Let’s begin with the term “dickie”. Does anyone outside a battered double-wide trailer call a penis a “dickie”? Really?

Then there’s the part about paying $2.40 each for what is essentially a paper towel with a hole in the middle. Really?

And the part about “just spit it out.” Like you need a bib on his cock so you don’t have to swallow? Really?

Look luvs. Grab a 12-pack of plain white terry washcloths next time you are at Costco, wash ‘em a few times, cut off the scratchy labels, and keep them tucked in a drawer or a basket by the bed. Easy.

I am not officially dating. In fact, I am officially not dating. That being said, I am trying to get back in touch with what dating is–here in the 21st century and all. One of these days, I will be dating, and–oh dear–I am not ready for this.

Gawd I sound like a fuddy duddy when I say that.

But here’s what happened. I think I accidentally had a date the other night. Accidentally, because I thought it was going to be an easy evening of dinner with an acquaintance I have known for several years, but haven’t gotten to know well yet. I’d anticipated we would spend some time sharing a meal and having some getting-to-know-each-other conversation. So even though I haven’t felt ready to start dating, I accepted his invitation to come over for dinner.

And then, not too long after we finished our meal, his cock got involved.

Oh yeah. I know, I know. With rare exception, any time you are dealing with a male there will be cock involved. And I actually quite enjoy that.

But what I do not enjoy is having to repeat myself, after once or twice expressing some version of, “Look, I love cock, but making yours happy tonight is not my responsibility, dear.”

You know, I just believe that that is a very fair position to take. But he continued to push–in those quietly ever-more-insistent ways. First a few fingers traced along my cheek. Then a few fingers traced along my skin at the hem of my skirt. Then a repositioning that reduces the physical gap between us on the couch. Then a kiss on the neck. Innocuous gestures.

But the essence of the gestures escalates, right. And the fingers along my skin become a hand, and the hand begins moving aside the hem of my dress, raising it up my leg. And then the hand slips to the soft inside of my thigh.

So I repeat my “No, thank you” non-verbally by shifting my entire body out from under the hand, because I meant what I said earlier in the evening, “I am not ready for sex.”

However, I am a thoughtful girl, and I do take delight in getting men all hot & bothered–but not leaving them completely high & dry. And I have grown to learn that masturbation–solo or mutual–can be a swell activity when folks are not–for whatever reason–willing and/or able to fuck. And I am not willing.

So, when it became obvious that my acquaintance was very keen on deepening our acquaintance, I schemed to evoke some fantasy material for him that he could indulge in after I went home. I mean, I was game for that, perhaps in part because I have a special interest right now in learning the more secret things that men like, in the belief that it will make me a better lover. So I started asking him about how he likes to masturbate–his technique and what he likes to think about while he is stroking himself.

And he started telling me.

All the while I am assuming that I had made it clear that I wasn’t going to stick around for the results, I was just going to help heat things up.

And this is where I feel lost about this dating stuff. When did it become the expectation that I would even be interested in sexually “pleasing” a man on our first date? And when did it become common practice to have sex anywhere near the “first date”? (And yes, this wasn’t supposed to be a “date” but the evening had taken on those kind of attributes.)

So I will jump ahead now past all the details and get to the part of the evening where he is half naked and we are in the bedroom. And I will assure you that I was still fully dressed (okay, my shoes were off). And I will confirm that there was no fucking there that night.

But I will confess that I failed. I failed to remember that where there is a man involved there is a cock involved, and that cocks–well, cocks are deaf, really. After all these years, how could I forget that?

I am frustrated with myself for forgetting all that. And I am pissed off that for three hours I had to keep asserting my boundaries.

I am grateful however, for the ultimately gentle reminder of how this stuff tends to go. Because I will start dating again someday, and I would like it to involve fun, and fucking. When I feel ready.

Photo: fingers of a climber by Roger Karlsson

I also want to be direct, that my experience is limited. Although the number of times I have been bound probably far exceeds that of the average Jill, in the realms where bondage is common, the dozens of times that I have been tied up is peanuts. So not only can I not speak for the typical experience, I also have no idea how my perspective will change as my experience increases.

Additionally, there is an entire realm of BDSM–of which bondage is the “B” component–and pain being an aspect of so much of this, and for many people, pain is a big big part of bondage, a good part. My previous post did not give this just attention, quite possibly because for me, pain is not the main attraction of this.

But, let me say clearly that (for me) pain is a functional element of this. I spoke to that; I acknowledge that the experience comes with pain and (for me) existing within the pain is formative and restorative.

I want to also acknowledge that my experience has been particularly fortunate. You might even say I have been spoiled. I have certainly had my share of times with what I called “household” bondage. But I have also been very blessed to have found myself in the hands of superb, highly experienced, and wonderfully spirited talent, most recently with Max.

These were times when I could surrender deeply with trust in the rigger’s experience. This surrender, combined with the caliber of sensation from the rigger’s skill, results in very rich effects.

And I have realized that bondage forces me to trust. This is important in my life right now, when my trust “mechanism” is so brutally bruised. But I believe that it is important in our society overall, where we are presented with more and more reasons to distrust. Being engulfed in a bondage situation, gives a full impact experience of trust, a splendid reminder that trust can not only exist, but can be rewarded.

Really, it is no wonder that I have become very fond of this stuff.

Photo: ropes on the beach by Til Krech and used with Creative Commons license

FedEx left a little box for me yesterday.

The FORM 2 is just the size to fit in the palm of my hand. It is rather cute sitting in my hand, and I think that having it sitting there on the charging base beside the bed, is frisky sexy. (Sorry about the soft focus on JIMMYJANE; it seemed like my camera really wanted to focus on the bottle of PINK–which I wanted in the pic to give you some sense of scale.)

So, as cute and charming as it looks, here’s the bad news. As a vibrator, I am not convinced that this thing is going to rock the world the way it has been touted. I guess I am saying this at the risk of pissing off the JimmyJane folks, which would not be a good thing to do.

But. Three things.

1. I do not, and never did, understand vibrators that have action like a jack hammer. I am not one of those girls who likes to have her clit roughed up. I know there are some of you out there, some of you are my friends. But. Not me. And the FORM 2 LOW speed is plenty of vibration for me. So the next four speeds are wasted. However, if you DO like a vibrator that could shake loose the plaster on the walls, this one might be for you.
2. This device is made in PRC–which is a subtle way of saying People’s Republic of China. I generally opt out of buying things made in China, for political and safety reasons. So if JimmyJane is going to rely on Chinese factories to produce their upscale products, then please let’s do like lulumon and disclose the factory conditions and working relationships. In fairness, the FORM 2 is rechargeable and so there is no harm to our world from discarded batteries, and that means something to me. The materials comprising it are also said to be healthful. And, it has been reported that there is a Code to which the vendors are held; I need to look into this more.
3. The device is obviously molded, leaving an edgy seam all along the inside and outside of the “ears” of it. It’s not much, but it’s there. And I don’t know about you but my vulva and clit are sensitive, and this seam is a little annoying to my flesh.

On the upside, the FORM 2 is great to look at. The pink is a wonderful sassy bright color. The packaging was well thought out (I do give a lot of points for great packaging). And the online shopping transaction was easy.

I know it is just not fair to rate a vibrator after only the First Date, so I will be back after we reconvene. In the meantime, in case you are wondering, no, I did not have a notable O on our first night together.