Hallo again! I’ve had multiple folks ask me to write more, which really is a surprise. But ok. I was asked about going into more detail about my husband and getting over my Dong Kong trauma that I talked about in my first post: [link]
I’m not quite ready for that story, so I thought I would write the story of how I met my husband first.
I talked about how I had zero sexual experience prior to college due to my religious upbringing. (That plus homeschooling ment my only real social world was church). So naturally, when I got to university and wifi my parents couldn’t monitor, one of the first things I did was research and explore the world of sex and sexual pleasure.
Cue the dong Kong event, and subsequent discovery of vibrators and the divine gift that is the clitoral orgasm.
But what you might not expect, is that this sexual awakening/blooming came with absolutely zero (0) man sexy times. Turns out, discovering how to be super horny and sexy does not actually turn of years of ingrained social anxiety and flight instincts. Throw in the dildo incident and penetrative sex was not something I felt I was able to do.
So for three whole years of uni, I window shopped. I would develop crushes on guys who were either out of my league or already in relationships. The nice mix of sexytime fantasy fodder, with zero chance that anything could ever happen.
The one singular exception to this was Bearded Hottie. Now I didnt know if Bearded Hottie had someone. Because I didnt actually know him. He led a weekly gaming meetup in my dorms common room on my floor every Wednesday. He was everything I found attractive in a man: good hair (black), a neat, short, but full beard, blue eyes, tone but not muscly. From what I could hear spying from the corner of the room “reading” (not really conversation but tone) he was one of those really jovial people. But what got me was his voice. Something about it just resonated with me. When he laughed, an energetic, heartily laugh, it got me *going*.
And here is where things get cringe. So how about some background info instead! [So my childhood, I learned early and well the phrase “out of sight, out of mind.” My family was not cruel or mean hearted, but it was expected of the women to keep the house. To find purpose in life by filling the day with cleaning cooking and chores.
I did not like cleaning cooking and chores. I liked fantasy novels. I would steal them from my brothers bookshelf and hide in a closet or cupboard. I was small and could fit in ALOT of out of the way places. Close in places have always made me feel safe, invisible and comfortable. They are havens. Like being in a small otherworld that is all mine.
So when I got to my dorm room and saw I had my own closet (not big by any means but fairly roomy) I naturally made it a perfect little hovel. It was longer than wide, with what was once two sliding doors. But only one moved now, the other (the more in front one) was secured and had a mirror on it. This was nice because it meant that once inside, I could use a small rod (part of an old lamp) to wedge the inner door closed. Like a lock to keep me safe.
I had the whole works: fairie lights, pillows, a power strip run under the mirrored door, laptop, reading lamp, snacks (soft only, no crunchy crumbs!) And of course, books.
My roommate only thought I was a little crazy “in the cute way”. Let’s call her Amanda. She was really nice, and also VERY confident. If she wanted something, she worked and got it. That included guys. (I learned what a dom was from her, but that’s another story).
But she liked me and respected my privacy and gave me lots of space. Plus she was very social and so was out, alot. ]
Ok I’m out of background, so I guess now comes the cringe. In my little closet space, there was one more item: a small lockbox. My parents had given it to me along with a decent amount of money in cash for my “living expenses” (they did everything in cash). I felt super nervous about it and so quickly deposited the money in a local bank and opened my very first bank account! (And got a job, but different story).
So what was in this lock box instead of money? My sex toys, ofcourse. Myss was here of course (the cheap vibe that came with dong kong), but my collection had grown by this point as well:
I had a *rechargeable* bullet vibe, Myss, a small bottle of lube (external use only at the time), a pair of remote control panties (another story), and a pair of vibrating nipple suckers. (Broad ones that cover well around the areolas).
So this closet was also my safe spot where I masturbated. ALOT. Turns out I have a fairly high libido. The cringe? About 6ft of wall separated the inside wall of my closet from the common room. Plenty enough that only the LOUDEST noises could be heard either way (I tested extensively with my laptop in the closet and me in the common room). But guess what sound *did* make it through? Yup, Bearded Hotties laugh and yells of amusement. And I used them, got off to him and his sexy laugh many, many times. Ugh.
But starting my senior year, I decided. I would talk to Bearded Hottie. (Asking out seemed to big of a goal). A month went by, and I was a chicken. Another month, chicken. Finally I decided I needed something to push me, so I made the fateful decision:
I was not allowed to cum again until I talked to Bearded Hottie and learned his name.
Readers, you may have picked up on the last story, but I am not very tolerant of sexual frustration. I get needy, and grumpy, and bitchy, and EXTREAMLY easily aroused.
I did not know this about me then. And it was five days until the next game meetup. So dumbass me decided to “push myself” by masturbating at least once every day (not cumming) to build up.
Day one I holed myself up, with my nipple suckers on high and Myss doing her magic, and like an idiot I easly edged myself five times. It felt so good on the build, and only mildly frustrating on the fall.
Day two, I woke up in a bad mood. Could not figure out why. Until I took the bus to class and the vibration started getting me going. That immediate craving gnawing feeling grew in me, and I realized, I already *needed* to cum. When i got back to my room that day I practically dove into the closet. I had a great idea: low and slow try and slow burn out the urge.
I used the bullet vibe (had best low setting) and kept on my underwear for extra diffusing. This. Was. Not. The. Right. Call. It felt soooooo good at the time. Like scratching an itch to your hearts content. Warm pleasure lapping at the shores of my body.
And then, at least 30 min later, the vibe died. I went from relaxed to cave troll in seconds. I switched to Myss but she was too strong and I got too worked up and had to stop.
I truly felt bad for the people I interacted with the next day. I was a BITCH. All I could think about is how badly I wanted to cum. And worse of all: my background “horny meter” was way higher than normal, so that any little thing my body could perceive as sexy sent me into undies wetting urges. But as awful as it all was, I was NOT about to loose! I was stronger than my sex drive.
The next two days went by in an painfully slow pace. By day five, caution to the wind, beside myself in frustrating need, I would snatch quick rubs of my clit through my pants whenever I had a second of privacy. It would quite the demon between my legs for a short while, but she always returned with a vengeance.
By the time my classes were done on the day of the game meeting, I RAN back to my room to get ready. But it wasn’t for hours still, and there is nothing worse for anxiety than time. I began to worry that an urge would spring up during the meeting, and I wouldn’t be able to control myself, and he would catch me, and think I was some kind of slut.
So I did the only rational thing: edged myself to within an inch of my life just before the meeting. I went all out: nipple suckers on high, BOTH vibes, Myss at my opening, the other on my clit. It was heaven and hell in a blender.
I came out of that in a haze, weak in the knees. Got cleaned up, dressed as cute as I could manage, and headed into the common room.
It was empty.
Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. The universe knows no fury like a edge-drunk woman denied her orgasm.
I was LIVID. I could not think of the last time they had missed a meeting. This group was the most regular, reliable, well scheduled thing in my life, and I worked at a bank.
(I learned later that one of the member’s brother had died, and they canceled the meeting in sign of respect and solidarity. Glad I didn’t know that then)
My only option: wait an entire extra week. I couldn’t do it. But I couldn’t back down. I compromised with not having to edge daily. But it was still torture.
One time in particular, six days later, I was riding the bus to class when the driver had to pull over for some reason. Something was wrong with the bus, and whatever it was caused it to vibrate in entirely the WRONG/RIGHT way.
I could feel it creeping on but at this point was helpless to stop it. I was in the far back row, but there was still someone sitting across the row from me and the potential embarrassment of cuming in public had me genuinely afraid, but as far gone as I was that wasn’t enough to turn me off.
I could feel the orgasm building. I squeezed my thighs together and tried to bury myself into the corner of the seat. Both bad moves. Squeezing my legs just made the vibrations stronger on my clit, and leaning into the corner put more of myself in contact with the bus.
It felt like hours. It was building and there was nothing I could do to stop it. It was going to happen and all I could do was ride it out as inconspicuously as possible. And then, seconds before I came, a loud grinding sound and we were off. I was saved.
I did not go to class that day. I hid in a single use bathroom and edged myself until the itch wasn’t so unbearable.
Finally the day came, and I woke up weirdly ok.[This was actually weirdly comforting. The idea that no matter how crazy horny worked up I could make myself, I was never a “slave to my sex drive* (unless I chose to be ;))] As strong and raging as my ladyboner was, my social anxiety had an ancient might. When the hour finally came, I was rather well composed as I walked out to the room, and saw the group there in full force.
And I saw Bearded Hottie. And I turned to walk away. But in my room was only failure and frustration. I couldn’t not lose to myself.
So i walked up to the farthest away side of the table from him, and asked a group if it was possible if I could maybe join.
A guy with kind eyes and brown sheepy hair welcomed me with kind words and a smile. Idk if this is just me, but I swear introverts and socially anxious folks have some wavelength that we communicate on. It shares things like “yes they are really that loud” and “the party host’s dog is in that room”. I immediately found a common introvert in this guy, and it was like one of the many layers of anxious fell away.
He explained how the game they were playing worked. (It was Settlers of Catan, because of course it was.)
My general social anxiety out of the way, I was able to focus on my more specific romantic anxiety. Weirdly my success with interacting with the brown haired guy made me much more confident in my quest to talk to Bearded Hottie. So when the groups shuffled. I was able to somehow end up playing with Brown hair and Bearded Hottie, and two other guys. I was a bit anxious about being the only lady, but the other two guys were also really nice and welcoming (turns out they were brothers and studying to be teachers).
And so the cards were shuffled, dealt, and on my turn, I asked bearded hottie if he had any sheep to trade. He looked at me, eyes piercing blue, and said “I’m willing to trade”. I gave two wood, and received from him: a wood. I looked at it in confusion, and then at him.
And in his eyes was proud, jovial, cruelty. And he laughed.
That laugh, I recognized it then. It was the laugh of a person who laughs on their own. Bearded Hottie turned out, as the game played on, to be a royal asshat. This entire, years long fantasy I had built crumbled around the truth. He was not the leader of the group, he was a barely tolerated artifact of the groups inclusive nature. [The group made him undo the trade. He did but protested that he never lied.]
My ladyboner shriveled and died in that game. Weeks of build up collapsed. I was so depressed. When the game ended, the others brought me aside and apologized for Collin (Bearded Asshat). We played another game with a really nice lady who LOVED making dice and the idea of another girl in the group.
And honestly, I had a blast with them. By the time it was all over, I was actually enjoying myself. It felt almost like a kind of Fuck you victory over Collin in some weird way. When the group finally broke up for the night, I had made several of what would become good friends. And when I returned to my room, I headed to my special place in the closet.
Because all that built up sexual tension was still there in ERNEST. And it had found a new home. As I slowly, cruelly brought myself to one of what would be MANY orgasms over then next few hours and days, as that extacy crashed around me in what was at the time the best orgasm of my life, I was thinking:
of a man, with brown sheepy hair, and kind eyes. The same man who is laying beneith me now as I type this. Eyes more… desirous/pleading than kind though. Turns out me writing these stories are as much a surprise turn on for him as they are for me.
And the fact that I’m straddling him, a vibe nestled between us, helps with that.
Got things to do now, will try and write again soon.
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/hje2p6/how_i_f_met_my_husband_m
This story is much better than an episode of “How I Met Your Mother”. ?