Her kisses were like nothing I’d experienced before. I didn’t expect it. Usually we girls are the softer kissers, gentler, less aggressive. That wasn’t the case with her. Her lips pushed and her tongue explored my mouth possessively. It was wet and hot and overwhelming. And despite not liking pain herself, she was more than happy to provide it.
Though in certain moments, she certainly didn’t mind my nails digging into her skin, or my hand pulling at her soft, pale brown hair. Mostly while my husband plunged into her.
Now and then I’d pull her mouth away from my core and tell her to tell us how much she enjoyed his cock, beg for more, thank us.
It was intense. Especially the first time. Mostly because it was a culmination of years of friendship. She and I had discussed our unique views on sex and friendship and intimacy. She was the only other person who felt like I did about it. Sometimes, with some friends, sex is inevitable. It’s just another form of intimacy, of closeness. It’s like the next level of friendship. It doesn’t have to be romantic or lead to a fully sexual relationship, but it is an opening up of a kind.
After that, I was more than happy to ‘lend’ my husband to her for evenings too. She also understood that. I loved her. I loved him. She didn’t currently have an outlet for sex (her primary lover sometimes being away), and that was something she needed. So I was happy to know my husband was providing it and the two of them had fun together.
Later we played card games, discussed silly things, planned more future photoshoots. Such was our friendship.
She called me Atargatis on her blog. When she first asked about putting me up as a named character, she asked if there was a name I preferred. I wanted to see what she would come up with herself. She was so excited to share my page when she finished it.
I have to admit I loved her description of me. I inwardly preened.
She wasn’t ‘M’ to us, of course. We usually defaulted to her kink name, but in the last year have used her real name interchangeably where either was acceptable.
She read my writing. I read hers. And we both understood what it was to love words most of all.
I once wrote a short story about the bit of fire we all carry, and I think it’s fair to say hers was a kind of beacon almost everyone could see. Perhaps it blinded her to her own radiance.
I’d read her blog pretty regularly, but especially when I knew I’d be featuring soon. There was something novel about seeing myself from another person’s perspective, particularly because she was one of the few people I’d top, or engage in any top-like activities with.
I always admired how M would write about her own experiences. I just wish I’d have found the courage to do the same sooner.
Read more about our exploits here.