She had me at ‘hello.’
I found your blog through the tales of a teacher and slut (which I love). I've slowly started reading through your archives and was incredibly turned on by the posts I've read so far. I came across the post about Eden and I guess that gave me the courage to write to you, so here goes.
I recently lost my virginity. I love having sex, I love giving and receiving oral, I'm curious about anal and have no problem having orgasms when I masturbate but for some reason I haven't been able to come during sex itself. Any chance you want to meet sometime and possibly have a try? :) I'm in and out of the city this summer before moving away from the city (I'm still in heartbroken denial about leaving New York).
I'm sending a picture. I am not looking for a relationship since I'll be gone by the end of the summer, just a drama-free someone who wants to have fun and help me learn. I'm also very interested in exploring my submissive side, although I'm not sure if I'm into pain. Let me know if you might be interested, I really hope you are . . .
Apparently, the impending move away from New York had emboldened Areum.
I thanked Areum for her note and commended her taste in Meg’s blog. I also thanked her for her photograph—which was dead cute—and asked her to elaborate on her interest in submission.
My submissive side . . . there's not that much to say because I haven't really had a chance to experiment yet, it's more embryonic than fully realized.
I've been shy about expressing my desires with my previous partners because this is all pretty new to me. It's hard for me to initiate things (which is one of the reasons why I was a virgin for so long). I want someone to pin me down and tie me up and command me. I want to feel not in control. I think this side of me struggles with the (pretty big) part of me that wants to be pampered and romanced and reassured that she's beautiful. It also clashes with who I am in my public life—I'm in a position of authority within my company, and I'd rather do things my own way and get it right than delegate to someone else.
Areum had clearly given this some thought.
I learned some things about her as we corresponded. She had lost her virginity later than most, after spending her twenties in pursuit of her career and taking care of her parents and siblings. Being a good girl, she assumed she would get around to sex once her career was established and she found the right man to marry.
Now that she was leaving New York, she had decided to do some of the things she had never done in the city, such as walking across the Brooklyn Bridge, visiting Coney Island, and riding the Staten Island ferry. This same spirit of adventure led her to decide that maybe she should take a more proactive stance about sex. She took the very daring step of reaching out to me, a man she knew only though this blog.
I agreed to meet.
She was glad. She asked for my photograph.
I refused to send a photograph. She had already offered me sex and submission based on my words alone. That would have to suffice.
I also declined to reveal my real name. She was to meet me sight unseen, not knowing my actual identity.
She was excited about meeting—and anxious as hell. Hours before our date, she sent a final email.
Jefferson, I think I need to ease into things and start slow. I've never been this nervous before. Would that be okay?
Your nervousness is understandable and welcome. I will take you at a pace that feels comfortable, but you will be mine.
Here’s her account of our date.
I walked to your apartment cradling a bottle of Woodford Reserve. I backtracked at least three times, wondering what the hell I was doing. I was meeting a strange man for sex, a man whose name I didn't know and whose picture I had never seen.
When I arrived at the lobby and called up, the phone didn't work and I nearly left right then and there. I'm not too sure what made me stay—I suspect it was the prospect of having sex with a strange man whose name I didn't know.
When you opened the door I was surprised that the author of such dissipated doings looked so normal: blond, handsome, that smile and those eyes. You gave me a soft kiss and then gently kissed me all over my face, on my cheeks, my forehead, my eyelids. That was quite lovely.
I had asked you to take it slow during our first meeting, so naturally you ordered me to take off all my clothes, close my eyes, and suck your cock within the first five minutes. I got wet immediately.
Then you ordered me to get on my hands and knees and walked me to the bedroom, where you proceeded to put a blindfold on me and fuck me and do unspeakable things to my clit with your tongue. It was my extreme nervousness that was preventing me from reaching my orgasm, but it didn't stop me from whimpering and clutching the pillow. Goodness.
"You're a good kisser," you told me later as we fucked face to face, and I told you the same while smiling around the tongue you had in my mouth.
You bit me hard, slapped me harder, until I had to tell you to stop. I'm a coward when it comes to pain.
Somewhere in the course of events you slowly stuck a finger into my ass and another into my pussy and plunged and twisted faster and faster until I thought it would actually kill me dead. I tried to set aside my frustration at not coming and just lose myself in it.
You then flipped me onto my knees and starting pushing slowly into my ass for the first time. It hurt so much—I couldn't help crying out while you stayed still and shushed me softly in my ear. But then I was undone by the feeling of you moving in and out of me.
We took a break and you told me to bring you a glass of the bourbon I had brought. After all we had done, I was suddenly irrationally shy about walking naked in front of you and I quickly came back and sat on the bed.
"What are you doing all the way over there?" you asked smiling.
I scootched over closer to the armchair you were sitting in.
"Not close enough."
You pointed to the ground beneath the chair and I nestled in between your legs with your foot in my lap. At some point I realized I had lost my right contact lens when taking off the blindfold (something that's happened several times before—losing a contact, that is, not taking off a blindfold after sex. I'm not often in the habit of doing the latter.) So I was sitting in an interesting fuzzy haze that suited the surreal situation I found myself in. When I looked at you I had to focus in so that your features popped out from the background, like those hidden 3-D pictures I used to see in the mall.
We chatted for a while and I finally asked you your name. I occasionally lapsed into quiet spells, gently buoyed by a haze of endorphins that scrambled my synapses and prevented me from speaking coherently. I hope you didn't think I was ignoring you.
As we talked I found myself liking you more and more.
At one point I looked down and realized that I was covered in shockingly bright crimson marks. My skin is extremely sensitive and never fails to make a record of any and all encroachments; I'm not even allowed to donate blood any more because of the enormous hematomas that bloom over my inner arm afterwards. So my right breast had three long parallel stripes on it, which was an odd pattern to get from your bite. Perhaps you had an extra row of teeth, like a shark? My initial shock soon transformed into a sort of fascination, and I kept glancing down at those lurid marks on my skin.
You told me to go down on you. I did for thirty minutes, the longest I have ever done by far. I'm still very new at this. You talked me through it and I soaked it all in.
You told me how I needed to be, to act, to think, in order to be truly submissive.
You grabbed my hair and pushed me down until I gagged, and then the thing I dreaded the most happened and I gagged so hard I couldn't keep it down. As I wiped you off with a washcloth I felt sick and embarrassed, but also oddly comforted by you. Why is that?
You asked me what I wanted to do with our remaining time, and I wanted to feel you on top of me again, covering me up. I think I enjoyed that the most. At one point you dragged me to the edge of the bed and lifted my legs high as you stood over me, and you felt so good in me that I had to hold my hands over my face. It's something I almost always do.
"Why are you covering your eyes?" you asked while you were thrusting into me. When I didn't reply, you asked it again.
I thought you were just telling me to take my hands away, and I didn't realize that you expected a response. I couldn't speak even if I wanted to.
"Are you taking yourself away, so you can just focus on what you are feeling?" I think I nodded. In truth I don't know why I do this. Maybe it's because I find myself overwhelmed, and it's a way to contain myself so I don't fly apart.
You leaned painfully hard on my chest as we resumed kissing. You grabbed the back of my neck hard and I nearly swooned.
You told me to write up an account of our night as my homework assignment. I am nothing if not a willing student. Then you slapped my ass playfully and told me to get the fuck out.
I walked languidly back to my apartment in the evening heat. I chatted with the doorman as I stopped to pick up my spare key, since I had accidentally left my set on your counter. He said I must be enjoying having a break from work during the summer and that I was looking good. I grinned and told him yes, I was feeling much better. I was flushed and sweaty, my shirt was wrinkled to hell and I smelled like you, and I turned and walked across the lobby to the elevator.