Wanting More

After Othello on Thursday night, Seabiscuit and I drove back to San Francisco. I kept one hand on his lap the entire drive back. When he was able, he would rub my head or back. It was very soothing and sexy.

We found parking relatively easily. Then it was up the stairs to my apartment. Once that door closed, we could hardly keep our hands off each other or unlock our lips. Clothes came off, and no matter how cold it was, that night was certainly heating up.

City lights illuminated my room in the dark. 

“God, you’re fucking sexy,” he said.

It was the first time anyone has ever told me that. Why have nine of my other boyfriends ever said anything like that?

And later, as he looked into my face, he moved his hand to my face and said, “You are so beautiful. You have three smiles. Here,” he said touching my face by one eye, “and here” by my other eye, “and here” as he brushed my lips.

It was very sweet, and I don’t think I’ve ever been told anything sweeter in person.

How lovely it was just to lie in bed while holding each other. And how terrible it was that his work rescheduled a conference call to 7am Friday morning, so he would have to leave by 5am. We made the most of our few hours of bliss together, but in the morning, all I could think of was wanting more.

Off of Market

When we got to San Francisco, we didn’t stay in my apartment long. We headed out to grab lunch and then go for a walk. We held hands while walking down Market St. Occasionally I would put my arms around him, rub his back, or walk with our arms linked.

There was so much intimacy in all those small touches, movements, and things. I was very happy. Euphoric. Blissful. I didn’t want our time together to end.

He observed all the Folsom Street Fair individuals who were dressed up and remarked how good everyone looked. We had previously discussed perhaps going with each other; his suggestion was that he could wear a speedo, collar, and leash which I would hold, being the Mistress after all. However, his flight meant we wouldn’t have time to enjoy the event. Neither of us have ever been to the event itself, and as it got closer to our weekend adventure, he seemed to be a bit shy; he said he would need to practice in private before he felt comfortable going public. In private sounds fun too.

Still, we hurried back to my apartment for one last hurrah: clothes came off, and more cuddling plus other things was had.

When he realized the time, he jumped up and got dressed in a hurry. He had to be off for his flight, so it was a rushed farewell.

As he hurried down the stairwell and I closed the door, I felt drunk–high from the euphoria of our 24 hour romance. I felt as if I were in some dreamy state, and I wanted more. All I could think about was how exciting and marvelous the past 24 hours had been.

It was the best weekend and 24 hours of my life. I was touched when he sent a thank you email about having such a wonderful time with me. 

My only question was when can we plan our next adventure?

Early Mornings

Seabiscuit is an early riser. He woke up before me, kissed me and said I didn’t need to wake up just yet. It was very sweet. 

I couldn’t sleep in though because I wanted as much time with him as I could get. I went to the restroom and saw a new toothbrush had been left out for me, and I felt very touched. I got dressed and met Seabiscuit in his little kitchen nook. When he saw me coming, he rose out of his chair to hug and kiss me.

He offered me some toast and coffee. He chopped up some fresh, sweet tomatoes too. He asked if Lord Byron had emailed me back yet after I sent the photos. I grabbed my phone and checked. I laughed as soon as I read his message. Then I read Lord Byron’s email out loud so he could enjoy it too:

What nice photos! And how happy you look. Clearly Mr Seabiscuit is good for you! Excellent photos.

Lord Byron reciprocated the photos by sending two of his own: one of a river near where he walks, and the other of a surprise visitor in his bedroom this morning! Thankfully it was a little sparrow and not a cock shot. You never know with men from Craigslist, eh? But we all know that’s not Lord Byron’s style.

After coffee, it was back to bed because why not? Eventually we showered and made our way out. We did have a deadline, if only because Seabiscuit had to fly out to Sweden later in the day. There were some great moments in bed though. I’ll never forget his face turning red with embarrassment when I reminded he ought to indulge one of his kinks. He had forgotten, so sidetracked by staring into my eyes. It made me laugh but was also sweet. He said I could have been a cruel Mistress and not reminded him until we were halfway through our 1.5 hour drive back to San Francisco. Now that would have been funny, but I’m not that cruel. Not yet.

Yetis and Ice Cream

After out photo shoot, we headed out to an Indian/Nepalese restaurant called Yeti something or other and then headed out to one of Seabiscuit’s favorite ice cream places. With the exception of where we sat across from each other and we’re too far away to touch, we still could hardly keep our hands off one another.

When he took photos, he would tell me to look at them on his digital camera viewer. I would slide my hand on his back and lean in. When he drove, I would rest my hand on his right, and he would rub my head and play with my hair with his free hand. I loved it so much, all of it. my favorite part of getting my haircut is when they massage your scalp, and I was eating all the attention up eagerly.

At the ice cream parlor, he smiled at me. When I asked what that was about, he said, “I just can’t believe I’m here sitting with you. It was very brave of you to come all this way.”

That made me smile.

We headed back to his apartment. First things first: we had to select which photos were the best from the photoshoot and send them off to Lord Byron. After spending 20minutes or so, we narrowed it down and picked out our favorite five. We were in a rush to pick and send them off so we could jump back into bed. It was a lot of fun.

I hadn’t been planning to stay overnight. The plan originally had been he would drive me back to San Francisco and stay with me, so I was unprepared. No change of clothing, no toothbrush. Not even a comb. But early on he had said we could stay at his place and go back early in the morning, and that sounded fine to me.

He asked if I wanted a T-shirt or something to sleep in, but I figured what the hell. I felt comfortable in my own skin; he made me feel that way. If he was going to sleep naked, then I’d sleep naked too. So we did. That was nice. 

That Golden Hour

Seabiscuit has a lovely red leather loveseat where both sides have side buttons to kick out foot rests. The cuddling was lovely, and he’s as much into cuddling and touching as I am, so there were kisses, head rubs, and arms wrapped all around each other. (Why has no other man I have ever been with offered me this or appreciated how wonderful it is?) I was in heaven and felt pure bliss. It didn’t take long before the clothes started to come off and it was time to move to the bedroom.

I admit still feeling insecure about my body, but I was having too much fun and wouldn’t let it stop me from continuing. The afternoon melted into more bliss between sheets. 

It’s hard to describe how dreamy it all was. I’ve never felt that kind of chemistry before. We seemed a natural fit with one another. “You are commanding me without saying anything,” he said.

Seabiscuit mentioned how serene it felt to be with me, and I felt the same. Although we were excited and indulged in pleasures, there was something else there. It was very comforting.

He was also very sweet. He kept staring into my face and said, “You have such beautiful eyes.” I felt very touched and safe. It didn’t matter what we did–cuddling or kissing or just lying together–everything was blissful.

My fears and insecurities were washed away when he said, “To be honest, I wasn’t sure how I would feel about your weight. But now that I’ve seen you, I love all your curves, and your skin is so soft.” It was the sweetest thing anyone has ever told me.

Pretty soon, we realized the golden hour was near. We hopped out of bed, dressed in a hurry, and drove to those two trees to take my photo in the golden sunlight.

To those I’ve shown the photographs, they’ve remarked how happy I look and what lovely photos they are. Even Lord Byron approved.

Stirring blue waters

The photograph of the two trees in the original photograph sent to Lord Byron was taken in late winter. Their branches were bare and twisted, leafless. The grass around them stood bright green and tall while fog cast a veil over the sunrise palette in the sky.

Seabiscuit had scouted out the location the day before and sent me photos. How different it looked! The grass was dried and yellow, and the intertwining of branches could not be seen as the oak leaves were still nearly covered all branches. I decided I ought to wear blue for a contrast to that landscape, and if I am the Mistress of the Sapphire Seas, then blue seems all the more appropriate. I rarely wear dresses or skirts, but this was a special occasion, so I wore a long-sleeved tunic and a long lacey blue skirt.

I reread emails over and over on the trip there. What does it mean to be a Domme? To have a sub? I told my friends I felt I needed an introductory guide. To my coworker M, on Friday afternoon, I even showed Seabiscuit’s email for advice. M said: “He’s essentially telling you he wants you to order him around, so you can say ‘Eat my fucking pussy!’ and he’ll do it.”

What a foreign thing it seemed to know I would have so much control. I still felt like I needed a handbook. My first venture into the world of BDSM–all the control would be mine.

Well, maybe not all of it. After all, the bus I was to take decided not to turn where it was supposed to, leaving me and 5 others stranded as it never came for us and the next bus was an hour later. Determined not to be left behind with the next one, I hurried in the Saturday heat (wishing I had not worn long sleeves after all) to the Transbay Terminal to catch the bus where it starts (leaving no opportunity to be missed).

When I finally got to my destination, Seabiscuit was running a few minutes late. It was hot–more hot than it had been in San Francisco. It was in the 90s at least, and not a good temperature for long sleeves.We finally spotted each other on opposite sides of the street–him in his red car and me on the corner. He pulled over and got out as I waited for the light to change to let me cross. The sun was in my eyes, so I had to hold my arm up, but I smiled as I peeked at him.

We hugged. “It’s good to see you,” he said, and he opened the door for me. Both of us were nervous and excited. He said he thought we could get me something to eat and drink, rest a little maybe, and then have our photoshoot later near sunset when it was “the golden hour” best for photography.

So we drove to his apartment. He took out some crackers and a plate of three cheeses (a well marbled blue cheese, Humboldt fog, and a hard cheese of some sort) and offered me water or juice. We both drank apple juice while chatting and eating cheese and crackers.

After we finished off the plate, he said, “So what would you like to do now? I can show you around town, or we could go get ice cream, or–we could cuddle.”

I tilted my head to consider my options for a few seconds, and then exclaimed, “Let’s cuddle!” and I grinned.

Confluence

Last Saturday I had planned my adventurous playdate with Seabiscuit. I was to t ake a 3 hour bus up North, and we planned to do our photoshoot of me with two trees.

Leading up to the date, our exchange became very sexually charged and erotic. It felt like two heavenly bodies whose gravitational forces were pulling each other closer and closer together in orbit as we spun around with our own little planetary dance. What he likes, I like. What I want, he wants.

Both of us were scared: what would happen to take the chemistry offline? Absolute failure? Crash and burn? Regret and loss?

I had much to think about on that 3 hour bus ride–besides is the guy sitting in front of me going to go on a killing rampage as he keeps talking to himself.

Don’t fall in love

I wrote Seabiscuit yet another ghazal, titled “Good boyfriends”. I asked the questions I asked here: what it means to be a good boyfriend, and what monogamy means.

He replied, “That gave me a nice warm feeling in my heart. I do feel like we have a strange and wonderful hybrid relationship, both platonic and erotic; virtual and real.”

We are both in the same world questioning things after being unhappy in our previous relationships. So we began our exchange last night, asking about each other’s fantasies and desires.

Later in the exchange, he replied that if we were to take things further in person, we needed ground rules: 

First, you must not fall in love with me. I came into your life on the winds from the Sapphire Sea and will go the same way.

Since when does making it a rule ever make it so? And why is falling in love forbidden? Why is that a terrible thing? How can love of someone you respect and care about be terrible? Even unrequited, it should be flattering but not a thing that tears a relationship apart and sends people away.

Also, is that rule a warning for me or for himself?

I have been writing another Brit (no nickname yet) about me and Seabiscuit. He has made some astute observations in the little information I have provided. He said it seemed both of us seemed to be holding back, but he couldn’t tell why. As I waited for Seabiscuit’s reply to my latest email, I wrote my unnamed British fellow that I suspect both of us are scared to lose this special, precious thing, whatever it is.

So a few minutes later, it seemed Seabiscuit and I were truly channeling each other. I received Seabiscuit’s email with the rule of not falling in love, and at the end of his email:

PS: Another fear I have with taking our erotic connection to IRL is that it would affect our e-connection. I like it. I sound like such a scaredy-cat with all this. But there it is.

So I find myself asking once more, is the warning to not fall in love for himself or for me? Or to us both?

What does monogamy mean to you?

I ask myself that question.

I don’t know if I have an answer. Stability perhaps. I am sure some will same commitment–but only in one sense: sexuality. Is commitment in other ways more important?

I found myself falling heavily for DJMF, but is it just a raging-teenage hormones type of relationship? Could it be anything more? I so very much would like it to be, but it is hard to tell if he likes me as much as I like him. And there’s the whole long distance issue, which is not insignificant. The practical one and the romantic are always at war with each other.

With Seabiscuit, I don’t know how to describe it. Is there a word in English to describe this? I don’t think there is. I keep thinking about it, but words fail me.

He says that he probably would not be a good boyfriend for me. Why is that? Is it just monogamy? But do I care about that? And what is a good boyfriend anyway? Why the label? Technically, my last boyfriends were not good either.

Sure, there is an age difference: 32 and 55. But that does not bother me. I like him. We have had fun together in person when we went bird watching. He inspires me. He excites me. We have had meaningful conversations on hard topics. If I were to die today, I would want him at my funeral tomorrow. I feel close to him, and it’s different from other relationships and friendships that I have had. There is silliness and great maturity, honesty and great kindness.

But we both know you want and deserve a boyfriend.  Maybe DJMF or maybe someone else, probably not me.”

Why not?

You are that Kind

Well past 200 emails now, my relationship with Seabiscuit has taken quite an unexpected turn.

It is a special relationship, unlike any I’ve ever had before. We are friends and yet there is this graceful dance between us, an artful, erotic tension ever present. He has a girlfriend, and my heart is captured by another man, DJ MF, across the sea, but still that attraction lingers.

He is kind. Even when his emails are disappointing (confirmation of the girlfriend, for example), there is kindness in it. He is quite thoughtful. I’ve been given an open invitation to pursue him should I ever want. Otherwise, he will treat me with respect and as a friend in person and allow our erotic tension to play out by email.

His desire for me was a bit intense, only fully felt and revealed recently in one particular email this weekend. “But we both know you want and deserve a boyfriend,” he also wrote. And that is true. He has been very clear in not being good at the monogamy side of things–not that it bothers me as much as it might have once before.

I look back at my poetry–so much he has inspired. He is a muse! He said his mother once wrote a poem about cutting his hair. I have no doubt that he inspired her as a child, too.

I almost feel as though this is the deepest friendship I have ever had–and from Craigslist! Who knew. And still he continues to inspire me, and that artist and muse relationship continues to kindle the tension between us.

To go from who I was 6 months ago and to what a person I have become!

In a few months, I almost feel as if a phoenix risen from some ashes. I am me, and yet it as if I have been hidden in a cocoon for far too long, and here I am now: The Mistress of the Sapphire Seas.