When in Rome…

Looking back over the entries for the last month or so, I see that I haven't written so much about Roman. I have a date with him this week, so he's on my mind right now…

I'm one of those women who, if you want to get me naked, you first must make me laugh. All three of my partners have different brands of humor, but in each case, laughing with them was something that made me feel, in an early moment, intimately connected with them. And it made me want to move forward and be more intimate with them. Roman started making me laugh the first time I met him, and his rapid-fire humor sometimes causes me laugh so hard that I have to lie down on some flat surface and recover slowly. (Come to think of it, that might be how we began some of our early sexual encounters.)

Now, it's not a one-way street: I make Roman laugh, too. He laughs that Oh-this-is-going-to-be-fun laugh when he's about to do something particularly wicked to me. And he laughs that Oh-shit-I'm-in-trouble-but-it's-turning-me-on laugh when I'm about to do something deliciously devious to him. I do like the balance in our relationship.

I'm sure you have surmised that we’re pretty irreverent about our kink - certainly neither of us is looking for any kind of formal dominant/submissive roleplay from each other. Roman has referred to what we do as "playing naked rugby", and I like that phrase.

But while we're informal in our BDSM, he's sweetly romantic with me, bringing me flowers and champagne and feeding me decadent little chocolates. It's funny – I'm not really the romantic type of girl, and frequently such gestures make me view someone askance, wondering what's with the big snow job. But Roman clearly has a generous soul, and the pleasure that he seems to take in pampering me with such indulgences make me feel comfortable accepting from him what might make me uneasy from another person. I suppose it means I trust him.