Jack and I are great playmates.
I was always good at imaginary play as a kid. I could dream up scenarios that would entertain me and my playmates for hours. Maybe it’s the writer in me? I made up the characters — some well developed and being taken on a character journey, others who were one-dimensional supporting cast. I’d come up with the plots, complete with scenes and scripts to act out, often based on our moods or the weather. Heavy clouds and wind? Spooky, creepy, danger…let’s come up with a game that involves witches, perhaps. Daytime with the sun shining through the trees? Let’s be prairie girls setting up the homestead. Sad about something? Let’s act out a tragedy. After the setup, we’d let our imaginations take us away for the rest of the day.
As a kid, I bonded with my friends and siblings through play, opening up my imaginary world to them. I was shy in many ways, but imaginary play allowed me to let people in and see the deeper, more creative, more relaxed, most fun part of me. In that realm, we connected in a way that’s difficult for me to connect in the real world, under the stress of real stuff.
When sex was explained to me as a kid, I was told that it was for babymaking and should be done in marriage only. No one explained the psychology of sex to me. No one ever told me that so much of the time, it’s just adult playtime. It’s separating yourself from the responsibilities of the world for a short time, simply for pleasure and fun. It allows me to connect with my husband in a fun, happy way. A way that’s completely different than when we discuss childrearing or how much we could sell our old couches for on Marketplace. And, sometimes, we connect with our friends this way, too. What can I say…I like sex better than golfing or scrapbooking. To each their own.
On some level, do we all know that sex is an escape from the real world? Are we all taken by happy surprise when we first start fantasizing about juicy scenarios and have our first orgasms? I distinctly remember being a teenager, laying alone on my back in my bed, looking up at my ceiling lit up only by the moonlight streaming through the windows as I imagined myself served up in a sexual manner to the lords and ladies of the court. Other nights, darker nights, I imagined myself in a dungeon, succumbing to the whims of my captor.
When Jack and I started having sex regularly, I found myself replaying those fantasies in my mind like movie reels during our sessions. While Jack pleasured me, he unknowingly played the role of captor or commander in my mind. The fantasies allowed me to focus. They helped me get to a place where I could get fully aroused in order to accept the pleasure at play. It flipped that switch that made me go from Conservative Christian to Dirty Little Whore. I’d stop overthinking about what was “right” or “wrong,” and instead focus on not gagging while I let Jack deep throat me.
When I started sharing my fantasies with Jack, in increasing detail, things got even better. I timidly started to open up shortly after we were married, when I came home with fuzzy bondage ties from a sex toy bachlorette party. Just getting tied up got me hot, bothered, and dripping wet down there. Jack was not at all unhappy about this situation, I assure you. In my thirties, with the babymaking days done, I was ready to dive into the kinks like never before. After nearly two decades together, I still found myself a little shy asking for what I wanted in the details necessary for the game. And yet, saying it all aloud aroused me and Jack both.
I wanted to be bound in shibari ropes, tied face down to the bed, my legs put on a spreader bar, tortured, and teased. I wanted to be not just blindfolded but also gagged, collared, put in a harness. I wanted a reminder during our sex play that I was submitting to him, and I wanted him to remember that he was in charge of me. I wanted to release all control to him, in some sort of kinky effort to show my love and trust for him. I wanted to be humiliated, made uncomfortable and nervous. I wanted to feel it all, not just physically but psychologically. I wanted him to push all of my boundaries.
I realized that I wanted to be mindfucked, in the best possible way. Jack and I started talking about role playing, not just in terms of pilot and flight attendant, but in terms of dominant and submissive. It reminded me again of playing as kids. We had plot and characters, and they drove the action of the scene. We realized that setting a scene during sex made it even more fun for us, more like play, more intense and more involved. In letting our imaginations take us away to new realms, we somehow felt more present.
Last night, I asked Jack, “Do you want me to be a brat? A dirty little whore? Your sex doll that’s happy to recieve whatever you offer? Shy and timid?” Last night, he chose “brat that needed to be broken in order to be a good girl for his pleasure.” Make me good, Jack. Fix me, mold me, break me until I acquiesce to your pleasure, until I accept my role as Yours, until I accept without restraint or complaint all the pleasure you give and all that I can possibly take, and until I want nothing more than for you to fill me up, cum on me or in me, you choose.
I always like Jack to be the dominant. I love it when he’s a little rough, firm, and authoritarian. I like it when he dishes out punishments and consequences when I don’t behave properly. Be the opposite of the golden retriever that you are in real life, Jack. Be the guy that I’d never want to be my husband or the father of my children in the daytime — at night, be your shadow self. Take me, hard, but slow. Torture me, tease me, test me. Push me to my limits like I trust no one else to do.
Last night, as we were soaking in our hot tub watching the sunset, I shyly asked him to be my dominant yet again, and I agreed that I would be the Brat. Make me a good girl, Jack, that’s why I’m here for you. It was time to go upstairs to our bedroom. We had agreed on the characters. Jack was in control of the plot — I didn’t give him any parameters or restrictions that night — and we needed to set up the scene. As I rinsed off in the shower, Jack pushed the pillows off the bed and pushed back the comforter, then laid a towel over the bare sheets. He settled on the color of green for our nightstand lights while I took a quick hit from our little water bong.
He put me in a leather harness, and asked me to start by kissing his balls, which I did. Then I got bratty, as we both predicted — I don’t feel submissive when I’m on top, kissing them like this. I feel too powerful.
So he pulled our bondage ties out from under our mattress, switched me to my red collar, and pushed me back on the bed. He tied me up, all four limbs spread wide. He teased me with the flogger, tickling me, while I watched his chiseled, handsome face smile down at me.
He put a blindfold on me, then pinched my nipples, reminding me of the pain and pleasure that he would now have complete control over. I felt his balls above my mouth, so I kissed them, licked them, took them inside my mouth as much as I could manage. I felt him mount me, 69 style, his balls still in my face while he gave every sort of pleasure to my pussy. He didn’t stop after I orgasmed the first time, or the second, third, fourth…one after another, my arousal fluid filling the towel underneath me.
When he stopped, he gave me water, then moved away. I moaned in arousal, nothing touching me but his words — “We’re just getting started.” From the darkness under the blindfold, I could hear him click on my favorite vibrator, the powerful Peak wand that we go to more often than not.
Jack teased my clit with the vibrator for some time, lightly touching me just above my sweet spot, before finally he held the vibrator against me, harder. He put his fingers inside me — our unicorn wasn’t kidding when she called them his “magic fingers” — and he stimulated my g-spot until my body wracked against the restraints, shuddering and spasming for what felt like hours. I wouldn’t be the first to call it, I wouldn’t, but my arms were going numb. He kept going until he noticed me panting for a break, then released my arms, intuitively knowing what I needed.
I held the vibrator against me, my legs still tied. He positioned himself kneeling between my legs, pulling me up with my thighs on his so that my butt hovered in the air, my legs spreading apart even further than before. He continued to finger fuck me, this time inserting the tip of his thumb into my ass, applying pressure and forcing more orgasms out, my legs spasming and shaking, and finally after what felt like one hundred orgasms all strung together, my head and body throbbing but satiated, he released me and let me have more water while he washed his hands.
When he returned, I was a Good Girl. I was ready for him. He lay down on the bed and I climbed on top of him, focusing on giving myself my own pleasure while knowing that he was being pleasured, too. My body grinding against his was more gentle than the vibrator, and my mind had entered a different realm.
I focused my thoughts on him, contemplating him as I looked down at his face, his biceps, his pecs. Was he just another gorgeous dude who loved sex? Who was he to me?
In bed, he’s all about my pleasure. He dominates me and pushes my boundaries, just as I had requested. He brings me to orgasm, dozens of times, every time. He keeps up with my mind shifts and my physical endurance. He’s hot as fuck.
Outside of the bedroom, he’s the number one cheerleader of Team Eliza. He works hard to keep our giant family happy and healthy. He’s the family timekeeper, moving us through the schedule and routines. He listens to my ramblings; he supported me through my heartache and drama this past year like no one else ever could. He cleans out my smoothie blender every morning so that I make it to work on time. He does whatever chores and errands are necessary, with gusto. He tackles all the grossest jobs, all the toilet plunging and trash taking out and vomit cleanup. He does house projects that he doesn’t give a shit about, but he’ll admit that the new doorknobs do look nicer than the old ones.
He watches the kids so that I can have entire evenings to get high and write my heart out, because he knows that it gives me great personal pleasure to tap out the words that are spinning around in my brain. He knows that writing is where I find flow, and he loves this about me. He knows that I sometimes retreat into my mind, that I zone out. He’s endlessly supportive, he loves me unconditionally and fully and so very, very well.
And for all of that, I love him right back. He’s my person. He’s intelligent in ways that a standardized test would never be able to quantify; he knows people and he has uncanny intuition about right and wrong. He stands up not just for himself but for those he loves, too. He’s funny. He’s inspirational. He’s my best friend.
Together, we mesh and vibe and bring out the best in each other.
These thoughts led to another round of orgasms — explosive, emotional ones that tickled my brain as much as my clit. My body was ravaged. I plopped back on the bed, wanting to be fucked harder, deeper. On my back, holding the vibrator against me again, with him upright between my legs, he pumped into me and I felt my eyes watering. Then I pulled him directly on top of me, our chests touching and our faces close, for my very favorite type of orgasm, the type he can always get me to in this position. It was intense, spiritual, out of this world. For that moment, time was suspended and I was just pure pleasure, a sex goddess floating through space.
We moved down to the floor, spreading our towel like a beach blanket to protect our new carpet, and he fucked me from behind in front of the full length mirror. We watched ourselves play, happy, his beautiful cock still pleasuring me as he thrusted. He orgasmed, moaning and uttering accolades while I smiled and stayed in the perfect position to allow him to fully feel his finish.
While we clean up, he said what he says nearly every time we have sex — “I think that was the best sex we’ve ever had.” I don’t disagree. But I’m too tired to talk, so I just continue smiling.
Life is good when you have a best friend.