It Was Only A Tiny Mark ...

Julie and I had lunch yesterday at Noche Mexicana (heart the chunky guacamole) so I told her I was blogging sex again, after my man said it was ok. She’s the only friend of mine (well, not counting my man of course) who can chase my online trail. She knows about my “real” blog, Facebook, Twitter yadda yadda yadda and even my embarrassingly emo LiveJournal of eons past, still active if only for the sheer horror of it all.

Julie read my old sex blog (really, my only friend to read it, again, other than my man). She reminded me today to tell the story of the end of things with Liam. I guess that is essential background, but it feels like that story is so old, so told. But maybe that’s how this blog will be for a while. New stories and some of the old stuff as it comes up. There’s just so much to tell (she smiled, contentedly). We’ll see how coherent this all is. Anyway, there are plenty of sex bloggers, but no one else to do my other writing and school stuff.

This is the story of how things ended with Liam, brought to you by the letter “J.”

Liam was waiting for me. He sat on a bench, looking like he had always been waiting for me. He looked up when I entered the cafe, his face surprised, and I half expected him to call out my name. Except that he didn’t know my name. We had never met. So I walked over and changed that. “I’m Sara,” I said. “You waiting on me?” He stammered and looked embarrassed, which was really sweet. He didn’t have to know that I was putting a brave face on my own incredible shyness. I’m confident that when I open my mouth, something clever enough will come out. I know that I’m pretty and, when I try, pretty devastating. I know to use that to my advantage, which gets me at least this far with boys I find cute. Liam was cute and I didn’t know many people in the city. So I sat down and started talking. He sat down and started listening.

That lasted for about a month. Actually, it was almost six weeks. Also, it wasn’t a “café,” it was a Starbucks. This story will only improve with the fading of details like those. I’m already cooler in this version than when it actually happened. I may eventually forget how handsome Liam was, in the moments before I knew him and even longer, into the days when we first kissed, first laughed, first made love. Already when I see him, I just see “Liam,” the bland kid who takes up the space once occupied by the cute boy I thought I loved. Or maybe did love, the way kids love one another.

We got along and were soon walking around holding hands and kissing between classes and doing the things we learned in high school that boyfriends and girlfriends do. We were cute together, and already people we met were calling us “Saranliam.”

Then I was reading, wasting time online, and met this other guy. God, the stuff he wrote about the stuff he did … it really took my breath away. I’d never seen the world that way even though it felt immediately like I always had seen it that way and no other.

I wrote him. He wrote back. He was nice and funny. I was clever and worldly (I already knew how to do that, thanks Mom and Dad!). When he asked if I was seeing anyone I told a lie that would become true. I said, not really. He said we could meet if I wanted. I wanted. We met.

Story gets compressed here. Like I said, I’ll probably circle back many times if I keep writing this blog. But the short version is that this man did things to me I didn’t know were possible. He was ... incredible. I fell for him. I told him about Liam, tho I didn’t tell Liam about him. He asked good questions, caring questions, and said it wasn’t really fair to Liam, tho he respected my decision and discretion. He knew this thing with him was just not like the real world. But he said I’m sorry I can’t mark you. That would reveal our romance (he used that word, “romance,” which made me melt, still does) and screw up things with Liam.

It’s true, I was still making out with Liam. He saw me naked, making love to me, sometimes even when I was fresh from the other man. Only now, Liam was starting to feel like the other man in my life.

So I did a bad thing. I told my new man that I had told Liam about us, and said he was cool with me seeing him. I told my new man that I wanted his marks on me so I could feel him with me all the time, not just when we were together. (I barely knew what I was saying then, I was such a kid, I now realize.) That night, I stayed with him. We had sex, we talked a lot, it was the way things now were with us, the way things never were with Liam.

I was on him, riding him, leaning over him, kissing him with my hair in his face. “I’m so glad you’re my man,” I whispered. He growled up into my mouth and lifted himself, flipping us to fuck me really hard, his hand on my throat. “I’m your man, huh?” he sneered. “That’s presumptuous of you. Who told you that I was yours? What prove do you have?” I was there, stupidly getting the living love fucked out of me. I don’t know how to answer him except to come under him. “That was so meek,” he said. “Come again, like you mean it. Do it for me.” Do it for him? How could I come for someone else? Isn’t coming something you do for yourself? How did what he asked even make sense?

I looked up at him, feeling his hand on my throat, his dick in me. I saw the rough look on his face, he was so hot, but then I looked beyond that. I saw the soft blue of his eyes. I thought of how we had just been talking and laughing. I closed my eyes, felt him, felt him, felt him … and I came for him. He slowed and relaxed his hand. “Good girl,” he smiled. “Now I can tell that I’m your man. Next time, say my name when you come, okay? That’s how I’ll know you are giving it to me.” I nodded. “Good girl,” he repeated. My nipples tingled when he said those two words.

The next morning, I went home with bruises. He had spanked me and caned me for the first time. He had also used a needle to carve a small “J” (his initial) into my left calve. Just a little letter but it was clearly a deliberate mark, not just a scratch.

I tired to avoid undressing with Liam. But it takes a week or so for bruises to fade, and that would have been a weirdly long for us to wait for sex. I got naked in the dark and stayed on my back when he fucked me. He fucked me again later and we went to sleep. Stupid of me, I should’ve gone back to my place. He was staring at my ass when he woke me the next morning. “Jesus, what happened to you?” he asked. So then I told him about my man. He was really sad about it. I had cheated on him, so I can’t blame him. I was really sorry, I said, and wanted to be friends. “Whatever,” he said. I felt like a whore.

I told my man about that. “You hurt someone,” he said. “You might hurt people now and then without meaning to. That can happen. But you knew this might hurt Liam, and he’s a good boy to you. Plus, you lied to me. You might have known I’d be done with you after that. That was a very foolish risk.” I agreed, really scared that I’d managed to hurt Liam and lose my man, all at once. But then, my man kissed me. “Go figure out what you want. Then you should take care of Liam and let me know what you decide. I’ll wait.”

I had a lot of thinking to do, though it was all compacted and small in my brain. I had already decided, obviously, before I fucked Liam. But I hadn’t known what to do. I hadn’t meant to lie, but I had hoped I wouldn’t be found out.

Liam told me he really didn’t want to see me anymore, not even as friends. My man said that wasn’t enough for him to take me back. I needed to want him, not just go to him because it was over with Liam. I cried when he said that, saying I wanted him like I hadn’t known was possible. He kissed my tears and said I could be his. I was grateful. I learned not to take that for granted.

Why Liam is still around … well, that’s another story.