You are the Concave to my Convex

I miss you. And I haven't met you yet.

We fold inside each other. You are the place where I am at ease, where I feel loved and cherished. I give myself to you, your strength, your stability. I've never felt so safe, so open, so free.

You celebrate my uniquites. You love the way I laugh, you love the way I fuck, you love the way I dance. I exist for you, and you exist for me. Enduring time passing to be near you again. We have never experienced such passion, such want. We have fabulous adventures together. Even though you are calm, centered, you are always up for whatever inevitably pops up for either of us, whether it's going to a strip club or to an art museum, and you enjoy both with equal fevor. We have so much fun together.

We took our time when we met, the sweet torturous dance of unfolding and discovering each other. We never went to the next step physically, mentally, emotionally until it was unbearably and wonderfully anticipated, and the erotic nature of self denial only made our physical union that much more passionate, that much more anticipated, that much more rewarding. You, better than anyone I've ever known, know the language of seduction, understand the nature of want, desire, and eventual slow languid reward. You know when to dominate me, and you know when to submit to me. You make me feel like I am dancing underwater, my wild curly hair haloed in all directions, my eyes intensely blue, and electric see you, and only you...

We are both exotic. Foreignly american. Like Persian Royalty. Heads turn everywhere we go. Jealous men and women, wanting to be you, wanting to be me, wanting to experience what we experience for being together. For being in love.

Undulating, I breathe you. I miss you. And I haven't even met you yet.

*posted on craigslist august 15, 2005

Tie Me Up

This particular evening I was in a slump. The episode that we had tenatively planned held no appeal for me, I was restless and annoyed with my self. My kink. My strange alternate reality.

After a long dialogue of which rivited me, we had met the day before. I had flashed this boy in the building next door through his window without knowing him, or what he looked like. Only that we lived remarkably close for the chance virtual meeting of the minds we experienced, through craigslist, of course.

The adventure in store was restraint. Allow this man to tie me up for a particular donation and instill various stimuli on my body, for the purpose of exploration of sensitivity and experimentation. It was something that I had wanted for a while, and when I saw the ad, I jumped at the opportunity.

So tonite we set up the episode. And honestly, I wasn't feeling like going there. Instead, I cleaned my house. Handled some chores. Worked out. Took care of my soul.

And when I finally returned to the elounge computer place in my building to write an email, I found a few from him. Not angry, but curious as to where I was. At 10:30 pm, I finally showed my face. Virtually at least.

As I told him that I was sorry, but I didn't think I was up for it, he returned a quick email saying that it wasn't a big deal, and that hey, thats 300 he's saved. Shit, I thought. We had only talked about 100-200. If I had known he was going to be that generous, I know my ass would have been moving much sooner than it did. But it didn't. I wrote back saying that I might not be so out of it after all, and was he still up for it? He was, but wasn't feeling so generous anymore. Then I got him on the phone, and had him agree to start at a base of 100, and then work our way up from there based on how aggreeable he found the experience.

So we were set. I like the theatrical aspects of these fantasy endeavors more than anything, and thought as I looked into my closet, wondering what would suit the occasion best. On my visit the day prior, I had noticed that he was a man of formality, liked classical music, asian design inclined, and particularly detail oriented. I selected a strapless black satin knee-length dress, and then pulled out the jacket that I had bought from the Studio Theatre annual yard sale a few weeks ago. It was also satin, black on the outside and a light lime green on the inside, reversible, with intricate asian embroidery up and down the middle, next to a stack of possibly 10 hook type buttons up the front. Putting it on, I stacked my long curly hair on top of my head, put on make up to make my features more dramatic, super high heels and grabbed a little black purse to put my keys inside. Outfit complete, I make my way outside.

As I left my apartment and turned to lock the door, my cell phone rang. It was my ex boyfriend. Great.

"Hi.. whats up?" I asked, fumbling with the keys to lock the door.
"Nothing, what are you doing?"
"Um... oh, just heading out for a bit..." It was a feeble attmept at nonchalance but it was 12 30 am already, and I could tell my voice was a little strained.
A pause. "Ok..." another pause. "Are you alright?"
"Oh, yeah. Totally. Hey can I call you back another time?"
"Sure."

So I hung up. A little flustered, but again, on my way.

I walked outside and then completed the short distance between his building and mine. He had given me a number to call from the front, and as I dialed I heard a ring, and then a "hello?"

I leaned into the speaker. "Guess who."
*Beeeeeep!*

I pulled open the door and approached the stairs that we had taken last time I was there, after signing in. I looked at the security guard, who looked bored, as I put down the name dave, which I couldn't tell if it was his real name or an alias, he had given me the impression the other day that it had not mattered what name I put down... and still to this day, I never really found out his name. I wondered what she thought of me, all dressed up like this.. and I felt strangely like a girl on stage, or what a prostitute or escort must feel like when visiting a client.

Pulling open the heavy stairwell door, I carefully step by step went up the flight of steps to the 1st level, noting the dank florecent lighting as it hit the one large yellow stripe in the middle of the wall that cllimbed the steps with me. Big yellow stripe on a dull grey wall. I felt like I was in a movie. Click, click, click.. as my heels hit the concrete stair.

When I got to the top of that flight, I knew his apt was right on the other side of the door. I took a deep breath, stepped into the hallway, up to the door and knocked.

The door opened. No one there.. I walked in and saw him behind the door, holding it open.. He looked serious. Then closed the door behind me.

One of the reasons I felt comfortable doing this was that this guy was not a threatening guy. He was booky, wore glasses, was quite pale, and a little lanky. He was a guy that I imagine is always on time to work, and generally at the top of his class. Not that easily excited. He seemed to have a very specific fetish about all of this, and it was border theatrical, he had even picked out music for the occasion. I came into the sitting area and took off my jacket, and draped it on a chair, left only in my strapless dress and very high heels.

Did I want something to drink? I had smoked some pot before I left (which I always do to make things more fluid and less questioning in my mind about these things) so yes, I told him, I would like some water. He brought me some, and I sat drinking it, as he looked at me, with what I imagined was satisfaction. "So shall we?" he asked, and I said yes. We went into the bedroom.

It definately looked set up, everything was clean, the bedspreads gone, a sheet only and I came in and looked around, as I sat carefully down on the edge of the bed. He asked me to remove my dress, and I did, left only in black lace underwear and my heels. At that point, he blindfolded me, with a peice of fabric. Could I see he asked and I shook my head no. At this point he m ust have turned on the music, and I hear the beginning of starwars. Iiiinteresting, I think... but along they way, I suppose the soundtrack is decent, because it was rather complementary to the episode. Maybe some classical mixed in too...

So at that he guided me to lay down, and I felt him tie my legs to the bottom, and then my arms above my head to the bed frame with scarves. Plaid red and green ones, like you wear in the winter time, I know because I had noticed them secured in place when I first came in. Securely tied, I pulled on one of them with my arm and got loose easily, so I told him to tie it again, and he did. Comfort in knowing that I could get out? Probably, but I did think that it was kinda lame that I could.

Then his hands. Touching my body, my stomach, my legs. My breasts, my nipples. His hands were cool, a little clammy.. but not that bad, and I braced myself against the touch of a stranger. Then he pulled out some wax. Dropped in along my stomach, but it didn't really hurt. Special wax? I dont know. Down my legs. On my tits. Interesting. Then he took off my underwear and I was naked. Used his hands then the wax a little more, and then a few other things I couldn't identify. A big metal pipe? Maybe a hair brush. Sometimes I jumped, sometimes I sighed. He eventually worked his way to my pussy, fingering me, playing with me, messing with it, leaving it alone then coming back. Some of this was very good, and at some parts his hands felt rather cold. When he fingered me my hips would jerk into the air, because it was the most free part of my body. I liked the feeling of being restrained and played with. At points he put a vibrator on my clit, other times hed stop and leave my pussy completely alone. My arms did get tired of being above my head, but mostly the excitement of it was very interesting. What will happen next?

Eventually, things began to build and build. And something in the air told me he was very excited. So I wrestled my hand loose and took ahold of his dick. It was hard. Not small, not that big, a decent handful. Shy boy, I thought. This must be thrilling for him... And I started to jerk him off as he continued to do various stimuli to my body. I think at this point, I worked my way out of the blindfold too... and he fingered me as I jerked him off. Can he come on my chest? yes, I was fine with it, even though I am not a fan... More, more, more, and whoaa.. he came, and he did come on my chest, but some of it got on my neck, in my hair, and a little (euw!) on my face. Dude, I thought. I better get that whole 300.

So as usual, the adventure ended with him coming. I think he got me a paper towel to wipe off the come, and I walked over to the bathroom to wash the rest of it off. He looked like he pulled himself together and watched silently as I pulled on my clothes and gathered all my things. Then I looked at him as I was ready and said "Well?"

"Well?"
"Well, what do you think? Did you have fun?"
"Yes.. I'd say that was quite pleasurable."
"Sooo.. how did I do?"
"Oh, you did good, you almost doubled your money."

What.

"Ok... so..." I'm trying to understand how much, where is it...
"We've got to do the handshake." He's looking at me like I should understand what he's saying.

I'm confused. Not sure what he's talking about I put my hand out to shake his, and he does, with $180 in it. I take the money and raise an eyebrow at him. "Thanks." He must feel weird about paying me. I'm thinking I should have gotten more, but whatever. I am ready to bolt.

And with that I leave. Back down the grey stairwell with the yellow stripe. Back out through the slightly musty lobby with the large bored security guard. She glances at me and I smile briefly, saying.. "goodnite."

Back outside and then one building over to my safe modern red doored hall ways. Back into my apartment. Money on the counter, I go outside and smoke a cigarette on my patio. And think about what I have done. Always mixed feelings, and always a certain rush of adventure at having done it. That was interesting... I think.Then I come inside, take off my courtesan dress and return to my world. To my bed. To finally sleep.

Incognito.

I am a handsome, fit, 50-year old very prominent attorney . . . Your post strikes me as interesting to the point of being tantalizing.
 
I am well-heeled and in a position to satisfy your reasonable request for financial assistance.
 
Here is my proposal.  I only want to meet you once, and I do not want to know your name, nor will you know mine.  I would like the location to be in a nice hotel that I will pay for.  I would like to have what transpires between us in the hotel room be something that we gradually evolve through email, over time.  I want our interaction to have a high element of fantasy, as only very sophisticated written communication can accomplish.
 
Are you game?

*****
yes

•••••
Let's close our eyes and imagine the setting . . .
 
The room is dark, but dimly lit, rather than completely blackened.   You are wearing perfume, something subtle, not overwhelming.
 
You will greet me at the door.  You will be wearing a long silk gown, with expensive underwear and high heels.
 
*****
you come in, and sit down.
i bring you a drink, and sit across from you, sipping
one of my own.
watching you... watching me.
we sit in silence. knowing what is coming. and why we
are here.

•••••
I stand to face you.  I am wearing a dark blue suit with a faint yellow stipe, a light blue french-cuffed shirt and a yellow and blue tie.  I remove my jacket and place it on the bed.
 
You stand and walk towards me, slowly.  I can feel my heart beating.  There is an electricity between us . . . almost as if sparks are being created.
 
You lean towards me.  Your perfume intoxicates me . . . I can feel your warmth.  You whisper in my ear.

*****
"touch me"

•••••
I hesitate.  We look at each other.
 
"Better yet," you say.  "Do not touch me."
 
You are only inches away, as you unknot my tie and slowly pull it through my collar and stare into my eyes.  Then, you slowly unbutton my shirt . . . .
 
"Remember, no touching."
 
The room feels almost like it is pulsating, like time has stood still . . .

*****
Unbuttoning your shirt completely, I leave it open and untucked. Then, still looking into your eyes, I unbuckle your belt, and pull it through the belt loops. Slowly.  
 
Brushing my hand just barely over your crotch as I pull it away from you.
 
I then move to stand in front of you, standing perfectly still. As I stand, my hands find my gown, and pull it up, inch by inch.. My hands the only thing moving, you cannot tell whether to watch my eyes, or the raising hemline of my skirt...

•••••
My excitement continues to build.  Your dark beautiful eyes are almost hypnotic. 
 
You continue to slowly lift up your gown, as I stare transfixed.  Then, suddenly, you are standing before me in only your panties.
 
"Remove your shirt,"  you command, and I do.
 
Next, I remove an ice cube from my glass and move towards you . . .

*****
"Ah! Remember! No touching." I chide you.
Visibly dissappointed, you lower your hand, still holding the ice cube.
I try to conceal my amusment. Slowly reach out my hand and take the ice cube from your hands. Then, ice dripping from my fingertips, my hips slowly sway, and I move sensually to music only I can hear. My clear ocean electric blue eyes watching your every twitch, and physical reaction. And still watching you, I take my ice ladden hand, and place the cube on my collarbone, then sliding it up then down my neck continuing down the middle of my chest, and over my stomach to circle around my hip.

Turning while I do this, I hand it off to my other hand, bringing it full circle over my other hip, back to my stomach and then... so very slowly, slide it down, down under my panties into the crease between my legs, gasping slightly.. And then out and back up again. I seem to barely notice the cold, my body has melted the cube significantly. All they while swaying
slowly, methodically. You can't stop staring, at my now ice wet body; the cold temperature has made my nipples stiff, and hard. My hair, curly and long, cascades impressively over my shoulders and back. I float my hands back up, over my nipples, brushing them every so slightly on the way up to my hair. Tying my hair up, slowly, the ice is completely gone, and I look at you, watching me, waiting for the next step...

•••••
I stand, staring, intoxicated. 
 
"Take off your pants,"  you command, and I unbuckle by belt, letting my pants drop to the floor.
 
My penis is erect and standing straight out in my boxer shorts.  It feels almost as if it is straining to touch you.  We are gazing into each other's eyes.
 
You walk slowly around me. I can feel your warmth, smell your perfume.
 
You stand in front of me, and gently, almost imperceptably touch my penis through my shorts.  I gasp.  You continue to lightly fondle and caress me.  I can barely feel it, but the sensation is almost like electric shocks.  
 
Suddenly, I whisper "Tell me what to do."

*****

Mr. Banana Hammock

I met him.

Craigslist is a playground for me, and among the time I have spent there I have observed a few others who use it for their own entertainment purposes as well. Among them one that stands out is a guy who posts daily on men for women. He just writes us letters, makes fun of other shitty ads, posts about women falling all over him, and an asundry of other random events or ideas he happens to be thinking about. This is Mr. Banana Hammock.

So, Friday night I went to Adams Morgan to see him. I've been talking to him back and forth via craigslist for about half a year. He's 36. He's been writing something on craigslist everyday practically for nearly 6 months at least. You can see some of his work here: http://handwashingchampion.blogspot.com

Also if you do a search on Adam's Morgan, age 36 on men for women, you can find more, many many more. He is very entertaining, Online.. And then also, I soon found out, in real life.

We have literally been talking for months. Maybe almost a year. I invited him to the party I had last November, he said he would come but never showed up. We were talking about hanging out on new years eve, he had a birthday last may that I was going to buy a drink for him, but never got my ass moving, and even over the fourth of July I sent a note wondering if he had plans. Suffice to say, nothing has ever materialized.

I know he goes to Angles on Friday's after work, we've had plans to meet up there before, but I never made it. This particular Friday I saw another ad of his. He writes that only commitaphobes psychos, and libras are interested in him. Amusing as usual. So out of this, I think I will make an effort. Sent an email letting him know that I might drop by and will he be there? Yes, he's heading over, and will be there for a few hours until he is too inebriated to move. Ok, decision made, I am moved to action, the effort has been initiated. I head to farragut north, to catch the 42 bus to adams morgan. For some reason its a long journey today (always seems like a long way to adams morgan anymore), and I think about what I’ll be doing afterwards, maybe work out, maybe read, maybe turn in early.

Of course I don’t.

But I don’t know that yet. I’m reading my new favoritest book: “The Art of Seduction”. Since the bus ride is long, I pull it out. “Pay attention to Detail” is the chapter I am on. I read, temporarily distracted by some drama as a French woman gets on the bus and holds up the line because she doesn't know what the driver is asking her about her senior citizen discount, finally, he just tells her $1.20, then to the fat girl behind her that speaks French. The girl translates then immediately puts her head down and looks like she really thinks that she can squeeze by into a seat through the 2 inches to spare in the bus stairwell. I stare for a while mildly confused at the comotion, then go back to reading, and actually wonder if the republican that is sitting next to me has glanced down at my book? I caught him looking at me earlier and had moved only to recognise the right wing in his reading material. I wonder if he sees the word seduction on my pages, I wonder what he must think? The bus stops, and I get off at Columbia road.

On the way down 18th street I bump into a guy I have seen around town, he's a bouncer at various establishments.. He starts chatting it up with me, talking about his new business, oh, I am a graphic designer huh? He might need a new logo, and I politely nod and look contemplative, but am really thinking that I'd better get down the street, or else I am going to miss him again. It's already 7 30, and the Banana Hammock is evasive as it is. Scribble some contact info down and move on.

I make my way up to Angles, a bar I've never been to. I see him right as I walk through the door, and smile at him. He smiles back, but then abruptly stops, looks confused. I stick out my hand and tell him my name. Recognition registers, and he scoots over a stool to let me sit down. I do.

I am struck by how different he seems in front of me. I think that the main factor is that he is slightly effeminate; people think he's gay but he's not. (Rather obviously). Also, it goes without saying, he is quirky. We talk about his job. We talk about his ads. We talk about my book (he's read it). His features are wide, distict. He is not conventionally handsome. But something in his movements is interesting. Online he does seem like the super packed swoon inducing ultra witty kinda guy, and in person by contrast, he is a little internally oriented. His body language is slightly defensive, almost shy. But even more interestingly, his eyes tell a lot. There is very little self doubt. He obviously knows he's smart. Behind his glasses they are calculating, when he takes them off, they are intellectually intense. What's most fascinating to me is the knowledge that endlessly entertaining posts have come from the mind behind these eyes, and that almost all of them are rather true. He asks about my red pants. I tell him its because I am on fire.

Three, four, five beers later, they start to play that gorillaz song. Then they play Venus on a Mountaintop. I start dancing in my chair... and then he does too. Whatever I do, he mimics, slightly awkwardly. Its endearing. I try to squash the emotion quickly. Stoppit, I tell him. You're doing that thing they talk about in the book... He denies it.

Then he tells me that he is suprised at me in person, as compared to online. Pleasantly suprised. Of course I am pleased to hear it. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah... I'd make out with you." I raise my eyebrow at this. And of course I start thinking about it.

"Are you any good at it?"
"Wanna try me?" He leans in at me. I dodge him. Laughing.

"Not sure yet. But good to know."

And we dance some more, in our chairs.

At this point, I don't know if it was just that I'd had enough to drink, or what was going on, but it was that famous moment when you're out with someone that things just shift. Just click into place in a certain way, and the whole evening turns out a lot differently than you expected it would. When did we start kissing? I don't remember. But it was in the bar... And I remember a vague second when I was aware of it, 'Hello... I am kissing in a bar. There are a lot of people around." But for the most part, for the rest of the uhhhm 15 minutes we must have been completely making out, I didn't notice much but his mouth. His tongue, his teeth. And I remember the fact that he had a lot of saliva, big mouth, but good, erm, decent kisser. Was it the beer? I don't know. I just remember wiping my mouth of excess saliva and saying, "not bad." And then leaning in for more.

So now, he's looking ready to go.. we had settled up the bill a while ago.. and he says something about continuing this at this apt. I look at him. Is Mr. Banana Hammock inviting me to his apt? It seems like he is. Yes, he does it again. He is. I am way too curious to turn him down. And we set off. Wading through the zoo of Adams Morgan, I get a falafel, but he doesn't, he wants his Friday night cheesesteak. Walking along, dodging bargoers, trying hard to inhale my falafel before it falls apart in my hands. I'm sure it was really hot. On the way he says that he's really glad he cleaned his apt.

And in no time we are at the "Adams Morgan compound". And we drink some more beer, and watch kids in the hall. It was so Funny.. he was so funny, everything about him was interesting, different. And I was laughing a lot. So much that my face started hurting. I must've been drunk. I remember thinking, good I am drunk. This is fun. Let me drink some more. And in between cigarettes and kids in the hall, we were kissing. Kissing and kissing. Laughing and kissing. So lovely a time. For a moment, I wonder how I got here, and for a moment, I feel secluded from the world in this foriegn space, drinking it in, the skylights in the kitchen, the bookshelves, the books on them. The way the furniture was arranged. The ipod. Etc.

I know that I had this all so casually. I certainly had no intention of getting terribly hot and heavy with Mr. Banana Hammock, much less start thinking about even more than that. And then he asks me to stay. I don't think he means it, but I think I was also unaware of how tired he was. He says it a few more times, like he was convincing himself that he wanted me to stay, I think.. but at that point I was so tired that I was happy for the opportunity to not have to trek back home. So I did.

And the funny part of this was that the ending you think you'll get did not happen. At this point, I almost feel like not writing anymore. No one got laid. Not even a lot of action, most of the night we slept. The energy grew more and more funny for me (alcohol was wearing off obviously) as morning hit and then took over. But a few interesting things happened that I'd like to make note of:

Unlike most men I have been in bed with, he did not make excessive passes at me. He didn't make like he was desperate to fuck right now, and he hardly touched me. But when he did, it was exactly exactly what I wanted. It was exactly how I wanted to be touched.

He slept with his back to me, spooned in me. I don't think I have ever seen a guy do that. But it was comfortable.

I hardly ever reach out toward a man's penis. I am most comfortable when they don't even make me aware of it. But at some point when we were sleeping, I did. And not only did I reach down, but I held him. He had girth. And for the time period that I spent touching him, through fabric, holding him, I got terribly turned on. So much so that I had to stop myself and turn around. This hardly ever happens to me. Not only that, but I returned a few more times. Always brief, but still, a crazy and uncommon phenomenon.

In the middle of the night, I woke up, and he was terribly sweaty. Curiously he wouldnt take off his shirt. Then I got up to get some water, and go to the restroom. In his soapdish, he has a bar of soap with a hveinedd viened eyeball in the middle of it. This is quite a startling thing to discover at around 4 am. I returned to bed, but the sweat didn't bother me so much. A few hours later, he'd cooled off. His t-shirt said, "This ain't no disco." Funny. Little. Quirky. Things.

Finally, hello... I was in bed with Mr. Banana Hammock. I think I repeated this to myself at least 3 times that nite. It was like being in bed with a celebrity.

Then light hit, and I found myself tired and disoriented from being somewhere other than my own bed.. but I wasn't sure how to excuse myself. Also, I kinda didn't want to yet. Sometimes I just like to spend several hours with someone, learn them all at once. We smoked a cigarette then went to bed for a while longer, and this time just talked. He told me about his family. His sister, about his neices. It was comfortable, and nice... but I really wondered if he liked me at all, or what.. Men usually touch me alot, but he hardly did, it was me touching him, and usually I hardly do. I usually just wait to observe how they work it out. But still nothing, even though I was topless. It was very curious. And through it all I just don't know how much I liked him, but I never know these things...

Finally, some cranberry juice and several cigarettes later, I was out the door, with anawkwardt akward kiss in the elevator, and one almost miss outside the door. I felt slightly disoriented, grimy and tired. Headed towards tryst to get some coffee.. and bought a shirt from the mexican discount store on way bc I was so over my shirt.

But fuck! How cool is that? Mr. Banana Hammock. And I met him.