I have much to write about and report on these days, not least of which is my training at the hand of Master McKenna. But I also feel there is much I need to express about my recent two times with Kevin. This is one of two, maybe three, posts about Kevin — my thoughts, feelings, experiences with him of late.
I think of Kevin and me as colors swirling together. I am like a dollop of red paint dripped into his can of thick white. Stirred together, as we are, we somehow never blend, never become flat pink. I am always red-curled streaks in his big gallon of white latex.
He has other women, and maybe someday he will get serious about one of them and together they will merge and marry into a beautiful matte pink house. I somehow don’t see him doing that — he is so independently male — but maybe and perhaps. Meanwhile, in this season of time, I am in his bucket, and we swirl around and around each other, our colors never mixing, though our lines and patterns always change.
Since he has taken me as his courtesan-whore, he has loosened up considerably, sometimes showing a tender side, revealing a surprising sense of humor and playfulness. I think this is due to the fact he is no longer in his dom mode treating me as his slave, like it was before. It also has to do with some changes at work for him, some pressures relieved. But mostly, I have come to believe it has to do with Amanda not being present, and the absence now of the tension caused by the rift between them.
However they grew to dislike each other, I may never know. I do not judge or analyze. I am, however, more and more astonished that, despite their relational conflict, Amanda has been willing to share me with him. I know she has her Shae-purposes — intentionally making me feel more promiscuous, training me to accept being used by others, conditioning me to the service of men. I know she also needs to get my sorry pale ass out of her house and hair from time to time. But her sharing me with Kevin is also, I believe, a gesture of her kindness to him, as well as a generous acquiescence to my telltale need for, as she impolitely puts it, manhandling and cocksucking.
Whatever the nature of their separation, I have felt no pressure about what my heart has to be as the other point of this triangle. I have come to like and enjoy Kevin immensely, and as everyone knows I am madly in love with Amanda. He can fuck the hell out of me on the one hand and she can domme the hell out of me on the other — leaving me a very blessed woman in a tale of two cities.
All that said, I still struggle to know sometimes how to be with him. He is mercurial from visit to visit. Even though he opens up a more tender side to me at times, other times he goes into other modes.
I have written before about when he was closed to me and formal toward me. He was then my dominant, and “formal cool” was his dominant style — few words, commanding demeanor, quiet strength. Now, even though he is no longer my dominant, that same “formal cool” still emerges occasionally, and he treats me as he might a prostitute, withholding himself and extracting what he wants. It is officially what I am to him now, so I do not protest, but it is interesting to experience him choosing from his own sexual menu. He’ll say, “I’ll have you this way,” or “I’m going to do this to you.” It isn’t him being dominant over me, but it is him being dominant. I have learned to roll into that mode with him, and I have taken to ask, “How do you want me tonight, Kevin?” When he’s like this, I find that being his escort is not so different from being his slave — I serve his moods, follow his sexual cycles, and obey his urges. He is not cold and hard, but he expresses himself through his natural dominance — he cannot help that, I know — and at such times it’s clear my only purpose in his world is to satisfy him physically and be a fleshy receptacle for his sex.
I mention this because it is one of his modes, but to be clear, it is less and less common. One of the joys of ‘learning Kevin” these past couple of years has been to discover other modes in him. Sometimes, he is more of a mama’s boy, so to speak, and he needs TLC. In this, I am his courtesan Jill-of-all-trades, becoming for him at different times a masseuse, bar girl, barista, waitress, and nurse. ) In all of these mini-roles I provide him care, which seems to be a different, general kind of need he has. It is really rather cute, especially because this man has such a massively complex personality and in these moments it’s reduced to a simple hurt or need — I make him tea, bandage his ow-ey. No, I don’t wear the outfits associated with these mini-roles: he doesn’t need that encouragement, for after I soothe his hurts, he at a moment’s notice will take me and do me, very spontaneously. Before I finish squealing “Oh!” he has me naked, against the wall. (Who knew that the wall is the new bed?)
But more and more often now, I catch him in a mood-mode where he is light and fun, where he teases and is willing to be teased, where he laughs and chuckles. He can become playful, sometimes even verbally, and he becomes quite endearing. Kevin even has moments when he is quiet and reflective and will share something about himself with me. He can, it seems, be tender, and sometimes will hold me in his arms on the couch, long enough for us to both fall asleep. He is lovely at these times, and endearing.
Truth is, I like Kevin in all of these moods and modes, and he can be appealing in each — as client, boy, and romantic leading man. “Like” is the operating word. I like Kevin but am not in love with him — and he wouldn’t want me to be. That would start to make this close in on him.
I think we’re both aware this works because it is not a mutual relationship. I am his escort, not his girlfriend. As his escort, I serve his needs and he calls the shots, and I am what he wants me to be and how he wants to have me. He has no responsibility to me. I accommodate him. It works because I am wired this way, slave girl that I am. Even though he is now not my master nor am I his slave, my submissiveness is an asset.
So Kevin and I swirl in the same bucket but are not blended. He can have me as he wishes, yet keep separate, be who he wants to be. And I do not have to be his girlfriend, entwined in a relationship of expectations and dreams. I am just his escort-whore, his sexual playmate, and he is, as he often says, “a very lucky man.”
We swirl in arcs around each other. And I continue to be that dollop of red paint dripped into his can of pearly white — my pussy-red swirling in his gallon of thick and white man-cum.