I have continued to have fond thoughts of Stacy in these days after. I’m well aware it’s as much about the circumstance as the relationship, but I do find myself thinking of her, being with her, and smiling at the memory.
By “circumstance,” I mean these persistent memories are in part about the arrangement of my being shared. For all my fret and fuss ahead of time, I found I rather liked the sharing experience. There was something nice about being bedded without ropes and chains and having the ability to love freely. Not that it would lure me away from my life of submissive sex, but it was sweetly memorable in the difference.
By “relationship,” I do not mean I presume an ongoing closeness with Stacy, or expect more from her with me. Part of the pleasure of the “gifting experience” is that intimacy is a one-time proposition between strangers, and that assumes the ability to walk away without further expectation. I know this. I have no intention of clinging to what cannot be there. But I’m simply expressing that the recollections of my intimacy with Stacy still tingle.
As promiscuous as I am in my life (or made to be), I feel these after-longings often. My situations are mostly with dominants, a different vibe, but I still walk away from their hard fuckings of me with a soft desire for the person. My ongoing desire is not to be “their one and only,” but merely to have a place in the corner of their mind space for what I am. I don’t need my dom to say he loves me, just to say I belong somewhere. Which sounds sad in a way, but it’s not. I’m happy just being someone’s concubine.
Perhaps that’s what’s going on now in me regarding Stacy. I don’t expect there will be anything more. That was never the arrangement. And that’s fine. But that doesn’t mean I’ve walked away without continuing to feel something for her.
It has struck me that Stacy and I came to each other with two different purposes. Hers was to have a full lesbian experience. Mine was to be shared in a vanilla sexual experience.
Each of our purposes allowed the other’s purpose to be explored.
I think this was a serendipitous alignment, never intended and probably impossible to coordinate ahead of time. But there it was, each of us being something the other wanted. It was like the stereotypical scene of a couple eating a bite from the other’s plate, arms extended with forks feeding the other their own culinary delight. I think this made the night more fulfilling in some way I didn’t realize until after.
It was for each of us a “first time.” Stacy had not been with a woman, not fully, ever before. I had not been “shared vanilla” ever before. One could quibble about that, citing certain experiences I’ve had and written about, but in those I am more clearly submissive, provided to them as a sex slave for their sexual needs. This with Stacy was a vanilla, mutual, sexual relationship for us both.
I’m not sure what more to make of all this. Maybe nothing. If and when I am shared with other neighbors, I don’t expect we will have merging interests quite like that. And now I’ve already had the “shared vanilla” experience, so am no longer a virgin in it.
But that’s okay. In future arrangements there will be, I expect, other points of intersection. And I am realizing that part of the pleasure is thrill of allowing strangers into our private places — which is unique with each new situation.
Amanda is bemused by my little infatuation with Stacy. I wish actually she were more jealous, but she’s almost maddeningly not. She arranged this and seems smugly pleased it worked out so well. Like she’s saying, “I knew you would feel like this.”
I am perfectly content living perpetually in a closed room just with Amanda, but, you see, she just has to open all these doors. I reluctantly walk through a door and suddenly get all omg about what’s on the other side. She knew all along my capacity for more and that the wonder existing on the other side would enthrall me.
Now she teases me about my lingering feelings for Stacy. “Maybe you could apply for a job at her company and become her assistant,” she said, trying to sound serious. “Then you could see the love of your life every day.”
I threw a pillow at her.
There was a moment in my night with Stacy when I cried. Tears of happy, of course, but not what you’d think.
I have wondered if in my experience of lesbian sex there is something about my knowing, as a woman, what she is feeling, as a woman. I knew exactly what Stacy was experiencing. It was as if I felt my pleasure — and also a portion of hers. That becomes almost too much, an overflow, a surfeit of sensation that sometimes comes, and comes to tears of some kind of ecstacy.
Maybe it was that, I don’t know, which becomes unexpectedly a deeper bonding. And makes it take longer to fade.
slave shae 