Archive for good girls
I’m Back … and Here’s What Happened
Posted by: | CommentsI did as I promised in my last post. I put the bad girl to sleep and slipped into good girl mode to meet Tank’s family.
It was nothing like I’d expected based on my past experiences. Tank’s daughter gave me a big hug when she greeted me. She’s a joy to chat with—a bright, cute, energetic young woman. Very petite. I could feel her bones as I embraced her.
It didn’t surprise me that she’s very protective of her father. That came out loud and clear as the three of us chatted before dinner. And as she watched his behavior with me at the restaurant. Her concern is palpable. She wasn’t shy about expressing her views about his health and wellbeing.
All the stress I went through trying to decide what to wear and how to look wasn’t worth it in the end. There’s no false pretense with these folks. Only, I really didn’t get to know them—or them know me. The way the seating occurred when we dined is that Tank and I were at the end of the 12-person table that housed his daughter and her cousins, ranging in age from 10 to 18.
So it was only as we were leaving the place that I had a direct question asked of me by his father as we walked to our respective cars in the parking lot:
“What do you do?”
“Well, that depends on the time of the day, the day of the week, and the month of the year.”
“So what will you be doing next week?”
“I’ll be speaking in front of a thousand people. And selling books.”
“Has my son seen your books?”
“Nope. He hasn’t asked me about them.”
“He won’t. I suggest you give him a copy of your latest book and assign a couple of chapters of reading, followed by a test.”
Of all the things I could “test” Tank on, my last book wasn’t at the top of the list in my mind!
We drove back to Tank’s house. I stayed till midnight, then drove myself home, anticipating the fun we’d have Saturday night at a swing party with my friends. On Saturday morning, while still in slumber mode, I found myself scratching my legs. When I looked at them, I noticed a few red marks where my nails had been. So I decided to get up and take a closer look. That’s when I noticed the hives on my stomach and my breasts. When I turned around, I realized they were all over my back, my ass, and my upper legs.
Crap. Where did they come from? I was taking antibiotics for my sinus infection. But it had been a week already. And the hives had just shown up. Ah. I bet it was the newborn kitties. Tank’s sister’s cat had had four babies and I’d held two of them and snuggled them close to my body and my face at her home before we’d gone out to eat.
I immediately called the pharmacy. That’s when I learned it would take at least three days for them to subside—that’s if I took Benadryl every four hours. I fired off a text message to Tank.
“I have hives. From the kitties. I’m going to get drugs.”
“Maybe we should cancel tonite. You should rest. You have a big week ahead of you. Why don’t you see if we can meet your friends for drinks and dinner instead.”
Cancel? Cancel going to a party? No way! I’d been waiting for weeks for this party.
I looked at myself in the mirror again. He was right. There was no way I could bare my skin looking the way I did. Even with the lights down low, someone was sure to feel all the bumps on my skin.
So I wrote the host a note and sent our regrets. And proceeded to call my friends to see if we could alter our evening plans. Which they all agreed to do.
And then I sat down and laughed. Never in a million years have I had something like this happen upon meeting a man’s family. What a memory to behold.
Here it is, a week, later, and the vestiges of my hives are still visible on my ankles and feet. The result of wearing hosiery for four consecutive days. With my St. John knit dresses and skirts. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. Wearing four inch heels and showing a little leg as a speaker goes a long way in getting high marks from a mostly male audience.
That reminds me. I need to go take some more pills :) Tank and I are meeting a couple for lunch tomorrow. And there’s a chance I might be back at his sister’s home this evening!
Take a Walk on the Wild Side
Posted by: | CommentsTank and I’ve been chatting about it for a couple weeks. How and when to cross the line from the private world we’ve created for ourselves into the vanilla part of our lives. My memory is fuzzy on the specifics. But somehow, somewhere we started talking about the possibility of having me meeting his daughter.
It may have begun with the sandals I left at his home a few weeks ago. His daughter was enchanted by them. Thought maybe they were for her. So I know they talked about me. I didn’t ask what they discussed. It just didn’t seem to be all that important.
And then I had my epiphany. On my daily walk. I get these very strong intuitions. About people. Situations. What I need to do. They’ve compelled me to act all my life.
I thought, “Wouldn’t it be cool if I could find the exact same sandals for his daughter and pair them with a journal as a gift?” This month, not only does she graduate from high school but she also turns 18. And I know from her dad that she likes to write. So, I came up with this idea of giving her a new set of shoes for the next part of her journey—the journal is for her to capture memorable moments walking in them.
I told her dad my idea on the phone. He actually liked it. Liked it so much that he told her about it. Now, I must tell you I was taken aback just a bit about the disclosure. In my world, gifts are meant to be a surprise.
And then he told me why. He wanted to find a way for her to ask to meet me. Which she did. She said she couldn’t accept a gift from someone she hadn’t met. Which gave him the entrée to say he could solve that problem. So we scheduled a dinner for this evening. Just the three of us.
Only, things changed yesterday. I learned about it when Tank and I connected late in the afternoon.
“Tomorrow night . . . it’s going to be more like trial by fire.”
“What do you mean, Tank?”
“Well, it’s my nephew’s birthday. And everyone is getting together for dinner.”
“What do you mean, everyone?”
“My parents, my sister and her roommate, me and my daughter, my brother and his family. And you.”
And me. Me. The woman who hasn’t met a guy’s family in eons. Truth be told, I’ve only met the kids and family connected to three men that I’ve dated in the last 11 years—the last encounter being five years ago.
This change made dressing for a house party or the gangbang seem like child’s play. Last night I tore my closet apart, trying to find just the right outfit for that first impression. And here it is, Friday morning, and I still haven’t made that decision. Which means I haven’t decided what color eye shadow would look best (or whether to wear any at all) or what shoes to wear or what jewelry to put on. And a million other items ….
I’m very mindful of the fact that the bad girl side of me needs to go dormant for the rest of today. And that the good girl needs to come forward. Wish me luck, eh? And I promise to tell you all after I take a walk on the wild side!
The Little Engine That Couldn’t
Posted by: | CommentsShe left her wristwatch at my house. I waited a couple days to see if she’d contact me. Not about it per se. But to thank me for hosting her and her husband for dinner and play. Only, she never sent a note. Which saddened me. I’m a stickler for common courtesies.
So, I wrote her and said I had it. It took two weeks of e-mails back-and-forth for us to find a day and time to meet. She suggested doing so at a grocery store in the middle of the day. 12 noon to be exact. A grocery store? I was speechless. What was I missing?
Perhaps I should go back to the beginning.
A few weeks ago, Tank and I went to a swinger’s meet-and-greet a mile from my home at a locally-owned restaurant. I’ll bet at least 150 people were there—identifiable by the multi-colored beads that they’d been given when they checked in. Dancing outdoors under the stars. Eyeing each other as though they were at a high school dance.
I’m sooooo into Tank that I’ve little desire to flirt when he’s around. Plus, when left to my own devices, I tend to be a shy person. Midway through the evening he left me on my own for a while to get us some drinks. But first, he’d given me an assignment.
“Baby, I want you to approach a guy. Any guy. And flirt with him. I’ll find you.”
The first man I approached barely spoke three words to me. That corked me. He’d just demonstrated while I’ll have work forever, teaching people how to schmooze. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a married man laughing at what he’d witnessed. Not being one to miss an opportunity I approached him.
“I don’t think he’s all that interested in me. Or anyone else who’s here for that matter.”
“Well, then, his loss is my gain. Why don’t you have a seat and chat with me. My wife is off somewhere. I’m sure she’ll return soon.”
And she did. Followed soon by Tank. Both of them were bearing drinks. The four of us hit it off immediately. And much to our surprise, when Tank and I returned to my house and viewed their profile, we realized they were seeking a couple exactly like us.
“Randi, I’d really love for us to be with a couple.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m just more into groups—you know, a few of my girlfriends and lots of black men with large cocks.”
“I know, babe. But I think you’ll really like the intimacy of being with one couple even though they’re new to the lifestyle.” Whaddha think?”
Trusting Tank implicitly, I invited them to dinner at my home two weeks later. They quickly accepted. But, I must admit, I harbored a bit of a concern about the wife. She seemed more reserved that her husband. While she didn’t flinch when her husband kissed me with his tongue at the meet-and-greet, she hadn’t responded outwardly to Tank’s warmth, which is infectious.
I spent several hours the two days before they arrived getting ready for the evening. Arranged to get my full Brazilian wax done early. I love being soft and clean. Went to three grocery stores for fresh flowers and the perfect ingredients for our meal. Made sure the house was clean. Made dinner from scratch with several chocolate dessert selections. And selected what I considered to be just the perfect music.
The dinner conversation was delightful. That’s when we learned that the wife had grown up a very good girl, the perfect daughter, just like me. No dates in high school. No real sexual adventures till she’d met her husband.
We had a blast playing Twister. My idea. I’d been trying to figure out a way to get us all into contorted physical positions so we could have a few laughs. And sure enough, leave it to Tank to cause me to tumble in a fashion that put my ass with its pretty little dark blue and magenta flowered thong in the air and my black skirt around my breasts.
The agreement was that the losers would shed clothing. But instead, I saw the wife take off her top and her husband his shirt. “Hmmm. Maybe I’d figured wrong about her.”
After a second round, of which we lost again (you’d think we’d be winning given that Tank is a rock climber and can easily contort himself into multiple positions), the wife took off her skirt and her husband his pants.
And, as only Tank can do, he gently asked a few questions of the wife.
“What do you like?”
She looked away from him and her husband—and didn’t respond.
“You must like something that you husband does to you.”
Her husband piped up, “Can I respond for her?”
“Actually, I’d like to hear from your wife. In her words.”
(Whispering) “Uhmmm. I don’t know.”
“Well, what does her husband like? You’ve been married for 16 years and have a couple kids so I’m thinkin’ you know him well.”
(Laughing softly) “Yeah …”
I couldn’t contain myself. I spoke up. “Can I tell them what I think you like with me?
“Sure.”
“You like anything I do that allows me to look in your eyes at the same time I doin’ I to ya.”
The husband looked at me. “And how long have you two known each other?”
“Three months. But we talk about sex all the time.”
Her husband came over an gave me a wet kiss. “Any chance we could go to the sofa?”
“How about we go upstairs, to my room?”
I led the pack. Shedding my top and skirt along the way. With the wife behind me. I know how much men love to look at women’s asses.
Tank opened the sliding door to my balcony and led me outdoors. “Let’s give them a moment to play with each other and get comfortable.” A few minutes later, we walked back in.
The husband immediately shifted his attention from his wife to me. He sat on the bed, with me in front of him, and undid my bra. He fondled and kissed my breasts, taking each in his mouth. And then put his right hand behind my neck and pulled me down for a kiss. I started massaging his cock and got on my knees to take off his jockey shorts to get a better look at his uncircumsized cock. And positioned it inside my mouth.
By this time, Tank was kissing the wife and was caressing her body, His hands are amazing. They can soften me in a moment. But she seemed a little stiff.
After ten minutes of quietness in the room, I made eye contact with Tank. He immediately came over, put me doggy style on the bed, and proceeded to fuck me from behind. I squealed. And yelped. Loudly. Enough to alert anyone who was listening to my enjoyment.
Then Tank stopped. And turned me back over to the husband. As he went back to the wife.
For the next hour, I was miserable. The husband tried to give me oral. But it was clear he didn’t know where my clit was located or that it was something he needed to stimulate. I whispered lessons to him.
“Stimulate my clit. Here’s where it’s located. You can suck it, pull on it, tease it, lick it. Want me to show you how I masturbate?”
While he seemed eager to learn, his sexual prowess was at a first grade level, at best. I was mortified, I hadn’t signed up for a shitty evening. He was behaving like the little engine that couldn’t.
It was easy to get him off orally. And to sound like I was enjoying myself. For many of my adult years, I’d learned to fake enjoyment. But no sounds out of the wife. And I’d noticed that every time Tank got close to making her come orally, her body froze. Like she didn’t want to come. Or, wasn’t all that familiar with the sensation.
All through this experience, her husband kept baiting me.
“Touch my wife. She likes it.”
“No. she hasn’t asked me to. Nor has she reached out to me.”
“But she won’t do that. I know she likes it though, Kiss her, OK?”
“NO. She has to appear receptive. And she doesn’t right now. She’s in charge, not you.
“Oh, come on. Just for me. Won’t you do it?”
“I will not. She needs to want it. And she doesn’t seem to right now.” By this time, Tank had heard me. I’d propped myself up on my left elbow.
“You look so content, baby.”
I smiled. Content? CONTENT? I was bored out of my mind!! All I could think of was “get me outta here. NOW!”
After what seemed like forever, things came to a close. The husband and wife got dressed and Tank escorted them to their car. I finished cleaning up from dinner. When he walked back in, her gave me a long hug.
“Babe, how ya doin’? You seemed to be enjoying yourself.”
“You really want to know?”
“Yes. I do.”
“It was horrible. Awful. The guy didn’t even know where my clit was or how to stimulate it. You’d think he’d never had sex before. Geez. What do you think their sex life is like?”
“Good question. The wife wasn’t all that responsive either. Every time I’d get her close to cumming, she’d push me away. I’m not sure what’s going on with them. But it’s like I promised you, baby. If you didn’t get fucked well, I’m here for you. What do you need?”
And that’s when I saw the watch.
Tank and I had one helluva fuck session that night. One for the memory books. It was hard and long—and delicious.
The wife was at the checkout counter when I arrived at noon. I asked, “Do you have a few minutes to chat and catch up?” She acknowledged that she did.
She was all talk when it came to describing the prior weekend’s out-of-town activities with her husband, children, and her husband’s niece. They’d attended her son’s soccer tournament and toured a museum. Drank a lot of booze. I learned that even though they were new to the lifestyle that her husband wanted them to play with others every Friday and Saturday evening. And that she wasn’t sure she had the energy to do so. Even though she was starting to feel a sense of addiction to the sex they were having with strangers.
I’d looked at their online profile before driving over that day. No one had “certified” their play with them so I suspected the experiences weren’t all that noteworthy to others.
I decided to relay to her in a comical way my unpleasant swing experiences with Maestro, in the hopes of letting her know that she was in charge, not her husband. (see About Last Night). She was quiet. It was hard to read her reactions through her dark sunglasses. Right before we parted ways, she softly said, “I think I have a lot more learning to do.” I chuckled inside, thinking to myself, “Honey, you and your hubby have a lot of learning AND talking to do. I hope to God you aren’t put in an uncomfortable situation any time soon.” But, having worked as a therapist in a former life, I’m very clear that I don’t own her challenges.
Tank and I are bound to see them again at another meet-in-greet that’ll take place in three weeks. Frankly, I’m not looking forward to it. Good thing my parents taught me how to be gracious and to put on my game face when honesty isn’t called for.
And, in case you’re wondering, I still trust Tank implicitly. I’ve no doubt we’ll find a couple or two who are just right for us.
Is That All There Is?
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“I can’t see you any more.”
“What do you mean?”
“You were right.”
“Right about what? Are you talking about the e-mail I sent last night after we talked? Where I said I saw you wearing your wedding ring at Rosh Hashanah services when you were with your kids? And your hesitancy in responding to me when I asked you to take me to services at shul?”
“Yes.”
“Are you breaking up with me? Cause if you are, I’ll be damned if you’ll do it over the phone.”
“Fine. I’ll stop by around 7 tonight.”
When Maestro arrived, I was a mess. No make-up. Didn’t even fix my hair. My eyes were red and my face was puffy. I’d been crying all day—hadn’t done that since my last husband had surprised me with divorce papers a decade ago.
We didn’t hug or kiss. Like we usually do. He looked very uncomfortable. Like a kid who’d been caught smoking behind the house. I waited for him to say something—anything.
“I can’t do it anymore. I can’t have sex with you. I just can’t be present with you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I feel guilty. I realized it at shul when I saw you sitting by yourself this weekend.”
“Guilty about what?”
“I can’t give you what I need to give you. I can’t take it any more. And I’m living a lie to my kids. It’s just not working for me.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I just have to give this up. I have to work things out with my wife—finish things up. I don’t know where the guilt is coming from. Maybe I fear the future. Formally ending my marriage. Fear of what she’ll say and what people will think of me. You need someone to love you back. You can’t have the whole me at this point.
I can’t keep the relationship with my wife in limbo. It’s not fair to her or me, My family’s been traumatized over the last 18 months—with me leaving and my daughter’s suicide attempts. But, I want to remain friends with you.”
“What does that mean?”
“Go to dinner, movies. We’ll figure it out.”
I finally got up the courage to ask the question I knew I needed to spit out. “If you were seated where I am now, what would you tell me to do?”
“Don’t wait. Move on. Can’t guarantee I’ll come back.”
“Should I wait for you?”
“Don’t hold your life up. I have true feelings for you but I can’t seem to reconcile what I feel inside of me. You’re the most amazing and awesome woman I’ve ever met.”
“That’s why I don’t understand.”
He didn’t respond with words. He got up from where he’d seated himself a few minutes earlier, gave me a hug, and walked out.
I stood in my kitchen, tears streaming down my face. How do I get my belly to stop hurting? My entire body ached at a very deep level. Functioning on autopilot, I picked up the phone. I called one girlfriend and told her what happened. Then another.
Around 9 o’clock, I stopped myself. I don’t know how it happened. But I realized I had a choice. I could either continue to do the usual “oh, woe is me” phone calls. And cry myself to sleep. Stay in bed the entire next day. Maybe a week would do it. Or . . . I could do the opposite. Like a girlfriend had taught me back in June. While we were doing some writing work, I’d gotten a phone call informing me that I’d lost a chunk of business. When I told her, she suggested we immediately stop writing and go shopping. And have dinner out with lots of wine. Surprisingly, it worked. snapped me out of my doldrums.
The opposite. Huh. What would that look like? In a flash, I knew exactly what I needed to do. I e-mailed a Pilot I’d met on Craig’s List a few weeks earlier who wanted a woman to take him to a sex club for the first time. I suggested dinner the next night. He promptly accepted.
That’s when I knew that good girls do what’s commonly accepted—and bad girls color outside he lines—they embrace the opposite. I’d crossed over, at least for that moment.
Throughout my entire life, I’ve heard a whole bunch of things that “good girls” aren’t supposed to do. In fact, I still hear these sorts of comments today.
Any of these sound familiar to you?
- Good girls don’t put their needs first.
- Good girls don’t neglect to wear lingerie under their clothes.
- Good girls don’t watch porn.
- Good girls don’t wiggle their ass as they walk down the street.
- Good girls don’t make out in the back seat of a car.
- Good girls don’t have sex on a first date.
While these rules were meant to aid us in avoiding “bad boys” and life’s most difficult challenges, they can also constrain and hamper our intimacy experiences as we grow older.
Here’s your chance to give it up. Tell me—in 50 words or less—what “good girl” rule you’ve recently broken and how it’s been a positive and/or liberating experience for you. As long as your submission is positive and upbeat and doesn’t offend anyone, it’ll post here within 24 hours after you send it. If you don’t want people to know who you are, please use a user name that’s comfortable for you.
Welcome to Randi Buckmen's adventures in intimacy—beyond the world of sex. Hear how I’m embracing the possibilities of what can be while remaining a “good girl” in the public’s eye. How did I go from being celibate for three years—and wearing flannel pj's to bed with socks when I was married—to where I am today?
