lube enough and time

“I’m really tired,” Donny says to me. He is methodically mashing canned dog food into dry kibble. “Do you mind if we don’t have sex?”

Really? I ask. I thought we might have anal, I say and bite the right leg off a gingerbread cookie. I pause, chew and say, I’m wearing a buttplug right now. I gave myself an enema, I add and smile.

Padding around Donny’s apartment, muddling time away while he does what he does so that we can do what we do, deep and hard and unhindered, with a clean conscience and washed hands, sitting on his nubby-slick bourgeois couch, the metal plug snug-comfortable in my ass, the television burbling insipid distraction, I think: How different this holiday season is from last year, and yet how much more different from the year before.

Last year, I spent Christmas with my family in Vermont, wrapped in the jangly steel wool cocoon that is my family. I felt half present and half absent, as I usually do with my family. They have a pulsating love and a flickering regard for me; I am, as I’ve said before, a hologram to them. For me to be fully there terrifies us all. And so I do what I’ve done since adolescence: I fixate on some boy, somewhere, and I let the great purple swell of my crush buoy me up and over the swell of my family bosom.

For the past two winter holidays that figment fixated boy has been Donny. Two years ago, we were in the off mode of our on/off/on/off relationship. After witnessing the cautionary tale of his parents’ marriage over Thanksgiving, he had summarily dumped me the Monday after, and so that holiday season I was despondently single.

Two years ago, I returned from Vermont and threw myself into dating new men. I dated the second movie fumbler. I dated the second Cat Man. I dated a couple of seconds, and by February, Donny returned to me, and I dated him.

Last year, Donny and I were engrossed in the slow and tender heart-smithy of forging our love together. We were banging it out. Heating it up, cooling it down, shaping and honing, testing and deciding whether it was worth it all, or if we should melt it down, start from scratch, or throw it all on the scrap heap. It was a highly distracting activity, this heart-smithy. While I was home in the grey Vermont Christmas, my parents tense, my sister absent, I welcomed it.

Last year, I returned from Vermont feeling red-raw with the inescapable pain of being with my family. I wrote about my need to be fucked back into wholeness by my much-missed boyfriend, and I wrote about how he finally did so. We spent last New Year’s together at a restaurant near his house eating an unspectacular meal and having an unsatisfying conversation. Then we drank champagne and played Jenga. I won handily, a fact that disturbs Donny to this day.

This year Donny and I ate dinner Christmas Eve at our favorite French restaurant. I spent Christmas with Donny’s family, an event notable in part for its happy chaos and intimate tedium and in part for its relatively low buzz of stress. This afternoon, Donny and I will board a plane and fly to Vermont, where he will meet my parents for the first time. We’ll be going to my favorite French restaurant for New Year’s dinner and then we’ll watch the fireworks. We’ll see how it goes.

And all of this emo-family-stress-love-scented context I provide for the assfuckery of the other night. Donny had phoned me from work. On the phone, he uncharacteristically told me how, immersed in the previous night’s insomnia, he had groped his way out by looking at a picture of me kneeling before him, his cock down my throat. That his cock is down my throat no one looking at the photo would know—all you can see is my kneeling naked form, the swoop of my back broadening into the generous curves of my ass, my hair hanging down around and Donny’s naked body rising like flesh obelisk above me.

Seated in his office, Donny told me in hushed tones how he’d looked at the picture and imagined fucking my ass, and that long minutes later, hands covered in lube, he came to the silent-movie assfucking imaginings and how thus released and resolved, like Hamlet’s imagined soul, into dew, he slept.

I love anal, but it’s a huge psychic and physical commitment. It takes forethought and preparation, like Martha Stewart’s rococo recipe for baked Alaska. Anal embodies physical and emotional risk; it has caused me both kinds of pain. Anal’s risks are anal’s rewards. Nothing gives as much pleasure, but nothing makes me break down sobbing, inexplicable and inarticulate, like butt-fucking.

This moment, this week snug between the Merry and the Happy, though, felt like the right time to offer the ass up to Donny and to the Sex Fates, or Sex Furies, as the case may be. The Erotic Muses, at any rate. And so I planned it—I squirted, I held, I released, I washed, I shaved, I lubed and I plugged, and I arrived at Donny’s doorstep with that prize hidden inside me like a fig in a pudding.

It was a risk worth taking, I can articulate here and now. At the moment, though, when after Donny had laid me on  my back and licked me with his pointy tongue and sucked my clit with his open pervert’s mouth; when he knelt above me and intently fed me his epic fat-bellied cock with one hand while his other pinned my hands above my head; while he fucked my persimmon-slick and swollen pussy above and below me, the plug pointedly obtruding with the most delicate insistence; when after these long hours of wet preparation, I held Donny’s well-lubed cock in my hands, poised and hovering above it, like a cliff diver on the brink; when, finally, painfully and then joyfully, with the pleasurable conflict of ripping velvet, my ass was entered, filled and fucked by my boyfriend; when my orgasm surrounded me like a mauve curtain, like the flight of a hundred hundred birds’ wings, like the rise and improbable crest of some somatic surfer; when my body took over for that fast eternity, Donny under and in me, during that there was no articulating anything. Not that moment, and not the moments after, when we lay together curled as cats dozing.

But now, here, in the paper-white light of day, I can say  the risk was worth it.

Happy New Year one and all. May you all drink good champagne and win at Jenga.

Comments

[alwaysarousedgirl]

That was beautiful. I wish you bottles of wonderful champagne and lots of wins.

Hug.

[Karl Elvis]

You had me at buttplug. B^)

You know, your description of how you deal with family - I felt half present and half absent - describes exactly how i feel at family holidays. I walk around and say hello but cope only with my mind elsewhere. I dare not drink at these things, because it increases the risk I'll be all there and, well, no one wants that.

[Gadfly]

"Nothing gives as much pleasure, but nothing makes me break down sobbing, inexplicable and inarticulate, like butt-fucking"

Holy crap!

AAG sent me here to read a butt fucking post -- but this threw me. I never knew anybody to get artistic in their language when talking about getting fucked in the ass O_o But you explained it all with the line above. I get it.

Thanks for the interesting read!

[pandora]

Happy New Year to you! This was so deliciously written.

[The Fury]

Your fabulous use of verbiage has created a white hot desire in my loins to fuck a former lover in her ass. The current lover couldn't nor wouldn't handle it, the former would most likely take it as you do. Damn you had me at butt plug too! And I'd love to see that picture, like everything else you do I'm sure it's beautifully artistic. Happy New Year, Chelsea Girl!

[Tony Comstock]

Assfucking is nice. Google woes are not.

This morning horse-fucking and dog-sucking sites rate higher than Comstock Films on the search 'couples porn'.

I'm begining to think the googlebot is very kinky; much kinkier than any of us!

[Heidi]

Beautiful! Happy New Year, CG!

[dirtylittlegirl]

wonderful post - the longing is so palatable. Happy New Year!

[sweat shop sissy]

that was wonderful.
i to am a huge fan of anal, both giving and receiving, but have never come close to describing it so well.
all the best to you in 2007
cheers
sss

[S.P.]

"I thought we might have anal, I say... I’m wearing a buttplug right now. I gave myself an enema, I add and smile."

Erotic minds think alike, CG -- The Ms. and I had a very similar conversation... except that it was ME talking (grin)... And let's just say the end result (sic) was parallel...

You're one of my/out favorite Discoveries of 2006...

[peter parker]

Hi chelsea girl,

I am new to your blog, but hungry for more after spending a few virtual days with you. Your "girlmeat" post started a very, very (very) long hot email to my girlfriend and some hot, fun, sex play.

I have so much gratitude to you and people like violet blue for making the acknowledgement that sex media can and must be smart (well, they are smart in their own visceral, sweaty, cummy, slutty, uh, ahem...way). My girlfriend and I have been really frustrated with our forays into porn, books,& websites, but in the past week have found a treasure trove of hot, sticky fun and ways to connect with one another.

You have inspired me to start a blog. My girlfriend seems to think I am good at writing out sex fantasies. Since I am new to blogging (much less sex blogging) I am interested in having people read my blog and comment, so I can get better, I am not hoping to reach stardom or anything. Because of my profession I can't necessarily go around asking coworkers or even friends to read. See, I teach writing and value feedback. That's what I want. So, how do I get it?

Thanks so much! And Happy New Year. I am looking forward to your Observer article.

--peterparker

[Dh Spicy]

Nice piece, as always!
Best wishes for the new year!
All the Best.

[M]

Brilliant as always.

[Prospero]

"Do you mind if we don’t have sex?” Really? I ask. I thought we might have anal, I say and bite the right leg off a gingerbread cookie. I pause, chew and say, I’m wearing a buttplug right now.

That was absolutely perfect! A dead man would have said, "You're on!" at that point. Fine writing, beautiful writing. Happy New Year!

[t'Sade]

Such an interesting and poetic way of taking on the new year. A nice little sense of hungry and descriptions, thank you.

[a reader]

I had heard of this site, but after reading, truly awful.
At least it's free.