I met Ty through work. He had been hired as a Summer student. He was supposed to redesign our website, and help with other computer-related problems (which up to that point had been my realm). He was the mix of geekiness, cockiness and cluelessness I appreciate. Though he was somewhat attractive, he had glasses as thick as the Berlin Wall, that gave him a Millhouse-esque appearance, but with dark hair. At the beginning, there was no initial attraction (which, except for The King, is always how my relationships begin).

I did something I never do. I invited him out for drinks. He was from out of town, so I thought it would be nice to get to know him. Honestly, I had no impure motives behind the invite. I was, swear to god, just being friendly.

And so, shortly after, we became drinking buddies. We would go out every few nights, and drink, and talk. We talked a lot about him. He told me that he was celebate.

Pardon?

You're how old?

He fed me some bullshit about sex being a distraction, and that it was some spiritual thing. He said he didn't even masturbate. I did not buy it for a second. Sure he was a little strange, a little quirkly, but he did not seem to display the mental strength necessary to refrain from jacking off every now and again. There was something up, but I didn't push the issue right away.

As time went on, I learned he was clearly interested in sex. As is usually the case with me, the conversation often turned in that direction. I kept proding for more information, but he kept up his story, and I kept not believing it.

As the summer rolled on, the liquor kept coming. He was hired on for a bit longer after the Summer. Honestly, at the time, I never thought there was a relationship there. I never really liked him liked him, you know? Which is funny, because usually if anyone pays any attention to me, I'm all over them like a cheap suit. But somehow, sometime, the line was crossed from drinking buddies to....other stuff buddies.

I believe it started at a Watchmen concert. We found a dark corner, with a comfy couch near the back. We were drinking of course, so I can't quite remember how it happened, but all I remember is one of us with ice in our mouth, and then the next thing I know, we were ping-ponging that ice cube back and forth until it melted. It was definitely one of the top five kisses I've ever had, maybe because I didn't expect it. Though he claimed he was celibate, there was no hiding the fact that he appreciated the finer points of sensuality.

The line was crossed. This kiss seemed to make him forget his celebate oath. The next progression happened one night when he invited me his place 'to watch a movie'. Everyone knows where this is going, right? He put in The Fifth Element. We sat on his bed and watched. The tension built. We kissed. At just about the point where the blue opera singer really starts to wail, I was flat on my back, with Ty's head between my legs. It felt glorious. He definitely knew what he was doing. He mumbled "I love this part", while I was thinking the same thing, but my mind was hardly on the movie. I reached down and.... what is this? Rather, what isn't this? The boy might as well have been a eunuch - and he could very well have been, for all I knew at the time. I was expecting a raging erection, and all I found, was... well, nothing. I offered to (asked to) investigate the situation a bit further. He raised his head to my face, and told me, quickly, shyly, that his anti-depressant medication has made him impotent.

SUCCESS!

I was relieved to hear that, for two reasons: He wasn't avoiding sex because he was crazy, he physically wasn't able to, and it was a relief to hear it wasn't a shortcoming on my end. No pun intended.

So, what now?

After a few minutes of mental adjustments on my behalf, I figured I may as well let the boy do what he's good at. The by-product of that situation was that, finally, it was all about me. At least one of us could get off. There was also none of the usual rushness I usually feel during oral sex. Since there is only so much we could do in the run of an encounter, I had time to really enjoy what was happening.

I went home that evening, my head buzzing. Everything made sense now. The best part was that there was still no emotional attachment. Sure, I liked him, and we had great conversations, and, as I mentioned, he was better with his tongue and a few fingers than most guys are with their dicks.

Then the news came that he would be moving back home shortly. This called for a send-off. One evening (I would like to mention right here that this is why blogs are so great: While writing this, I just remembered one of our encounters, and I think now my panties are wet. Makes the afternoon go by much quicker) after a night of booze and pool, we made our drunken way up the trail near my house. Halfway through the trail, he pushed me against a tree, and said he wanted to go down on me right then and there. Oooh. It was late, and there was no one around. Yet, I knew I would not be able to enjoy it because I'd be afraid of someone finding us. We kissed for a few minutes, and kept walking to my house.

I was living in my parents basement at that point, and he needed to come in to call a cab. Before calling the cab, I once again found myself on my back, with the divine tongue of Ty lapping at me like a thirsty dog. What I remember most is the effort it took to remain absolutely quiet so as not to wake up my parents. They never mentioned it, so I guess it was a success.

Right. So, this post is supposed to be about hotel sex, right? I'm getting to it, trust me.

The night before he was to leave, we decided to go out, again, for drinks. Before I left the house I, in my infinite wisdom, packed a goody bag for the night, just in case things took a turn for the best: sex candy (that crackles when licked), chocolate paint, a dildo, and a vibrator rounded out my purse that night.

We were sitting in a small piano bar. We talked about where we could go. We got into a cab, and made our way to nearby hotel. Little did I know, but you cannot check into a hotel unless at least one person has a non-local address. Luckily one of us did. Oh, one little note about this little adventure. The hotel clerk was actually a guy I had dated when I was 16. He was 25 at the time, and is now gay, the last I heard. I don't need to tell you this added a whole dimension of weirdness to the night, especially when he asked us if we wanted porn on the room.

Once you enter a whole room, you can become whoever you want to be, or whoever you're with wants you to be. Ty wanted to be dominated. I'm definitely more on the submissive side, but he was a good teacher. He liked being sucked, bit, pinched. He understood powerplay. At one point, he kissed me, and essentially sucked the air out of me until I thought I might pass out, and held his lips to me until my eyes grew wide and I pushed him off me. It was hot.

I also taught him the finer points of toys. Since his member was...inoperative, we used the several surrogates I had on hand. I would not like to have been in the rooms next to us. I screamed and wailed into the wee hours of the morning.

He wanted me to talk dirty to him. This was one area in which I failed miserably. For some reason, those words don't come easily to me, especially if I'm expected to deliver the lines with any amount of confidence, which any dominatrix should do. What I lacked in words, I made up with in action - he looked like he had been attacked by a grizzly by the next morning.

I definitely consider that night to be a night of fucking. Though there was no intercourse, all the other elements were there.

It was a surreal night. In the morning, at about 6am (we never went to sleep), we decided to take a shower. After all we had shared and did, after being so vulnerable with each other, neither of us could bare to shower with the other. We both thought we should, but we just couldn't.

I remember driving home on the bus, and feeling so pleased about everything. It was nice, and it was over.

...........................


Afterword: I sometimes see Ty online, and we will sometimes drop a line to each other. He is (the last I heard) in a relationship with a woman who has a few kids. Apparently they are fucking like bunnies. He confided to me that if it wasn't for me, he never would have went to his doctor to change his medication because he 'knew what he was missing'. His girlfriend thanked me, too.
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There is something a little dirty about Hotel Sex.

......

I just spent a moment picturing the inside of a hotel bed. Ew. Ew. Ew.

Anyway. Hotels are the ideal place to get a little freaky. Since it is in a new location, there's an attitude of "what happens in the room, stays in the room" mentality. Except if you're Paris Hilton.

My first experience with hotel sex was not as a participant; at least, not a willful one. When I was 18 or 19, a friend had invited me spend a weekend away with her and her boyfriend (clue #1, I know, but I was a very naive 18 year old). She worked for a large hotel chain, so she got the room for practically nothing.

Her boyfriend was a dirtbag. He wore trucker hats, and this was way before they were event remotely kitsch. He was pudgy and dim and had a fine coat of grease all over his skin. Obviously she found some redeeming qualities in him. He must have had a giant cock, I don't know. All I know is, I wanted as little to do with him as possible.

So, that evening, after lots of alcohol, we headed for bed. We were in a room with two double beds in them, so I obviously laid on the side farthest away from the two of them. As I was dozing off, I starting hearing smoochy-smoochy noise. I was a bit uncomfortable, but mostly angry. It finally dawned on me that I was invited to that her mother would let her go away for the weekend. Looking back, I doubt her mother even knew she was dating him.

As I continued to lay there, the smoochy noises turned into heavy breathing, and rhythmic movement under the covers. I was mortified, petrified, and slightly eroticized. I couldn't believe my best friend (at the time) would subject me to this. On the other hand, listening to people fucking was a new experience to me. Being a virgin at the time, it was exciting to see what was in store. I mumbled a bit in my sleep, and moved around so they knew I was still awake.

"Let's move to the bathroom," I heard her whisper. Thank God.

I heard them turn the shower on, and then a whole lot of banging and grunting. I was disgusted, but still strangely aroused.

Our friendship dissolved soon after that. It was a long time coming, and the hotel episode was probably the straw that broke the camel's back. Were something like were to happen again (and it had, in fact) I would (did) react a bit more reasonably. Sometimes, when you need to have sex, you need to have sex now; with or without other people in the room.

Next post: Hotel Room Sex: Part 2 - How to do it right.
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Before I begin, I should point out that my boyfriend of the past year and a half will be henceforth referred to as "The King". We've been together through good and bad, and I hope it keeps going the way it is now. Most of our relationship has been long distance, which has been hard, but is also probably the biggest reason we've managed to stay together.

Sexually, we're highly compatible. I've had the best sex of my life with him, and we both indulge each other's somewhat kinky side. I'll write more about that later, though.


So, this Friday is my birthday. I'll be travelling home to celebrate with my friends, family, and The King. I should be getting home on Thursday night, and leaving on Monday. Friday night, I will be abducted by some friends, so there is potentially 3 nights of sex. Since The King lives with my parents, we always have to be sneaky and/or quiet, so the sex is never as great as it could be, though it is always good.

This week, my mind won't stop imagining birthday sex scenarios. I am really looking forward to it, and I hope the King doesn't let me down.

The King doesn't enjoy kissing, either above or below. I've accepted the lack of cunningulus, because, frankly, I never enjoyed it all that much anyway. However, I need kissing. It makes me wet almost instantaneously. It's an intensely vulnerable thing to do with someone - more than sex. You can have sex with someone, and be completely distant. With kissing, there is no pretending. You cannot be absent when kissing. There has to be passion there, or it shows.

A few months ago, I was preparing supper in the kitchen. Out of the blue, The King came up behind me and turned me around so I was facing him. He leaned down (he's about a foot taller than I) and kissed me, deeply, with tongue. I floated on a cloud for the rest of the day.

When we are having sex, I usually try to steal a few kisses, but I know I'm forcing it, so it's never as good as when it's volunteered. So, on my other blog, I've announced that I need a make-out session - a messy, clumsy, imperfect make-out session. I hope he gets the hint. Yes, I know I asked for it, but if he knows how important is to me, I hope he indulges me. Hell, I give him anal.
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I've created this blog to create a space for myself where I can get a little dirty. I will write about my current sex life, my previous ones, and the sex life I fantasize about having. Ready?
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