In Which Peter the Huggable Hippie Reveals a Very Naughty Side

Okay, reader, I know I said that I was on hiatus from romance and/or sex indefinitely. I suppose that what I meant was that I don't want to get involved in activities that feel threatening to my burgeoning sense of autonomy. Yeah. That's what I meant. You got that, right?

...Because this unexpected development with Peter is a Very Good Thing, and he is in no danger of becoming my boyfriend (or trying to). And since he is a seasoned poly guy who has chosen this way of life as the result of possessing an excess of love--seriously, I've met very few people who so constantly ooze with love and light--I can 'fall for him' in whatever way seems natural without worrying, as with Lachlan, that I will have to give him up for some reason that feels artificial to me. I know, too, that we are far too different to end up in anything resembling partnership, but will instead have to be able to admire one another from a fair distance. I mean, the guy lives on a rustic commune that is nearly an hour away, he hosts workshops on intimacy and non-violent communication, and he plays a fucking Native American flute, for Chrissake. He's rather a new-agey hippie, in other words.

So yeah, the extreme limitations of our similarities makes us incompatible as anything other than fond and respectful, but occasional, lovers. In other words, the interaction has the potential to be a nearly perfectly safe scene for me to go ahead and enjoy some good lovin' whenever the opportunity presents itself.

But of course I am not only interested because the parameters seem strategically sound. No, no, no. I have a smile on my face and a stirring in my belly to validate the rest: how good I feel around him, how easily he makes me laugh, how fucking attentive and generous and amazingly hot he is in bed...

Since I am in the mood to write and I'm drinking coffee and chocolate for inspiration, I'll try to back up and explain more about Peter and the beginning of this story. (When I delve into detail apparently has more to do with when I feel like explaining something than it does with what events are most important.) I realized that there is also a chance that I mentioned him earlier by a different name but have forgotten about it. If so, I apologize, and I'll post an edit. His name will remain Peter for now, though.

Peter and I first met when he Couchsurfed with us this past spring. At that time, he was the first polyamorous person we got to speak to at any length about our experiences. In a sincere and generous attempt to help us, he made himself available for many hours over the course of two days to listen to and counsel us the best he knew how, down to busting out the process-based communication games he uses in his workshops. It didn't work out well, in my opinion, primarily because Simon kept resisting the process. Regardless, I got a lot out of our long talks, and I felt a lasting sense of connection to Peter despite the fact that he is exactly the sort of person whom my friends tend to spend a good bit of time making fun of.

A week or so ago, he e-mailed me and filled me in on what he's been up to: living at the commune (which he denies is a commune), working in a nursery, planning projects, etc. He concluded by saying that he would be visiting Asheville soon, and would I perhaps be willing to host him again? Hell yes I would. Thus plans were made.

I went to pick him up downtown, we had lunch, and he took off on his own again for a bit. In the meantime, I met up with Chan for coffee, and noting that he seemed bored with being alone, I welcomed him to run with my pack for the evening. Peter and I met up later in the evening, had a couple of beers at my house with Valerie and Chan, and laughed our asses off for hours as we planned our fictional "B.-Dada-S.M." business. As a result, my diaphragm aches. Chan continued to seem either bored or just completely uncomprehending. We kept wondering what the hell could be going through his head, and he just kept following along...

After leaving my house, Peter, Chan, and I had dinner before heading to my favorite riverside/train track-side bar to sit by a fire. It was the coldest it's been all year since winter, so fire was seeming crucial. During this whole three hour process or so, Peter and I are absolutely buried in conversation of all sorts, from goofy to profound and from conspiratorial to inspired. We also revisited the topics of sex and attraction many times over the course of the day, and we ended up learning much about what turns the other person on. This came in handy later, reader. We finally shook Chan after having a beer by the bonfire, and when we got home, we both fell in bed beside Valerie. She seemed dead asleep, but she wasn't, as we would discover...

We nestled into a perfectly interlocking position under the covers and tried to nod off as Valerie fake-slept beside us. I didn't expect anything to happen...but our fingers started making tiny, slow circles on each other's shoulders and backs, until tiny circles became long, slow lines traced from the smalls of backs, across the trembling skin over ribs, and up to the hollow places in chests until finally, our lips met very, very gingerly and cautiously and softly.

After lots more careful, silent exploration. We had gotten overconfident about Valerie's soporific status, and in one fluid motion that nevertheless made the bed tremble, Peter gathered me up and planted me over his hips. Eventually, Valerie got up in a huff and tromped off to the couch so that she could get some sleep. We felt terrible about running her out of bed, but it is my bed and we weren't exactly expecting to end up in this position and we were just about to move to the couch...nonetheless, she had beaten us to it. She wasn't even angry this morning, dear lady of my heart!

So after we said "Aww, that sucks, we're so bad" a few times, we set back to work devouring each other, except this time without such restriction. Peter immediately pulled from his proverbial pocket something I had casually mentioned to him earlier: that I liked physically powerful men who can pick me up and manipulate my body, that I was interested in dominance play that involved somewhat genuine struggle, but that no lover of mine had yet boned up to the challenge and taken me in the way I have wished, asked to be taken...

And so he TOOK me. Holy shit. We were almost literally fighting. It was something between wrestling and dancing and fucking, anyway. I was choked and bitten and restrained and forced and pinned and flipped and thrown in so many ways I've only dreamed about before, then kissed so deeply and held so tenderly that I could hardly believe I was with the same person from one moment to the next. All this brilliant masculine display of sexual prowess and intuition came from a 22-year old peacenik whose hips are narrower than a ruler! Furthermore, neither of us went down on the other, and there was no penetration, but I can't remember having been so fucking turned on in my life.

(Aside: If sex keeps getting better and better like this for the next ten or fifteen years, then I think at some point I may just blow my lid and die of explosive pleasure. I can't figure out whether it has more to do with the increased quality of my sexual partners or my maturing sexuality. Definitely some of both, but it is very difficult to tell how much of the phenomenon is attributable to each factor.)

Afterwards, he suggested that next time we amp up the role-playing aspect of the game, go deeper, and explore more of what this beautiful thing can be about. I told him that I was a little nervous because I have no experience with anything close to BDSM, but as it turns out, neither does he. (Wow. Really?) If I want to explore more, I believe that he may be the perfect partner for the job: shameless, scrupulously considerate, playful, and powerfully embodied. Oh yeah, and interested in me as more than an object. That's cool too I guess. Ha!

We frolicked and cuddled in bed some more this morning--gleefully, like kids playing tag--and then I dropped him off at his next destination feeling like a very lucky girl indeed.

I am hoping he might invite me up to his mountain soon. I'm eager and excited to see him again...but as I said, it feels perfectly seamless and normal to transition back into my default life. I think I may be getting better at this whole game...