Does distance make me dumb? Insensitive?
Ferns (over at Domme Chronicles) and I have been having a discussion about the challenges of having profligate relationships in public. She’s curious about the dynamics of this all. She’s curious at an interesting moment.
For much – even most – of Sofia’s and my relationship, she has been the primary recipient of, and provider of, my extramarital sexual stimulation. You wouldn’t necessarily know that to read here, but it’s true. She is, as I’ve written, smart. English isn’t her first language, but she’s not just fluent, but emotionally fluent. And… she’s exquisitely compliant, generous, and insanely, incredibly, like, literally unbelievably hot. She is, in many ways, my ideal extramarital companion.
Tragically, she’s 5,000 miles or so from me, and neither of us has plans to be in the other’s hemisphere, let alone country, or city.
Sofia has long longed to see the desire I show her privately reflected publicly, here, and somehow, for some set of reasons I don’t fully understand, she never has. And when she sees me get all enthusiastic, as I have about both the Amazon and Luna, in recent days, she sees red.
Partly, I think, my failure to reflect the desire I feel for her more publicly is sheer calculation. When I was seeing V, I was clear that if I wrote about Sofia, it might well upset V, and so, out of some combination of sensitivity and selfish prioritization, I protected the woman I was fucking from the one I wasn’t. This isn’t admirable, or nice. And, truth be told, it really wasn’t conscious. But still, I suspect that was part of it.
My proclivities are such that any woman who engages with me – whether it’s L, or V, or Sofia; whether she’s 5,000 miles away or around the corner; whether we’re engaging purely virtually or IRL – is going to be exposed to similar demands. I like to be teased, visually, aurally. I like compliance, demonstrated, over and over. I want to see you come, to hear you come. I want to see you dress as I direct, undress as I direct. I want to know your wardrobe intimately, your body intimately. And I want it all, over and over and over.
L was the first to enlighten me as to just how bad this can feel. But I’ve heard it over and over. From V, from others. Even my friend has found it painful at times. And she’s a friend. When L brought it to my attention, I wrote a bit of an apologia, an attempt to make clear why, how, even though it feels like it’s just “all the same,” it’s really not, at least not in my experience of it. And I tried again. And again.
So there’s been calculation: I don’t want to offend the women I am fucking, I might fuck, by making them envious, or jealous, of my relationship with Sofia. AND, I don’t want anyone (Sofia or anyone else) to feel cheapened or diminished by seeing the similarities in how I interact with all women.
I’m defensive about this. The truth is, if you interact with me sexually, I will ask to see you come. I will ask to hear you come. I will ask to see you dressed as I direct, posed as I direct. That’s just how my desire works. It’s simply not the case that this means my desire to see you dressed, say, in a sundress, your legs spread, your panties visible, your hand pressing against your pussy (say) is in any way diminished by my desire to see her in the same position, the same outfit. But I understand, I’ve learned, that it often feels bad to learn that what I want of you is structurally similar – or even identical – to what I want from her.
In recent days, it’s all been complexified by the fact that Sofia has a boyfriend. Two, actually.
With the advent of a more prolific sex life on her part, I find myself taking distance, asserting ownership of her pussy (as I wrote previously) less often, less vociferously. This upsets her. She wants me to step it up. And there’s a tension. Which is exacerbated by the fact that my sex life has been more prolific of late, as well.
One of the challenges to being a slut who writes, whose affections and desires are so palpably visible, is that there is a constant comparison being done by all the objects of my desire. Everyone sees my desire them at least partially in comparison to my desire for others – is it more? Is it less? Is it more intense? Less urgent?
One certainty is that no one, ever, looks at all my desire and concludes I desire her enough, more than anyone else. On the one hand, this is good, just, and true. My desire is so profligate, so diffuse, that it doesn’t land squarely, primarily, anywhere, outside of my marriage. What’s more, the way my desire works, the way I relate to sex, time, the present, is that when I’m feeling sexually stimulated and gratified, it’s a safe bet that I feel pretty much more sexually gratified and stimulated than I ever have before. I’ve written this before, but: when I’m having good sex, the way I know it’s good sex is that I believe, in that moment, that I’m having the best sex I’ve ever had. This is true with more pedestrian manifestations of arousal. When I’m turned on, if it’s good, I feel more turned on than I ever have before. When I’m with you, I feel more turned on by you than I ever have before.
On the other hand, it just sucks. I think most of us are wired to construe the desire of others as somehow implicitly zero sum, even as we imagine our own desire to be infinite, non-exclusive, non-rival. I know I am.
I need to find a way to communicate to Sofia just how much I value her, how much I value her compliance, her beauty, her disclosure.