Fireman weenie.

Work is starting the end of year slow down and I can see light at the end of the tunnel. Finally. In my absence of regular posting, I missed the two year anniversary of the blog last week which is just a fun fact as this was never a planned exercise anyway. In addition, Axel and I have had some significant talks about our kinky future and progress is being made both between us and separately. It’s slower than we had expected because his recovery is is still not right following the surgery and a lack of mobility and constant pain are still components of his daily life, which sucks the life out of anything kinky and wild between us at times.

However, that doesn’t mean all hope is lost and simply means we have to prioritize some things and outsource others.  One of the biggest beauties in our version of open marriage is that we each acknowledge things we want for ourselves and, if the other can’t provide it, then we are free to look elsewhere with approval. Of course, there is nothing new about this for us but just having these reaffirmations is always a great experience and this week, while in the wholesome midwest, I had a chance to check something off my bucket list.

Being the switch I am, the reality is about 90 percent of my experience has been on the top side. Some of that has to do with trust but a lot, I think, has to do with my size, attitude, and marrying a bottom. One of the experiences I have realized I am lacking is to have a top, not necessarily a kinky one though it would be better, just take me from all angles and teach me what being a great bottom feels like while having his whole way with me. While it’s more a concept for me, occasionally I will look on the Scruff when I am in a city that I go to a lot because I would like to meet this man, get to know him, and then throw my muscley legs in the air while throwing caution in the wind. Yeah, yeah, I know, that’s not really me, but I can look and think.

So, this week, I found that guy. He was a self described “power top”, recently divorced from a woman, and, are you ready for this, a fucking fireman. I thought every button was going to be pushed and then I saw him and realized I needed more buttons. We met for coffee and the dude was 6’5, 230 solid pounds, not a hair on him, and of greek descent. He was so dreamy and, well, did I mention he was a fireman?

It’s usually these type guys that ruin if for me when they speak and, in this case, there was no exception to the rule. However, typically it’s ruined because they might be just a little too effeminate for me and, while there is nothing wrong with that, it’s just typically not a trait I would want to see in a sexual mate. I almost dreaded him talking because I didn’t want that disappointment, but, when he did, I realized I was so wrong about that as he had a deep voice that was sexy – not Thumper voice sexy – but sexy nonetheless. All was going good and, in my mind, in maybe six to eight weeks I might let him have all of his way with me but then we started talking about sex and his preferred position as a top.

Lord, that was a mistake.

It turns out he is not that experienced and that he may have been referring to a battery or something when he said “power top” in his profile. I can’t pinpoint the exact time I realized I was dealing with a huge novice, but think it was about the time that he said, bluntly, “Oh I love topping. I love to put my weenie in a bottom hole and race for a win”.  When he said that, he turned bright red as if the word “weenie” was akin to say forbidding Voldemort out loud. He was giggling. I was dying.

Somehow, about this point, I said something about having my dick pierced and shriveled up inside himself and said “Owwwwwwwwwwwwww. You must be crazy, dude”. You know, I didn’t like that, but I didn’t mind it terribly because a few years ago I might have reacted the same way as the pretty fireman did. However, it was still not right.

Now, did I mention he is a 6’5 greek fireman? Fuck he was pretty but fuck he was a child. I was not ready to let it go at that point but then he said “where does your husband think you are?” and, when I said “he knows I am right here meeting you”, he got all weird, sat up straight and said, “I don’t know if I can show you my weenie since your husband knows about us”.  Fuck, I know I had the WTF face” at this moment but, even then, I was not ready to walk out.

Of course, that happened just minutes later when he said “I find you really handsome and would like to touch your private parts and like, like you, um, do you want to go kiss?” and, before I could answer, he followed that up with “I mean, if you are really okay with cheating on your husband”

He was done and I had to go. 

While I left knowing that I was going back to the hotel to lock up my weenie, I also left knowing I had too much self awareness to allow myself to go another minute longer and, after saying an appropriate southern fuck you goodbye (you know, “have a great day!“),  I made my escape out the side door into the anonymity that only a rented Maxima can provide.

He texted a few times but it dropped off immediately and I was happy.

So, that bucket list item is still available. Just sayin’.

 

2 thoughts on “Fireman weenie.

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