We have known each other for years, mainly through the spoken word scene and mutual aqaintances. I must have been 16 the first time we ran in to each other, and two summers ago he made delicious cocktails in the bar around the corner from where I lived a short summer. He is tall, with a distinct look, somewhat rockabilly style, shy smile and a very nice voice. I never really thought there was any interest from his part, which was why I was so surprised when he emailed and asked about next time I would be in Sweden and if I wanted to meet up. It was a busy but very sunny week, and drinks felt like a perfect break from DIY and random annoying stuffs that needed taking care of. We headed down towards the beach with cider and swimwear, ending up walking along the coast-line talking, before finding a a spot in the hot sand. It felt good, no, it felt better than good. It was relaxing, like a rekindling of a friendship, even though we never been very close. The first dip in the sea this year was refreshing, and I started to feel almost like a teenager again, in that very silly way. The sky was clear blue, a light breeze easing the burning rays of the sun. We spoke about our tattoos, what they meant to us, continued talking about poly and how respectivley finding our poly-identities had changed our lives. There was something… different about him, something more open, settled, and grounded. I think he kissed my hand first, then I kissed him. A slight taste of cigarettes, his gold-tooth feeling smooth, a hint of cider, the skin smelling of sun. My head rested on his chest, and I could hear his heartbeats.
There is something in the way he kissed, and how we spent the rest of the evening together. We have a drink, talk. And time after time again, it feels so simple. We speak of kink, just by accident, finding common grounds. When returning to his, we make out on the couch for hours, my lips are become sore after all the kissing and it is a bit like being a teenager again. Then there is something rather special when I play with his nipples. It is like playing with an instrument of flesh. Low moans, deep breaths, half-open mouth, closed eyes, whimpering. In the morning, the sun trickles through the window, beams dancing over the floor.
We continue to meet each other during the following week and we talk, cuddle, kiss, eat ice cream, dance, talk more. There is a security with him, in that he knows what he wants from poly and feel very secure about it. The last evening, we meet for some ice-cream and then decide that we should really go for an evening swim after he has finished his work shift. Said and done. The beach is almost empty around nine in the evening, but we have blankets and swim suits and sit down eating strawberries. It becomes almost a bit kitsch, watching the sunset; the rays of the sun turning dark pink. I run into the water, thinking it should be very cold but it is not. The evening air is now colder than the water. We walk further out, the waters are still shallow, and then I just have to attack him. As he loose the balance we end up sitting in the water, he gasp as I straddle him, pressing my legs tightly against him. Dunking him into the water, seeing how his eyes are so still under the water turns somewhat other worldly, he is so very still, pushed under the surface.
When we dry up, he pretend like he does not need the large, warm cardigan he bought and give it to me. I quickly realise he is just pretending, as his tall body is shaking after the swim and we swap. It means that I can move better now as well, and there is both an element of care there, but also practicality. How am I supposed to tie someone up if their muscles are so cold they cannot move? He is a sweet romantic guy, but I want him, his body and his mind completely focussed on us, on me, on the sensations, not to be shaking due to being cold. Stawberry eating, heart to heart, kissing, watching the sun disappearing into the sea. After literally lying on top of him to make sure he is not shaking anymore we swap sweaters so I can tie more easily. The blindfold goes on, again to make him focus on the feeling of the experience, to focus on us, on me.
It is getting darker and darker outside and the mosquitoes are out in full force, and I have never really tied while being under attack from mosquitoes. Got the thin ropes with me, and decide quickly to only do a short scene, in order for us to come out alive and with a drip of blood left in our bodies. Bloodplay took a whole different dimension that evening. It is his first experience of rope, and even if the tie is a standard one, his expressions of the experience become nothing like a standard one. Prepare for gross generalisation: Usually, I find men having a harder time letting go into the experience, they try to pre-empt the next move, or can’t stop anxiously twitching, requiring a high level of intense and often physical stimuli to settle into what is happening and to remain present in the moment. Sometimes this can be really interesting and intense, but sometimes, like when sitting on a beach, the mood is different. His body dances beneath my fingers, but not twitching or moving anxiously, it his pulse and heart, slightly shivering skin, that lush mouth open, breathing deeply in and out, only a tiny, barely noticeable gasp. When the shape of the tie is done, I start moving the ropes again, leaning him back into my arms, closing my hand around his nose and mouth, stealing his breath, pulling a wrap of the rope tighter with the other hand. Kissing his forehead, it becomes clear that the bugs are biting through his sweater, and the untying clearly has to start. Sometimes, tying up the ropes is just as good, if not better, than the build up towards the finished tie. But here, it is just as good as everything else. He is first quiet, when we cuddle. Then saying something, and after expressing a wish to go back to his in order to remove my clothes I simply lift my dress and sit on his face. His tongue is working away, the beach is completely dark, can hear the waves, and the geese which are the only ones present except for us. I ride his face, pin his head and upper body down, pinching his nose shut, his licking gets more frantic, the lack of oxygen give him a sense of urgency. I sit there, grinding my wet cunt against his face until I come.
Back home at his, we end up in the sofa again. Unbuckling the belt while his eyes meeting mine, then tightening it around his neck, pulling the noose tighter and tighter. Holding him down by the knees then releasing the pressure. The evening is now pretty warm, and we go out for some fresh air on the small balcony. It is passed 2 in the morning, and the city is completely dead, a Sunday night, only one or two people out walking. And he looks so incredibly dapper in his smoke robe, it is gold and the decadence it gives to the whole situation only gets better as he kneels down, yet again. This time I just kick back, relax, he knows exactly what to do, and the only thing I need to do is not to get loud, as the people standing underneath the balcony having an evening cigarette would appreciate a bit too much.
Before we both pass out I hurt him some more, he definitely had earned such pleasures, the metal sticks are scratching his back, pressing against his balls, making him whimper and shake. The skin of his back is warm when we fall asleep in each others arms. I wake up in the morning, looking at him sleeping, following the patterns created once more by the sun beams.
Now I’m back in London now and I miss him already.