bar. We sat as the sun sank down behind the shimmering, ugly buildings surrounding us, shooting the most casual of shit considering the intended outcome of the evening. W & Mr. Martini discussed work, I made dick jokes whenever the opportunity presented itself & went on a full spiel about how if Martini wants a dog & can afford a dog, why not get one.

Dusk drops around us as I suddenly put the night’s most important question on the table: are we getting a hotel room or can he host? Because I’m mostly certainly down to fuck.

Mr. Martini pipes up that he can host & his apartment is just down the street from where we were sitting. We gather ourselves together & head his way as he does the same.

We pull up to what I can only describe as something that looked like dozens of aluminum shipping crates stacked on top of each other to make a building with windows & sliding glass doors installed. We make our way through the lobby & up to his place, my eyes burning at the sudden and intense brightness with which everything inside this opulent abode is lit. A quick knock on the door & we’re inside being greeted with the perfect thing: an offer of a dirty martini (with delicious jalapeno olives) & the sound of quiet music.

I slip off my shoes and marvel my way to his living room, noticing YouTube music playing some John Popper (ew, but whatever) jam session video. I take my seat on the couch as W spies a big, single seat chair & plops down in it, taking it as his own.

Mr. Martini brings me my drink & sits down on the couch next to me with his own. W being the smart man he is realizes, not a lot is going to start with him in the room. Both of the people expected to fuck are pants shittingly nervous & while there’s no real tension in the room regarding his presence, I’ve been monogamous for well over a decade – I had no idea where to even start.

He excuses himself for a cigarette & the next thing I know, I’m kissing and groping on Mr. Martini, pulling his pants down/off. I don’t even hear W come back in, but after we take a quick breathing break from stripping down and sucking face I notice him sitting in that big, poofy chair, watching the night unfold & smiling ear-to-ear. I took this as a big, beautiful green light to proceed however I wanted to…and I did.

Most of what happened next has been lost in a blur of time, excitement & alcohol.

I remember hearing him (Mr. Martini) gasp as I took his dick in my mouth, sucking & licking it like the last popsicle of my favorite flavor from the freezer.

I remember riding him and trying not to laugh because he was very much trying to bring male porn star energy and very much had no clue how to do that.

I remember cumming at least twice. Both times from his awesomely attuned hands.

I remember taking a smoke break & having him play with my pussy as I looked out over the balcony railing to the two big, gawdy Catholic churches that faced his place. I laughed at the lovely coincidence of it all and pushed his hand deeper into my cunt.

I remember him licking my armpits & sucking on my toes. My first fetish fun in forever.

I remember him asking (very nicely) for a spit-covered handjob and realizing he’s found the ONE thing I’m not at all skilled at sex wise.

And I remember us both deciding mutual masturbation was the best way to end this night. I laid back on his couch as I cranked his cock, fingering and eventually fisting my pussy as I watched. Having done live cams for years on end, I always wondered how I’d feel if someone was to give me a show in real life and as it turns out, it makes me cum just as hard if not harder than being on cam.

Mr. Martini and I collapsed in a pile of sweat and cum, opposite each other on his fancy couch. I played with his feet & traced his birthmark that looked a bit like Orion Belt sans the belt as the music played in the background & I finished the last drink he’d made.

We said our goodbyes & made our way back to the car, W & I all too excited to get home and jump all over each other again. I got him home and immediately let him dive into my ass, bouncing up and down on his cock, trying not to scream-moan the whole house awake.

The first one’s always the hardest, but Mr. Martini made it pretty damn easy and fun.

TRACK NOT FOUND

There was supposed to be an order to how we do these types of things. A long list of rules for how we approach it. We’d sat down the same day we’d decided to go on this adventure & made up a comprehensive way we thought we could make this work & maintain boundaries. A month in and I can successfully say, most of them have been left at the door as arbitrary, unhelpful or as a needless complication.

We have four rules that seem to have stuck around and evolved. And Mr. #1 helped created one of the big ones: no second chances. Flake on the first date and YOU’RE OUT, regardless of what your excuse is. The others I’ll go through another time, but right now lets talk about why I’m so goddamn merciless when it comes to canceling meet-ups last minute.

Mr. #1 got his name because he was our first choice to actually meet up for drinks/whatever comes later. But I honestly can’t even remember his face or dick (I’m pretty sure I saw both, it’s just etiquette) so maybe what happened next is for the best.

We’d scheduled Mr. #1’s meet up for the first Saturday after we’d dove into all this. That night I excitedly got all slutted up, threw my panties to the wayside & walked out of the house with W in tow to go meet what was supposed to be my first dick date.

I send him a text saying we’re on the way to the bar we agreed on right now, telling him how excited I was & get an almost immediate response back of…

“Oh wow, I totally forgot about our date (??). My mom has been in a serious car accident (?!) and I’m working out of town the next few days (!?!?!) so I can’t make it.”

Needless to say, I didn’t really buy it. Now, fuck me with a smiting if his poor mother did suffer some sort of accident, but the way it was typed (almost exactly how the above quote is) reeked of “the dog ate my homework” so I left him on read.

My disappoint & annoyance swelled until I remembered that Mr. Martini was close by where we were going to meet Mr. #1 and with a few quick text messages, date night was saved.

Me and My Husband // 1:15 – 1:32

Almost immediately after we’d both cum harder than either of us had in awhile (look at me, making assumptions about his orgasms like I have a dick or something), I dove into the depths of the internet researching/signing up for these sites he’d listed. AdultFriendFinder this… FetLife that… Fling. Tinder. Feeld. A whole list of sites who’s names I’d heard over the year, but never had any real reason to give a second thought to.

I dipped between creating these shiny new slut accounts & drunkenly reading and re-reading the article that had spurred him into talking to me about all of this.

It was a woman describing her own situation with this lifestyle in a way that I’d never heard before. Where you can do this type of thing and no one has to take any humiliation from it they don’t want to. W is not into insults for pleasure. Something, something Vixen/Stag/Buck vs. Cuckold/Wife/Bull. The terms being used to describe things took on a new importance that I hadn’t considered while searching up the porn I had been for the last couple (few?) years. You can put whatever fantasy you want on a cuckold clip, but when it comes to real life, words definitely matter.

After more talking (it seems huge amounts of honest communication seem to be key to doing this without hurt feelings) he proclaimed he had no desire for these dude’s to shit talk him, he just wanted to equivalent of live, personalized porn. And I wanted to be the world’s slut. It was and always has been a match made in an especially colorful level of Hell.

With his okay & confirmation that this was something he actually wanted to go forward with, I signed up and picked a name that I figured no one else would find me under. Since I already have a quite infamous and sexual presence on the internet (yes, I’ve conveniently skipped over that part, gimme a minute) I decided to go with something totally out of left field to (at least temporarily) hide the fact that my day job for the last 10+ years has been making independent fetish porn.

For the first time in my adult life I was just a silly slut on the internet looking for easily accessible dick that would obey boundaries & fuck me senseless. We weren’t even sure there would be any interest. I’m over 30 & I’m not exactly what the picture of the local beauty standards. Or beauty standards anywhere really. I’ve curated my look over the years to read “GET AWAY OR I MIGHT STAB YOU” not “Please socialize with me”.

The next morning we woke up to 20+ messages on the main site we’d chosen to fuck around on & dozens of messages everywhere else. Overwhelmed is an apt word to describe how it felt reading through those, but so are powerful, elated, surprised & horny.

Hell And You // 1:27 – 2:18

I’m never sure how to start this part. Every encounter we’ve had so far is amazingly easy to sum up. Like every other big revelation in our relationship over the last 15+ yrs, it happened during sex.

W had been making a weirdly large effort to get me more fucked up (drunk) than usual & I figured it was for our usual game of “of course you have permission to fuck said sleepy drunk girl”. I was wrong. It started out like that until in the middle of one of my moaning bouts I hear a very quiet, very intense voice come out of my favorite person & it whispers “I wanna share you”.

Que the simultaneous feeling of confusion and extreme elation. I would really say I stopped him, my pussy was waaaay too into what it had just heard to do that, but I did ask him in between gasps and groans if he was serious. Like really serious. He whispered back in my ear that he was and I had one of the best orgasms of my life.

Afterwards, hoping that his hard on wasn’t the one doing the talking I asked what the next step was. Where the fuck do we (safely and sanely) find people to “share” me with? How the fuck does this process work? How long had you been thinking about this? How long had I?

In the midst of doing crossfire style questions on each other, I had an epiphany of something that happened a couple months prior. I flashed back to a very “Spiderman points at Spiderman” moment where in the middle of me lamenting how we don’t have access to cloning technology so I could be properly fucked in a threesome, W randomly asked if I wanted to fuck other dudes. Through narrowed eyes I simply answered with a question of my own: did he want me to fuck other dudes? No, of course not.

Apparently, we’re both terrible liars.