Igor, Conquerer of my Heart

My birthday is coming up next month, as is my glorious return Stateside.

"I had an idea for your party, but I'm not sure you'll be into it."
"Lay it on me."
"Well, you know, it would just be a good party. Good music, some delish food, good company, obviously... but while all this is going on, I was thinking you would actually be bound in another room for the pleasure of the guests to use. Gang-rape style."

The following are 5 points on why I love my boyfriend.



1. FLEXIBILITY. One evening we found ourselves sipping hot buttered rums a top a mountain in some shit hole community mostly patronized by bikers passing through. Our leather and helmets were piled on a deteriorating plush seat as we warmed ourselves by the fire. I had planned to attend a party that evening and he had planned to accompany me, however, the host was concerned with us appearing vanilla (read: presentable to her friends and family). Additionally, I was concerned because there was a flirtation who I was interested in pursuing -- an Art History PhD student who spoke German fluently, slay me! After much discussion at this cozy dive over our hot-watered Tom and Jerry mix, we came to a proper solution: we would dress him up in a wool argyle sweater and plaid bow tie, my reading glasses, and in this "vanilla disguise" introduce him to the guests as my cousin Igor ("totally not my super hot boyfriend"). Compromise.

Upon our arrival, the host could barely keep from choking on laughter, and throughout the course of the night, I found my flirtation interest to be significantly less interesting to me than my cousin Igor, afterall. The matching motorcycle gear gave us away, anyway, but we had a good time.

2. COMPATIBILITY. One of the reasons we work so well together is that we are equally stupid. We are each intelligent, thoughtful, educated adults, but at the same time we are each fucking stupid. That being the case, it seems to be that we can more easily forgive each other for the occasional massive, childish oversight.

It was our third date or so, a party at his sprawling small town property filled with Burners and freaks. We were making out in the back of his van. I think somewhere else there was a bonfire and someone getting suspended. We had been sucking whiskey shots off each other's bodies all night, so excuse my lack of specificity. I was into him. He was vegetarian, I was vegan. He was a burner, and I a fire spinning freak. We were both kinky. We were from the same hometown. We were on a swim team together when we were kids, and we had kissed at a sleep over. After having lost touch for over ten years, we ran into each other in the street, he managed to recognize me, and we happened to have all this in common. It all seemed too serendipitous. What other uncanniness could there be?

Things were getting hot in the back of the van. Suddenly, he stopped.
"Before we go any further, I probably should mention... I probably should have already mentioned... that I'm polyamorous."
"Me too! Oh thank god."
Another thing in common!
"...And I have a girlfriend."
"Yeah, I mean, I have some lovers too."
He seemed suddenly a bit more sheepish and drunk. Finally he admitted:
"...she's been here, at the party, watching us flirt with each other all night. She went to bed a while ago, I'm not sure if she's really polyamorous herself."
"Oh..."
"I think we should crawl in bed with her."

See? Stupid!
So stupid! What a terrible way to introduce me to his friends, family, and girlfriend of 6 years.
But you know what? It all worked out. Eventually people came to accept me as a part of his life, even his now ex-girlfriend -- they are working out some issues unrelated to me, and I have high hopes that they'll get back together, by the way. But the point is when he's stupid, I tell him, and he does the same for me -- despite the portrait I've painted, it's very reciprocal. Then we pledge to try to be less stupid and move on.

3. SENSE OF HUMOR. I had previously mentioned Igor in my post Labeling Humans, but the last two months or so I've been in Istanbul. Igor and I have kept in good contact, like any good long distance couple, and when I tell him of my sex-ploits in Turkey, his responses are amusing:
"Every time we talk you have a new Turkish boyfriend. Conquering the nation, one poor sap at a time."
OR
<laughing> "You're going to ruin these people's lives."
OR
"That's my girl."
I love talking to him. I never feel better about being my perverted self as I do with him. He gets me in ways that few people in the world could, and I feel that more, being abroad now, than I ever could before.

But his ease and chuckling nature about things that would infuriate or concern most is sometimes frustrating. Along the path of dealing with wavering mental health, I have sometimes indulged in self destructive behavior. The first time I confided in him about an instance of self-harm in my past, he was completely non-plussed:
"Ha, OK. So in more important news, what do you think of this new hat?"
(I'm paraphrasing here)
Though his response, devoid of concern, seemed to me at the time to be completely unsupportive and uncaring, what I have come to realize is that by treating it lightly he is actually doing the most helpful thing he can by refusing to indulge my dramatic self-pity. By doing so, he reminds me to lighten the fuck up. Sometimes it's hard to bear in the moment, but it's the kind of tough love that I need.

Not so stupid after all, eh?

4. ATTRACTION. He is hands down the most handsome man I have ever seen.

I remember having that big fat ole crush on him when we were gangly, dorky twelve year olds in swim suits.

Then when I saw him on the street that day as a man, after over 10 years apart, I was speechless. Yes, he had become tall, dark, handsome, and dapper as fuck.

We go out together, often costumed or dressed to the nines, and we have a tendency to either playfully beat each other or show our love in ways that make people in our immediate vicinity projectile vomit. Either way, we're like magnets polarized to each other's crazy.

5. HE KNOWS HOW TO TREAT A WOMAN.

"Barkeep! I'd like your medium-est tequila, for the lady. A double."
"Baby, I want sangrita, too."
"And Barkeep, give'er some spicy tomato juice on the side."
"Thanks, baby."
"Drink up, sweets. We got a town to terrorize."
Chivalry is not dead!

He treats me very sweetly, with just the right peppering of affection and violence. He has surprised me at parties with elaborate kink scenes ...starring ME! Last time, as I was saran wrap-bound to a cross, blindfolded, fucked with a dildo in the mouth of a female sub, slapped and whipped by a sadist until my tits were bruised green, and cut carefully with a knife by my man, I thought:
"He really loves me!"

At a dance party, he pulled me into the bathroom, making sure to bring his single tail whip with him.
"What are you going to do with that in here?" There was no space to throw it.
"Well, my dear, I'm going to shove it up your ass."

He pressed my face against the black crumbling club wall, lifted up the back of my short dress, and took himself out of his trousers. As much as I begged, he would not fuck me with his full length, he used his tip to tease me silly. Writhing against the wall, gripping it's filth, I was soaking wet by the time he took out a condom and rolled it over the handle end of his whip. He fucked me with it just enough to get lubricated, and then inserted it into my narrower passageway.
"Good girl."

We re-entered the party, him leading me by the tail. I was delirious with stimulation and I continually begged him to fuck me, but he was rather enjoying my suffering. He got some kicks from handing over my tail, then smirkingly let the wide-eyed recipient know how it was connected.

When we were back in the restroom removing my tail, he fucked me just a little bit more to drive me insane. I thought I would die from want.

By the time he was driving us home, I had become belligerent. I was frustrated and drunk on whiskey and desire. I taunted:
"I bet you'd like it if I sucked this guy's cock, wouldn't you?"
But I didn't wait for an answer before I leaned over to the back seat. I discovered that our friend conveniently had his cock already out and erect, so I just went to work.  Igor didn't say much during these activities and though our friend had a good time, it didn't satisfy me as I was hoping. The passenger was dropped off, and I drifted to sleep.

I woke up to eerie florescent lights. The car was parked in an empty parking structure and I was being pulled into the backseat.
"Wha... what's going on?"
"C'mere."

He finally made love to me as I needed, right there in the empty mall parking lot. He filled me as we were face to face in the backseat. It felt so good and between the torture, the pleasure, and the spontaneity, I felt it to be the most romantic moment I could remember.

Satisfied, we went back to the house I grew up in and slept peacefully in my twin bed.

Stories with him in this timbre are endless; sexy hijinks and perverse displays of love are our modus operandi. As much as he is sometimes the person who frustrates me most in the world (and not always in a sexy way), he is the only one of his kind, and I love him to death. Sometimes when I'm really close to a person, my eyes cross and I can't focus on the big picture. After all this time abroad, I can really appreciate him and see his greatness. He's great for me, anyway. I believe we'll be together for a long time, at least I hope to be so lucky.

Maybe when I get back we'll make another go of his collaring project: welding a thick solid silver ring around my neck. Dramatic as it may sound, I'd sustain burns to display my love for him. Whatever scars he leaves on my skin or my heart, I think they're beautiful. Because, stated plainly, my boyfriend kicks some serious fucking ass.

For more about Igor and polyamory, check out the post Labeling Humans.
The latest from Seduce and Confuse, here.