year one

by Sophie

A year ago we flirted via email, talking about music and art and lust and life in general. He sent me photos of his body that excited me, said things that no man had ever said to me before in a poetry to which I wasn’t accustomed. Jamie was fascinating and new and thrilling. I was enthralled.

A year ago I parked my car in a darkened spot in his apartment complex parking lot. He met me by the dumpsters, taller than I thought he would be and very cute. He brought me into his cozy apartment, poured me a drink, and talked with me for an hour or so, his voice soothing and deep and full of emotion that doesn’t always show on his face. I laughed and placed my hand on his knee, and he marveled that I touched him of my own accord. I placed my drink on the coffee table and he pulled my head close to his and kissed me, then laid me on the couch and continued to kiss me, and then took me to his bedroom and kissed me all over until I came and came on his tongue, having my first ever multiple orgasms. The next day I came over again, awkwardly missed his greeting kiss in the parking lot, made up for it in the bedroom where I came on his cock and he finally came, inside me, inside the condom.

Three days later we had given up on the condoms and I was sleeping over. 

Autumn broke into full swing and with it his free time expanded. We saw each other often, every visit better than the one before. He fucked me on his couch, in his kitchen, in his bed, almost on his balcony, more than once. He put toys in my ass while he fucked my pussy. He put toys in my pussy while he fucked my ass. He made me breakfast in the mornings and we talked for hours, stayed up irresponsibly late most nights. I bought earplugs to block his snoring and he ignored my open-mouth ugly sleeping.

Thanksgiving came and he traveled to visit his family, our first real span of time spent apart. When he returned he asserted his dominance for the first time – “Wear a skirt over here,” his text read, and he took full advantage of the access as soon as I walked in the door. He bound my legs and arms to his satisfaction and I gave him complete control. A cane, a paddle, even a wooden spoon were used to make my flesh warm and red and my cunt hot and wet.  He left me a shaking, sobbing mess, begging for more.

In December he began to pull away a bit. I was concerned – more than I thought I would be. Did he not like me? Was I coming on too strong? Did I care about this too much about this guy who was supposed to be “good sex on the regular?”

I bought us tickets to see Handel’s Messiah. It was our first real date. We held hands and walked to the church like a real couple. I teared up during the Hallelujah chorus. I looked over and his eyes were wet, too. Afterward we went to a local late-night diner and he apologized for his distance. Winter was hard for him, he admitted. “But here you are, and you’re not going anywhere, so I’m just going to have to learn to let you in,” he shrugged. My heart warmed and stopped racing with worry.

I realized I was in love.

Christmas Eve we made quiet dinner and quiet love to each other with quiet music in the background. New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day we were iced in together, stuck with one another for two days. We woke on the second day and decided to write about our ever-deepening experiences in this blog. A few days later we purchased the domain name and Amaranthine Border was born. Now we had a child.

We fucked into the spring and one morning in April he brought me coffee in bed. “You’re a beautiful woman,” he said while looking in my bleary eyes. “I’m so glad you wrote me back.” I left for a couple of long road trips and each time I returned we couldn’t get enough of one another, our mouths and hands all over each other’s bodies, my cries of ecstasy carrying over into the neighboring apartments. We began to have sex in the mornings before work and I felt him seeping between my legs all day, a smile on my face every time I became aware of him.

Spring turned into Summer and we went on a few more dates, our relationship becoming actual and tangible. We began to fall into routines and observe small traditions. Jamie cleared a space for me in his bathroom for my small collection of toiletries. My orgasms became a different kind of beast and he became more comfortable asking me for things he wanted and receiving them, coming more easily as I swirled my tongue around his cock, writhing less self-consciously underneath my touch. Jamie taught me a bit more about power play and restraint, making me shiver with the anticipation of what he would do to me without my explicit and informed permission. The end of the summer saw me tied up and helpless, trusting him to treat me well, which he did, over and over again.

I know he won’t remember this, but before we met he joked about massaging me with “scented unguents.” This evening he did exactly that, oiling me with lavender scented oil and running his strong hands over my back and legs and ass, rolling my lips between his fingers, my clit swelling. I rolled onto my back and he massaged my breasts and stomach before dipping a finger into me, curling it against the muscular front wall of my pussy. My hips rolled and bucked against his hand as I came oh-so-gently, and then again as he dropped his head to kiss my nipples. He then climbed on top of me, grasped my waist, and plunged his cock so deeply and sweetly into me I thought I might cry. He fucked me desperately, opening his oft-closed eyes to look at my body and face and then looking away quickly in an attempt to stave off his orgasm. It didn’t work and he heaved into me one, twice, moaning and warming me with his come. My final orgasm came as well and I cried out, pushed him out of me as the last tiny little death overcame me. Jamie smugly smiled down at me as I came. He knows no one has ever made me come the way he does. 

I met Jamie a year ago this week. Traditionally the first anniversary is celebrated with a gift of paper. Unfortunately Hallmark doesn’t print a card that says “thank you for saving my life and teaching me how better to love by fucking me like you do.” What I do have is a blog, which I argue is much better than a stupid card. After all, once it’s on the internet, it lives forever, right?

Jamie probably doesn’t realize this but when I came to him this time last year I was in the middle of much personal turmoil. I was dealing with some dependencies that were in the process of crumbling and our association helped to break those chains. I didn’t realize it at the time and didn’t for quite a while after, but I needed him. In my more self-congratulatory moments I like to think he needed me too. One thing I have learned in the past year is that I used to always chase the new, as if new were the only thing that could be exciting. Now I find the familiar just as exciting. It’s a nice feeling. It’s a safe feeling.

All of this to say – happy anniversary, Jamie. You have taught me so many things about love, trust, and companionship, some of which I have detailed here and some of which I have saved just to tell you in our quiet moments. You make me a more curious and caring person. You’ve made me a better lover. You make me a better person. I don’t know what life would be like without you in it. I hope you’re in it for a very, very long time.