Hurricane Irma brought quite a few things to light when it blew through Florida last week. One of the things it brought was surprising to everyone; I’m apparently a switch. I’m forty-three years old and I am an alpha female. It’s just who I am. Or so I thought. This past weekend has shown me that sometimes being more submissive can provide quite intense sensations.
What is a switch?
For those of you who are unfamiliar with the terminology, in a sexual sense most people fall into one of three categories. Dominant, switch, and submissive. The dominant, or alpha, enjoys being in control. Most of
our their arousal is driven by being in charge and being catered to and worshiped. Submissives enjoy giving their sexual control over to the dominant, allowing the dominant to push their limits and boundaries. They are fairly black and white in their definition. However, the switch can go back and forth between the two primary roles. A switch can be dominant with one partner and submissive with another … or dominant one day and submissive the next … or any combination thereof.
What happened during Irma?
So let’s start with the bad news first. Right now, I’m homeless. Hurricane Irma blew through Florida and must have been a bit hungry because the bitch took my roof. Thankfully, I managed to get Melissa on a flight out of Florida on the Thursday before Irma showed up. Sophia and I came to her boyfriend Scott’s house and basically spent the week after Irma in the pool. We had an abundance of wine and a distinct lack of sunscreen. This led to my getting a sunburn while Sophia and Scott just got more brown (bastards). When we managed to get to our house, there may or may not have been tears. We’ve lost everything, save for the clothes on our backs and whatever we put into the car before we evacuated. Irma took two of my coffee makers, three pounds of coffee, and … well … everything else. I don’t even have a bloody toothbrush! But, as Scott pointed out, there was no physical damage to anyone and material things can be replaced.
Blame the pool, the wine, and the massage
Understandably, after coming back to Scott’s house from seeing my own, I got a little more tipsy than usual. (FYI, Moscato wine with a shot of Pinnacle Whipped vodka is my new drink). Sophia and I were in the pool once again (no power means no air conditioning. No air conditioning means hot and sticky) with Scott happily waiting on us. There was music, cool water, a beautiful man, and a comfortable atmosphere for … experimentation.
It started with Scott massaging my arms (you wouldn’t believe the bruises I have from cleaning yard debris). He’s quite good and had me feeling very relaxed. I was lounging in one of those zero gravity chairs and I had my arms stretched over my head when my hand brushed against something … interesting. Now, understand that Sophia has always told me how great his cock is but I’ve never really had an interest in penis. I’ve identified as a lesbian most of my life so why should I care about dick? Because his dick is pretty fucking amazing.
Out comes the switch
His cock was hard. Impressively so. I didn’t want to be too forward, in case the erection was due to some other reason, but I am a curious woman. Rubbing against his bulge produced two moans. One from him and one from Sophia, who had been watching us the entire time. With Sophia watching us, I lowered his shorts and got my first look at his cock. It’s smooth, perhaps about ten inches, with a nice girth; the kind of cock that you find in gay porn. I was as surprised as he was when I wrapped my lips around the head and sucked. The taste on my tongue was a little salty, but definitely sweet. And it got sweeter the more I sucked; just like his groans got louder.
Surprisingly, I really enjoyed sucking his cock and he really enjoyed my swallowing him all the way down to the base. When he tilted the zero gravity chair backwards, put his hands on the side of my face and started fucking my mouth, I had an orgasm so powerful it rivaled the one I had the first time I had a man with my strapon. After we had calmed down (and I swallowed his cum), I realized I may primarily be an alpha, but I have some definite switch tendencies.
Tendencies that Scott, Sophia, and I plan on exploring more while we are staying here.
Who knew a hurricane could bring such goodness into my life?
Hurricane Irma is currently, as of time of posting, chewing her way through the Caribbean. Living here in Florida puts me dead center in her path as she continues her destruc-ation across the Atlantic. And if she alone weren’t enough, she brought her cousin Jose and his little sister Katia along for fun in the sun. It’s going to be fairly intense next few days and then, hopefully, things will get back to normal around here. That’s the plan anyway. And we all know what the universe likes to do with plans.
We kicked the idea around of evacuating to Alabama, or to Tennessee, but there were no hotels within a twelve-hour drive that I could bring my dogs. And there was just no way I was leaving them behind. So I bought one of the very last plane tickets out of Florida for Melissa to take an extended vacation with her sister in Arizona. Yes, I know the entire Western part of the country is on fire; it’s still safer than having her here and losing power. Losing power means no air conditioning, which is a very bad thing for people with respiratory issues. Meanwhile, Sophia and I will be staying here, riding out the hurricane at a friend’s place.
Irma is going to be an absolute bitch, there’s no way around that. So how do you keep a certifiable Bostonian with little to no patience from going stir crazy? While trapped in a house with animals and family? You keep her very very drunk, that’s how. I’m going to survive this hurricane by mixing Gallo Family Peach Wine with Whipped vodka. I’m thinking of calling it the Whipped Irma. I will also be writing and working for as long as I can. I’m fairly confident Sophia and I will find some way of entertaining ourselves. And our pets. And my son. And her boyfriend. Jesus God, why are you people letting me do this?
For now, we are looking at Sunday night or early Monday morning for Irma to decide what she’s going to do. She could still turn further to the east, which would lessen the impact on our area. Or she could be a bold bitch and just come straight up the middle, which would mean Melissa would get to stay in Arizona for a significantly longer period of time. It would also mean that my availability would be sketchy and I might have to be awake during the bright parts of the day. I’m not made for sunlight, as many of you are aware, as I’m British. We’re a sturdy folk of wetlands and overcast days.
You can find me on Twitter @AllTheCaffeine, usually overnight. If you don’t see me by Thursday, send two good looking SEALs and a sweet boi for me to play with. Oh and wine. Please don’t forget to send my wine.
Florida was admitted to the United States in March of 1845, becoming the twenty-seventh state. Florida translates to “Land of Flowers” and, as everyone knows, is commonly referred to as “The Sunshine State”. We enjoy hosting Walt Disney World, Universal Studios, and Busch Gardens in addition to being the first state people think of when they are talking about the show COPS. It is also the land of boob sweat.
Like most people my age, I grew up watching Crockett and Tubbs get their man while wearing pastel t-shirts and linen blazers. Miami Vice, with it’s still recognizable theme song, brought a whole new lifestyle to those of us living in New England. Here we were, pulling our moon boots on over our bread-bagged feet, and on the television are images of strange pink birds and a particularly bouncy young woman in a white bikini top. (This may or may not have been where I first started to think I wasn’t quite like all the other girls in the schoolyard.) They were the epitome of cool and most of us wanted to go see the bright neon lights, wear white linen suits, and drive around in amazing sports cars.
When I came down here to Florida, because it was better for my bride’s health, I was still thinking of Miami Vice (shut up, it was a good show). I’m not sure what I was thinking, but I can tell you that I was not expecting boob sweat. I was not expecting to live inside a sauna that’s been turned all the way up to two-hundred degrees while wearing a wetsuit kind of heat. Florida is hot. We all know this. Florida is a swamp. We also knew this. However “knowing” and “experiencing as an adult with breasts” are two radically different things. Especially for someone like myself, who grew up in Boston, and if we had three straight days of ninety-degree weather, we were officially in a heat wave and that meant free Hoodsie cups.
How to Survive Florida
Powder. So much powder. All the powder you can manage to lay your hands on and brush it on places you didn’t know could sweat. Because they can. And sweaty thighs aren’t sexy, not even mine. I’ve also recently started using a “friction stick” (go on, get your giggles out. Goodness knows my inner adolescent did). It’s better than powder, far less messy and doesn’t have that “medicated” aroma that one associates with their grandmother. Although, to be honest, now I understand why grandparents all smell the same. Gold Bond Medicated Powder can cure anything. Fuck … I think this makes me old.
Gotta run. I hear they are having a two-for-one sale at Beall’s Outlet and … what? Stop looking at me like that. I haven’t gone native. It’s not like I’m couponing for my local Publix.
That’s Sophia’s job.