Vincent. Think of a towering, caramel-skinned Adonis: a thick, muscled build, kind eyes, a soft smile. He had an old spirit, preferring documentaries and his quiet times away from the bustle of life. We met at work and immediately hit it off. I appreciated his humor. There is nothing better than a guy who can banter. And Vincent was good in many regards. It didn’t hurt that there was a very real, very apparent mutual attraction. The flirting began innocent enough. And then we began to explore the boundaries.
Work kept us apart, so much of our interaction was over text. The banter turned playful and then teasing and then sexy. If you have followed my stories, you know my preference for potential stallions is through organic interaction. I need to feel that spark rather than try to manufacture it. With Vincent, it was easy. We connected intellectually. The emotional connection was present. All that remained was weather all that translated to a physical connection. I had an extended work trip coming up and invited him to my place for a few days.
He agreed. And when he showed me the plane tickets he had purchased, I believed him. One thing I’ve learned and encourage all aspiring vixens to hold fast to is the “believe it when you see it” motto. Lots of guys like to talk the talk. It’s a whole other matter entirely to commit to action.
Vincent didn’t necessarily surprise me with his commitment. He intrigued me.
I wanted to see where this went.
Now, I need to preface something before we move forward in the story. Vincent, like many of my stallions and partners, was not poly. And like most of my stallions and partners, I was the first poly wife they had ever interacted with. Needless to say, I held some of my expectations in check.
A good thing too unfortunately because Vincent, I’m sad to say, was a bit underwhelming for all the fun he had teased. You know, I get it. It’s one thing to talk about fucking for hours. It’s another thing to do it. Vincent was “meh” in person. More to the point, he was on odd, standoffish kind of “meh”. We fucked. Sort of. It almost felt like he did not quite know what to do with the situation. I later learned much of the hesitation stemmed from a simple lack of understanding about the relationship, what it meant and specifically where it was going to go.
It’s understandable. Fern’s “Polysecure” mentions how we are conditioned to see romantic relationships as a series of progressive milestones intent on the end goal of marriage and children: the search for the singular “mate”. And yet in polyamory, we are free from the expectation of an end goal. I would add that it’s simply about experiencing and sharing love with others. That’s it. I didn’t need Vincent to be my husband or worry about the traditional milestones. I don’t need any of my stallions to.
We are free to simply enjoy our connection.
I told Vincent as much. Months later. After months of sparse to no contact following the admittedly underwhelming first time together. He acknowledged and even apologized for his lack of presence, both in the moments of our time together and afterward.
Vincent admitted he had been locked up in his head. PSA potential stallions: instead of wrapping yourself up in the myriad of thoughts, questions, uncertainty as it relates to a relationship with a vixen, please consider “defying the spiral” and just ask her. Trust me, we’ll both be happier you did.
Months of poor Vincent agonizing back and forth in his own mind and I literally cleared things up for him in the space of a few texts.
And what came of it?
A follow-up weekend cabin trip together that was MUCH BETTER.
Picture a small, secluded home at the edge of the Blue Ridge Highlands. Rolling forested hills. So much opportunity for exploration and adventure . It was the perfect romantic getaway. Vincent surprised me with planning the whole thing. We were both going to be in the general vicinity for a weekend, and he went the extra step to book a cabin and things for us to do.
I pulled up to the location and felt the thrill of anticipation firing my blood. Sure, there was a healthy reserve of low expectations after our last time together but I was still determined to enjoy myself.
I am happy to tell you, Vincent did not disappoint. We began with a short perusal of our living space for the next few days but you can imagine how quickly that turned to a sexy perusal of each other. He was strong and I enjoyed being enveloped in his strength. It was comforting to let go, to simply exist in a world where someone else had the reins for a while. And he took them with the kind of intent I had been needing.
We kissed, the fire of our playfulness leading up to the weekend making itself manifest in the way our hands roamed over one another. Clothes fell away in our joined trek to the bed. Vincent enjoyed my body and I enjoyed the contrast of his dark complexion on the light canvas of my skin. The way his lips traveled, the way his touch traversed as if for the first time. No more restraint. No more locked up in his own head. His grip went to my hips. His cock teased in a slow glide, back and forth, rubbing the part of my pussy.
I angled my hips upward, communicating what I wanted. I bit my lip, helping move my legs into his shoulders where he wanted them. His tip slipped inside of me. I felt the heady rush, the exhilaration, of our bodies joined together. And we began exploring the rhythm of that moment. Slow-building thrusts with stolen kisses. Vincent held himself over me but I still felt the powerful weight of him atop me. It sent my head spinning in a primal kind of way: being beneath this man, giving into his strength.
Our undulations intensified. My breath quickened. He gripped one of my breasts, squeezing and pinching at the nipple as his thrusts became more demanding. My moans hitched higher with need. I shut my eyes to take in all the sensations. The feel of his cock driving towards release, the sound of his hips slapping against my own. His scent. The taste of his tongue and lips in the moments he darted them down to muffle my cries of pleasure.
We were so close. I could feel his control slipping and giving way to the inevitable. I wanted it. I wanted his cum. I told him as much and beckoned him deeper and quicker. My mind reeled in the moment. A buzzing, electric kind of feeling with the coming orgasm.
Vincent bucked hard. I squeezed him tight as his cum erupted inside of me and I didn’t let go until I was satisfied he had given me every last drop. We lay back, cuddling, kissing, relishing the euphoria of sex and this new understanding of our relationship together. And to think, all it had taken was a single, honest conversation to clear up the mess of assumptions Vincent had inadvertently built.
Yes, he knew how to fuck…and we did. Multiple times throughout our stay together
. One of the best parts of this particular stallion? It’s not over. In fact, Vincent and I have seen each other very recently and that is a story I will tell soon. Until then, I’d like to leave you with a very appropriate, poignant quote: “Don’t live only in your head, it’s lonely and it’s dangerous” (Jamie Tworkowski).