Shudders

I like shudders.
For those of you who are not aware, a shudder is that feeling when your lover says something that turns you on so much that you feel like a bucket of ice has replaced all your internal organs, and you are left as a little puddle of arousal on the floor.

To begin with, these shudders were infrequent, until we found the right name for them, and started producing them in each other intentionally. Then we began in earnest, sending each other text messages intended to make each other shudder. I remember on one occasion, Colombina was in a meeting, in a meeting room that had wireless internet.

We took full advantage of that.

Recently, though, we noticed that the shudders have tailed off considerably. We were worried for a moment or two, before we realised why.

Being in a long distance relationship means, at least for Colombina and I, a lot of cybersex. But the problem with cybersex is that it can get monotonous.

Right now, I would like nothing more than to worship my beautiful Colombina's beautiful feet... To rub them all over, to begin with, and then gently kiss the top of each foot.

To pick one up, and slide my tongue from her heel to her toes. To place each of those toes in my mouth, and lick and suck and nibble it. To slide my tongue in between each of her toes, before placing her whole foot in my mouth, dragging my teeth gently across her sole and running my tongue everywhere.

Now, if I were to do that to the other foot, I am almost certain that Colombina would not object. But to describe doing it? Not so exciting.

And here lies the problem. But I feel that the ending of the easy-shudder phase is the equivalent, for us, of the end of the can't-keep-our-hands-off-each-other phase. And it doesn't seem like that phase is ever going to come to an end.

How can it, when I am faced with the prospect of being able to touch the most beautiful girl in the world?

Stage Fright

A few weeks ago, Harlequin and yours truly participated in a Haunted House that preceded a scary show. With several bits and scraps from around the theatre, we composed the following outfit:

I was wearing a pseudo-edwardian shirt, black with white lace around the collar and cuffs, a black, long skirt, a black lace veil that covered my hair and my eyes and cascaded down my arms. Oh, and a plastic black hat that was not aesthetically neccessary, or even all that pleasant, but that was essential to keep the veil in place and hide the scruffy ponytail I had bunched my hair into. My face was painted white and my lips black, with the corners of my mouth elongated in two jagged lines.

And Harlequin? We painted his face as cadaveric as possible, and we got a large piece of fabric to cover him with. We positioned ourselves in our place, a somber corridor lit by one single candle, with cobwebs and spiders dangling all over the place (all fake, of course. I wouldn't have been able to stand anywhere, let alone scare anyone, if there had been ACTUAL SPIDERS dangling ALL OVER THE PLACE) me standing and him sitting next to me. The black fabric he was wrapped in made his body merge into my skirt, giving the impression, in the dim light, that I was wearing a large, albeit, slightly lopsided petticoat.

Maybe you are wondering where the costume is going. Well, once positioned, I put my arm around Harlequin's head, et voilà! We had the fantasmagoric bride with her skeletal groom's head tucked under her arm. And it worked! We unsettled people walking by. Many wondered whether Harlequin's head was real, and he was happy to demonstrate cackling or screaming.

At one point, he put his hand around my knee to steady himself. Maybe now is a good time to reveal that the skirt I was wearing had a gash on the side, and his hand had sneaked through it to rest on my bestockinged leg. Did I say rest? Well, you obviously still don't know Harlequin if you believed that. He started sliding up the inside of my thigh, until he could climb no further. And then, the nerve!, my beloved incorporeal head started to explore the area with his seemingly invisible hand. All the while I was having trouble keeping a straight face and focussing on the task at hand, which was to scare innocent members of the audience, and not indulge in activities that might make me want to detach from my oversized petticoat to jump him.

"If we are going to do this again tomorrow", he said, "it would be better if you weren't wearing any knickers."

"No tights either, I presume?", I added.

"Definitely not."

d/S

Colombina loves having her bottom touched.

She loves having it stroked, squeezed, spanked, licked, bitten... Whatever it is, if it involves her bottom, she loves it. I love her bottom. It such a wonderful shape and size, and being mean to it makes her moan ever so prettily.

Until I met Colombina, I had never had the desire to spank anyone. But when we met, it developed exceptionally quickly. Now, when we are together, she gets spanked around twice a day. I just bend her over, or throw her onto the bed, and lay into her bottom with my hand, or a book, or our gorgeous flogger, or whatever is to hand.

It turns a beautiful shade of red.

But that's not all I like doing to her bottom.

I also love putting things in it.

Fingers, butt plugs, vibrators, beads, my tongue...

And she seems to enjoy it too. Especially the latter.

Which brings me on to one of the things I love most about sex with my darling Colombina.

If you watch fetish porn, you get very used to the D/s thing. The Master/slave. The W/we.

But it's not like that with us.
Sticking your tongue in someone's bottom is, by those standards, a very submissive thing to do. No self respecting dominant would dream of doing something so Dirty. But when we play, I will go from doing my very best to turn her bottom purple, to sticking my tongue in it, stroking her clit, kissing her feet... Just like that, the roles are reversed, and it is so much fun.

When we first started talking about sex, we worked out what parts of our psyches wanted what. And it's a lot of fun going from the Dominant One, and being called Sir, to being the greedy little slut, and being called fucktoy.

We, the undersigned

There's an annoying lady in my language class.

As in, really annoying. She struggles a lot with the language, and that's, you know, perfectly legit. And she sees fit to correct everyone, classmates and teacher, and that's, you know, NOT.

But sometimes she will be the protagonist of an unexpected humourous moment, and that, I think, more than makes up for the annoying. The teacher was asking which of us had partners from other countries, so that we could explain in what language we spoke. Long after we moved on to another topic, Annoying Lady interrupts to ask if the question was meant in the present, or if past experiences could be shared. Sure, go ahead, the teacher, in her infinite patience, says.

"Well, I... not at the same time!", she starts.

The class erupts in peals of laughter in mock-scandal, and I can't help but think that, among all my classmates, she is the less likely of all to be polyamorous. Or a cheater. Too disorganized, see.

I felt compelled to share this anecdote, because this is what this blog is going to be like. A tumbling cascade of the loving and the sexy, of the funny and the ridiculous. Because this is how Harlequin and myself live our story.

Harlequin and Colombina are, obviously, pseudonyms. As liberating as writing this blog might be, I certainly don't want anyone to know that intimate details of my private life are intimate details of my private life. And I think that the anonymity (thank you, internets!) will be all the more liberating.

We met through a series of coincidences that goes to show just how strange and wonderful life is (the strangeness and wonder of this life of ours is, I realize, one of the more overused phrases in this relationship), and so far, this has been the biggest, bestest, beautifulest love affair of our entire lives. We are so IN LOVE that we don't bat an eye at the arguably cheesy and/or twee choice of our nicknames. We can afford to be as ridiculous as we want. Why? BECAUSE WE ARE IN LUUUURVE AND WE DON'T CARE HOW LOW WE FALL, THAT'S WHY.

Harlequin is kinky, I am a former chronically insatisfied reborn into an insanely curious budding painslut. We turned each other's tables so much that I got him to question his own kinks, and he got me to explore my own. We have so much sexual chemistry that *sparks* have been known to jump whenever we get together (through a fortunate combination of static and RAWR). I don't mean to gloat, but hell, I was starved off sex for years, YES, THE SEX IS AMAZING, thank you very much.

So this is what our Midnight Delicacies are going to be like. Some sweet, some spicy, some mysterious, all mouth-watering.

Welcome, and enjoy the ride.