Today May and I are celebrating our 2 1/2 year anniversary. I wouldn’t usually be one for half-year celebrations, but if the truth be told, we never actually got around to celebrating our 2 year anniversary, six months ago.
I’m home sick with uterine cramps (which yes, can be excruciating), my computer is on the fritz and has been missing for two weeks whilst I tap my thoughts out on a painfully bad keyboard, and it’s raining.
May is here with me, working from home, fiddling away with code. He made breakfast. We took a walk in the rain. Tonight I will make him dress up in a nice shirt. We’ll go out to dinner, we’ll be cute and fluffy and drink margaritas. We’ll come home and watch a movie. I’ll carve my name into his flesh and leave bruises on his skin like perfect painted fingerprints.
It is really just a good, sweet, ordinary day.
Monday evening May and I presented our sexual teasing and denial class for Conversio Virium. In doing this we have come remarkably full circle, as prettily as though Fate had planned it so.
I like telling stories, if you hadn’t guessed. So all right. Here’s the story of how two kinky people meet each other, the story we don’t tell when we’re asked, “So how did you two meet?” We have a prefabricated version for such situations, a bland dry tale about a party and a movie date, crumbs of the truth scattered through it.
In comparing notes, it seems that the two years before May and I actually met each other are a series of near misses. May went to CV regularly, every Monday night, about five years ago, until the tiny size of the group and his increasing indifference to the social scene made him give it up. Three weeks later I came to my first meeting.
A year after that, May was called back for one meeting, to bottom for a singletail demo. I was busy that night, maybe out of town. I missed CV for the first time in months.
I was invited to several scene parties. May was apparently a regular guest at these gatherings. I went to one party, but knew no one and soon moved on to other social groups. May missed that party; one of the only ones he ever missed.
And throughout this time, all over my conversations with people who knew us both, was the question, “Haven’t you met Maymay yet? You’d like him.”
“So I’m told,” I would answer.
Finally success, practically accidental in nature. I was asked, with another member of CV, to present on teasing and denial. This happened through no expertise of my own, nothing more than my obvious enthusiasm when the topic came up in conversation. I knew literally almost nothing. I knew that when I held my lips a fraction of an inch away from a man’s mouth and kept them there, eventually he would moan, beg, strain desperately to close that gap, to make the kiss connect. I knew it made me melt to do this.
A scheduling mistake. Sunday night, three weeks before the presentation, an email to the group. Apparently, teasing and denial was on the docket for the very next day. In a panic and a flurry of email exchanges late into the night, we get it sorted. However, there is no time to send a new email.
The next night I showed up to CV exhausted, caught in thesis frenzy. I had come straight from my studio, and had paint on my hands, my clothes, my body. We apologized to the group. A few faces fell. Maymay’s was among them.
He had come back to Conversio Virium after seeing an email that the group was presenting on this topic, something that he was passionately interested in and had never seen a presentation on. After the meeting he flagged me down and told me how excited he was to see me present in three weeks time. “Oh, you’re Maymay!” I remember saying.
Apparently, we had a long conversation. I say “apparently” because, I shit you not, I don’t remember a word of it. Apparently it was nice. Apparently we hit it off. Apparently Maymay thought I was dandy.
Sometimes I make him tell me all the nice things he thought about me that night, all over again.
Maymay liked me. He decided we should get to know each other. So what did he do?
He seduced me.
That’s right. He seduced me.
The seduction went down, so to speak, at a play party that weekend. Finally, we were at the same party. I watched as in the corner Maymay was kissed and handled by a boy who looked like Peter Pan. I got involved in a hair pulling scene with two friends of mine. I and another girl sandwiched a proper British boy between us on the couch and pulled his hair until his gasps could be heard even over the music. Maymay and the Peter Pan boy found this fascinating, and came to watch.
“What are they doing?” Peter Pan asked our British Boy.
“It’s hard to explain,” he answered.
Maymay sat down next to me, quietly. He leaned in, said hello.
“Hello,” I said. “You have amazing hair.” He did have amazing hair, long, fiery curls to his shoulders. He leaned in farther.
“Can I pull it?” I asked. He nodded. I ran my fingers through it, tracing the back of his scalp.
In the most forward gesture he had ever made, May leaned over and snuggled his head into my lap. He closed his eyes and let out little cries of pleasure as I pulled his beautiful hair.
I left the party at 5am. Before I climbed into bed that night, I checked my blogs. May already had an entry up, and a little stab of disappointment went through me to see that I was not in it. Oh well, I thought. At least I met him.
Silly me.
The new date for the teasing and denial class came rushing toward us. My presentation partner and I were struggling over how to create a demonstration. I mean, really, how do you demonstrate sexual teasing and denial in a space that prohibits not only sexual contact, but the display of genitalia? Eventually an idea was formed. We emailed Maymay, and asked him if he would consider being a demo bottom for the class. I knew from our previous conversation that he owned a CB-3000. (Why I retained that piece of knowledge and none of the rest of the conversation, I do not know.) Would he be willing, we asked, lock himself in his chastity belt for a week and give me the key?
His email response was long and excited. Its basic contents: “Hell yes!”
We tossed emails back and forth with the rapidity of similar minds. The meeting, Monday April 11th, came and went. I strung the key on a chain around my neck. The next day he emailed me again. A movie? Sin City was playing. Maybe we could . . . ?
Hell yes.
Thursday night we met for dinner and a movie. I remember recognizing the halo of May’s hair in the neon glow of 41st street.
We started talking and didn’t stop. After the movie we talked so far into the night I offered him my bed to avoid a 4am subway ride. The next morning we had breakfast. We talked. We took a stroll. We talked. The stroll turned longer; eventually we had walked eight miles in a vast loop around the city. We could not stop talking. Friday night I had an 8pm show to attend. He walked me to the theatre. At 7:55, seeing him go was almost painful. In the past 24 hours we had only stopped talking for the brief time the movie was playing, to sleep a few hours, and for a bright stretch of time in the night, before bed. I thought on those bright moments as I watched him walk away.
That night I had seduced him.
