Storytime: Fetball This guy, we’ll call him John, was amaz..

Storytime: Fetball This guy, we’ll call him John, was amazing in the sack. We used to lift weights with his friends and then smoke spliffs upstairs in the smoking room. It got cold in DC in the winter. I’d get so stoned at parties there too. Dating John was great. I was there for parties all the time anyway. And sometimes we’d sneak off to go fuck in his room during the parties. I guess that could have been my first clue I was an exhibitionist. No lie in a Twitter fight with Matt Walsh recently someone I apparently had over to brunch in Birmingham brought up that my ex and I would go upstairs to have sex while people were over sometimes. Then there’s the fact and my Evangelical husband and I made sex tapes. I think in one of them I’m dressed up as a nurse. There were signs, is what I’m saying. Anyway John was incredible in bed. His body was insane. 6’2” of muscle. Like not beefy. Super lean. Just hard muscles right below his skin all over his body. And his cock was perfect. It would get super hard with a look. He had stamina for days. It was beautiful too, for a cock. Just the right length and size to be aesthetic to blow but also feel good inside. I always had this feeling that I was beautiful when I fucked him. He didn’t even have to say it, though he would have if I’d wanted him to. It was in his eyes. He was hungry for me. He enjoyed my body and I enjoyed his. We’d kiss so hard we’d clash teeth. It was animalistic and raw and open. It didn’t feel possible we could be so connected sexually and yet so discordant emotionally. We fucked so much. Like, so much. I’d only been in three long-term relationships at this point. All three men had insane sex drives. And great cocks, come to think of it. I truly didn’t know what I had. We weren’t super kinky, John and me. I gathered, and later had confirmed, that he was kinkier than I was. While we were dating, he invited me to the DC Fet Ball. It was hard to tell what it would be like from the website, but I figured anything with “ball” in it deserves a dress. We were encouraged to wear fetish gear but I didn’t have any of that so I probably went with a black dress, black tights, and black knee-high boots. I definitely dressed better in DC than I do in SF. I remember it being crowded. Like, so crowded. There was a line to get in. I think all this was amazing to me because I was like, how many people could DC have who are kinky enough to want to go to a ball about kink? Many, as it turned out. Though I’m sure people came from all over. The suburbs of Virginia and Maryland probably don’t have their own fetish-themed formal nights very often. I saw a range of ages there, from people younger than us in our late 20s to people much older. I remember the Fet Ball having multiple floors, with one dedicated to a fetish fashion show. That this category of fashion existed kind of blew my mind until I thought about it. Now that I think back on it, this is such an East Coast fetish thing to include. SF is a very fashion-third kind of place, which extends to kink as well as far as I can tell. To the extent people want to showcase their fetish gear here it seems to happen mostly online or at Burning Man. Then again maybe I’m just not going to the right fetish events. This is almost certainly true. I’m far more slutty than I am kinky. On another floor, there were all kinds of what I can only describe as “stations” set up with various kinds of kinkery happening. Very subtle (to me) lines would form for each station. It was hard to tell which people were waiting for their turn and which were there to watch and which were waiting for people to get out their way so they could get to another station. People would wait to be cupped. My very scientific explanation of cupping: Where a person puts a lit thing into an empty cup to create suction (the fire burns up the air) then applies the cup to the volunteer’s skin forming a suction cup slowly giving them a hickey. This is supposed to be pleasurable, and is, I hear, done by massage therapists to loosen tough knots. There was a station where a person waved an electric wand over the volunteer’s body giving them zaps. There was a station where a person paddled a volunteer. I remember leaning over a railing, watching something arousing happen below. John was behind me. I could feel his beautiful cock pressing into my ass. I remember grinding on him a little bit, and him touching me a little bit but us having to keep it PG due to the event rules. I remember wishing so badly I could lift my skirt and have him inside me, fucking me while I watched. And that people who wanted to watch us could watch us and people who didn’t could ignore us. I wanted it to be fine to fuck him when I wanted to. It was so hot that we wanted each other all the time and I wanted other people to have a chance to enjoy that hotness. So I guess that’s when I knew I was at least a little bit of an exhibitionist.