Saturday night

We attended a stunning play party hosted by excellent folks I'll call Mr. Fabulous and Pixie. It was my third such event, and Prince B and I remarked to each other later how easy it felt, how warm and lovely and relaxed. Our rules for behavior at sex parties have changed by only one measure from that first party we attended. We are still obligated to ask for attention when we need it (because of jealousy or loneliness or just wanting some), and to honor that request when it comes; in addition, now we check in with the other if intercourse with another person is proposed (my suggestion, after that twinge I felt at the first party watching the Prince get out a condom).

This was our first chance to apply that second rule. I had watched Prince B play with Pixie all night, and when he extricated himself to approach me while I was chatting with my friend The Spinning Angel (henceforth TSA) I knew already what was on his mind, and consented happily to their fucking. I felt no twinge of jealousy; rather, I had difficulty focusing on the conversation I was having because Prince B and Pixie were making such an arousing spectacle of themselves in the midst of the small, sex-drenched room we were in. I made eye-contact with Mr. Fabulous once, when Pixie turned over and Prince B entered her from behind: oh my god, we beamed to each other, our partners are hot. What a wonderful show. Ironic, because Mr. Fabulous and I have gone on a date or two, but never quite had the time to squeeze into each other's schedules, and now there were our boyfriend and wife, getting along smashingly and getting farther...er...into each other than Mr. Fabulous & I have ever gotten.

Until recently, I've never thought of myself as much of a voyeur, preferring by far to be watched than to watch. But more and more I am discovering that, while observing the sexual interaction of strangers, even very sexy strangers, doesn't arouse me all that much, watching my friends and lovers play with each other is intensely erotic. This is doubly true for watching Prince B. This is the second time I've been present for him entering another woman (more on the first time later) and both times the memory has survived as an intense and recurring fantasy.

I wonder what's going on, psychologically, there. Dan Savage proposed (or reported, I don't think the theory was invented by him) in one of his columns that people sexualize the things that threaten them. Hence rape and cuckold fantasies, masochism, and all kinds of power play. In the bedroom people seem to get up to all kinds of things that seem drastically counter to what they would deem acceptable in everyday interaction. So am I responding as a voyeur to my partner sleeping with other women because I have subverted my potential jealousy into arousal? Does it even work that way?

If it does--if the human brain is capable of taming a negative emotion by turning it into a pleasureable one--hurrah. The thought is both mildly disturbing and utterly fascinating. I would hope I wouldn't somehow decieve myself into encouraging activity that is actually damaging to me. However, letting my partner sleep with other people is a conscious and enthusiastic choice on my part, one I truly don't believe *is* damaging to me, and being able to enjoy it in this way seems ideal. And awesome.

One week until we visit Duchess J! Whee!
xoxo
Princess P