Of Wolves and Words

This is a place for me to air the introspection of wolf #3 since she doesn't mesh or really play well with the other two who are doing their best to stay rowdy in my main blog The Diner.

I'll be posting original writings as I process some stuff on the road to being a more functional human being. And reblogging anything that fits the vibe.

I'm thinking about the only partner I ever used a strap with. Third of the total four girlfriends I've had.

To this day I still have no idea what initially made me ask. I'd thought about it before, ever since understanding my attraction to women, I'd daydreamed and wondered if I'd ever get the chance.

It's been 5 years, maybe more, and all I know is it was unprompted.

A confidence I often pretend to claim swelled in me and somehow my courage became audible: "I want to get a strap-on. I want my arms around you while I make you feel good."

I didn't expect her to readily agree. I didn't expect the warm feeling of shopping for it together online. I didn't expect the excitement of the day it arrived. I didn't expect how at ease I felt in trying it on.

I rarely let myself remember the heady feeling of that first moment pushing into her. I shy away from the echo of her moans and whimpers.

I hate the way so much time has past and still my heart skips a beat and squeezes in my chest.

I wish I didn't remember the way those moments felt.

I want so badly to forget that she demanded it be okay for her to sleep with men. The way she told me I could never compare to them.

The way I just accepted, didn't fight, didn't leave. Just "Yeah sure, baby, whatever you need."

I want to forget that she asked me if we could try it again. I want to lie to myself and pretend I didn't eagerly jump at the chance. Only for her to push me away when my moans joined hers. Only to tell me she wanted no part of my "disgusting fantasy."

As if my desire to hold her close was an affront to decency; a sickness of loving her.

I wish I wasn't with her another several months after she told me how she really felt.

"I want you to wait until I want you. Like a toy on a shelf I can play with when I choose." She said.

"But I'm a person." I whispered.

Brought to you by my college experience circa 2011-2015

It was Halloween 2013 and Harley Quinn invited me to join her and Poison Ivy at a party. True story.

Well okay, it wasn't the real Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy. This woman I'd been crushing on for 2 years told me she was going to be dressed as Harley Quinn and her, equally as hot, best friend was going to be Poison Ivy and they wanted me to meet them at this party.

But still TRUE STORY.

Huge turn of events for multiple reasons.

Reason #1: I fucking loved batman. and everyone who knew me knew at least 15% of my brain was constantly drooling over Harlivy. The woman who invited me was well aware, we'd talked about it at length multiple times.

Reason #2: I'd never been formally invited to a party, much less by a hot girl, much less by a hot girl AND her equally as hot best friend.

Reason #3: I'd always wanted to go to a Halloween costume party.

So, naturally, I was jazzed.

I immediately agreed to be there, of course.

And I asked my friends to go with me as a buffer for the rampant awkwardness that I'd somehow managed to conceal from these beautiful women who invited me.

this was my big mistake. my fatal mistake. the reason I never made it to that party.

My friends agreed to go with me after we went to some other parties they'd been invited to.

Ok, cool, no problem.

Big problem.

we couldn't leave on time.

we couldn't get into the other parties.

we couldn't find the other parties.

Harley and Ivy kept texting me asking where I was and saying how they wanted to see me.

I kept trying to steer my friends to my party and got "yeah, soon just one more stop" in return.

I kept texting Harley and Ivy back "I'll be there soon." "I'm on my way."

I was not there soon. I was never on my way.

Halloween 2013 closed without me ever even catching a glimpse of them or their costumes.

We'll never know what might have happened at that party.

Probably nothing. Just conversation. Maybe some party games.

right?

Right?

My friend I told this story to 13 years later: "Yeah, because that's what college girls are known for. Conversation and party games."

Back before I had my first serious girlfriend, maybe 2 years before so like 2012/2013, this girl at my college randomly told me I had "big dick fingers."

and I panicked. HARD

It has never been a secret that I'm attracted to women. Strangers on the street and everyone I meet can somehow always tell. I can count on one finger the number of times I've actually had to come out.

So she knew I was attracted to women. It's debatable whether she knew I was attracted to her or not, but I absolutely was.

The thing she didn't know, the thing no one ever assumes, is how painfully inexperienced and pathetically, woefully ignorant of how to deal with my gayness I was am.

I think the assumption is that if I dress so clearly masculine, am so vocal about my preferences, and so comfortable in my sexuality then obviously I know what I'm doing. Obviously I'm the one in charge. Obviously if you drop it in my lap I know what to do with it.

Absolutely wrong. Which is what she found out that day, standing in my best friends dorm room waiting for him to find the notes she was there to borrow.

She told me I have "big dick fingers" and looked at me like a meal she wanted to indulge in. I don't think I've ever seen anyone drag their eyes over my body in exactly that way before or since.

It took a second for her words to register. I remember looking at my hands as I processed them. Then realization snapped my eyes up to see her with that hungry look, slowly devouring me like she had all the time in the world.

And when her eyes met mine?

I panicked. HARD.

I stuttered and squeaked. I struggled so much in those few seconds that felt like an hour.

and then I fled.

I remember the sound of my friends laughter muffled by the door and fading as I made my way down the hall. Sometimes I still hear it now.

I can still see the hunger in her eyes shift into amusement at the way it took one sentence and one look to dissolve every ounce of my confidence into a puddle I left behind at her feet.

I wonder if it's still there.

The other day I was playing Overwatch with a friend of mine.

She's one of only two people who I've told about my discovery that I'm submissive. She's been super supportive, as has the other friend, and invited me to a kink discord that I'm too scared to do anything more than lurk in.

Anyway, I digress. So we were playing Overwatch.

And somehow the conversation turned to the fact she isn't comfortable calling a woman "mommy."

I told her that's understandable and it's good she knows her own boundaries.

I told her that if a woman is confident enough to tell me that's what she wants me to call her then I will happily do it.

She said she just doesn't like it.

I said I don't particularly like it, but it doesn't bother me, and I'll do it because I'm obedient.

She said "You're a, dare I say it, good girl?"

The sound that came out of my mouth.

The fucking sound that came out of my fucking mouth. Is not one I have ever made before.

It is not a sound I could ever hope to replicate on command.

The high pitched giggle squeal that bubbled up from my throat before I could even think to stop it was the sound of my first time ever being called a good girl.