sublingua

(Be present.)

(It's past.)

(Go there now.)

Becoming The Aisho

I needed to be drunk to proposition him. So I got drunk. I propositioned him. He refused.

Earlier, I had asked if he had any questions that he'd like to ask me. After much teasing and prompting, he asked what I was looking for in a man. I answered, "A sense of humor. Playfulness. Innate intelligence." He asked what I liked in bed. I told him that that depended on the other person, their skills and experiences. Then, sitting at the sushi bar, drunk on sake and beer, I offered to show him exactly what I liked in bed.

He had refused. He refused this, but he agreed to bring me home. On the way, he talked about one of the waitresses and her fuck buddy�how the fuck buddy was reluctant to �help her [the waitress] out� financially even though they were sleeping together. We discussed the implications of the situation, my take being that if she wanted to be paid for fucking, she was wasting her time as a waitress. But then, of course that left out the fact that she wants a relationship with the guy, wants to have him propose, and all that romantic, committal shit. He also talked about my seeming need to take control of things�which is true in many ways�and true of many situations and people. Take this situation, for example.

I told him truthfully that there were no strings attached.

We sat outside my apartment in his truck. I said, �It seems as though you like me, but you don�t want to move it forward.� He didn�t say anything. So I said, �Is that right?� He agreed that that was the case. I offered to take the initiative. He was not adamant that this not happen, but he still suggested that he didn�t want it to happen. So I did it anyway.

I don�t remember what I was saying�and I was talking, talking, distracting him�while I touched his arm, his face. He asked, �What is your hand doing?� I slid closer to him, said, �What is your hand not doing?� and put his hand on my knee. (Magdalene�s forwardness with me having taught me something anyway.) I moved closer to him, one hand on his face, the other on his thigh. I don�t remember what I said then, I remember asking if it was okay for me to kiss him. He agreed. I moved closer.

The first time I ever contemplated kissing him�and this was very early on when I first met him�I could make myself aroused just by thinking about how his body must feel pressed against mine in a kiss. I love the feeling of being pressed down upon (and the fantasy was never about laying down or being fucked). I love the feeling of a man�s weight on top of me. And you know that the first kiss is always exciting, is always filled with the excitement of potential, is almost always the most passionate moment of an encounter of this sort.

He explored my mouth with a tongue that I couldn�t quite catch with my own. I finally succeeding by sucking on his tongue, which he had stiffened to run along my teeth. I caught his tongue between my lips and sucked the length of it. His hands were touching me, but not insistently, not insistently enough. I concentrated on the kiss.

�Are we going to stay in the truck?� he asked.

When I was in the earliest throws of a crush on him, The Demon Who Always Does The Right Thing and I had once gone for sushi and then stayed in the restaurant long enough to see him clean up. He took off his hat and apron, lifing his jacket to do it, revealing hips that were later fantasy material. He has fabulous hips for a man, solid, strong, wide without being terribly womanly. Later, I wondered aloud to The Demon about those hips. I wondered what he could do with them.

We came into my apartment. He sat on the bed and I moved near him, wrapping myself around him, kissing him. In this more private space, he seemed more willing to touch me. He ran his hands�his beautiful hands finally on my body�over my bare legs. I pulled him closer, took the band off his hair to let it loose, continued to kiss him. His phone rang. �Who is it?� I asked. He checked, answered, �Ramona,� put his phone back down on the desk. I picked it up, saying, �Oh, let�s answer it.� I punched a few buttons at random. I could hear voices on the other end of the line. I suggested loudly, �Tell her you�re fucking some customer from the restaurant and you�ll call her back.� I hung up the phone. He turned off the phone and put it back on the desk. I went into the bathroom to pee.

Ramona was the rebound he finally copped to last night during dinner. Their relationship, such as it was, he says ended a few months ago. I had asked how they met. She was the friend of a friend who picked him up at a kind of party that had been held in a bar. She kept coming over ("like five or six times," he said) to ask him to light her cigarettes. Aisho described her as �our age, thirty, thirty-one.� But he hadn�t, it seemed, bothered to do much math. Her eldest son�the eldest of five kids by two different fathers�is fifteen, which would have made her fourteen or fifteen years old when she had him. Not entirely unlikely, but not entirely likely either. So there�s Ramona, the mother of five children by two fathers, one ex some kind of drug addict, the other ex gone. She was working for the Aisho�s friend. She had no child support, no help from the ex�s. The Aisho is cute, young, available, with two jobs and in rebound mode? Yeah. I�m sure it was love.

I came out of the bathroom and pulled him over to me again. I rolled onto my back, kissing him. He knelt between my legs and leaned over me. I wasn�t sure how to get him to do what I wanted to do, which was to have him stretch out on top of me, press his body against mine. (I don�t think he would have refused the request, but I didn�t quite know how to make it without talking, without talking too much.) I spread my legs. We were both still fully clothed, but I was wearing a skirt and no panties, so I was immediately accessible to him. He touched my thighs, running his hands along them, up towards where they meet. I was turned on, wet, numb from the alcohol. He used his hand to spread my cunt open, felt how wet I was, said, �Wow, Sublingua.� He rubbed my clit with his fingers, then with his thumb while he slid a couple of fingers into me and fucked me that way, with one beautiful hand. He stroked my thigh with the other hand. He was good at this. I found myself being grateful to the woman who must have taught him this.

Things were moving too fast and I wanted to just lie back and let him fuck me with his fingers. It was the one time that evening when I thought I would come with him, when I was relaxed and turned on enough to go for it.I pulled his fingers out of my cunt, licked and sucked them, slid them back in, let him fuck me for a bit longer that way. He said later that he had never had anyone suck on his fingers that way before. But things were moving too fast, and I was too self-conscious to let myself just lie back and be finger fucked into an orgasm. I always feel that�s boring for the other person, that my pleasure is dependent on their ability to endure the boredom. I mean, I�ve felt that way giving some guy a hand job or a blow job, have felt, like, �Move it along here, buddy. I have things to do.�

But here I am, having to (thinking about his hands, his fingers inside me) stop and masturbate to an orgasm just now.

He took off his clothes, made some comment about being completely naked, but how I was still dressed. It wasn�t a direct request for me to take off my clothes, so I didn�t. I didn�t�despite having laid out before him, having already had him penetrate me�feel comfortable enough with him to strip down naked. I touched him, kissed him some more. He bit at my shoulders, asked if he was biting too hard. I told him I liked it, but I don�t think I conveyed how much I like to be bitten, how much I like to have someone not just nibble, but bite hard, hard enough to leave marks, bruises even. He stopped biting me.

I was unprepared to have to deal with his being even more self-conscious about his body than I am about mine. I am self-conscious and unwilling to point out the flaws in my figure. I have often been embarrassed about my breasts, my tummy, the stretch marks on my stomach and arms. I love my body, though, and don�t feel the need to point out its flaws to a new lover. I love my body, appreciate its strength, appreciate its form, appreciate its devotion to me. I would never denigrate it the way he does his.

And I don't know why he does this, because he has a beautiful body. He is my height exactly and powerfully built, with lots of muscle, solid. Later, laying beside him, my head resting on his arm, I touched his chest and belly and told him how beautiful his body was. He was embarrassed. He�d never been told that before. I asked, �What kind of ungrateful women have you been with, Aisho?� He shrugged. He told me he was too fat, he had love handles, he was trying to lose weight. I was incredulous. I touched and kissed him in all the places he said he didn�t like, telling him again how beautiful I found him. He also has a beautiful cock, which I also touched and stroked, both with my hands and with my mouth.

I told him he had to wear a condom to fuck me, and he agreed. He pulled on a condom, but I could tell he didn�t like it. We fucked, me on my back, him kneeling, always kneeling, between my legs. I wanted his weight on me, but that only happened later, and for a little bit. He ran his hands along my thighs and legs, which at first were wrapped around his back, then later which were resting on his shoulders. As he thrust into me, I ran my hands along his shoulders and chest, through his hair (which I wanted loose, but which he tried to tie back every time I gave him a free hand, complaining, �It gets in the way�). I liked the way it felt to have him fuck me, I enjoyed his thrusting into me and was vocal in my appreciation, which made him pull back, asking, �Are you okay?� It was a shock to have him pull back this way. �Yeah,� I said, confused as to what, why he was asking. I thought he might have mistaken it for an orgasm, but then he asked if it hurt. �No, Aisho,� I said, �I�m enjoying this.� He asked, �Are you drunk?� I felt like I had to provide some explanation to him for this imagined problem, so I touched his face, saying, �The last time I did any of this, it was with another woman.� He said helpfully, �Well, I do have long hair.�

He lost his erection, and I had that momentary flare of disappointment in myself, that too familiar sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, for not being able to turn him on enough to hold onto it. I asked him if everything was alright. He said it was fine, that he had had too much to drink, that he was tired. We lay back and kissed.

After a bit, we shifted positions so that he could fuck me from behind. He wanted to touch me, touch my body I think, but didn�t�except for my breast, once, as I began to kneel down. I leaned forward, and he did that thing that guys do when they want in as quickly as possible. He started poking at my labia with his penis. When I�m leaning forward, the lips of my cunt are stretched against my pubic bone, and so this action is often painful. �Aisho, use your hand first,� I suggested. He leaned back, felt my pussy with his hand, slid a finger or two into my cunt, then used them to guide him cock into me. He began thrusting. I thrust back against him. He wasn�t sure what to make of this. �Are you moving or am I moving?� he asked. �Can�t we move together?� I asked, apparently rhetorically. I held still for a bit while he thrust into me, then I began pushing against him, trying to catch his rhythm, but this just made him hold still. We didn�t stay in that position for long. I lay flat on my front, then rolled over onto my back, trying to spread my legs for him again. He turned my legs sideways so that I was on my side, with my knees drawn up, my legs together. �What, Aisho?� I asked. I was confused about what he wanted, couldn�t read him, told him so. I tried to turn onto my back, but he turned my legs sideways. �I can�t tell what you want, Aisho,� I said. �What do you want?� he asked. �I want to please you,� I replied. I admitted that I didn�t have a lot of experience, and he had the tiniest, �Oh sure,� response, but only the tiniest. He didn�t ask any questions. But that�s fine. I wouldn�t have explained anything if he had asked.

He thinks I�m this woman who brings men home all the time and fucks them at will. I don�t. I have never been so forward with anyone as I was�had to be�with him. I didn�t enjoy that aspect of it, it made me wonder how so many men can put themselves out there. It wasn�t a power thing with me because I was so afraid of being rejected, which I was at first. I went ahead anyway, but pushing myself on him cut some kind of emotional tie for me, some emotional connection from me to him. I became more and more emotionally remote as I kept asking and kept asking. In the past, men have approached me or have at least been willing to meet me half way. It was hard�is hard�to face that I pushed at someone who didn�t really want me or at least didn�t want me enough to express it. I should have taken his no and my self-respect and gone inside and chalked it up to experience. Instead, I went ahead and did it anyway, but it was different and I don�t know why I went ahead. It was not the only mistake I made that night.

We paused again. He took off the condom and asked if it was okay for him to drop it on the floor. I said, �Sure.� He did. He went into the bathroom, came out, complained about the spermicide. I asked him to lay down. He did, and I rested my head on his shoulder. I curled his arm around me and held it This is when I touched him, told him he was beautiful, that I was appreciative of his body. This is when he pointed out all his flaws, told me about trying to lose weight. I put my nose in his armpit, smelled him, bit his shoulder. He said, �Stop. Don�t smell my armpit.� But it was a request and not an order, so I stopped. He said he needed a shower, that he didn�t feel clean. I offered to let him take a shower. �It�s too late,� he said. �I�m a clean person,� he said. Then he started talking.

He talked about this woman at work and the problems he�s been having with her, about how difficult it is to work with her. He talked more about work, the job he has in which he is unappreciated, how he wants to leave but can�t yet afford to and make his mortgage payment. He talked about aikido, his sensei, his desire to teach. He talked about how people kept offering to set him up with women. I told him I thought it might be a good idea for him to date a lot of different women. Told him about how I found him attractive, how I used to fantasize about him. I asked if he ever fantasized about me. He didn�t say yes or no. I asked him about masturbation, asking what he did fantasize about when he did masturbate. He said he might have thought about it (meaning me? sex in general?) but he didn�t dwell on it. And anyway, he didn�t masturbate all that often. I pressed him, asking about pornography, which most men will talk about if I express interest. He claimed not to indulge in pornography. I jokingly asked if he wanted to borrow some, but then had to tell him that I lost custody of the porn in the divorce. I tried to tell him that he needs to find someone who appreciates him, but mostly I tried to just listen and be supportive. This was the emotional need he expressed with this talk, and I tried to meet it. When that was out, he quieted. He got up, put on his pants, and went to the bathroom. He came back, complained about the spermicide. I told that I didn�t like condoms either. He said he didn�t like sponges. Sponges are hard to insert and take out, I said. I told him that I had never been on the pill. We talked a minute or two more and then I told him I wanted to fuck him again, that I wanted him to come with me, so he undressed again. We started kissing again. And then I made another mistake.

I pulled him over onto me. The other condom was balanced on the arm of the futon. We both ignored it. I let him fuck me without a condom and it felt good, but I was so uptight about fucking him without protection that I began to dry up, got little pleasure from it. I pulled away, he asked again, �Are you okay?� I said yes, and asked him if he wanted to fuck me or come in my mouth. �Come in your mouth,� he answered, but quietly. He lay on his back. "Do you want me to wash?" he asked. I said, "No, it's just me on you." I knelt between his legs, took his cock in my mouth. I must have gotten a bit enthusiastic, because he put a stop to my sucking his balls, saying, �Not so hard, Sublingua.� I ignored his balls. He went to touch my shoulder or breast and I, mistaking his action, went to encourage him to put his hand on my head, to guide my actions, as it didn�t seem to me as though I were doing what he wanted me to do. �You don�t want me to touch you there?� he asked. I slid my mouth up and away from his cock. �I thought you were going to use your hands on my head to guide me,� I said, and put him back in my mouth. He went to touch me, but didn�t quite, just held his hands a few centimeters away from my head and moved them with my movement. I said, �Tell me what you want, Aisho. I want to please you.� He said nothing for a bit, then told me that what I was doing�sucking on the head of his cock, at the sensitive part where the head met the shaft, moving my mouth just enough so that the head popped just barely and not completely from between my lips�felt good. I kept doing that, focusing on that, but alternating occasionally with deeper motions, where I took the whole shaft into my mouth. He moaned. His breathing changed, became louder and shallower, quicker. He moved his hand down near mine, which was resting near the base of his cock. I took this as a sign to wrap my hand around the shaft and did that. He almost, but not quite, touched my fingers. I felt his balls. He was close to coming, so I stroked him with one hand, and kept my mouth moving over the head of his cock. After a very little while, he came�a small amount of thick and bitter come�in my mouth. I swallowed.

We lay there for a bit afterwards. He said of his orgasm, �I tried not to scream.�

We both got up. He sat on the edge of the bed and picked the used condom off the floor. �Do you want me to flush this?� he asked. I said yes, but then joked that he might want to take it home. �I could frame it with your name under it,� he joked back before he got up and went into the bathroom. When he came back, we both got dressed. I brushed my teeth. ("You're brushing your teeth?" he asked, in that somewhat discomforted way, kind of laughing but not because he found it funny. I said, "Yeah," around a mouthful of toothpaste). I picked up a bag of bottles of nail polish that had spilled on the floor when I had reached for a condom earlier. He showed me on his belt how he had been losing weight. I had rinsed my mouth so I kissed him again, told him again how beautiful I thought he was, how beautiful his body was. He asked if I was going to write about this on the online diary. I said simply, �Of course I am.� There was something about shoes. I said I wouldn�t write about that. And I won�t.

I kissed him a few times--his kisses becoming seemingly more reluctant, but his hands finally feeling familiar enough on my body for him to hold me close while we kissed--and then walked him out to the gate. He had lit a cigarette and I took it from him to have a drag. He offered to let me keep it. I said I had a pack inside and passed it back to him. He paused at the gate, saying, �So that�s another notch in your belt?� I said no, it wasn�t like that. I did not say what it was too late to say, that he was special, that I hadn't ever been so attracted to a man that I had given chase to that extent, that I had had the courage to put myself out there the way I had for him. Instead, I kissed him again when I probably shouldn't have. He left. I locked the gate behind him, came back inside my apartment, went to the bathroom, looked at myself in the mirror and thought, Nothing�s changed, Sublingua, has it? I went into the front room and lay down. I thought only briefly about what I had exposed myself to, what risks I took in letting him fuck me without a condom. I went to sleep.

The Aftermath

I haven�t said yet what an incredibly sweet and earnest man he is. He�s a sweet man who has obviously been hurt by others to the point where he is unable to let go and enjoy himself. I know that feeling only too well. And I don�t think I added to that hurt, but I wonder if I only think that because I want it to be true. I won't try, of course, to pursue a relationship with him if only because he�s said over and over that he�s not interested in a relationship. It doesn�t seem like a personal thing, so I don�t take it personally. I believe people when they say things like this and have hopefully learned to look past my own yearnings and stay away. I think though, too, that the sex would develop over time�time I don�t have�and would, as he became more comfortable with me, with himself, with the situation, get to be quite good. He was a conscientious if self-conscious lover, gentle and accepting. I could work with that.

And how do I feel now? I woke up with a hangover. My lips are sore, bruised slightly and swollen from being bitten. My cunt smells like him, as do my bed sheets. I haven�t called, but neither has he. I'm pretty sure it'll probably stay that way.

retreat or surrender

More lies:
Waking Sleeping Demons II - Sunday, Oct. 30, 2011
Waking Sleeping Demons - Saturday, Oct. 29, 2011
time - Friday, May. 20, 2011
- - Wednesday, Oct. 06, 2010
The Return - Tuesday, Oct. 05, 2010