Mr. Wolf has joked with me repeatedly that he needs a primer to understand all the weird things that are comprised inside of me. The more I thought about it though the more I have heard that from different people who either have dated me or wanted to date me. It largely seems to center around my food habits because picky would be a dramatic understatement when it comes to feeding me but there are other idiosyncrasies that make it difficult to process me I’m sure. So in an effort to help him out and anyone else that may be interested I figured I’d delve into my psyche and kettle of weirdness and share that with you in a series of posts that will be entitled Touch the Fabric (or TTF if I’m being lazy).
As my age denotes, I was born in the seventies and that means I mostly grew up in the eighties and nineties. I start here because it influences who I became in a multitude of ways. I was a kid of Sesame Street, Reading Rainbow, Fat Albert and the Cosby Kids, the Smurfs, Shirt Tails, Scooby Doo and the reason child locks were instituted on tvs, daytime porn on Showtime lol. I found that out by accident one of the rare occasions my mother let me change the channel on my own. TV went off at a certain time, there was no internet, and getting a home computer meant you had arrived in the world. I was a military brat and while I remember friends from different cities I can’t tell you much about life in Turkey or Oklahoma or Texas before we returned post my parents divorce. Illinois I remember vividly for a mixture of good and bad reasons but what I most remember is really loving my house, two stories great bedrooms big backyard and even though I didn’t eat them I thought it was cool that we had a strawberry patch in our front yard.
It’s where I remember meeting my older brother, my dad’s son, even though I could have met him prior to that. You don’t hear me talk about him much because he’s a prick. Before dad died I thought he was just confused and trying to sort out the things kids of divorce have to sort out but nope he’s a giant prick. It’s where I remember almost losing my younger brother to a horrible asthma attack. As much as he annoyed me, and heaven knows he did, not having him around terrified me. And that big house at the end of a block near the base and a the huge farm at the end of the street is where the first major upheaval of my life happened. You’d think military brats have lots of upheaval and I guess in some regards that’s true but those are scripted and scheduled and make sense. My parents living in different houses forever did not make sense. This began my push pull with concept of family, marriage and love but I’m not sure I’ll get to all of that now.
To put this in context though I should probably share a few salient points. I am my mother’s clone. I look so much like her that if her friends haven’t seen her in a while they will confuse me for her all the time. My mother’s photo is probably next to the word prude in the dictionary. It’s not entirely her fault as my grandmother was not one for sexual equality herself. I find that odd considering grandma had eleven children but it was all in the same marriage with the same man and that was that. So I have a mirror image of myself who is on no level like me personally. As I heard many times post their split I act just like my dumb daddy. Smart but goofy, quiet and introspective, looking for the right fit romantically but never being able to completely put it together. I periodically desperately wanted to be like my mother cause settling seemed so much better than continuing to search like my father did but I realize now that I wasn’t hardwired for that. My dad had all the external trappings of a Dom but he kept finding partners who wouldn’t be able to submit long term and I believe that’s why all of his marriages eventually imploded. All but that third one, she was just a whore.
I was eight when they split and we moved to what might as well have been a foreign country to me as we relocated to one of the better Black enclaves in Dallas. Not well off enough to give me an eating disorder trying to fit in but just far enough away from the hood to legitimately be able to say we are going to the hood when we went to the hood lol. As a great big giant nerd, Dallas and the socializing left me exhausted. I hung out with the guys as sports, games and limited conversation were right up my alley. Plus they tended to say what they meant and nothing more. Can’t beat that if you are an introverted tomboy. All was well until my body decided to move away from my personality and boobs blossomed. The extra hormonal rush sent my fingers diving between my thighs too and I learned to masturbate well before a penis got near my vagina. I learned the hard way that men and new boobs are not good compatriots. The people I’d been able to hang out with for the last three years were now trying to molest me when we played hide and seek. And much to my confusion, B cups seemed to mean that I was older than I really was so older boys started hitting on me too.
And there was one, bless his little high yellow heart, named Michael Jordan who was just beautiful. He was also funny and smart and seemed to be able to talk to me without staring at my breasts. And bless my stupid little heart, I was in love. Or least deeply deeply in lust. Thus began our habit of taking walks after school and talking and laughing and staring at each other like dumbasses in lust do. On what seemed liked just another walk he took me further out than normal and asked me a pivotal life changing question. Ok not really but I was 11 and well yeah dumb. He asked if I was a virgin and not wanting to sound naive I said no. He smiled at me knowing better and said it was ok if I was as he was not expecting me to be experienced. Again 11 and dumb here cause I smiled and said ok. Another walk a few days later and he kissed me before showing me a card.
If you want to make love smile, if not tear up this card.
Succinct and straightforward and while I liked me some MJ, the woods in Dallas was not where I had envisioned my first sexual dalliance. To be clear I hadn’t envisioned it at all but I was pretty sure this wasn’t the spot. So I began to tear up the card and was perplexed when the thing wouldn’t rip. Try as I might not a thing happened to that card except a little bend in it. By this point I’m grinning like a nut job and he says ok. Despite what I’d heard the girls on the bus discussing my first time was not painful. He was both prepared so we were twirling around in leaves and with protection and he was as gentle as he thought he needed to be before the part of my brain that erupts during sex said nah eff that. I felt great, he felt great inside of me and I had the first best legal drug of my life called an orgasm and I’ve been hooked ever since. We continued to have sex throughout the fall before a group of older girls took it upon themselves to save my virtue cause of course anyone having sex in elementary school is topic of conversation. They didn’t know about my quick and one shot dance with group sex or my disappointment that dicks came in different sizes and ability. But the stern talking to killed my sex life for several years. No one wanted to be the bad girl, the slut, including me but save for that community of shame leveled at me I had no confusion about sex. Sex could be as much as you made it or just a chance for two bodies to make one another blissful. Regardless of anyone else and their hangups sex was fucking great.
I can’t tell you when I started having sex again but I went in with a vengeance. I was never having as much sex as people said I was having–I wouldn’t have been able to go to class if I was fucking as much as I was alleged to have been–and it was very rarely with the boyfriends I was accused of stealing. Don’t get me wrong I did fuck one or two, mostly out of spite, but I was a bit of an ethical slut even before I knew what that meant. That was brought on mostly because of new found knowledge I gained around 13 looking for something in my mother’s room and stumbling upon their divorce decree. My dad had been cheating on my mother, she caught him and filed for divorce, and he proceeded to marry the mistress who then cheated on him and dumped him. What I didn’t understand at eight was crystal clear at 12 and you couldn’t be even remotely attached to someone if wanted me to fuck you. I took to asking, “Does some woman somewhere believe you are her man,” instead of are you seeing someone because that took more time to process and create a convincing lie to.
I should say that my life didn’t revolve around sex. I was on the honor roll and doing well in cooking class and was taking Latin in addition to French and had been a multi-year member of both the track and volleyball teams. I was active in cultural clubs and doing community service. I read more than the average human should, enjoyed my friends and dreamed about my future. Sex just made all of that so much better lol.
I fucked athletes, nerdy guys, guys who were most definitely from the hood and gave me the best orgasms ever, church boys and a drug dealer or two before I met my HS ex who changed everything. He was a mixture of all those boys and he was silly and funny and could be smart when he wanted to be and there was something else I couldn’t identify at the time but he seemed commanding in a way that was intriguing. Looking back on it now he could have been my first Dom had he known on any level how to harness that control. As it was he exposed me to both oral and anal sex–which I didn’t like at the time because he had no concept of how to ease into the very tight area–as well as FMF threesomes and sex in every public place we could think of. We dated until my sophomore year of college and really I should have dumped him well before that because I outgrew him and he needed a woman that would continue to NEED him and that just wasn’t me.
Even before we split up there were new men, and women for him, to explore with while we were hundreds of miles apart. College afforded me the opportunity to become a beta version of the woman I am now. No one had to say let you freak flag fly. I was in an HBCU mecca and the freaks were taking numbers for the latest and greatest orgasm. If my orgasms could have been bottled they would have powered small countries. My group sex morphed into gang bangs. Truth or dare became feeding grounds for new people to suck and fuck dry. And gradually I figured out that I was happiest when I was so completely and totally under the spell of my current partner that he got me to do things I was not even remotely interested in doing prior to him touching me.
I was a reluctant oral sex participant until freshman year of college when I met this arrogant beautiful gruff voiced man that kissed me so well my clit woke up and said hello keep him please. A few hours later and words escaped my brain as his mouth made contact with my pussy. I didn’t want to be outdone and had to prove to him I had skills of my own so I dove between his legs when I could breathe again. I kid you not his dick tasted like candy and I lost it. It still tasted like candy when I saw him earlier this year but yeah the ability to make me hazy was becoming desirable. A similar incident happened a few years later with another playmate who I happened to be riding while he was fucking me into one of his routine stupors. I was dripping over both of us and one of his down strokes caused him to slip out. I begged for him to slide back in but all that wetness proved to be fantastic lube and he slid straight into my ass with just a slight bit of discomfort. That switch in my brain went off and when he tried to move because he was afraid he’d hut me I slammed down on him. He took the hint and we were both groaning and pulsating and damn it was delicious. So delicious that I began to ask for him to fuck my ass. So delicious that during a particularly engaging gang bang I went from oral and vaginal sex to a triple penetration and became one giant nerve ending.
I was happiest when I knew I was making the one I came with happy and/or his friends jealous. Either way it was good shit for me. There was a distinct hole in my life when there was no one who could exert that level of control over me. And that hole continued to be present throughout my life as a grad student. There were brief flashes but nothing sustained because as a friend told me at the time, the men who really want to control and hurt you probably won’t respect you or be sane. I know you are wondering where did hurt come in. Turns out one of my last relationships in college was with someone who was literally hung like a horse, gorgeous dick, heavy handed and he spanked me just because he could. Nothing that would look remotely kinky to those of us who are kinky but that brief flash of pain combined with being fucked within an inch of my life whenever he got a hold of me gave me a template without full understanding of what I was looking for. I just had to keep looking and refusing to settle to sort it all out. And I would sort it all out but that’s a post for next time.
