Do you Believe in Life after Love?

“Cry. Forgive. Learn. Move on. Let your tears water the seeds of your future happiness.”

Steve Maraboli

It’s been four months since my last post. Life has been crazy, but there was no way I was going to miss Valentine’s Day.

This morning I woke up to my Dom’s hand on my thigh as he whispered, “Happy Valentine’s Day.” It was a 180 degree change from where I was this time last year.

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For all of us that have suffered a heartbreak and have felt the soul-crushing loneliness that lies in its wake, you need to hear this. If you’re a submissive who has been released, discarded or broken up with by your Dom/me, you must hear this.

On February 8, 2015, my first Dom, James, broke up with me in a heart-wrenching letter, to spare me–or so he said–from having to care for him through a life-threatening illness. In doing so he shattered me as if I had been made of porcelain and he had dropped me from the top of a three-story building.

I would never abandon a sick lover; that’s not how love works, it’s not how I work. The fact that James took that choice away from me in order to maintain his pride is something that will haunt me forever. I have never felt as much despair and emotional pain as I did that day. Breaking up in a vanilla relationship is one thing, but breaking up in a D/s relationship is something entirely different. One is getting cut with a knife, the other is getting stabbed repeatedly with a broad sword.

Though I didn’t have the date written down, my body and heart remembered. On the one year anniversary of my breakup, I felt a hard, cold knot in my chest. I didn’t know what it was at first. I dismissed it as anxiety and tried to move on with my day, but my heart wouldn’t let me.

I cried during my morning shower, letting the water mix with my tears, hoping to wash these emotions away. I wasn’t even sure why I was crying. I’m happy now and in a D/s relationship with a wonderful man. What was wrong with me?

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God, the universe, or whatever you want to call The Powers That Be, would not let me forget. In addition to feeling “off” I received an IM from two long-lost relatives just after that one-year anniversary. One of them suggested we chat on WhatsApp instead of Messenger. That’s where James and I talked the most. I had deleted the app from my phone; after I downloaded it again, the memories kept flooding back. The wound I had worked so hard to heal, re-opened.

I didn’t tell my Dom what I was feeling. Honestly, until I wrote this post, I’m not sure I understood it myself.

All I know is that my current Dom is in it for long haul. He never makes me wonder where I stand or whether or not he’s completely invested in our relationship. I always know he loves me, he’s committed and he’s not going anywhere. And what an amazing feeling that is!

I’ll be honest with you, I tried to resist David’s love and our relationship. I wanted to be on my own and wanted nothing to do with love. But damn it, he loves me so well that despite all my protests, I had to finally take a deep breath and submit my body, my heart and my soul to him.

There’s a great article about the first time you fall in love after a breakup and how much you’ll freak out and resist it: http://thoughtcatalog.com/stephanie-palma/2016/01/the-first-time-you-fall-in-love-after-heartbreak/

I’m relieved I wasn’t the only one that had all those crazy thoughts in their head!

Maybe all the loss I’ve experienced makes me more grateful that David is my Dom and my love. He has also gone through loss and knows the scars it leaves behind. It’s almost as if our past losses unite us even more. We are a team.

Do I believe in life after love? Oh, yes.

It’s almost exactly one year after one of the most horrible losses in my life and I’m in love again. I’m happy. I feel secure in my relationship. I’m also still learning how to love him. Love is not just a feeling, it’s a string of consistent, deliberate actions. I understand that more now than ever.

On this Valentine’s Day, I wish you love in its many forms. Whether you are trying to love yourself or actively seeking love with another, just remember that bliss is just around the corner.

“What you seek is seeking you.”

Rumi

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Psyche Revived by Cupid’s Kiss, 1793 AD by Antonio Canova

 

My First Time

It didn’t take long for Carlos to deflower me.

On our first date, we went out to dinner and then he took me to the beach. He had brought a beach blanket with him and we sat there under the stars listening to the sound of waves crashing against the shore. Carlos was quiet and told me had been painfully shy as a boy. He had this calm control of himself that I found alluring.

Carlos was Cuban, I was half Colombian. Our shared Latino culture bonded us. Though I have inherited most of my father’s German and Irish features, I did feel Latina down to my bones and was raised way more Latin than American. And, yes, I know that Latin Americans are technically Americans too, but that’s just how we say it.

Carlos was tall with dark skin, black hair, brown eyes. I was a petite, fair-skinned blonde with green eyes. He was the physical opposite of me and that aroused me tremendously. I’m still turned on by opposites to this day.

As we sat on the blanket, shoulder to shoulder, I mused at how light my skin was next to his; like a bowl of cream next to a bowl of chocolate.

Pensive, he looked at the stars and then at me. His kiss was the best kiss I had ever had; a complex sensual dance that made me throb in all the right places. I think maybe it was at that moment that I fell in love with him. There’s just something about uniting to a man with a kiss; something deeper than the physical.

Soon after we began kissing, he wriggled his hand under the front of my jeans and fingered me while he pinched my nipples. I swear I was so shocked that I couldn’t move. I let out a weak protest, followed by a guttural sound as the orgasm escaped my body. I had never had a boy touch me in any of those parts before. It was so forbidden, but my mouth forgot how to say no. Truth is, he never asked for permission.

My body was buzzing, electric. I could feel that this man was waking something up; something powerful and dangerous that I never dared disturb before.

He licked my juices off his fingers, which stunned me. “Do you touch yourself like I just touched you?” he asked, his face was a mix of curiosity and concern.

I blushed. “Sometimes.”

“Do you cum?”

I stared at the patterns of the blanket for a while. “Yes, but it feels better when you do it,” I whispered.

He smiled and nodded. “Good. We’ll make sure that happens a lot.”

He took my hand and pressed it against the front of his jeans. “You’ve made me very hard,” he said as he made me trace the outline of his cock behind his jeans.

“I’m sorry,” I said, innocently.

He tried not to laugh, he really did.

On the second date, we went to his house and watched Like Water for Chocolate–a movie he had selected for this occasion. I was wearing a short pink sun dress with spaghetti straps. We watched the movie, lying down next to each other on his couch, my back to his front, as he played with my nipples and kissed my neck. It was an appropriate movie since I was all water by the time the credits rolled.

He excused himself and was gone for what seemed like a long time. When he returned, he wrapped his large hand around mine and pulled me into his bedroom. The room was filled with the soft, warm glow of candles. It was incredibly romantic. My first time was going to be epic!

Slowly, he peeled off my clothes as I trembled. When he slid my panties off, he inhaled deeply and his features changed; his calm demeanor now replaced with primal hunger.

He lay me on his bed, face up. He undressed in front of me. God, he was beautiful. He was a firefighter and a part-time model. He had the most amazing chiseled abs, which he informed me helped him thrust even harder. I was enthralled by the “V” of his pelvic girdle.

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When he took off his pants, I saw his erection. I had never seen one and it kind of scared me. He smiled that wicked smile of his and crawled on the bed, his face between my legs.

Oh my God!!

Let’s just say that when Carlos dies, his tongue should be bronzed. Not only did he truly enjoy skating his tongue along the flower of my sex, but he brought me to orgasm after orgasm until I thought I would faint from erotic exhaustion.

I knew what was going to happen next and I was ready. More than ready.

“Have you ever seen a man ejaculate?” he asked me.

I blinked. “No.” I can’t imagine where an innocent virgin like me would have seen such a thing.

That’s when he did something that surprised and confused me. He started masturbating in front of me. He came quietly, his essence shooting up into the air several feet.

I was speechless and throbbing.

“It’s been a long time,” he said, as if that explained anything to me.

Carlos cleaned himself up, crawled on top of me, his muscled arms pinning me to the bed. Then he kissed me over and over again, his cock sliding along the slit between my mounds, but he didn’t push himself inside me. I moaned in agony while I asked myself, why weren’t we having sex? Was something wrong with me?

He looked at me suddenly and said, “I’m not going to go all the way in. You’re not ready yet.”

I was sure there was no way I could be more ready, but he was the experienced one so I nodded in agreement.

He used his hand to guide his cock into that cavern of lust that no man had explored before. One tiny centimeter after another until I gasped. At some point an imaginary door appeared; a door that wouldn’t open. I clenched.

“Relax,” he whispered into my ear.

I tried to, I really did, but I couldn’t.

Carlos didn’t seem upset with me at all.

On our next date, I wore a white linen dress and white lace panties. No bra. I remember that night so well. We watched an action movie at the local movie theater. During the flick, he thumbed my nipples through the arm opening of my dress until they were as hard as little pebbles. I was so wet that I was afraid my excitement would bloom through the light linen fabric.

We left, got in his car and he looked at me with a grimace. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Before I could ask him what he was sorry about, he gave me an order. “Take off your panties.”

I was going to protest, we were in a packed parking lot, but his eyes turned intense. “Now.”

I quickly slipped them off and once I had, he grabbed me roughly and dragged me on top of him. He was in the driver’s seat and I was straddling him, my bare, wet pussy on top of the coarse fabric of his jeans. While I was still on top of him, he unzipped his fly and freed his cock.

Carlos looked like a feral animal. I was scared. How could this romantic, gentle man want to do this here, now? But there was no question that’s exactly what he wanted.

“This is going to hurt.” With that he shoved his cock inside me and I let out a small scream as my back arched. With one thrust, he had broken through the door.

His car windows were tinted, but I was sure all the moviegoers around us could see what was happening.

After the first few thrust, it didn’t hurt anymore. I felt filled with him. Though I didn’t understand why, I loved how he had taken me like that. It’s an amazing feeling to see a self-controlled man lose control because he wants you so much.

I also learned an interesting lesson: action movies turn men on. Note taken.

I looked down at his cock as it pistoned inside me. I stared at it, fascinated by this dark column of muscle disappearing into my body. In and out, in and out. Over and over again until I had an orgasm unlike any other I had before. The only way I can describe the difference between a vaginal orgasm and a clitoral one is that a vaginal orgasm is deeper and makes you feel whole while a clitoral one is more of a beautiful, electric release. They’re both wonderful, but when you have both at the same time, it is complete and absolute bliss.

The following day, Carlos took me every which way in his house. We had sex for hours. We did it on the bed, the couch, the floor, the bathtub. Even the kitchen sink. He was insatiable and I was surprised to find out that I was too.

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As I watched him sleep in the nude next to me, the sheet barely covering his manhood, I thought to myself: I’m glad I waited because if I had let this beast out when I was in my teens, what would have become of me?

I had a religious friend ask me why I had let him take my virginity. I simply said,

“Because he deserved it.”

I had always been very religious and therefore, repressed, but this connection, this union between a man and a woman beat that hands down. Sex was the melding of the physical, spiritual, psychological and emotional worlds of two human beings. Powerful stuff indeed and created by God to be this amazing for a reason. No sermon had ever moved me like this. From then on, I knew that intimate sex with someone I loved was more meaningful to me that anything else. I wanted to concentrate on my lover and on him alone. Nothing made me happier than pleasing him. Let the rest of the world be damned. This was my calling.

For the next few weeks, Carlos showed me how to please him. He took me whenever and wherever he wanted. A crowded beach, at lunch at a restaurant, an alley behind a bookstore. He used me for his pleasure, grabbing my hair, pinning me down, slapping my ass and shoving himself inside me without preamble while also showing incredible tenderness at times. It was amazing, but it didn’t last.

Carlos was a fabulous and skilled lover, but he didn’t quite know how to navigate the hours between sex. After satiating himself, he would tune me out completely. I felt so alone, so discarded. I tried to break up with him because that upset me so much, but he would just seduce me again. It was obvious I was powerless under his spell. The night before I ended it, he said, “Next time, I’m going to tie you up and shave you. I’ll show you things…”

Those words, and the promise they held, have haunted me for years. How different would things be if I had not broken up with him, at least not before he tied me up and “showed me things”?

I didn’t know it then, but I’m pretty sure Carlos was a Dom. At the very least he was a very dominant man.

Though he couldn’t manage the  emotional side of a relationship, he set my sexual beast free.

And I’ve been wrestling with it ever since.

It’s the Little Things

“I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair. Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets. Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps …”

Pablo Neruda

I love men. Seriously, I’m a huge fan. I love their boyish charm, their wicked fantasies and how they can’t stop staring at my chest. I’m pretty sure they also know I adore them and they appreciate it.

But my favorite men are Doms. Doms are delicious. They elevate seduction to a whole new level. I, for one, am incredibly grateful for the effort.

The energy they exude is intoxicating. It can make a sub like me dizzy. Dominant energy is a living thing. I can’t speak for how a Dom feels submissive energy, but I’d like to think we can both sense that we were created for each other. It’s beautiful, really.

BDSM novels would lead you to believe that a Dominant man is all about his skills; how he controls a woman or how well he ties knots. For me, it’s the little things that send me vibrating.

The warmth of my lover’s breath on my neck; his fingertips lightly touching the small of my back as we walk into a restaurant.

I miss the feel of a man’s razor stubble as he brushes his cheek against my sensitive inner thigh. That look just before he takes me.

However, what I miss more than anything is kissing. Is there anything more erotic than two tongues slow dancing with each other as your noses, cheeks, chins and foreheads touch? Kissing is a prayer, it is sacred.

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Kissing is an art and I like to believe that I am a connoisseur of this particular craft. That’s how it should be for lovers. Love, sensuality, seduction, erotic energy is something that must be practiced, exercised and shared.

What can I say, I’m a hopeless romantic or maybe I’m just hopeless!

Lately, I’ve been listening to the old Mexican love songs that my mother grew up with. She’d listen to them when I was a child and I learned to be quite fond of them. I may post some of the translated lyrics on the blog someday, but here’s a small snippet that really got to me from the song, Amor:

To feel that your kisses were nested on me
Like messenger pigeons carriers of light,
To know that my kisses were left in you
Making the sign of the cross on your lips.

Mmm. I can’t wait until I can feel that again…