After years of loose acquaintanceship, we matched over sandwiches at a diner.
We established a baseline of me asking him to engage in sexual experiments, and him almost always being up for them. We laughed a lot. Fleshlight gave me a product sample—Riley Steele—but without a bio cock I had no way to test it out. He did have a cock, though, attached to his body and full of nerve endings, so he could tell me what it was like.
I left the Riley model with him, warning him to let it dry thoroughly after use and proper cleaning. Later, he'd tell me he enjoyed it. Then, ahead of Valentine's Day, we'd create a video where I used my Fleshlights as hand puppets, and I'd give him one of those.
We matched on the street.
I thought he was hot.
He'd known who I was.
We were both in the profession of being objectified, though in different ways. At some point during the whirlwind, I'd brought him my Fleshlight. At another point during that whirlwind, I fucked him with it. I lubed up the inside and thrust the Destroya texture down onto his cock.
I squeezed him with it, stroked him with it, and finally applied all of the strength in my bicep and tricep to jerk him as fast and hard as I could manage.
We cracked jokes back and forth throughout, in between statements of desires. When I said, "that was hot," he said, "narcissist," with pronunciation and intonation so balanced between joke and jab that I didn't know which way to interpret it.I didn't ask what he'd meant.
We matched on an app and realized we knew each other's work. I respected his work. We had to meet.
I had to meet him.
So we did.
Once we'd met, I knew I wanted to have sex with him. So I had sex with him. It was great.
He would let me know when he was coming to the city I live in, and I would tell him what my boundaries were each time. Sometimes my boundaries were broad, and other times narrow.
He wanted to see me every time, and I wanted to see him. So we did, whether we were going to fuck or not.
He'd said he wanted to try a Fleshlight. I'd signed one of my recently released Quickshots for him, carefully choosing the few words I could fit on the cap. I listed his dick, and his brain, describing each as large—and the latter as the larger.
Hours after I gave it to him, we opened that cap. He asked if I wanted him to provide me with a show. I wanted him to give me a show. So he did. His cock, crammed tight through a representation of my very own cunt, and asshole, was fascinating. I had a cervix's eye view.
The way he shared his exhibitionism with me was beautiful. Vulnerable.
The fact that he wanted to give me aesthetic pleasure made my pussy swell. Watching the muscles in his arm ripple as he put on that display made my pussy spill over.
Two main themes run through this triptych.
There are the Fleshlight products that are created in my image, which makes sense, given the context of the Fleshlife Blog.
And then there's communication.
I'm still friends with the man who made my Stoya Scream ad with the hand puppets. He saw me. He saw who I am, the core of who I will always be. He captured that with his camera and his editing. I texted him as I was writing the first paragraph— saying I was writing about him, thinking about him, and hoping he was well. It's been 12 years since we last kissed.
I don't know where things go with the man who comes through the city I live in. Maybe I go to him sometimes. Perhaps we will go places.
Like all of life, one can hope but one can't know what the future holds.
I know we're on the same page of general unknowing, because we've talked about where we are.
The man in the middle is a mystery I'm not motivated to investigate, and that's all there is to say.
You might notice where there's strong communication; there's potential for something that lasts. That thing will almost certainly shift as time moves forward. As we grow, our paths entwine and untwine and come back together in new ways, whether we're apart for hours or years, weaving ourselves into each others' worlds.
Communication takes vulnerability—sharing the sensitive parts of ourselves, whether that's love, lust, or loneliness. It takes listening—close listening, bringing the full force of our attention to bear on each other.
There is an inescapable risk of rejection. Fortune favors the bold, and bravery… bravery bolsters the meaning and intensity of fornication.
There is always a need to build rapport. Sometimes it comes in a rush after years; sometimes, it grows steadily. But it has to be there to get to the good stuff—the experiences and orgasms and adventures that stick with you for years. And maybe the people involved do, too.
My advice to you, reader, based on my hard-won life experience, whether you want to spend time with someone you find attractive or bring your Fleshlight into the sex you share with your partner, let them in on your emotion.
There's no formula to say this phrase to achieve this and such an outcome. It all depends on who and where they are at that moment.
Look at who that person is, and lean out into uncertainty. You might get hurt. Scrapes and scars will heal or endure. But you'll be finding out what might happen next.