Listening

So, okay. New boy. Brand new. Fun boy! Let's call him: Caleb! (Looks in archives of blog, ponders new fake names, comes up with Caleb.)

You know what's hot? What turns me on? What makes me slick, like slippery wet stones in a brook in the backyard of sexual reawakening? (Holy Extended Metaphor, Batman.)

Really. Good. Listening skills.

Seriously.

You might have strong hands, you might have smoldering eyes, you might know the gspot like the back of your hand, but if you're not listening to what I'm saying...

Sorry.

I know. And it's not a super duper turn on.

I'm smarter than you, Guy Who's Nodding, Guys Who's Rubbing the Back of My Neck, Guy Who Gives Random Compliment at Random Time.

"You have the most beautiful eyes."

DOES NOT BEAT:

"You know what I like about you. You have no filter. You say what you want to say and it's not awkward or mean. It's just what you want to say." THIS is what Caleb said.

"Your skin is like...porcelain."

DOES NOT BEAT:

"Have you always been this innocent? This full of wonder?" THIS is what Caleb said.

Written down--maybe the innocent thing sounds cheesy, untrue, a ridiculous exaggeration. But honestly, I am innocent. I am full of wonder. Despite all the men, despite all the threesomes, despite the recent broken heart, despite the bdsm and the orgies and the strapons--I'm innocent. I'm full of wonder. I look at this world I'm in and created for myself and I'm like--ahh. Wonderful.

These are things that Caleb said. Because he was responding to what I was giving him.

It's hot.

It's his practice, it's his game, it's his way of "getting" women. Granted. But you gotta get chicks somehow. Why not get them by listening to what they're FUCKING SAYING TO YOU?! Am I right or am I right?

Besides, I think Caleb doesn't have expectations. He just takes what you're putting out there. And makes it work. That's a good way to live! ANYWAY!

Back to being slick as stones. Back to juicy pussy Janie.

For my birthday, I invited a select few to join me for an afternoon of brunch and sexy time. Brunch lasted for longer than sexy time. Both are so important in my heart. It is very hard to balance goat cheese and rosemary tart with fooling around. I try, though.

"I have to leave in about 20 minutes," said Caleb.

"Well, then we better get undressed," said Jefferson.

Earlier that afternoon, Caleb had told me that his present to me on my birthday was just going to be enjoying who I was, celebrating me.

"That's so nice!" I said. And I meant it. I giggled and blushed.

Still.

I ALSO wanted a little play from Caleb. Ha. I mean, who wouldn't? Handsome, thoughtful, quirky, giggly, boyish, manly.

But when Jefferson said, "Let's get undressed!" Caleb did just that! He left the room. And peeled off his clothes. Then came back in. I barely caught a glimpse of his body when he returned. It was only a moment before he showed me to the bed. Had me lie down on my back. Started massaging everything. I closed my eyes.

To be true, I immediately starting thinking, touch my tits, touch my pussy. You know how it is, ladies. Sometimes, some parts are greedier than others. Sometimes, initially, you don't want to wait. But Caleb was thinking: This is her whole body. Her whole body is connected to her tits, her pussy. I will start with arms. Neck. Shoulders. Legs. Calves.

Hair pull.

Mmmm. What HANDS.

I am making sounds. Quiet sounds. I am getting slick at stones in a brook. I am not moving from this position. I am not asking for him to touch anything except what he wants to touch. And I am not even asking that.

He's already heard it.

However, I DO say, "Caleb. Caleb with the hands, everyone," to the whole room, the other sex party guests, so they know, so they know our new friend Caleb has capable hands.

Props, after all, must be given.

And then, suddenly, his fingers are inside me. Probing. His fingers are on my clit. Rubbing. My cunt is accepting everything. I have never been so ready for a goddamn fingerbang. I am not thinking of his cock. I am thinking of his fingers which are an extension of everything.

He is suddenly humming to himself, nearly purring. He is coaxing my orgasm out of me with sounds like an animal. And so I come. Then again, I am coming, and I am beginning to get loud, and Caleb his growling in my ear, kissing and sucking and growling into my ear, loading my head with his sounds, pulling me to the sounds, towards his mouth by my hair, suddenly he is making me listen. And I am hearing it. I am hearing what he wants loud and clear.

Come for me, he is saying, but in grunts and growls and moans. No words. This is how I translate it. This is what I decide to hear as I listen. So I do. I come. Again.

Like...three times?

I am blissed out.

"Happy Birthday, Birthday Girl," he says. "I gotta go."

And he goes.

Just like that. Part of me wanted to get up and show him out. But let's face it: it's better to just be lying down, still, quiet, blissed out. With my warm cunt, my alive body, my happy heart. All of which are saying so much without saying anything at all.

For the first time in a while, I am listening to Janie.

Believe It Or Not, I Have Been Semi Blogging Lately...

It's just that I've been doing it on Twitter!

I'm janie_blooms2 there. http://twitter.com/#!/janie_blooms2

I suggest that if you haven't been following me on Twitter, that you start following me there.

What has happened: I got a new job, I moved, my boyfriend and I broke up. I've been excited, mournful, eternally hopeful, occasionally sad, blissfully bewildered annnnd horny.

And I recently had a wee birthday orgy to celebrate all that.

I'm going to write an actual post about my adventures of late. Promise. This week.

A TLBFB Series: ADVENTURES IN OPEN RELATIONSHIP LAND Part I: Getting Our Needs Met

Many of my readers on several different occasions have asked me to write more about the ins and outs of my open relationship with my boyfriend, Adam. Tonight I feel inspired to do just that. This will the first of a few posts in a series I’m going to call Adventures in Open Relationship Land.

My boyfriend and I have decided to be in an open relationship on approximately five different occasions. Every time, we have gone a bit deeper into ACTUALLY enacting an open relationship. It was only two times ago that we finally put on paper some of the guidelines by which we’d like to conduct our open relationship. For me, this was so vital. Not in determining exactly how our open relationship will go—you never really know how it’s going to go, how people are going to feel, who you’re going to meet, etc—but it was vital in that it made me think about my relationship BELIEFS. What I WANTED out of our relationship. What I NEEDED. What were my relationship NEEDS?

A lot of us go into a relationship and let the relationship happen TO US. I wanted the relationship between Adam and me to happen FOR US. I wanted to be the subject of my relationship, not the object. And I’d never really thought of it that way before writing up this contract. We can conduct this relationship however we like, as long as our needs are being met. One of us can be actively seeking out partners while the other is only seeing his/her primary, and it doesn’t matter—as long as our needs, individual and collective relationship needs—are being met. The open relationship needn’t be symmetrical—but it needs to be equal. We both need have our needs EQUALLY MET.

People who are sort of outside gazers on our open relationship wonder how it can work when Adam is out fucking another girl at an orgy and I am staying at home and nursing my menstrual cramps. How can I POSSIBLY be happy with a situation like that? Don’t I feel lonely, neglected, sorry for myself? No, I don’t. Haven’t yet. Why? Well, we make sure that I DON’T. Because the night before that orgy, Adam tied me to the bed, blindfolded me, and played with my body for hours. We made love many, many times, softly, roughly, I cried in his arms, I Mommied him, we laughed and made out like teenagers in between eating salami and provolone sandwiches. And we fell asleep in each other’s arms. This actually happened. My NEEDS had been amazingly, stupendously, wonderfully met the night before Adam went to the sex party. So the next day, I was walking around with the same validated, blissed out, in love feeling that everyone experiences after a good date with the person they love. And when I feel that way, I’m so happy when Adam goes out and gets what he wants—gosh, Adam can do whatever he wants. I mean, within reason, of course. He can do whatever he NEEDS. Because my needs have been met. Our relationship’s needs have been met. And we can proceed boldly, daringly, adventurously in other directions because of that.

And then we can come back together again stronger.

That’s the beauty of the open relationship for me. It encourages my independent explorations—it asserts that Adam need not be my EVERYTHING at all times (and I need not be his). The open relationship says, Go, be my own person, have my own experiences, and then share them with my partner. The beauty of the open relationship for me is that we’re not being open, separately—we’re being open TOGETHER. This is a journey we’re each taking on our own, together! And every successful relationship is dependent on that—new experiences together. Studies say that couples who go experience new and exciting things together—their relationships are invigorated and rejuvenated over and over again. The beauty of the open relationship is the ability—as long as our BASIC needs are being met--to insert new life, new vim and vigor into our relationship whenever we both see fit. As two people on the same journey, experiencing different diversions along the way.

An open relationship is about valuing our freedom and valuing our security.

In my next post in the series, Adventures in Open Relationship Land, I’m going to show you a few points we’ve written down in our “open relationship contract” which is always in flux. I’m going to point out some of the open relationship “mantras” that have helped me understand and reiterate to myself what this open relationship thing is, and what it can be. I have the distinct feeling that a lot of the points will be related to by monogamous folks as well. My open relationship contract is just as much a relationship contract as an open relationship contract. So stick around!

The Prospect of Getting Fisted

I want a hand up there. Past the knuckles. To the wrist. A fist. In my vagina.

Mostly because I think I'm capable. There are some things I know I'm capable of but have no interest in doing. I'm entirely capable of eating fennel. No desire to, though. Ugh. Fennel. But that other F word--fisting.

Exciting stuff.

A couple weeks back at Chemistry, this sex party in Brooklyn, a lovely woman named Molly (who I might very well be able to link to somewhere on the internet right now, but I only know her from real life, and you can't link a real person in a blog post, though that would be fun if you could--click on the hyperlink and bam they're there) got all five fingers inside my cunt. Just up to that big knuckle though, not past it. So not technically fisting. She got all those fingers in by warming me up with OUTSTANDING erotic massage, tons of lube, and then--The Juicer. Which is forming your fingers into a shape where all the fingertips are touching one another to make a sort of beak-like shape, and then the fingers go up the pussy, and rotate, like you'd do with a lemon and one of those old fashioned juicers. That felt FUCKING AWESOME. That fullness, and allll that lube, it just felt so delicious, so full, and I felt very, very, very relaxed, too. Like I could cum or go to sleep with her fingers inside me. Either or.

Wasn't a whole fist, though.

But I think I can get one up there. I do. In time.

A few nights later, my man tried The Juicer on me. Cuz he pays attention when I'm writhing on the mattress at a sex party with a girl's fingers stuffed into my soaking pussy--he wants to make that sort of thing happen again. But he wants to do it. I don't mind that he gets inspired by the other people I fool around with. In fact, that happens to be an outstanding benefit of this open relationship thang. We are always excited to get back to one another. Anyway. He got his fingers further inside. His hand is bigger. It felt that way. But it also felt super relaxing, again. There was occasional gspot stimulation but mostly just a feeling of getting rubbed and massaged from the inside out. And I felt suddenly very able to get fisted. And then it got to be a bit too much and he pulled his fingers out slowly.

But we got close!

I think when someone's wrist does disappear inside my vagina someday, I might cry. Just because I feel like that's a big awesome deal and the more stuff I can get inside my body that doesn't hurt me (ie, not bad food, drugs, cigarettes)--the better. I just like to feel full. In general. Which is why I think I dig on multiple orgasms. The first one always feels the best. But I'm a glutton. And I know if I can get a bunch of baby O's in, that's a good thing as well.

I'm gonna do some research on vaginal fisting. Anal sex seems like a really difficult thing for me (successful anal sex count--ONE) but fisting doesn't seem as scary. Maybe because my vagina isn't undiscovered country. I know her pretty well at this point. I like to think I know what she's capable of. I also like to think she'll continue to surprise me. But I'm getting to know her better. Every day. We're in a long-term relationship--my cunt and me.

Practice

My break-up and consequent getting-back-together with Adam totally kinked me out.

I sort of equate the changes that have occurred in me and with us since the break-up to a near death experience. Though I've never had a near-death experience, (except with the kidney stones in 2004, just kidding, I didn't almost die, but damn, those hurt) I imagine that after you have one, you suddenly feel the urgency to do the things you never did. To express the things you've never expressed. To take the bull by the horns and fuck that bull really hard. Er. No. That's not what I meant. You know what I meant.

Since the boyfriend and I have gotten back together, I have:

1) worn a pink wig while sucking him off.
2) cleaned his apartment and made his bed as foreplay.
3) engaged in Mommy/Little Boy play.
4) received bites from him on my back while he fucked me from behind, obtaining huge alien bruises.
5) fucked him while his roommate slept across the room.
6) gotten tied up and been made to squirt with the Eleven.
7) been choked with cock.
8) gone to Paddles, the friendly BDSM club, with a best friend from high school.
9) made plans for beatings with other men.
10) masturbated in front of Adam and gotten off to him telling me details of another girl's blow job the week before.

That last one is the biggie.

I had been wondering what they'd done. I knew it was everything but penetration. That's what he'd told me, in brief. But after riding Adam that afternoon and feeling his cock pulse inside me while his ass wore his new Njoy butt plug (gulp), I felt the need to get off one more time. With my hand. And his words in my ear.
I started to get wet. My fingers started to glide more easily over the hot little button.

"Did she make you cum?" I asked.

...

"Yes."

"How?"

"With her mouth on my cock and her hand jerking the shaft."

"Ahh."

"She kept jerking my cock as I came. The cum splattered all over my stomach."

"Sounds so...joyful," I said, circling my clit with my two fingers.

"Yeah," he said, his mouth near my ear.

I tucked my head into his shoulder. In that crevice where it meets the arm. I came shortly thereafter. Yelled a little bit. Inhaled and exhaled. And smiled. Wow, I thought. I managed to get wet and turned on by the details. The scary details. The hot details.

In a way, this was a test I wanted to give myself.

This is all brand new territory. I don't know what the fuck I'm doing. I'm just trying to listen to my heart really hard. To his heart really hard. I'm never exactly sure of the emotions all this open relationshipping will bring up. But I'm eager to feel the good stuff. Because contrary to popular belief, this open relationship stuff isn't all about just processing jealousy and envy and insecurity. It's supposed to be about processing joy. Even with this particular challenge, this challenge of sharing this man that I love, there has to be joy for his joy. It's tough. And awesome. I feel like I'm becoming a better girlfriend. And he's becoming a better boyfriend. And that makes me happy. I just want to get better. At being happy.

Happiness takes practice.

The Moment (One)

I am finding it hard to stay away from my blog these days.

I want to fill it up.

When I am feeling sexually inspired, I feel creatively inspired. At least lately. It wasn't always that way. When I first started getting laid on the regular, I sort of gave up writing altogether. And I lost a few pounds. Sex was sort of fulfilling both my desire to create and my desire to fill up my body.

(Cock is filling. It's like grape nuts. Or kale.)

Along with feeling creative, I am also feeling calmer. And all the things that were stressing me out before, while they still exist and many of them are still out of my control, well, they're not as unmanageable anymore. I know this has something to do with getting back together with the boyfriend. I think one of the things I value most about him is the way he is able to give me a sense of calm. It's not that I'm the spazziest, most manic gal in the world. But I can get overwhelmed.

(This is one of those thinky posts. One that doesn't say too much. One that rambles. I think I have one of these every six months or so. Usually right before or after a change. Life is very changey right now. Changey. I like that word.)

You know the moment before everything falls apart? The moment where you just don't think you can take anymore and then suddenly it gets so much worse? And everything just goes WHOOSH, up in smoke, down in flames, etc? I think I'm as far from that moment as one can be right now. In that I believe this is the moment right before everything comes together. And I'm seeing this, I'm seeing this very particular image over and over again in my mind's eye lately: the grass of my soul at its most lush. Totally unmanicured. There are weeds, too. Pretty ones you can't detect from flowers. It's all growing. A little girl sits in it. Grazes her hand over the tops of the blades of grass. The wind is blowing. A ribbon falls out of her hair. She's only got one pigtail. She doesn't care.

She feels as though that suddenly things are going to get that much better.

Mommy and The Good Boy

I should say that there is sensitive material in the blog post below. Incest fantasy themes. All parties mentioned are consensual. But it might trigger those who are particularly sensitive to such issues. Please be warned and proceed in reading at your own risk. Thank you!

I hear his electric razor buzzing away in the bathroom while I’m lying in the dark. It’s 2 am. I can taste the cranberry vodka on my lips. I can smell him on his sheets. It is late. I am drunk. I am happy to be in his bed again.

He comes back from the bathroom. Quietly creeps into bed. He lies down beside me. Takes my hand. Puts it above his cock.

There’s no hair there.

“I shaved it all off. More prepubescent this way…”

Gulp.

I know where this is going. It has never really gone here before.

Earlier, he had told me not to mother him. That he just wanted to have fun tonight. When I told him he might want to drink his drink slower. He was serious, but it gave me a certain rush. A few nights before, he put his head on my chest after we'd fucked. I played with his hair. He said he felt taken care of, that I felt maternal to him, in that position. And sometimes he puts his lips to my nipples and makes these little suckling sounds. Sometimes he’ll make a little boy sound when he’s doing this. It’s partly under the disguise of “ha, I’m being silly” when he does that, but for me--it's sick hot. These things are subtle, but I catalogue them. They trigger me, send a red hot current directly to my groin, and I want to simultaneously make him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with the crusts cut off and have him ram me with my legs up in the air.

“Feel it. It’s all smooth,” he says, and I massage the place where his pubic hair would be, right above his cock. Slightly. I graze his cock with my hand. He makes sounds. He is whimpering. I am barely touching anything important. But he gets hard as a rock.

He sneaks under the covers. I can’t see him at all. His mouth, without hesitation, is immediately all over my wet cunt. I start humping his face. I have my hand on top of his head, pushing it down. I swivel my hips to rub my pussy all over his mouth and chin. I use his mouth.

He is a good boy.

That’s what I’m thinking, not yet saying…

Minutes later, he is on top of me. And what he says soon after he’s inside me tears me apart.

“I want to make you happy, Mommy,” he says, panting as he thrusts, not like a boy, but like a man. But what I say is:

“Oh, my, you’re such a good boy.”

“Do I do it as good as Daddy, Mommy?”

“Better, baby. Better than Daddy.” I groan, feeling my pussy get slicker by the minute. “When did you get so big?”

“Oh, Mommy.”

“My good little sweet little boy.”

I start to moan loud.

“We have to be quiet, Mommy.”

We’ve never said things like this before.

It feels unnatural one minute. Very sexy the next. Very sweet. This dirty talk. This role play. I’m not sure how to do this. And then something clear as day pops into my head: I am teaching him how to love me. I am showing him the way Mommy likes it. I am showing him the way JANIE likes it. And when I suck his cock later, he groans, “Oh, Mommy!” and shivers are sent down my spine. When I jerk him off and he whimpers, I am beside myself. I tell him balls are so big now, so tight. And I think that everything he does right now he is doing to make me happy. This may or may not be the case, really. But I want so badly for him to feel grown up and worthy of all these big feelings I have for him. I want him to feel that as Adam, the man, the man I love, and as the boy, the boy I am in charge of right now.

I watch him finish himself off with his hand. I repeat over and over again “That’s a good boy, that’s a good boy.” I don’t know what else to say. It sounds like a bad porn, in a way. But that is all I can think of to say. That is all he is right now. He shoots long and hard. It hits my arm, my stomach.

And then I’m not sure what just happened.

I think we just lie there quietly in each other’s arms until we drift off to sleep.

This is all very promising.