I am going to tell a sex story. And I like the story very much, but it’s all a build up for a new reference experience I had at the end of the night. The story itself is full of all of the sordid details of the girl and our night together. And the sex was fantastic. But I am more focused on the lessons.
Reference experiences are the building blocks by which a man of Game puts together the great puzzles of life and love. The difference between the sex I had last night and the reference experiences I took from it, is like the difference between a meal and learning to cook. One is “what,” and the other is closer to “why.”
This story is centered around Miss Happy. She is a recent, wonderful chapter from my Book of Girls. Here is my story of what happened with her last night.
She came over at six PM. I opened the door and she stood there, lax. Almost folded back into herself. Half melted, already. Smiling in her special way. Full of that soft happiness that first attracted me to her two months ago when I approached her near the subway station.
She took off her coat and her big, soft, cashmere scarf. She sort of shyly, tentatively, put her hands out to touch me. And I leaned back and encouraged her to do it. She was a little awkward and her efforts didn’t land as close as I wanted them to, so I made her lift her slim arms and I pulled her into me. Body to body. She put her arms around my neck. I growled a low rumble of approval into her warm ear. “Now that is the kind of hug I want from you.” She smiled again.
I pulled her down the skinny hallway to the broader space of the living room. I lifted her up, set her on a little table, with her back to the twilight through the window that faces the skyscrapers across from my place. I had my hands on her hips. We talked some about the day. I was telling her stories. I hadn’t kissed her yet.
I stood her up and slipped her tights off. I am always in a hurry to get rid of her tights.
A minute later I had her on the bed (fully dressed, but minus the tights). I pulled up the long hem of her pink dress and found even longer legs and pink panties. My mouth was on hers. And I rolled her back and forth into different positions on the bed. I’d kiss her, bite her, sample the smooth skin under her dress. I pulled the zipper all the way down her back to her ass. She had a creamy slip on under the dress. I pulled it aside, and her bra as well, and took one of her big, dark nipples into my mouth.
She rolled for me, back and forth, as I worked her clothes off. I told her I couldn’t wait to eat her pussy. But I told her I wouldn’t taste her yet. And that I was going to tie her up.
Three weeks ago (as I unpacked my things that had arrived from America) I found my ropes. At the peak of the explosiveness of my relationship with Miss Thick (years ago now), I was tying her up regularly… she loved it. And so did I. And she was gorgeous when she was bound. It turned her on. (I miss that girl, and I suspect I always will.)
I’ll never forget how risky it felt to introduce ropes into the time we shared together. We had something so good. The best sex I had ever had. The most passionate relationship. It felt risky to experiment with that. If I tried something new, she’d see me as a beginner… men don’t look particularly strong when they are in the role of the beginner.
We are talking about reference experiences in this post. And that time of “experimentation” with her was also a clear and important reference experience. Taking that risk in that time, consciously, carried a ring of meaning for me that I can still hear.
My rope-times with Miss Thick were very successful. Our last time… her, on her knees, arms tied behind her back, thigh-high stockings on her long legs, I dragged her down to the floor, her knees on a pillow from my bed, my cock down her throat… and I turned her head, and made her watch herself in the full-length mirror of my armoire. She was a dream. I was in a trace. We could have been frozen in time in that moment and it would have been a good way to go.
And those times were also rewarding as I taken that risk and proven something to myself. I had done fine (maybe better than fine). I had the new reference experience of tying a girl up. Of dominating her in that context. But also the experience of trying new things in situations where I really did have something I loved and that I didn’t want to lose.
Taking risks. Trying and succeeding. Being a leader (even when you’re uncertain). Big lessons at many levels.
I have tied a few girls up since then (the Athlete, and Miss Bangs back in Tokyo last year), but those girls weren’t as into it, the experiences weren’t as hot. In terms of ropes (and in many other ways), I have not had another a situation anything like what I had with Miss Thick.
That is until now.
In the few weeks since we met, Miss Happy has become one of my favorite lovers of all time. The week my ropes arrived I recognized the opportunity and I tied up Miss Happy almost immediately. I bound her wrists behind her back, put her in a star-like chest harness, her boobs boxed in with the red lines of the jute ropes. I know that tie by heart (even if my technique is sloppy) and it was a very hot night. I had never even suggested the idea of tying her up… so that was all a surprise. And she was instantly and obviously excited.
This week, as I unpacked the rest of my things, I found a rope bondage book I’d bought more than two years ago. The first page I opened to had a different chest harness. I studied the steps this week as a bided my time until my next date with Miss Happy. I looked at the design two or three times. I thought I could remember it.
Last night, as our date started to get heated, I shook the ropes out my bag and selected a nice long length. I made her sit up. I started with her wrists and then began to wrap a coil around her, below her tits, to begin the pattern across her chest.
Rope is hot. It’s sexy. I like that it has Japanese origins (even if I am American and my lover is Chinese). But most of all…
Rope is a way to really concentrate on each other. That is what it does for me. I’m not really a “fetishist.” I do dominant things, but I don’t call myself a “dom.” I’m kinky, but don’t make any real claims to “Kink.” For me, rope gives me and the girl a chance to really focus on the experience of being together, and to extend the sexual time beyond the pounding and thrusting and moaning of it all.
I applied the design I had studied during the week and it fell into place easily. I ran out of rope just as I finished the pattern. I cinched the upper and lower horizontal sections of the harness together with a sharp tug, and this pulled her arms closer to her body, and stressed the lines that ran on all side of her tits… boxed in and sexy.
I was ready to fuck her. But first… time to make her ass nice and red.
She tests me a lot. She’s natural at it. Not extensive tests, but regular attempts to set the frame in one way or another. That, or I’ll say something sexy and she’ll try to laugh at me about it and defuse the sexual tension (that is another kind of test). I try to catch each and every one of those moments. I call them out, or reframe her, or sometimes… I remind her she can act up, but if she does, I’ll make her ass nice and red next time I see her. I often tell her (when she tests) that I know she is doing it just so I’ll spank her harder next time.
She was naked, and on her side. With her hands tied up behind her back, her face was smashed down into the sheets. I spread her legs so I could see her ass and her increasingly wet pussy (I hadn’t even touched it yet). I started to give her a series of slaps on the backs of her thighs. And her ass. One, two, three. The first slap to test the impact and the connection. Then the next two or three to really lay it on, to make it hurt a bit, to make it burn. And then… I’d stop. And caress her. Tell her how pretty she looked.
This is also push/pull. The pain and the pleasure. This is balance. I was hurting her. But I was caring for her as well.
I do care for her. I want her to feel that warmth too.
And I’d repeat that. Slaps on her ass. Then softer touching. Slap, slap slap. Then praise. Until her ass glowed a rosy red.
Ropes and red ass. Great start to the night.
Then I fucked her. And fucked her hard. To give her the experience of being unable to resist and really taking it all. Her face, pressed against the mattress, ass in the air, I gripped the ropes on her back for leverage and pulled her onto my cock as I plunged in. She made exquisite noises. The view of her, crisscrossed with rope, her amazing ass in the air… incredible. It was everything I want in a situation like that.
I untied her half way… fucked her again. Untied the rest, fucked her some more. Then dragged her to edge of the bed for that taste of her pussy I was dying for. Finally. It was just want I wanted. I ate her pussy. I ate her perfect ass.
Sometimes it feels just right. It’s what I want. And I go and go and go. And as I stop, I still want more. And sex is like this for me. I never want it to end. That pre-explosion (at least pre-my-explosion) feels better than the ending. So I extend it. The extending it, on and on and on… that is the thing. She twisted and screamed as I sucked her clit into my mouth. It was fantastic.
I had other things I wanted to do to her… I wanted to put my fingers in her (she loves that)… but I also wanted to be back inside her again.
So for the second time, I put on a condom. I laid her flat on her belly, pushing my cock into her pussy from behind, between the softness of her ass. I slid an arm under her neck, a soft, intimate choke hold… and hammered my hips into into hers. Half choke, half hug. Our faces side by side and our breath mixing in her hair. Rough, but beautifully intimate. I could feel us start to sweat as I ground into her, and it reminded me of sweaty summertime sex and I told her that. Whispering fantasies of dripping, overheated skin into her ear as I fucked her.
I dragged her back down to the edge of the bed. And finally got my fingers in her. And I was too abrupt (momentarily), and I could see it in her eyes. I don’t think I hurt her, but it wasn’t smooth.
This girl had already had a remarkable range of experiences that night. Her body had been loved and abused in a dozen different ways. As I slid two fingers into her, in, and down, her mouth was open, and there was a look of a half-hungry, half-exhausted state under the heavy lids of her eyes. But there was also a sign that my pace was off… so I slowed down.
As we’ll see at the end of this post, I had several opportunities to notice her reaction to all this (of course). I had chances to calibrate in ways both big and in small. A lot of my reference experiences from this night were about calibration. The look in her eyes as I started to work her with my fingers was another of those moments.
I worked my fingers deeper in, but with more care. I watched her expression, I made adjustments, we fell back into sync, and I dialed it up… doing things to her I know she likes, fingers deep down, the “deep spot.” Her expression screwed tighter. Build up and tension. A pregnant agony and then…
Then she squirted. Over and over and over and over and over. And she was holding her breath, so I did too. I kept at it. Thrusting in, dragging two fingers over tight, strained, secret ligaments, deep “down” and inside, the backs of my fingers against her cervix, the backs of my knuckles pressing up against her G. I thought I would stop, but I didn’t. And as she held her breath, I held mine too. She gave me more. And I thought she would stop, but she didn’t. More. Blasts of pungent spray onto her legs, over my hand, all over my arms and into my lap. More and more. And that felt like enough. So I stopped.
And she finally took a breath.
I took a breath too. And several more.
I crawled up next to her. She had been through a lot. I wanted to connect. So I laid next to and across her. I stroked her face. And ran my hands, slowly through her hair. I let her breathe. I kissed her neck. I breathed with her.
So many expressions ran over her face. So many emotions. Like she was exhausted (and she was). Like she was hurt (maybe). Like she might cry (I don’t know). I stared. Maybe she was so swept away that none of the usual reads of her face would apply. I don’t know. It’s not my job to always know. I just kept after her eyes. I made her really look. I wanted to really “see her” and I wanted to feel she was really “seeing me” too.
My motor was still very warm, but not revving. I knew I would come after all this. I held her still, let the “her and I” of it all linger.
As I stared down at her my plan was to let her jerk me off. I wanted to come… I had really wanted it all week. I was going to lord over her, make her run her hands all over me until I was ready to explode on her chest. But as I shifted her around to look at her ass, I threatened to stuff my cock in it and there was something in her eyes… she would have that too.
This is another time to mention reference experiences. Ass sex isn’t for everyone, but an interesting aspect of that kind of fucking is that a girl will often want it, she’ll love it, even if she’ll never admit it. Many girls do not like anal, not at all. But it’s hard to know, because they’ll say one thing but very gladly (and ecstatically) feel another. It is only because I have been in this “position” before that I know the kind of a look a girl will give me when she wants it.
I know because I have missed the look before (and found out later she wanted it). And I’ve seen it before, known it for what it is, and had an intense experience – even as she claimed she could never like such a thing.
Reference experiences. That’s what this post is about.
So I saw the look, and I gave it to her.
And she gave me the first “no, no, no” she has ever really given me in bed. It was role play. There was some “fight,” but there was some “sly smile” too. Taking her ass wasn’t part of my plan, but on top of everything else we had done in this session, she had the experience of having her ass fucked while she “fought me off.” I pulled out and exploded, shot my come up her chest and across her neck.
Fucking wild. What an unbelievable night.
Even then… I didn’t really want it to end. It was so good. I wished it could have gone on. I almost always do. But it has to end. And it did, in a gooey blast across her body.
We were finally done. When I looked at the clock, it had been two hours and 45 minutes. I don’t think I have ever fucked that long. I had been close to coming 100 times that night. And I finally had. And it was over. We were both spent.
And now for the main reference experience of the night:
When we were finally done, when I was finally empty and she had caught her breath, without much lingering, she asked if we could shower off and go get some dinner. She peed. I looked at the clock, it was almost nine PM.
We stood under the hot water. She was happy, and lovely, and girly, and feminine… like always. But there was a beat-up look in her eyes. And she was doing this odd thing in terms of how she held her body… I could see it better when we stepped out of the shower to towel off.
Her legs were pointing toward me as we talked… but her upper body was tilted away a bit, almost leaning back, and turned slightly, so one shoulder was almost between us.
When a girl puts anything in between you and her, it’s a sign of protection. I think she also had her hands kind of behind her, like she was hiding something from me – her hands, exaggerating the protection. Overall, the feel was “between” and “away,” not “together.” I was surprised. And it caught hold of my attention and I was very focused, taking in all the little signs, trying to understand what I was seeing.
And that is it. That is my big report. This is the thing I want to talk about.
Her gesture may not seem like much of a clue, but I have had a lot of experience with women… and I saw something. Something I hadn’t seen before in a situation like this one.
It is true I don’t think I had ever fucked for quite that long before, done quite as much… but, in general, I’ve done this kind of thing before, certainly. And I’ve had the chance to closely observe girls (in deeply intimate ways) after sex like what went down Miss Happy and me on this night. And I’ve seen this particular girl after this kind of sex before, as well (several times). But I’ve never seen that gesture… the “tone” in her body language. She was (very unconsciously) showing me something.
It was a little bit like the way a girl might look at me during an initial approach on the street. The way Miss Happy was looking at me was similar to the way a girl might look at me during a semi-on/semi-off daygame approach… the look of a girl that is interested, but doesn’t trust me (yet), or doesn’t trust the situation.
I think that’s it: After all that wild sex, I had created something close to (but not quite), a lack of trust. I think I know why. And that’s why I wrote the post. I wanted this chance to think about it.
It was just too much. Not while we did it, but after… after… there was this feeling we had overdosed a little bit. We had taken it all “over the line” a little.
I am so in awe of her. Of her capacity for intense, pleasure. And of her and I. In awe of our brief, brilliant history as lovers and our potential for more of the same in the future. And it is because of that awe that I over-stuffed our time together last night. I was a little over-confident. I assumed too much about the boundaries of what we could handle in one night.
Noticing all this is an important reference experience for me. It’s a chance to calibrate. With her. And the “deep knowing” that comes from this kind of emotional reference experience gives you something that lasts. I may very well see something like this again in my life. I learned something.
The night was gluttonous and greedy and long. It was a stretch… more for her than for me. It was easy for me, because I feel so very natural in the context of being with her, what we’ve done before, what I imagine we’ll continue to do. And with that said, there is still some kind of “surprise” here for me. I still feel it. That is what makes it such a strong reference experience. There is newness here for me.
What I take away from it is only that it was very aggressive sex. Not all of it, I gave her a lot of my heart along with my cock. I never neglected her. The bits that were rough or cruel, even those were intentional, very much with her feelings in mind. But afterward, while her heart was exhausted, and her mind was empty and at rest… her body showed a need for protection.
“Most chicks also need aftercare, etc. They want to bond, not just be sex toys who are going to be discarded after the event. Many guys wrongly neglect aftercare, cuddling, etc.”
Yeah. Without using the term specifically, I know this to be true. And I gave her plenty of care, but perhaps not enough to completely soften the impact of this, our most wild episode to date.
Girls are sturdy. Girls can take a lot physically. I have had several delicate lovers (both psychologically and physically), where they complain easily and can’t take much. Some girls can’t handle more than maybe 20 minutes of the kind of sex I gave Miss Happy. Each girl is different, but yeah… you can push girls.
As I replay this, pushing girls is part of what I have to offer. Sometimes girls want to be taken a bit farther than they can handle. That is a type of fantasy too. Take her a little too far. Hurt her a little (hurt her sensibilities). All with a sense of love and an intention of service to her, certainly. But yes… “too far” is a kind of thrill.
(In case it needs to be said… experimenting with “too far” isn’t territory for beginners. Nor is it recommended for first dates. I have a lot of experience. And she and I have been dating for weeks. Keep the context in mind…)
Even something as simple as making her ass red… she wouldn’t ask for that. And she might have wanted (at least) one less spank from each volley of slaps that I gave her last night. But that last slap each time… might be literally transcendent. “Too far” is sometimes how things go from acceptable and mundane to radiant and extraordinary.
That last, unwanted slap (the one that is a little too much) might be what helps her “break free.” What helps you, as her lover, break free. What makes the moment miraculous. What sweeps you both away.
Much of the night was like this for me. I can still feel the dizzy drunkness of it all. I was trying to take
her us both into the hazy territory of “a little too far” last night… and I did.
So I don’t feel remorse. I don’t feel any sense of “hang-dog” capitulation. I feel bullish and aggressive. Even now, I would do it all again, maybe exactly the same.
And if I told you I feel like I would want it go on even longer, would you be surprised?
But that “look” that her body gave me. That moderate, but notable, recoil in her muscles as we stepped out the shower… ouhhh, I can never forget it. I didn’t feel bad. I still don’t. But maybe that look is how she took me “too far” last night. That is how she split me open.
I feel responsible. And that is a good way to let this lesson soak in.
If you’re going to lead a girl this “hard,” take her not only farther than the might otherwise go, but into this particular, dark, “haunted” section of the forest… it’s on you. As men, it’s always on us. But this is a little more high-stakes. So the responsibility has more heat to it.
Should I have shown even more care?
I don’t think so. But I think just being alive enough to see her reaction, to notice it, to talk to her about it a bit (and we did), is enough. That shows I was strong, and mean, and bad… but not blind or out of control. I gorged on her flesh and her holes and her capacity to take all I could pour into her, but I loved on her too. And that seems like a particularly necessary aspect of it all, given what she showed me when I was done.
I care for her very much. It is easy to do, she is a wonderful girl. And I am glad I wasn’t in such a brutish rush that I would neglect that part.
“That guy… leading the dance. He is the leader. But he is completely tuned into her. He is completely tuned into her and feels what she would like too. He is leading and he is feeling it.”
— Hans Comyn
This experience gives emphasis to the care. More highlights of a girl, showing the edges of her capacity. A reminder of the emphasis of “care”… not just “aftercare,” but at each step along the path, especially if you want to push the experience like I did with this Lovely One.
Men lose all the time. And we mostly only win when we take risks. And there are risks at both ends of each episode with a girl.
A man that doesn’t go far enough, can land short of the target, and lose the chance to be seen in a certain light (and doors will close). A man that goes too far, can seem heartless, inconsiderate, and potentially risks even more. We risk damaging the girl (in big ways, but also in smaller, cumulative ones). We risk “playing too small” to live a extraordinary life. We risk robbing her of what might be a once-in-lifetime peak experience, for pleasure or intimacy (sexually, or emotionally, or both).
After that shower.. Miss Happy and I had a light snack of cheese and crackers and olives and mustard and beer. And we slipped into the uneven drizzle of the night, found a new restaurant I wanted to try, and sat side by side and ate together. We talked. We were fine. We were better than fine.
That protected half-shell she had shown me after the shower had soften. My elation and lust had softened as well. As she seemed to recover I was finally exhausted myself.
Once we were home I stripped her naked and she melted into my bed. We drifted into dreams moments after our heads crushed the pillows. And we slept as if we were of one piece. Close, warm, as lovely as all the other nights. I was hard, repeatedly, throughout the night, still wanting her. I want her now.
I fucked her again in the morning, and after, she ran off to work.
Around lunch today, all on her own, with no prompting, she sent me this:
MISS HAPPY: Love, protect, respect…
MISS HAPPY: This is what I get from the Dangerous Man
MISS HAPPY: Great, I like it.
By the time I got that message, I had already had a chance to process my performance (and her reaction). I was good with who I am and what I have done (to her, and with the other girls before her).
And I like validation too.
Sounds like she and I had both considered, and affirmed, the meaning of the episode. It was “too much” (in an unforgettably wonderful way). And perhaps in being too much, we had “come through” that together as well. And it was the kind of too much we might do again (I certainly hope so). Although next time… I’ll likely give us something a little easier to manage.
It was an epic episode. I loved it and it has been excellent to write about it. I want to rewind and perform it all again – I would do it right now.
And while I loved the pleasure of it all, the big take away wasn’t the build-up or the particular climax of the night… it was the noticing of her expression, partially broken, in the sticky-dust of the aftermath and collapse of all we done to each other.
A night full of reference experiences… little lessons and clues I’ll use to navigate my time with her (or, perhaps, some other girl) in the future.
I’ll never forget it.
May we have good experiences. May we give the girls good experiences.