February 27, 2011

SKYE BLUE

If you’ve been reading regularly, you’ll know that in late January I announced that I was going get a sex makeover. Well folks, I’m happy to report that soon after making that big announcement, in early February to be exact, I got back in the proverbial saddle and found myself a buck fuddy.

Who you ask? Well, as I’m not silly enough to open myself up to another round of dickmatizing by Afternoon Delight, I had to find someone else to help me end what Sam so eloquently dubbed my “long bout of pum pum (that’s vag for all the non-West Indians) purgatory”. Enter Mr. B, a 6’3”, 240 lb, brown-skinned hunk of a man. A man I’d gone on two absolutely lovely dates with before discovering he was too hung up on his ex to date anyone else. But as we parted ways amicably and still spoke on occasion, I knew there was a good chance he’d welcome the chance to be my horizontal mambo partner – if I could just muster up the balls to ask him.

So after a pep talk or ten from my nether regions, I sent him a text message (because I didn’t grow big enough cohones to actually dial his number) late one night asking him if he would be open to filling the role of my play partner. His answer came back first thing the very next morning. In typical Mr. B style his message read…

“Damn girl it’s about time. I’ve been over here wondering when you were going to finally ask me ”

Fast forward exactly one week later and me and Mr. B, are in the middle of a marathon diddle. All was good, with me and my girl grinning from ear to ear (well in my girl’s case labia to labia). Then, just as I was high fiving myself in my mind for having had the good sense to ask him to play, he stopped the action and said…

‘Turn over.’

‘Okay,’ I said, sighing as I reluctantly obeyed his request. You see, I knew what was coming. Mr. B wanted what every man before him wanted – to hit it from the back, do it doggie style if you will – which shouldn’t have been a big deal, right? Wrong!

Dear readers, pay attention, because here comes my big reveal…

Word on the street is that I can’t stand backshots! As in really f’in HATE it.

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I know that those of you in the “I Luv Me Some Backshots” camp, a la my compadre Sam, nearly fell out of your chairs as you read that, but allow me to explain.

Each and every time I have agreed to have my ass tapped in the face down ass up position, it’s hurt so much it’s all I can do to not cry out for mercy. No matter how big, small, thick, thin, my partners have been or how fast, slow, deep or shallow they’ve hit it, I’m always just grinning and bearing it (i.e. praying to my maker to make the man shredding my insides climax quickly so the shit can be over already) in that position. But poor Mr. B didn’t know all this. All he saw was the look on my face, which must have been a weird mix of nausea and terror.

“Wait,” he said looking me dead in my eyes, “you don’t like it from the back?”

I smiled meekly  not wanting to disappoint the man who’d just released my cooch from the prison of non-orgasmic celibacy in grand style, and mumbled a quiet, ‘Not really, but I’ll do it an—‘

Mr. B raised his hand to stop me from speaking, ‘What is it you don’t like about it exactly?”

Okay he’s not going to let this drop, just tell him already. ‘Well, it hurts. I…I feel like someone is trying to drill a hole in my back whenever I’m in that position.’

‘Hmmm…it sounds like no one has ever done right to me.’

Really guy? You really think your magic stick is going to save the day here? PUH-lease. I smiled up at him, trying hard not to roll my eyes, and then said, ‘You think so?’

‘Yeah I do. Just try to relax and I’ll take it slow.’

Uh huh. Right. You try to relax when someone’s trying to kill you with their dick.

So there I was, assuming the dreaded position – again; waiting for the firestorm of pain to start as soon as Mr. B got his man parts all up inside me. At first, as always, it hurt – like HELL. But Mr. B, who was obviously watching me closely started checking in, as he changing his position and movements based on my feedback, and even asked me to change mine a bit, until I told him I didn’t feel any pain (something the many men before him had never really put any effort into doing. Yes I know, clearly I’ve been bedding selfish clods) – which in and of itself was a magical event. But IMO it was nothing short of a celestial intervention (I heard angels singing – really I did) when after a few pain-free down strokes, for the first time in my life (and for those of you who don’t know I’ve been walking this earth for nearly 40 years and been f*cking for close to 20 of them)…

I was actually ENJOYING backshots. True Story!

And good people, the rest, as they say, is history. I’ve been faithfully attending “Mr. B’s Backshots Bootcamp” at least once/week for the last few weeks, and in that short time he and his magically delicious stick (how could I ever have doubted him?) have made me a card carrying backshot believer.

Ladies and gents, Mr. B has given me (and my lady flower) a new lease on my sex life. I’ve gone from viewing backshots as a necessary evil during sex, to actively requesting it – ‘nuff’ and often even. The old Skye who despised backshots is gone, and she’s been reborn as a “Backshots? There’s nothing better!!!” sex kitten. And folks, if that’s not a miracle, I don’t know what is.

So, here’s to my willingness to give it a go just one mo’ time, even in the face of my fears and reservations. A heartfelt thanks to Mr. B for being one of the most fabulous, patient and open-minded play partners I’ve ever had. And last but definitely not least, all praises due to one of the best sex positions known to man…

The Brilliantly Beautiful Backshot.

The moral of the story, ladies? If at first you don’t succeed, try and try again. And if at all possible, go out and get yourself a Mr. B of your own (’cause I’m not sharing mine).

S

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