It's a gorgeous, gorgeous day.
I woke up at 7 a.m. to the screech and crunch of what sounded like major construction.
Looking out my window, I saw something amazing:
They are ripping out our street and putting in new pavement.
Sweet baby jesus yes.
I never thought this day would come.
We live in the state where Rod Blagojevich used to be charge.
The roads don't get fixed.
Our street is so bad that if the UN decided it was a country and convened about it, it definitely wouldn't make 'developing nation' status.
One of the potholes in front of our house is so big that I hit it on my scooter and fell the hell off the seat.
But this is not so bad.
There are worse things. We can live with a shitty road.
Except....except for there's these 6-year-old twin girls who live a couple houses down from us.
They're beautiful - they have curly brown hair, humongous brown eyes, and tiny little gold hoop earrings. They live with their Grandpa, who doesn't speak English and dresses them identically.
These girls are on summer break, and my afternoon naps are punctuated by the distant sound of their giggles on the breeze.
They blow bubbles. They chase their giant dog. They run shrieking for the ice cream truck.
I love these girls.
And they got roller skates for Christmas.
And the saddest thing in the whole world is watching the twins get their skates out and try to roller skate on our street.
Holding hands to steady themselves, they slowly navigate around the giant holes in the road and pick their way across the gravel. They have never gotten more than a few feet on their skates without tripping and falling.
You should see the Band-Aids on their knees.
It breaks my fucking cold-ass heart.
And now we are getting smooth, black, flat new pavement.
The twins! The twins will skate!!
I don't think I've been so happy since I found out that sorbet doesn't have dairy.
Anyway! That's not why we're here. We're here to talk about Date #3, aren't we?
So let's talk.
Wednesday, I have to tell you something: I cheated.
When I set up all my dates on Sunday night, I wanted to safeguard my week. I wanted to make sure there was at least one night where I knew I would have fun.
So I set up something foolproof.
I arranged a date with Micah, who I'd already slept with once.
A long time ago, I found Micah lurking on Craigslist, emailed her, and we slept together.
Details fade over time though, and I couldn't remember a lot about that night - only that Micah was extremely bossy and I'd enjoyed myself immensely.
I sent Micah a chat online.
Actual text of our lil' transaction:
Me: hi there
this is Krista
Micah: hello you
Me: why hello
Micah: how are you?
Me: i'm marvelous - i seem to be in town
Micah: well welcome back
how long will you be here?
Me: i'll be here all week, folks!
no, seriously, i'll be here until friday
you free any night/want to hangout/fuckmybrainsout?
Micah: Why yes, I do
I have Wednesday or Thursday
wednesday would work.
Done and done.
I took a bubble bath on Wednesday afternoon, shaved everything again, goddammit, and put on an extremely tight red dress.
Micah asked me to meet her at bar called Lottie's, on the south side of Seattle.
I got there right on time.
Micah was sitting at a little table, waiting for me.
Everything came rushing back. Now I remembered alllll about Micah. It was like seeing an old friend!
Micah has a dark-brown crew cut, thick black geeky-on-purpose glasses, and a smirk you would have to see to believe.
She was wearing a motorcycle jacket, jeans, and, since I had last seen her, had had top surgery.
(*Translation for those who don't know what top surgery is: Top surgery, briefly, is when you have your breasts removed.*)
Micah technically identifies as trans, but doesn't mind which gender you refer to her as. For ease, I'll refer to Micah as 'she', mmkay?
Alright. I sat down. I grinned evilly. Micah grinned evilly.
She got right up and ordered me a drink.
Manners! Fuck yeah!
We sat at our table, hashing over what we'd been doing since we last saw each other.
She drank straight scotch. Three of them.
I nursed my cider, watching the sky outside darken.
I found myself a little nervous about what was in store for me that night.
You guys. I was nervous for a reason.
Micah is really, really, heavy into SM.
We're talking deep into it.
But I want to like it.
It's the cliches about SM that make me laugh. All that 'master' and 'slave' stuff.
However, I'm extremely inexperienced in this area.
Now, I realize SM is not all about latex outfits, whips, and dominatrixes making you lick their boots.
It can be like that, but I know it's really about power exchanges, and I'm into power stuff.
So - I'm interested. I want to learn.
Micah is a butch dom. And a college professor. And an author.
Smart/ Frightening/ Charming.
She's trained in heavy stuff, like cutting and piercing. She's deep into the SM scene in Seattle.
She has loads of girls who happily get her to hurt them on a regular basis.
She scares the shit out of me.
I'm delighted by her.
While she scares me, she also makes me feel extremely safe. You feel like you're in really good hands when you're with Micah. You feel instinctively (and she also tells you up front) that you will never do anything that makes you feel unsafe with her.
We left the bar and drove back to her house. She has an amazing place - it overlooks the entire city.
She also has an iron four-poster bed that's bolted to the fucking floor.
Nothing like an overactive sex life to send you running to Home Depot for a new drill.
I forgot how much I like Micah's house. It's like going down the rabbit hole in a bondage version of Alice in Wonderland.
There are white pillar candles everywhere. There are red silk drapes.
Lots of the furniture looks normal, but actually does double-duty. Like, you think it's a poufy ottoman, but if you flip it over...there are bondage ropes criss-crossing the ottoman's underside.
You grab the ropes and use them to secure someone on top of the (oh my god, it's water-resistant) cushion.
What fun. I went all around the house, demanding to know which furniture was for what.
Me: (pointing to the couch) What's that?
Micah: (flipping up the cushions) It turns into a piercing table.
Me: Wowww. What does that do? (pointing)
Micah: That's where I keep my knives.
Me: Woowwwww. What does that one do?
Micah: That is a piano bench.
Now, I knew Micah had an extremely scary trunk of violence and bondage gear, and she was very good to me.
She brought the trunk out and allowed me to pick through it, letting me pull things out and patiently explaining what everything was for.
Lots of creepy stuff in there.
Was I ever having a great time! I was a sexual anthropologist! I was learning!
Then she told me to pick something.
Oops. Game over. Micah was turning the show back into sexytimes.
I chose what looked like the safest object in the trunk - a long leather whip with lots of soft suede tassels.
There was another reason I chose the whip - Micah had asked me if there was anything about SM that turned me on, even a little bit.
I told her that when I was 16, I had read The Story of O (don't ask me where I got it - try to picture a Mormon teenage virgin with her eyes falling out of her head) and thought the whipping scenes were kind of hot.
So that's what we were going to do. I was going to get strapped to the ottoman and flogged.
Just another Wednesday night.
Micah lit all the candles. She put on Portishead. She took all my clothes off, slowly. She asked me to stand, naked, in the middle of her living room.
Then she sat back and looked at me, silently, for a very long time.
I'm naked a lot, but I have never felt so completely...undressed before. Very much without clothes.
Ooh I kinda liked it.
We put me on the ottoman.
Micah told me there was a pain scale for SM - it goes from 1 to 10. A '1' is pretty much like a happy little tickle. A '10' is the most pain you've ever felt in your life - unbearable pain.
You should never, ever, get to a '10'.
I asked what level I should get to, and Micah, trying hard to keep a straight face, said, "I don't think we should take you past a hard 7."
[via Rick Legal]
Hmph. I can take it.
She said, "Let's go through the levels so you can see what they're like."
Micah hit my thigh with the flogger.
"That's a 2," I sneered.
She hit me again.
She hit me again. Hard.
"Ah...that's a 6!!"
"That should actually be right around a 3 for you," she smiled.
I didn't believe her. She was calling me a sissy! She thought I couldn't take pain!
"Hit me with a 7," I commanded. "What you think my 7 is."
Micah raised her eyebrows.
"Don't be a hero."
"C'mon. Do it! I can take it!"
I said please. Micah hit me hard.
Suddenly getting flogged wasn't so funny anymore.
"WAUGH!....Owwww it stings..."
"I know. But you're still fine. I think that's probably right around your 7. I'm going to hit you with what you thought was your 6 before, so you feel the difference."
She hit me again, and I did feel a difference.
God I'm a wuss.
Micah was fantastic. She was helping me understand and define what I could take, pain-wise.
We figured out my levels, and...then she flogged me within an inch of my life.
I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy myself.
She even (because I begged and pleaded like a 5-year-old at Chuckie Cheese) gave me Flogging 1001 and let me practice on her.
You guys, a professional butch dom let me hit her.
Let me tell you how carefully I aimed.
I learned the parts of the body you should never hit.
I learned how to hold the whip, how to control where it lands, and how to sight your target.
I also learned I would rather be the flogger than the floggee.
When we were finished with what was, probably, the lightest SM scene Micah had set up since middle school, we went back to the bedroom and had good ol' fashioned lesbian sex.
The really toppy kind. At my request.
Micah was seriously dominant and super-aggressive. I loved every bullying second of it.
We fucked, and when we had spent ourselves, we argued about dadaism and which of Jonathan Safran Foer's books was best.
It was like being in college again, but a special college where everybody already knows how to have sex.
Ahahahaha. An English Lit professor!
A butch dom!
What a fucking treat.