Friday night was not my finest moment. I was weighted down with a combination of illness, late and long working hours plus the knowledge that dinner with Mr Smith was precisely and only that: a meal and company.
Dinner with someone with whom you have effectively broken up with is never a pleasant situation, but in the curious way of BDSM and multiple relationships we still have a friendship and still have some dates in the diary for kinky activities. However, the heart of our connection is gone and that made me more mad, sad and annoying to be around than I might have otherwise thought. The knowledge that he was going home to his wife, that I was going home to myself made me feel lonely. Added to this, in one of those twists of fate I seem to trip over quite often, my decision to stop the D/s connection has actually made things better with his wife and his ability to see other casual lovers. Now, I have no interest in being either a casual lover nor his wife so there was little point in getting all dog in the manger over things but it certainly made me feel as if the universe was playing tricks.
So, feeling heavy hearted and in need of some diverting I checked OKCupid and replied to a few messages. Arriving home, it became clear that one of my responses was from someone quite close by. We arranged to meet the next day. If nothing else, it would give me something to do that wasn't connected with anything that had gone before, which was what I needed then and there.
I had no expectations. I had made no plans. I had nothing in my bag beyond my keys and purse. He arrived and we chatted, slowly, strangely, I warmed to him. His smell was right, his physicality had the right sort of shape for me to sit just so, arrange myself near him in a way that was pleasing and extremely comfortable and comforting to my animal hindbrain. We stayed for a drink. Then another. Then another. We talked about all the usual nerd dating things. Then we began talking kink, and things got even more interesting.
"I want to take you home, but I don't want to have sex with you."
I raise an eyebrow at a sentence I've never heard before. He's adamant, however. And his assertiveness is striking - an unseen thread of steel through this soft-lipped boy with the high cheekbones and giggly laugh. It flashes for a moment, in the way that desire does, rippling and turning the evening from a nice dinner that would see me home alone but well-flirted with into something else.
We went back to his house and lay on his sofa, kissing for hours like teenagers whilst watching True Blood and commenting on what we were watching. It felt intimate and familiar, yet I couldn't remember the last time I'd had such an easy ride, to be able to just hang about without feeling the need to do anything much. The knowledge that I wasn't going to embark on three or four hours of heavy play was both a relief and a source of slightly comedic consternation - after all, if we weren't here for sex, what were we here for?
To get to know me better.
I don't know what made him decide to say that, then and there. Something in what I said about my life, my partners, the scene has set him down that particular thought path. Or perhaps something in him, a desire clearly stated, to wait, to hold something back, to take time. The natural response of a pervert is to push - to tease out from people things they see they find difficult. So in that moment he stopped being just a boy from the internet and became a pervert.
We went to bed, and my theory was confirmed - he's a switch as well. After a pleasing amount of appreciative noises over my naked body we started to fool around a little and talked a lot. About sexual encounters past and hoped for, fantasies and desires, lovers long gone and recent heartbreaks. All the while he stroked me, running fingers and kisses up and down whichever piece of skin came to nearest contact with him. All throughout, he kept gently reminding me that we were not going to have sex - made all the more deliciously frustrating by the discovery that he had a large cock. Equally, his own obvious frustrations made me interested in the background to this self-denial. Eventually I announced my intention to orgasm, and he watched, still stroking my skin, pouring filth in my ear with a low whisper that made me gasp, shatteringly to a climax. He held me close. We fell asleep.
In the morning, he brought me tea in bed and we played around more - showing each other our particular tweaks and sensitivities. He took me by the hand and led me to the shower, I washed his hair and he pressed his fingers inside my cunt. We dried each other off and I got dressed and left with his phone number.
I am still wrapped up in that hazy cloud of sexuality made all the better by not concerning myself with what happens next. Yes, I would like to see him again. But also yes, I would like to take things slowly and without the need to assert myself in any particular role or power exchange with regards to him, or indeed anyone for rather a while.