Realizations

My thoughts began as muddled, chaotic, overwhelming, confusing and completely unintelligible when I first met Pete. Too much was happening way too fast. I could not process anything, it just washed over me like some kind of traumatic ocean wave of emotion. In the past few weeks, however, I have taken the time to breathe, to think, to figure things out a bit, and to work through some of the myriad of tangled emotion that I've been sorting out in my heart and my head...and I've noticed through doing this, that I have somehow achieved a sense of clarity, somehow things have been slowly revealed to me in glimpses, but are now becoming crystal clear for the first time, and solidifying from the angst-ridden mass of mess that was once there. Some of these thoughts have puzzled me, and made me wonder "why." Like this one:

Why izzit?

Or, more to the point: How come I have somehow made it to being 40 years old on this planet, breathing the same air as Steve Perry, even meeting him twice in person, but never actually able to hook up romantically with the guy? DAMN that bugs me...

No, wait, that's not it...even now, my thoughts are running amuck...ahem...here's what I have been pondering lately:

How come I have reached 40 years old on this planet, and (until I met Pete), I have never experienced:

1. Eyelid kisses -- Why nobody else has ever done that to me in my whole life, I will never know. I didn't even think to ask for it myself. Had no idea how nice it was. Maybe my parents did it when I was a baby sleeping, who knows...? But for a man to do that, as a part of foreplay, is like one of the most intimate and tender things I have ever felt. It almost makes me FEEL little girlish when he does this, and that's a feeling I've not had in forever.

2. Bellybutton french kisses -- (NEWFLASH!! My outie belly button is directly connected to my cootch, so figure it out fellas! Do this for your women! *WINK*) I have had some tickling done, sure, and maybe a "zerbert" or "razzberry" here and there, who doesn't like those things, right? But a FRENCH KISS? Meaning, with some tongue AND some suction? Whodathunk it? It never dawned on me that it might be enjoyable, I mean how cool is that, it feels like another G SPOT!! AMEN TO THAT!!

3. Biting -- He nibbles my shoulders, my thighs, and well...pretty much everywhere...some places, he bites harder than others. It's sexy as hell. Sometimes there are teeth marks afterwards that make me shiver. Mmmmmm. Now, as a disclaimer, I should say that I'm not the type of submissive chick who encourages or even likes being "marked" with such things as hickies, (I abhor those actually), and teeth marks or rope marks or bruising. I've HAD THEM, sure, I've mentioned them, of course, and I have expressed my annoyance and even fear about having them. So far, Pete has only left me a couple small bruises and bite marks, nothing too scarey. The only thing I ask is, nothing visible to the regular vanilla human in the workplace.

Some submissive chicks I have known, including my ex-roommate, actually LOVE being marked, and she even took pictures of her marks, as trophies, to proudly display to others. "Look how much abuse I can take from a man, look at the bruises and the blood, oh yes, I'm so submissively talented..." (I never quite understood that. I think my level of self-esteem kinda eradicates the whole marking concept). But hey, who am I to judge? Whatever floats yer boat babyyyyy, just don't come near ME with that thing...or if you DO mark me with it, I might just bite your face off.

4. Being told that I am #1 in his life. I have never been anybody's #1 before, EVER. As every "other woman" out there who wastes her time on married men knows, you will never EVER be #1 to that man. It hurts like a bitch. It's a constant reminder. A constant rejection. It's a constant thorn in the side. Agitating. Frustrating. And there's nothing---not a goddamned thing---you can do about it, short of snuffing the wife yourself, and why the hell would you want to go to jail for snuffing THAT vanilla hag?! Not worth it. If I'm gonna go to jail, fellas, it's gonna be because I pull off the biggest heist of bazillion dollar awesomeness that nobody's ever seen in the history of mankind. Not for some stupid frigid lazy ass vanilla housewife.

So for Pete to actually put me in the #1 slot...above his ex-wives...above his KIDS even...is something I cannot even wrap my head around. I mean he's got 4 kids, so I should technically be #5 at most...then there's his mom...so okay, maybe I should be #6 really...and with Peter, I was probably somewhere in #9 area, because of his job, family and wife. So this being #1 thing is super huge to me, I've pissed and moaned for years, that all I ever wanted to be is somebody's priority. Just once in my life. That's all I ask. Even if it's for just a few minutes. Could I just MATTER to someone as a top priority, just for a little while...? I've prayed about that a lot.

In fact, I used to accuse God of sliding me way down the totem pole of HIS priority list, and maybe I shouldn't pester Him so much because I know there are starving children in the world and genocides going on, so okay maybe I'm not really the center of the universe with Him but could I maybe place an order for SOMEBODY to make me #1 sometime before I die? Is that asking too much? Oh yeah, I've had that conversation a few hundred times with the big guy upstairs. Perhaps He has finally made his way through all the stacks of email, snail mail and prayer lists and finally got my order fulfilled. Thanks God. (Sure took ya long enough--who am I, Noah? Forty friggin' YEARS I've been waitin' ovuh heah).

5. Excitement of having me near him...not the yawning, "Oh it's you again, yeah the monotonous chore I gotta do once or twice a week," feeling. I know Peter never has SAID such a thing, and would never ADMIT it if he actually FELT that way, but sometimes I have felt that way, and I have had the suspicion that he might utter those words under his breath on one of my particularly moody brat-days he's endured. I've thrown that accusation at him many times, like taking out the fuggin' garbage, is it? Once a week whether you like it or not, I know I know, hold your breath, eat your peas and don't think about it...

But Pete is actually EXCITED that he will be near me, living in the same house as me, sleeping in the same room, the same bed, as me, eating at the same dining room table as me...showering in the same bathroom...sitting on the same couch watching t.v....those silly mundane boring suburban married-couple horrors that I've cringed from all these years, suddenly seem like a happy thing, because of his excitement. It's kinda contagious actually, this enamourment of his...it's starting to grow on me a bit, I'm slowly starting to get used to it I think, and I'm enjoying it a lot.

6. Generosity -- Now of course, with all my boyfriends over the years, I've been given gifts, and with Peter I've been given stolen moments of time here and there when it's convenient for him to give...I've been given emails and instant messages galore by Peter too. I've even been given money. But what I am referring to is, the depth of generosity that exists inside a man's heart. I've never experienced it to the depths that Pete has expressed it. Peter, because of his marital status, can give me only things on the surface. He's gotten close to reaching more depth than that, but has backed off from it many times. It's nice to get those surface things, I enjoy them very much...so please do not misunderstand, because I am not complaining one bit about that...but until I met Pete, I did not realize just how deep that heartfelt generosity can go with a man, and now I am learning exactly that from him, every day that I spend with him. It's not just on the surface, nor will it ever be. I'm beginning to really see that and believe that now, more than I did before.

7. Holding hands. Okay, sure I've held hands before. Fifth grade, the cutest boy in class was my boyfriend, his name was Doyle, and he had a friggin' MUSTACHE which was so damned sexy I couldn't even stand it. I was one of the first girls to wear a bra back then, (I've got bodacious bazoomba's don'tchaknow), so we made quite the mature looking couple I must say. We walked around and held hands every day on every recess, even while playing marbles or sitting and watching others play dodge ball or tether ball. We were hot shit back then, Doyle and me. He even gave me a red leather lopsided cut-out heart that he wrote I LUV U on it with a black permanent marker, as my Valentine. I still have that damned thing, after all these years. It's the only Valentine I have ever kept. Ya know why? Because he held my hand, that's why. And I loved it.

I haven't held anybody's hand in a million years. A couple vanilla boyfriends maybe, back in college. That's about it. Now, I have, on occasion, held Peter's hand while having nooky---or more often, he's held my wrists while I ride on top of him, so I won't fall off the damned bed---but does that really count?? God knows I can't hold his hand in public though, no way. Somebody might see him and recognize him and oh God the horror. So for Pete to reach over and just hold my hand like it's the most natural thing in the world...is something that makes my heart swell every time he does it. And it gives me a sense of safeness, security, calmness. It makes me feel like I am attached to something even bigger than just him and me. Don't knock the hand-holding thing fellas, it really does mean a lot to us sentimental sappy chicks.

8. Hugs. I can never get enough hugs. When I think of all the years of my life, especially from 9/11/01 through 10/2004 when I was stuck in misery in Michigan, and even from 2004-2006 before Peter came along, I would often go for MONTHS without a human touch. That is, no hugs, no hand holding, no pat on the back, nothing. Do you understand just what I am saying? Nobody there to touch me. In any way. Days, months, without touching anyone. Imagine that. At the time, I didn't really think about it, or realize it really. That's just the way it was. Nothing I could do about it. Can't just walk around the neighborhood touching people like some kind of freak. Other than my dog cuddling up next to me for a belly rub, I lived without hugs or touching, I was completely celibate and hermit-like for a long, long time.

So when Pete wraps his arms around me in a huge hug, it's different from the hugs I've had from Peter. With Pete, it's an all-encompassing, enveloping, hiding from the rest of the world kind of feeling. Curling up into a ball and disappearing in his arms, his height and large, football-player body making me feel safe again, secure, calm...making me feel like nothing will ever get in and hurt me. With Peter, the hugs are warm, they are sensual, they are enjoyable and lusty even...usually accompanied with some hair pulling and a kiss. But with Peter I feel an equality, a more reserved feeling of "Yayyyy you're here, now let's go get naked and playyyyy." With Pete, it's more of a "Yayyyyyy let's melt into each other and hide from the rest of the world and never let anybody else in. Let's just fly away to the moon."

9. Toe sucking. Good LORD in Heaven people, if you've never had your toes sucked, YOU POOR SLOBS!! And I should talk, because I was a poor slob myself until I met Pete. In forty years on this planet, I have never had my toes sucked. Not even ONCE. Nobody ever offered, and I never thought to ask for it. I mean who really thinks about having their toes sucked, unless you've got a secret foot fetish or something? My guess is, not many people really do that very often. But I could be wrong, maybe the whole entire universe does it all the time, and I was just the lonely toed one.

Pete kisses my toes, he sucks on them, he rubs my feet and massages them, he takes his time with them, worshipping my feet and making them feel electrified and alive, energized and rejuvenated...warm and blissful...if you like pedicures, people, then go suck on somebody's toes and give THEM a thrill, because it's the same kind of soothing happy feeling that a pedicure gives you. I mean, some people cringe because "ewww those things are smelly," but TAKE A FRIGGIN' BATH and shut the fark up. Just do it. Suck on some toes. Seriously. You want to seduce a woman? Do it. Works like a charm. Trust me. It sends shivers up the spine. It causes palpitations in the heart and cootch. The foot has so many nerve-endings that are connected to so many places on your body, it's like having a major G-spot headquarters located down there. Seriously! Whodathunk it. (Peter does not suck on the toes, nor does he massage my feet, nor does he kiss my toes). It just never occurs to him to do that.

10. And finally, nipples. Oh thank heaven above for the nipples. Now, being blessed with bodacious bazoombas all my life, I can say that I've had plenty of boob-lovin' men as boyfriends who often wanted to squeeze them, bury their faces in them, nudge them with an elbow, touch them tenderly, or fiercely, pinch them hard, or suckle them softly...and when Peter came along, I had never really tried wearing nipple clamps before, but now, I crave them. I don't wear them on a daily basis or anything, but I've had occasional Saturdays by myself where I just put on the clamps and wear them around the house while doing laundry or cooking lunch or something, for 20 minutes or so, until the searing hot pain becomes too much...then I just remove them, go about my business for another half hour, and then put them right back on again for another 20 minutes. I have done this for an entire day and evening, sometimes wearing them to sleep...though who the hell can really SLEEP while wearing them, I can barely just doze in exhaustion until I can't stand it anymore...but for some reason, I love love LOVE nipple torture, to the point of where it even scares me a little.

Peter pinches them. In the same place. Starting out softer, then pinching harder. This starts the engines apparently, and is basically his version of foreplay, that with a few kisses and some hair pulling, and I'm ready to roll...because God knows we only have an hour or two at most to get this show on the road. Kiss kiss, pinch pinch, finger in the cootch, yep she's ready to fly. That is Peter's way. That is what I am used to.

My Dom-buddy Terry, who I can honestly state has never even SEEN my boobs, much less touched them, (being strictly an online buddy prevents such physical contact), has nonetheless, asked me to experiment with him while sitting online. I told him of my Saturday nipple clamp fun, and he asked me to go get them one evening. So I did as I was told. He then taught me that they can be placed in different spots, in different ways, from the tiniest tip of my nipple, to the biggest section of the areola around it clamped in, to everything in between, first softly, put them here, then move them there, then around this area, then ok, squeeze them harder with your fingers while they are clamped, feel the different sensations, try different ways...it was friggin' awesome and I had a very nice nipplegasm from it.

Pete, however, has a whole different style of nipple play. He uses his fingers mostly, and his tongue and suction from his mouth. He does these things simultaneously all around the breast, in all different directions, pulling, yanking, pinching, he surrounds them and leaves them helpless from the attack, and keeps it going for an hour or more, until I can no longer control anything---sending me over the edge of subspace, driving me wild and making me crazy, almost feeling the urge to beg for him to stop, but not ever wanting it to stop at the same time. It's the most exquisite torture known to mankind. The way he manipulates my nipples is unlike any other way a man has ever encountered them in my entire lifetime.

And for those things and so much more, I thank Pete, for showing me a whole new world that I never knew existed in a man. I can only mourn the 39 years I've lived without these things, and I feel an impatience to make up for lost time...it's a good thing he's coming here this weekend!! ROWR!!

Time for a trip to the hitachi wand. Ahem. Talk amongst yerselves.

Love, Sassy Girl