Freedom in the Capitol

I christened my new apartment yesterday. A nice solo job with my jeans down around my ankles and all the freedom of porn that I wanted.

I so missed living on my own.

DC is beautiful these days (although it'll rain tomorrow). I've been a grown-up, getting up at 6am to run trial bus routes to my future workplace. I've already been assigned some work for this weekend.

Joined the Zipcar and took a many-hours drive for apartment essentials. It's my first 1-bedroom and it's obvious that I've lived in studios. Rooms that are almost finished: bedroom, bedroom closet, bathroom, coat closet, kitchen (with a whole 3 shelves of crystal glassware and punchbowl scored from the grandparents - I could host a killer booze party but don't have any food). I have no living room furniture at all except for two bookshelves. I need a couch, rugs.

I'm totally excited about this new chapter of life. I grabbed a coffee downtown by the Naval metro stop - the first coffee I've had in 10 months. I think I'll need it for pep in these early mornings. Realized that I could easily be intimidated by the suits and the "What do you do?" attitude (which equals "What can do you for me?"). But I don't care. I don't care if I don't have killer outfits, that I'm not a hottie 20-something intern, that I'm not living in the most hip neighborhood, that I can't do anything for you.

I've got some dates set up. One with an old, old friend who has known me since CDOA v.1 days and who has been such a savior in my move to DC. We're setting ourselves up in a Daddy/girl situation and I'm excited to try it out with him. I'm also meeting with a dom from FetLife for lunch. He's into women wearing dresses and skirts and I might disappoint in that arena, but we're both into watersports and he's much older than I am so that's attractive. Then, there are a few randoms from OKCupid and FetLife. I'm in no rush. There's a whole city of pervs out there and I'll have my fun.

Meanwhile, my mind wanders back to Scat Man. A guy I met for drinks in Minneapolis and then invited over to the place at which I was crashing. I let down all my guards. I went deep into my kink. I explored more Daddy/daughter roleplay and incest fantasy. The deepest I've gone ever. Where fantasy could blur to action. Where dirty talk wasn't dirty, it just was.

We had such a good time that we stayed in touch when I went back to my parents before driving out to DC. He came down for a visit and stayed in a local hotel. We fucked in the room and then went out for drinks at a small pub. We held hands as we sat at the bar and turned our heads from each other, talking to strangers we'd just met. The whole time, our hands gripping.

When we got back to the hotel we were wasted. And somehow (I don't remember the details - all the whiskey I indulged in, after days of sterility at my parents'), we were in the bathroom. I squatted, and shit in his hands. He rubbed it on my ass, on my arms, on his face. I can still see this fleck of it sticking off the side of his cheek. This is where my drunk brain woke up. Where my drunk brain saw the openness of two people. Where I saw the exploration that could be. Where I tested a limit and went beyond it. Where I trusted someone to care for me and get deep down with me. My shit. My feces. My dirtiest part. My insides... were on us. Something so much more organic and beautifully sick and honest and internal... internal... I can't think of another word. My insides came out - outside. If I have a hard time showing my emotions, speaking words of care or interest, or breaking down the barriers of mind and body -- they were gone. We were dirty and sexy and reveling in our nature.

I had that scent in my nostrils the entire next day. I kept thinking I had shit on the bottom of my shoes, like when you step in dog doo and can smell a bad scent but have no idea where it's coming from. Is it following me? Is it my mind? Oh, fuck, it's on my shoe! But there was no shit anywhere. It was just the memory lodged in my mind.

I've never gone there before. I remember Daisy, a friend who was an escort and dancer. She told me once, as we leaned over the bar and talked closely, about how a client of hers got them a hotel room, brought plastic sheeting, covered his chest, and asked her to shit on him. I was aghast with curiosity and fear. Now I know.

I do not require this kind of interaction and depth, sincerity and honesty in my everyday life, but I am changed for it. We have developed something I don't know that I could find elsewhere. But I am still pining for my future, potential lovers. And Scat Man and I relish in that: he's fucking other women, I'll fuck other men, we'll play with others. It's an easy poly situation in long-distance, but we're not as honest with others as we are with ourselves over chat or email. I had a heart sigh for him - have - but we're anchored on the same boat while freely drifting and backfloating and tickling with the octopus and mermaids.

A nice segway of safety and surprise into this new chapter of my life. I'm excited for the change. I'm excited to see how my growth goes. Many challenging days ahead with the new, high-level job. Many fun nights. Work hard, play hard. And, above all else ---- freedom.

Never, but maybe now

I was never into scat before. That might change.