The Debauchery Journal (III)

18th February 2022


My partner says I’m the kinkier of the two of us. I disagree, but I get her point. Many people find the things I like weird or strange, and I have been told politely once to see a shrink. I hadn’t done many of the things I’d like till I met her though, which says something about her kinkiness. She doesn’t find my inclinations strange. In fact, she encourages them. She asked me once to make a list of all the things I wanted to do that I hadn’t done and we’d work our way through it. There are also things that didn’t occur to me at all until she came into my life. You’ll understand at the end of this entry.

Including mine, there are three bodies in my bed right now. Two are cuddling and one is wishing they could. That’s the first reason I declined every time he asked me to do it. I don’t have patience for the aftercare of a man. It is an essential part of the whole process though, if not the most important part. It’s like coming off a high, except you remain high. That’s the only way I can think of to describe it. A person can get lost in their subspace and it’s the job of the person who put them there in the first place to ensure they return safely. I needed to have an excuse not to touch him after the fact because I was very certain I couldn’t be tender enough. The only man I cuddle with is my best friend. 

He texted me to ask if he could crash at my place because he had to be somewhere in Accra quite early. He lives in another region. I declined, as I usually do to his requests, no matter how innocent they may seem. We have history, and I don’t like to remember it. It wasn’t unpleasant, and I’m not ashamed of it. It’s just one of those things that you’re done dealing with and don’t need reminders of every now and then. If the past keeps coming up, how are you going to deal with the present? He’d ask me again to please do it, and it would remind me of the time in junior high when we had more hormones than sense.

The second reason I say no to him each time he asks me something is that I don’t trust myself. There are safe words and signals, yes, but you have to know yourself too, and I know that I enjoy seeing a man suffer, especially at my hands. If he had a high threshold, it would be enjoyable but according to him, he’s never done anything like it. He wants to though, and he wants me to be the one to do it. I am not the person with whom a man should be discovering his pain thresholds. He still insists I do it though. Why? Our history, of course. After discovering porn as pimpled teenagers, we somehow gravitated toward each other to experiment. Took one encounter to know this wasn’t my shit. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the effect it had on him. I was his first, he says, and he can’t forget about it. He wasn’t my first – my first wasn’t till many years after that time. 

My partner knows about him and me and our weird sexual history. She finds it amusing and thinks I should do it if he wants. I consider it, but only because she is going to be around when I do. I tell him he can crash and he asks again if I’d do it. I tell him sure but my partner’s going to be there. He consents to my partner watching. In fact, the idea excites him more. I’ve never been much of an exhibitionist, and I don’t understand the appeal of being watched.

He says he wants candles. I tell him that temperature play is bold for his first time and he says it’s what he wants. People don’t listen, especially when you’re telling them about something they should be paying attention to. He insists, so I tell him what candles to buy. 

I’m chuckling to myself as I remember the conversation that day. He thought regular candles would work just fine. You know, the white kind that comes in that red and yellow box. Side note, they do not. You’d probably hurt yourself unnecessarily and the clean-up would be tiresome. There are things I never thought I’d do. As in, there are things that aren’t in your usual scope of thought or reasoning, and when you find yourself in those situations, you can’t help but wonder; dude, how did we get here? I never thought I would do it but this was me teaching someone’s son about which types of candles were preferable for wax play. The conversation turned into a lesson on melting, hardening and cooling frequencies of various types of candles and which of those qualities was preferable.

He showed up this evening sans candles. I thought that would be it then. We’d perhaps all watch a movie together and he’d be on his merry way to his appointment tomorrow. He said though, that he wanted it still and wouldn’t mind me using regular candles. As I think of it now, it’s occurring to me that perhaps he knew that there wasn’t going to be another chance and it was then or never. I respect the dude’s willingness to go through pain to get what he wants but like if you really did want it, why didn’t you pack the candles? 

In the absence of massage candles, what was available were those white candles that come in the yellow and red box. I buy a box of those often because I like to sit in the dark with a lone, lit candle and listen to old French music. There was also the abundance of scented candles I’d gotten from China Mall for sexy times with my girl. He settled for the scented candles. I told him it wasn’t optimal, and it wasn’t compulsory that I be the one to introduce him to kink. I went ahead and did it anyway.

We established safe words. Yellow meant don’t stop but could you please ease up because I’m approaching my limit? Red meant please stop what you’re doing at once. Bearing in mind that scented candles burn quite hot, my girl let them burn for a while and blew them out so the wax could cool for a bit before I made them drip on his skin. I won’t lie, it was absolutely delicious to hear him hiss sometimes. He has a high threshold though, and I asked him if he wouldn’t mind sensory deprivation. Of course, he didn’t. We blindfolded him and bound him and soon, his skin was a patchwork of different coloured striations, owing to the different colours of the wax. It was quite pretty, especially against his very dark skin. 

It didn’t surprise me when he asked me to whip him. I realised early that he enjoyed the pain, and wouldn’t mind more. There was a slight problem with fulfilling his wish though because I don’t have any conventional tools for whipping. I have a drawer full of phone cables and wires and I’m very happy to let my girl whip me with them. However, I wasn’t about to use a cable on someone who has never been whipped. We still weren’t quite sure at which point the pain ceased to be a pleasure for him. Cables are too much pain for testing the waters.

He said yellow twice, and red once. When it was over, it took him a minute to recover. Cleaning up was annoying, as it usually is after wax play. I helped him do it. Side note, never use scented candles for wax play again. The clean-up is three times more annoying. It felt a little weird to be cleaning a man up but it didn’t irritate me like I thought it would. 

Apart from my bed and desk, I have no other furniture in my apartment. I have no need for it. So in most cases where crashing friends sleep on the couch, mine share my bed. This didn’t stop my girl from fucking me though because my bed is a king-sized one. There’s enough room for everyone. Again, one of the things that had never boarded my train of thought was that I’d have sex with my girl and not care that there was a man in the same bed, watching us. I’m not an exhibitionist, and I wasn’t putting on a show. I had just made a man suffer; of course, I was turned on. I was simply getting my nut. He just happened to be in the same space.

I was well on the way to my second orgasm when he asked if he could finger me. Reflexively, I said no. You’d think they were co-conspirators or something because she stopped moving when I said no and I cursed out loud ‘cos stopping was the last thing I wanted her to do. Let him, she said. You really don’t have to if you don’t want to. Just saying, it’s a possibility. If you hate it, you tell him to stop. And I’m here. I let him. 

I didn’t ask him to stop, at least not for a few minutes. It was good, but it stopped being. He was rough, and not in the way I liked. It felt as if he was trying to force me to cum. Later, when we were cuddling and ignoring the crap out of him, she told me that she got low-key jealous that I liked it, even though it was for a short while. I was like well sis, who suggested that I do it though? 

Did I ever think I would dominate a man I went to junior high with while my girl watched, then have said man finger me? No. What reason did this thought have to cross my mind? There are things you aren’t averse to that will never occur to you till you’re in the middle of the situation. Well, dear journal, recounting this to you was fun, as it usually is, but I need to be pressed so I’m putting you away and returning to my girl’s arms.

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