by Alex M. Quinlan
It's been a while since my last letter; I know you're incredibly busy, and I didn't want to inadvertently guilt-trip you over answering me. Not much has been going on, until very recently.
But I've been thinking about you, a *lot*. This past weekend has inspired me to write.
Let's see, small changes. The big red car's been sold; the cats have created themselves a box to argue around; I've acquired a PDA. Supposedly this is to help me write; we'll see if it works.
A few weeks ago I went to a convention. In and amongst the usual happenings, I instigated a play party. Lots of people showed up -- more than expected, as word spread. I didn't get to play with the person who had asked me if it would be possible, but I *did* get to play.
You will be pleased to know, I hope, that I took more than I usually do. Yes, for the first time I actually found a number of people to, shall we say, 'tag-team' me. I'm not sure all of who -- I was face down on the bed, naked. I do know there was at least one single-tail in play; that there were many times when there were up to four people touching me and hitting me at the same time; and I discovered that I seem to be able to deal with even numbers of people, but odd numbers confuse me.
The oddest experience during this was when I had one person to one side of the bed, using two floggers, one on my back and one on my butt. There was another person, on the other side of the bed, doing the same -- back and butt. In addition to this, there were two people at the foot of the bed, each of whom was massaging one of my feet. I believe one of them was the Reiki master...
However, the most important part of that was that it got all of the toybags collected into one place again, from where they'd been scattered from being in different cars. And the toy that you gave to me, to keep till I could get one of my own, the Evil Stick, was found.
This past weekend I spent with a new partner. He's someone I've been talking to for a while on the 'net, and invited out for Valentine's Day. He's not very experienced; his few prior experiences were all on the bottom, and universally unpleasant. He has, however, been enjoying learning to be dominant towards me, if his enthusiastically nailing me to the bed four times in six hours is any indication.
Among the activities this weekend was a play-party, which was the first he'd ever attended. We talked about expectations -- I had a number of people who wanted to be pierced, and he knew he was welcome to be with me while I did that, or to wander. I didn't have much else on my dance card, although I frequently end up with 'pick-up' scenes, as one or another person wants to feel one or another of my toys. I hoped that he and I would get time together, but it would be good just to be in that space with each other.
Due to the previous weekend's adventures, for the first time in a while I was able to have all my toys out. I must confess to a bit of smugness at the 'toy envy' that was engendered; I took pity on some folks and mentioned that I'd been collecting and amassing it for ten years. I did, indeed, do some beading -- four different people, and very pretty indeed. I'm always astonished at how thirsty that makes me, but I guess I do tend to forget, in the focus and steadiness that I bring to it, that it *is* bloodplay, and controlling those energies *is* work.
After that we wandered around, and sat down by the flogging frame. He seemed to get quiet at that point, as if his energy was flagging. And then, very much to my surprise, he said that he knew I didn't want to change roles, but he would like at some point to be flogged by me.
This somewhat astonished me; as you know, I have no problem switching at the drop of a hint. I did my best to reassure him of this, all the while being as quiet as possible so as to not disturb the scene in progress. (A delightful warm-up by one top for a single-tailing by another, this one a truly impressive woman who, tho pregnant, moved better than I ever did in my salad days.)
It turned out there were two others who wanted to feel my tools on their skin, and so it was decided that my partner would go first, and then one of the women who I'd beaded (who, incidentally, had been following us around and flirting thoroughly with my partner, much to my amusement and his startlement), and then a lovely black man who was walking around the party dressed in his piercings and a gates-of-hell. Delicious... But to make this short, all three floggings went off beautifully, each of them taking far more than they thought they could, but seeking it all the while, asking for more. The Evil Stick figured prominently in this, and all involved agreed that it was truly an Evil Stick.
At the end of the party we drove back to his house and crashed most snuggledly. He woke me quite deliciously, taking back the initiative with great abandon and huge success. And then cooked me breakfast, as had been our agreement. I do love a man who can cook.
But this is all background. What brings me to write today is that the Evil Stick once again resides where it belongs: tucked into the visor of my car. Ever since the convention in December, when I saw you and felt your will on me so thoroughly, when it was put away with the canes, I've not been able to get to it when I had the thought and the freedom to put it back there. And I've been missing it -- missing the little frisson of remembered sensation, of your hand in my hair and the feel of it across my throat, so much like the blades I nearly come for, missing your instruction on my breathing as you strike the sparks of pain from me that are your delight.
And so -- once more -- the Evil Stick is visible to all -- a vivid, visible, tangible reminder of what we have.
*Have* - not had - for we still have it. This has been a bad time, with many things producing priorities for each of us that must come before our own desires to spend time together; but it is just an interlude. I am sure, absolutely positive, that it *will* end, and that once again I will experience the bliss of being under your will.
This feeling -- of the rightness of the Stick being there, of the surety of the future, came to me so strongly as I drove home from my new partner's place today, that I had to pull over to write it down.
on the PDA. Using the Evil Stick as the stylus.
Yours, my lord, until you say otherwise,
Alex
