And so it began, aka What we are - Part Deux

When last we saw our heros, one of them was driving across the country in a beat up old Nissan pickup, his entire life stored in some tough boxes in the back, heading into the deep unknown Liberal bastion of Portland, Or. And the other one was a nervous, horny, nail biting wreck, terrified of change and looking forward to FINALLY meeting (and by meeting, I mean fucking) this guy she'd been fantasizing about for years.

On to the story!

So, Trevor took his time driving across the country. It took him about 5 days to get here. He called me from the side of the road a couple of times, in the middle of the night, after his truck over heated and he had to wait in the middle of nowhere with no company but the snakes and coyotes. And I'd try and convince him he was having a Grand Adventure. He, true to form, was deeply skeptical. But we'd chat, and we'd get horny, and I had fun phone sex for the first time EVER.

Oh! Side point: the first time I ever talked to Trevor, I'd been at Baileys with a big group of coworkers, drunk as a skunk and obnoxious with it. He'd given me his number not that long ago, and we'd been "texting" since then. Well, my phone was notorious for butt dialing people at the most inconvenient times. Like, butt dialing mom during sex sort of inconvenient. And it decided to butt dial Trevor while I was in the middle of regaling my drunk coworkers with a very inappropriate story about my dating life. I had no idea this was going on, and it was well after midnight his time. Poor guy picks up the phone, pulled from a sound sleep, to hear me screeching like a harpy and all my coworkers in the background laughing hysterically. I didn't know what had happened till I pulled my phone out of my pocket half an hour later and saw his number in my dial history. I had a heart attack, thinking he'd called me, and promptly called him back. Forgetting it was well past midnight his time. And he answered the phone, all sleepy and southern. Trevor has a very sexy voice. Just southern enough to be sexy, not too deep... makes you think of sucking on caramel, his voice does. I'm drunk, and flustered, and turned on by his voice. And I'm all "Hey!!! HA HA HA! You called me?" and he's all "Sweetness, I didn't call you. You called me. Or your butt did. All I could hear was your voice and screeching in the background.". And I'm all "OH SWEET JESUS, I'm sorry! My stupid fucking phone likes to embarrass me! I hate you phone! I swear, I will have my vengeance!!!". And he's all "Uh huh. Darlin', you can blame your butt, but I know you just wanted me to hear your voice surrounded by all those men". And I denied, and got off the phone as soon as possible because his voice flustered the fuck out of me.

ANYWAYS. Back to our heroes. 5, maybe 6, long days later, Trevor finally drives down I84 towards my house. At 6am. I hadn't really been able to sleep the night before, what with the nervous, horny butterflies clamoring around in my belly. So I was wide awake when he called and said he was nearby. It was summertime, and the sun had already come up. It was going to be a warm day, you could tell. I spent the 15 minutes in between when he called and when he got there frantically trying to figure out what to wear. It's 6am, and I can't appear to have tried too hard. Regardless of the fact that I KNEW he wouldn't notice. Had to be perfect. I debated between silky teddy (too slutty, sadly), jeans and a t-shirt (too casual), just a t-shirt (again, too slutty), and full on goth gear. Finally decided to wear just my long, black, silver embroidered night shirt. Came to my thighs, showed lots of cleavage, and could easily be worn with a bra for that extra cleavage oomph. Juuuust slutty enough. I was too tired to be nervous by this point, but the butterflies were trying. I could feel them fluttering languidly, which felt disconcertingly like gas.

I went outside when he called and said he was at the door. The entrance to my house at the time was through a gate and through the back yard. It was summer, and the backyard was insanely green, riotous with growth. Unfortunately, this meant the willow was in full bloom and obscured my vision of the path. So I couldn't see Trevor till he was almost upon me. Keep in mind, I'd never really seen him before. I'd seen a few pictures, but not many. Everything I knew about this person was composed of words and ideas. I had a strong mental image of what he'd look like, but was desperately curious to see if I was right. The tension of waiting was fucking INTENSE. And then he came around the corner, lugging a big old army bag on his back, framed by the intense green of my yard and highlighted in early morning sunshine. And he looked exactly like my mental image. I knew this person, knew them more deeply than I knew friends I'd been close to for years. And I was perfectly comfortable. He put the bag down and hugged me. It was a good, nay, a fucking great hug. Picked me up off my feet, and I buried my head in his neck and smelt him for the first time. And with that smell came a flood of the most intense lust I have ever felt. I kissed him on the cheek, he moved his head just in time, he kissed me on the lips, chastely at first, then not so chastely. We broke apart, he put me down and picked his bag, and I led him downstairs, chattering a little nervously. I showed him the bathroom, the kitchen, and then my bedroom.

He kicked the door shut behind him, dropped his bag, I jumped into his arms, and we starting kissing like a house on fire. It took about a minute for him to pick me up and put me on the bed, and about another minute for both of us to be naked. There wasn't any finesse that first time. I don't even remember all of it, just disjointed images of raw need. I can't really call it raw fucking, because there were layers to it that I hadn't let myself build with other people. It did, however, far surpass the expectations created by months of dirty texting. And 15 minutes after we finished, we were at it again.

One thing that has cemented our... whatever we have, has been our sexuality. He doesn't have as high a sex drive as I do, but he's an amazing, generous lover. And our tastes, in this as in other things, are remarkably similar. The first time we started exploring a touch of BDSM in our sex life was with wrestling. I discovered that wrestling made me incredibly horny. Specifically, fighting and losing. Being held down, being chased and caught, putting up a good fight (and I'm capable of a ridiculously good fight. My strength has made it rather difficult to explore this facet of myself with other partners), laughing but really meaning it when I'm struggling... fucking love it. And it turned him on to no end, being able to exercise his strength with me without fear of hurting me. The first time this happened was a little intense. I'd been hiding from that side of myself for a long time. I did NOT consider myself a submissive in any way shape or form. And that's what that was all about. Being able to lose control absolutely, having it taken away and not minding... that's pretty fucking submissive. And it freaked me out, how turned on I got by it.

There were a few mishaps, here and there, in the very beginning. Ok, in the first year. There were times when I didn't want to let go, when I wanted to win. And I would not fucking give up. And that's dangerous. Trevor is incredibly strong, and has to be careful not to hurt me when we start seriously wrestling. There were times when I'd get so angry that I got lost in this animal haze, caught in a trap and unwilling to concede defeat. We developed a safe word for those moments, and I learned how to use it. He had to learn how to read me, how to recognize when my struggles were a part of the game and when they were turning serious. We had to acknowledge those parts of each other that didn't mesh. That was the hardest part, for him especially. I'm not always content to be the bottom. I never will be. I'm an intensely dominant person sometimes, and that part of me has to be allowed equal rein. And that's not a part of our relationship. He is, first and foremost, a top. He HAS to be in control. And that's where the rest of our friendship comes into play. Because I have never stopped dating, and fucking, other people. I recognized very early on the danger in us getting too comfortable with each other, becoming tempted to allow what we had to be enough. Because we will never be enough for each other. We want things that are too dissimilar. And that's ok. Because I provide for myself everything else that I need. And he provides for himself (sort of, though not enough in my opinion) what ever else he needs.

It took a long time, and some serious soul searching, for both of us to become ok with that. The first time I went off for a weekend with another man, the first time he couldn't ignore the fact that I was having sex with other people, he had a rough time of it. He was gruff and surly for a good week after that, fighting his own intense jealousy. And I actually had a rough time of it too, fighting that sense of cheating, of betraying someone. I was just as gruff and surly. But, eventually we talked about it. We got it out in the open, we acknowledged how it made us feel, and we moved on. That's been a consistent part of our friendship. Neither of us offers up much, but what we do offer is unflinchingly honest. He doesn't pretend not to feel things that might make him look bad. He acknowledges his weaknesses (though not enough of his strengths) and he works on them. Takes him a while, and every now and then I'm still subjected to a couple days of completely withdrawn, non-communicative Trevor. But it's rare nowadays. And I force myself to see when I'm starting to treat him like a boyfriend, when I'm getting angry at him because he's not providing me those things I'd expect from a boyfriend, those things he's never promised. I force myself to start dating again when we start to get too complacent in each others company. It's easy to fall into the old married couple routine. It's easy to want to just stay at home and take care of this person, stagnate with this person. But that would be the death knell for our friendship. What we have would never survive the strictures of a traditional relationship. We both know it, and we both work at preserving what we have. Because it's really rather nice, what we have. Friendship, definitely. Sexual chemistry, absolutely. Love of a sort. A nice sort :D.