Listening

So, okay. New boy. Brand new. Fun boy! Let's call him: Caleb! (Looks in archives of blog, ponders new fake names, comes up with Caleb.)

You know what's hot? What turns me on? What makes me slick, like slippery wet stones in a brook in the backyard of sexual reawakening? (Holy Extended Metaphor, Batman.)

Really. Good. Listening skills.

Seriously.

You might have strong hands, you might have smoldering eyes, you might know the gspot like the back of your hand, but if you're not listening to what I'm saying...

Sorry.

I know. And it's not a super duper turn on.

I'm smarter than you, Guy Who's Nodding, Guys Who's Rubbing the Back of My Neck, Guy Who Gives Random Compliment at Random Time.

"You have the most beautiful eyes."

DOES NOT BEAT:

"You know what I like about you. You have no filter. You say what you want to say and it's not awkward or mean. It's just what you want to say." THIS is what Caleb said.

"Your skin is like...porcelain."

DOES NOT BEAT:

"Have you always been this innocent? This full of wonder?" THIS is what Caleb said.

Written down--maybe the innocent thing sounds cheesy, untrue, a ridiculous exaggeration. But honestly, I am innocent. I am full of wonder. Despite all the men, despite all the threesomes, despite the recent broken heart, despite the bdsm and the orgies and the strapons--I'm innocent. I'm full of wonder. I look at this world I'm in and created for myself and I'm like--ahh. Wonderful.

These are things that Caleb said. Because he was responding to what I was giving him.

It's hot.

It's his practice, it's his game, it's his way of "getting" women. Granted. But you gotta get chicks somehow. Why not get them by listening to what they're FUCKING SAYING TO YOU?! Am I right or am I right?

Besides, I think Caleb doesn't have expectations. He just takes what you're putting out there. And makes it work. That's a good way to live! ANYWAY!

Back to being slick as stones. Back to juicy pussy Janie.

For my birthday, I invited a select few to join me for an afternoon of brunch and sexy time. Brunch lasted for longer than sexy time. Both are so important in my heart. It is very hard to balance goat cheese and rosemary tart with fooling around. I try, though.

"I have to leave in about 20 minutes," said Caleb.

"Well, then we better get undressed," said Jefferson.

Earlier that afternoon, Caleb had told me that his present to me on my birthday was just going to be enjoying who I was, celebrating me.

"That's so nice!" I said. And I meant it. I giggled and blushed.

Still.

I ALSO wanted a little play from Caleb. Ha. I mean, who wouldn't? Handsome, thoughtful, quirky, giggly, boyish, manly.

But when Jefferson said, "Let's get undressed!" Caleb did just that! He left the room. And peeled off his clothes. Then came back in. I barely caught a glimpse of his body when he returned. It was only a moment before he showed me to the bed. Had me lie down on my back. Started massaging everything. I closed my eyes.

To be true, I immediately starting thinking, touch my tits, touch my pussy. You know how it is, ladies. Sometimes, some parts are greedier than others. Sometimes, initially, you don't want to wait. But Caleb was thinking: This is her whole body. Her whole body is connected to her tits, her pussy. I will start with arms. Neck. Shoulders. Legs. Calves.

Hair pull.

Mmmm. What HANDS.

I am making sounds. Quiet sounds. I am getting slick at stones in a brook. I am not moving from this position. I am not asking for him to touch anything except what he wants to touch. And I am not even asking that.

He's already heard it.

However, I DO say, "Caleb. Caleb with the hands, everyone," to the whole room, the other sex party guests, so they know, so they know our new friend Caleb has capable hands.

Props, after all, must be given.

And then, suddenly, his fingers are inside me. Probing. His fingers are on my clit. Rubbing. My cunt is accepting everything. I have never been so ready for a goddamn fingerbang. I am not thinking of his cock. I am thinking of his fingers which are an extension of everything.

He is suddenly humming to himself, nearly purring. He is coaxing my orgasm out of me with sounds like an animal. And so I come. Then again, I am coming, and I am beginning to get loud, and Caleb his growling in my ear, kissing and sucking and growling into my ear, loading my head with his sounds, pulling me to the sounds, towards his mouth by my hair, suddenly he is making me listen. And I am hearing it. I am hearing what he wants loud and clear.

Come for me, he is saying, but in grunts and growls and moans. No words. This is how I translate it. This is what I decide to hear as I listen. So I do. I come. Again.

Like...three times?

I am blissed out.

"Happy Birthday, Birthday Girl," he says. "I gotta go."

And he goes.

Just like that. Part of me wanted to get up and show him out. But let's face it: it's better to just be lying down, still, quiet, blissed out. With my warm cunt, my alive body, my happy heart. All of which are saying so much without saying anything at all.

For the first time in a while, I am listening to Janie.