Sex 2.0: Pre-Party

I thought I'd never make it to Sex 2.0.

Really, I'd thought I'd never even make it to DC. There had been a serious error in the bus schedule, leaving me scrabbling for an alternative on a weekend when most of my friends had left town and none of my DC acquaintances were willing to help me out. After shelling out $30 for a taxi, I arrived at my friend's house 4 hours later than I had planned, exhausted and dusty. 30 minutes later I was off again when I received text messages indicating that Jefferson was still awake and, presumably, fucking. But there was always something, and this time I had seriously underestimated the time it took to travel across what seemed to be the entirety of DC.

Why am I doing this? I wondered several times as I struggled to follow Google's directions in an unfamiliar city at 11:00 at night, and couldn't come up with anything except that listening to Charlaine Harris' Horny Vampire Novels for a week had done me in. The thought of so many sex bloggers in such close proximity forced me to press on even when I knew how unreasonable it was to expect an open-arms welcome from people I barely knew. The closer I got, the later it got, and I felt my chances of being fucked decrease exponentially.

But when I finally arrived at the hotel, I discovered I hadn't missed the party at all. Jefferson was outside with two women, Elle Lumpesse and Domina Doll, and he was making out with the latter.

"I see you didn't waste any time," I snarked, but Jefferson looked so happy that I felt it melting away almost immediately. He led the way to the Brownies and Porn party, which was several floors up. Along the way we met Lolita Wolf in her PJs, but that's a story for another post. Within ten minutes of my arrival, I found myself in a suite where hardcore pornography was playing on two TVs and at least 30 people who I had never met were already deep in loud conversation. They were all older than me, there were two girls who were much prettier than me, and I had no idea how to break into the cacophony. Jefferson did his best to make introductions, but in minutes was distracted by a boy who had come to Sex 2.0 out of curiosity. Hey, I heard Jefferson saying, isn't this ice cream? Can we feed you ice cream? Where's Molly? Jefferson pulled the boy's shirt over his head, revealing a perfectly rounded tummy that wouldn't have looked out of place on the Myspace profiles I'd jacked myself off to in the past year. "Excuse me," I said to the person nearest, and went into the other room.

There were only three people in it, quietly watching porn. One of them was Match--I recognized him from his Flickr photos.

Too much? Match inquired. He was in a brown bathrobe that made him look like a monk.

Yes, I said. I peeped in the other room and Jefferson waved a dripping spoon at me. I shook my head. "Wait ten minutes," I said, and then I'll be in the thick of things again, you'll see.

"What are they doing?" Match was worried, since he had to sleep in the bed that people were committing unknown acts with ice cream on, and I decided to use that as my cue.

"Hey peeps, don't get ice cream on the bed!" I yelled, and the answering laughter gave me enough courage to go back in. "What are you doing?" I asked.

"Blowing this boy with ice cream," said Jefferson matter of factly. He was straddling the young man's hips and working his uncut dick with his hands. The boy's shirt was pushed up, and his naked belly was shiny with melted ice cream and littered with chocolate and cherry pieces.

"In the beginning he had chocolate chips in his pubes," said Furrygirl. "It was cute". The bed was crowded. The boy's hand was being cradled by Furrygirl (to keep him from becoming gay, she teased him) and she in turn was leaning up against a second boy. And that was only one half of the bed. She pointed out to Jefferson that he had some chocolate on his face, and he wiped it off, saying, Isn't this awesome?

"I thought you were straight?" the boy asked Jefferson.

"Oh, I was until I met you!" exclaimed Jefferson in a voice so redolent with feather boas that I stared. How the hell could anyone ever think he was straight, I wondered in disbelief. That a man known primarily for his skill in finding women's G-spots would constantly set off my gaydar was one of the many things about him that had been unexpected. Though I had been reading his blog for a year, if you added up all the face time we spent together, it was probably no more than 8 hours.

I was still racked by nerves, but the scene he had started was something I could get into. I knelt by the bed. "If I hold your other hand", I told the boy, "it would really keep you from becoming gay. And if I kissed you", I added, "it would make it even better."

He made out with me well enough, though I don't think he really liked it. "Is he your boyfriend?" he asked when we we parted lips, and it took me a second to realize he meant Jefferson. My surprised expression made him add a list of other relationship names, which made this all sound way too serious.

"Fangirl?" I attempted. I watched Jefferson work the boy's cock with his mouth, tried again. "Jefferson's the only pervert I know."

"Aw," said Furrygirl in sympathy.

Even though the boy hadn't come, Jefferson stopped and tucked the boy's cock away, telling him he had very much enjoyed sucking it. Then he tried to kiss him, but the boy turned his head away. Undaunted by this rejection, Jefferson went to get a towel to wipe the boy's belly down with, explaining that, just like at the gym, you had to wipe down your machine when you were through. Newly cleaned, the boy got off the bed and I jumped into the vacant spot, hoping for similar attentions, but Jefferson was already talking to someone else.

After a while Jefferson began playing with my hair, gripping it in a knot and moving it from side to side. This was fine until he started doing other things. "What are you doing?" I sputtered as he squeezed my cheeks betwen his forearms.

"Playing with your face," he told me.

I gave up on the idea of Jefferson fucking me that night and talked to the cute boy sitting next to me about computer programs. Suddenly Jefferson had me by the crook of my knee, and what I thought was an inarticulate request for me to move over so he could sit on the bed devolved into him pushing me onto my back, pulling me around so my crotch was in easy reach and and skinning off my tights and panties. "Hi, Molly," said Furrygirl as my head ended up by her feet.

"Hi," I managed to say as Jefferson pushed my legs above my head. The boy behind Furrygirl handed him a condom.

"Magnums?" said Jefferson in disbelief, "I dunno what stories you've been hearing!"

"Jefferson has a real cock!" I said, proud that I spoke from experience and then immediately regretting my words in case there were some naturally endowed men in the room that would feel left out.

Jefferson agreed that his was indeed a normal cock. And speaking of penises, he said, you should look at the one my friend has here-- and motioned to Furrygirl, who opened her legs. Since I was right by her feet and she wasn't wearing any panties, I found myself in prime position to gaze upon the most beautiful bush I had ever seen. The hair was thick, lustrous, and dark, much closer than my own, and beautifully shaped between her thighs.

It's pretty, I said, making the understatement of the year. In fact it was so pretty I had no idea what to say next and turned back to Jefferson to hide the dazed look that I was sure was spreading over my face. I had no idea what orientation Furrygirl was, and she didn't seem to be ready to play, having designated herself the Safe Sex Fairy. She squirted a dollop of the lube Match had put on the bedside table onto Jefferson's hand so that he could better work it up inside me, for in spite of all this cock talk, Jefferson kept his jeans on.

Not that I was at all disappointed. "Oh yeah," I said, spreading my thighs wider as he entered me with his fingers on the bed in the middle of a crowd of people, "oh yeah, I remember this!" The first and last time Jefferson had done this was at the orgy three months ago, and, though I don't think he had been unnecessarily rough, I remembered it as intense more than pleasurable. This time I felt the wetness come, and I began to understand how this might become something I could get off on. Jefferson made an appreciative sound as my pussy began to make wet noises.

"No, stop!" I yelped at Jefferson nipped at my belly with his teeth.

He was annoyed with me. "It's just a love bite--"

"You can't leave marks," I said, "tomorrow I'm meeting this boy for the firrrrsssttt---"

I didn't get to say the last word because Jefferson was picking up the pace. Does he know you like this? he said, pressing down on my belly, does he know you're a slut that likes to get fucked in front of all these people? and I arched my back with the truth of all these things and the feeling of his fingers forced inside me.

"How many is that?" I gasped. "Three?"

"Four," said Jefferson. "And that's the beginning of five."

"Fisting?" asked someone (I think it may have been Jack).

Five started to hurt, so I reluctantly asked him to stop. We knocked teeth accidentally when he tried to kiss me better. "With you it always hurts," I pouted, and we kissed again.

In our play we had naturally moved around, but when you'd think we would have moved forwards, Jefferson had actually gotten so close to the edge of the bed that he slipped off and ended up sitting in the space between the bed and the wall. There was much hilarity. I gave him my hands to help him pull himself up and used my leverage to pull him down on top of me instead. "I wasn't planning to go here!" he grinned. But he must not have minded because he stayed. Before I had come here I had fashioned--and hinted at--all kinds of rough fantasies, but right now this was exactly what I wanted. They were hello kisses, welcome back kisses. I wrapped my legs around him and crossed my ankles over the small of his back, squeezing him. "You taste like the boy you blew earlier," I whispered in his ear.

Jefferson grinned at me. "That's the ice cream talking," he said.

Thanks for Being Awesome

I'm not popular enough for people to start complaining when I don't post, but nevertheless, it's been a while. Hardly had I returned from Sex 2.0 when I was struck down so thoroughly by a undiagnosed malady that I ended up in the hospital, and it was another week before I felt myself again. Thus, everything got pushed back for longer than I care to think about, and I never got to write to the awesome people I got to meet and listen to, such as Maymay, Essin' Em, Furrygirl, Jack Stratton, Match, Mollena, and many more. Even tho in some cases I only got to say hi, y'all are cool people and it was great to finally see the faces behind the computer screen! :)

Another thing that happened while I was gone from the blogosphere was that Jefferson wrote about me. Sex blogs are places to be naked, so I will admit that ending up on One Life Take Two has been one of my blogging goals for a while, second only to making out with an Andy Warhol look alike and getting Fleshbotted. Some stuff we remember entirely differently, some stuff was embarrassingly spot on, and some of it I think he made up. Go read it!

Really, between that and Fleshbot I could stop the blog right here, but of course I won't: blogging is my crack, and I still have many more Sex 2.0 posts in the works covering the good, the bad, and the foolhardy exhibitionism. As they used to say on the old adventure serials: dear reader, stay tuned.

Oral

"What would happen if I bit you on the nipples?" I asked, encircling them with my fingertips. They were a normal size, but in my mind they are bright red.

He winced a little. "I wouldn't like that very much."

It's true! I thought, exultantly, but I decided to leave them alone for now. "Have you had sex yet?"

"Tonight?" he asked.

No, I thought, I mean in your whole fucking life. I caressed his thighs and the bulge between them. "Do you want to fuck me first?"

"All right," he said. Was there a little bit of hesitation there? He made the houseboy get him another bourbon and took me by the wrist. "Sometimes you have to ask for a drink even when you really don't want one," he confided to me as he led the way to Tilda's bedroom. I have no idea what this meant.

There were people sitting on the mattress on the floor, talking. "We're going to fuck now!" I told them happily. They laughed, but I couldn't understand why: weren't they just as happy to fuck? I got on the bed first, just lying there since I was already naked. I could hear someone in the other room calling, "Jefferson, Jefferson!"

"They're calling my name when I have a naked girl in front of me," Jefferson said to me, the nerve, and then he pulled down his pants. And because I was on the bed, exactly level with his crotch, for what felt like a minute I had a very good view of Jefferson's Cock.

I think for split second upon seeing it, realizing it WAS his cock, I was terrified. Because Jefferson's Cock had to be the size of a baseball bat. And then I realized it was a perfectly lovely, normal, average sized cock. And then I realized a second thing: he wasn't hard yet.

That surprises me most of all, that he was entirely eager and willing and he wasn't hard yet. And then he was in bed with me and spreading my legs and I realized he was going to give me oral.

"Don't you need...stuff?" I couldn't remember the word: dental dam.

"I need my mouth on your pussy," Jefferson said, and went down on me.

Ah well, I thought, it's not like I've done any different with the last three people I've slept with.

It was an odd technique. The B.H.M. had flicked his tongue in and out of my vagina (and sometimes my anus) while I sucked his dick in the 69 position. It had been wet and warm and very often pleasurable when he'd hit a particularly sensitive spot. Instead, Jefferson seemed to seal his mouth to my vaginal opening. There was nothing wet to it, only a kind of...pulling. Occasionally there'd be a tiny movement, a pinhead of sensation that seemed too delicate to be made by the tongue. I lay on the bed, shifted my hips, trying to accommodate this new technique, and looked at Jefferson's skull between my thighs. Looked at the ceiling, tried not to think. Breathe.

First Impressions

A clothed man answered the door, as if I were making a normal house call. I wondered if I would be fucking him later, started to introduce myself. He started to ask me something, then stopped short. It was as if he had been forbidden to talk, but had forgotten the injunction.

“Jefferson?” I said, invoking the only name I knew.

Instead of answering, the boy motioned for me to follow him upstairs. Though I could conceive of no other place I could be where a boy who refused to speak would lead me upstairs to a party when he had never seen me before, I began to wonder if, somehow, I had gotten the directions entirely wrong and was about to stumble into a hipster party to which I had not been invited.

At the top of the stairs the boy pushed the door open. I found myself in a lovely, white painted apartment, lined with books, chic art--and what seemed like an inordinate number of typewriters. In the living room was a group of people who were fully clothed, holding drinks, and the oldest one--a man--was holding out his hand to me and smiling, saying, "It's Jefferson..." I shook his hand feeling as if my eyes were bugging out--I hadn't recognized him. Somehow he looked entirely different than I had expected, even when we had talked over webcam once before—present in the moment, and very pleased with himself.

Gee, I thought, he is good looking. And so was everyone else in the room--

“..Florida?” Jefferson was asking me things and I wasn't paying attention. "Where are you from?" he went on, looking at my dress, which hardly reached my knees, "Florida? It's cold out.."

The boy behind me was taking my coat, and I realized they were all looking at me while I was still getting over the fact that they all were hot and no one wanted to rape me and I had to say something clever--"I'm from the land of POOR!" I blurted. I believe they may even have been amused.

It was no wonder I was having trouble finding my wit—my mind was occupied with the sea changes that were happening to it. The nagging anxieties of the past few hours—the agonies of the past few months—were banished in the swell of confidence I felt. It no longer mattered what other people wrote, or thought: I could feel the ease and mutual trust in the room, currents that would gently but inexorably move me to what I most wanted.

In short, dear readers, I melted. I went over to the kitchen, to mingle. The houseboy asked me if I wanted a drink.

Coming Soon

Stuffies will quit being an invite-only blog today. Like most of my decisions, it was made in a hasty effort to be responsible and almost immediately regretted. My apologies to those of you who downloaded Firefox in vain, I had no idea that making my blog invite-only would make it entirely inaccessible to Safari users.

I will also no longer be re-posting updates on my Livejournal or my Myspace. In the case of the former it has become too much trouble; in the latter, Myspace changes all my links to a warning that my page is spam. This would normally be enough to get me to leave Myspace altogether, except that is where the largest community of straight male feedees is to be found. Which should be a post someday, my musings on the Feederism community of Myspace. When the rest of you quit using it, only the fetishists will be left.

Speaking of future posts, I recently attended one of Jefferson's orgies. The feeders and feedees in the audience have most likely not have heard of him, his blog or the huge mess he got into not too long ago. Long story short, the sex blogosphere was divided over whether he is a manipulative bastard or just made bad decisions. I was about evenly split down the middle myself, though perhaps my next posts will clear things up a little. Or perhaps people are just sick of reading about him, who knows.

Actually, I debated writing about the orgy for another reason: it's not Feederism sex. There were various party foods served, but I didn't force anyone to drink an entire bottle of soda. In fact I have hardly ever written about a real, live, Feederism sex scene on this blog. This is because I have never yet had real, live, Feederism sex, though I would like to have it more than anything else in the world (including a night in bed with Starbuck, Jonathan Rhys Meyers and an end to the recession.)

The reasons for this lack of what this blog is supposed to be about are myriad. But it can most easily be summed up in a quote this from this excellent paper on the subject of Feederism:

Given that people interested in feederism do not hold annual conventions, subscribe to a certain type of magazine, nor are they formally members of any one particular organization, finding participants could have been extremely challenging. Not only are participants in this community not socially organized for real life meetings and conventions, they are also few and far between. They span the globe but are few in numbers.

Thus, I've been trying to spread out in my erotic interests--in other words, see if there might actually be another way for me to get off besides feeding boys gallons of ice cream. I'm not yet ready to say "everything is broken" like Bitchy Jones, but nor do I want to set myself up for a sexual life in which satisfaction is almost impossible to find. Which I think is the healthiest way to look at life when you have a very strong desire for something so rare, but leaves me the question of whether or not I should continue to blog.

And I think the answer is yes. Because, even though my circumstances do not currently allow me to make love in the highly strange fashion which is my ultimate desire, I still have "fat eyes". In other words, I tend to see the world through Feederism-colored glasses, no matter how much of a stretch it might be. In addition, the orgy was attended by a great number of curvy women and at least one FA, though I don't think he knows that's what they're called. For the first time I found myself complimented openly on my curves, and to my chagrin I found I hardly knew what to do with myself.

At any rate, writing up the orgy will take a considerable amount of time. It will lead to a week or two of almost continuous posts on this blog, and I hope you all will comment lavishly--I promise to give my leisure hours over to answering every one. Or, at least every one for which I can think up a witty rejoinder. I've had big plans for there to be more and better photos too, and maybe even some links to hot Feederism stories...but all of that is still in the vague planning stages. I may, as usual, have bit off more than I can chew.

one life, take two

An important member of the sex-positive community urgently needs our help.

Jefferson—blogger, educator, and dear friend to so many of us—is at this moment fighting a court battle with his ex-wife, who is seeking full custody of their three children.

Jefferson’s love for his children has been well-documented on his blog One Life, Take Two for years. His ex-wife has stated in court that he is a “great” father who loves his children.

However, among her claims is that his bisexuality makes him an unfit parent.

Jefferson needs our help now. As a writer, his resources are limited. The costs of fighting this case are mounting quickly—and will certainly run into the tens of thousands of dollars.

As of today, there is an urgent and immediate need for at least $20,000 to cover costs associated with attorney fees and those of the law guardian who has been appointed to represent the children.

If he is unable to pay these fees by August 11, he will be forced to relinquish custody of his children.

This case is of concern to anyone whose sexuality does not fit the standard mold—because it could happen to you. This case is of concern to all writers, because Jefferson’s blog is being used as evidence against him—and that could have repercussions for our First Amendment rights.

Here’s how to help:

Make an ANONYMOUS, TAX-DEDUCTIBLE contribution to Jefferson’s legal defense by visiting the Sexual Freedom Defense and Education Fund at:

Sexual Freedom Legal Defense and Education Fund

There you will find out how to donate to Jefferson’s Defense Fund via PayPal or if you prefer, check or money order.

Please note that you MUST mention that your donation be used for the JEFFERSON LEGAL DEFENSE FUND.

One Life, Take Two has been relaunched with information about Jefferson’s ongoing case. Be sure to visit his blog for updates. In the meantime, you can contact Friends of Jefferson directly at friendsofjefferson@gmail.com.

Feel free to copy this and post it to your blog or any email lists Or link back to this post. More graphics may be found here.

A Fence: What Happened to One Life, Take Two?

Yesterday* I was in the mood for good bukakke porn. And I don't mean the pictorial kind. I'm a lit major: the quickest way to turn me on is with a witty and well constructed phrase.

But when I went to my favorite site, I found this:



Now, I'm an idiot when it comes to many obvious things. Sometimes I leave the oven on. But even after fiddling with it I couldn't get the screen to say anything different. That's right, folks: Jefferson's blog, One Life Take Two, has been... well, fenced off.



It's not like he took it down, though. His three-year-old blog, chronicling single parenting, bisexual porn-star style sex, and the semi-long-distance polyamorous relationship he had with Madeline and Marcus, is now by invitation only. By the Blogger Terms of Service (which I can be very stupid about too, but here it seems clear) he will have to write a clearance for each of the hundreds of people that still want to read his blog... or perhaps not let anyone in at all.

I'm kinda hoping this is all temporary and you will see a blushing newbie blogger retraction in a day or two. But I have a sinking feeling that it isn't. I'll need to pull out my prettiest pen and paper to ask for an invitation.

I'm not so much unhappy as to have to write a note but worried for the reasons behind why Jefferson put the fence up--his blog has been a not-so-secret secret for quite some time--and feeling sad that me and hundreds of others will have a harder time reading his work. Jefferson's blog was the first one about sex I had ever read, and it opened a whole world to me that I want my (few) readers to be able to easily share and link to. Instead I feel as if all my Henry Miller, Anias Nin and fucking free bukakke porn have been put under lock and key with no explaination.










______________________
* Read, "About four hours ago."

Dirty Stories

All my life I've hated the idea of finding love on websites because I was afraid of branding myself as being socially inept. When I thought of looking for a girl/boy using a dating service I was faced with two images in my mind: that of a unwashed geek who spent five hours wanking in his basement hiding behind a computer screen or those dumpy conservative couples on eHarmony. I didn't drag myself up from being a virginal high-school bookworm with no fashion sense just to be shoved right back into that closet, I vowed.

Then I discovered I had a fetish.

As feederism, Myspace porn, BBWs, BHMs, and the hidden uses of Mentos and Diet Coke all exploded into my consciousness I realized I was spending at least as much time on my computer in the dead of night as that stereotypical geek. I also realized two things simultaneously: (1) this wasn't going to "just go away" and (2) it's almost impossible to tell a stuffer boy by looking at him. Unless I found a bar where the patrons regularly competed by drinking gallons of beer or started frequenting the completive eating circuit my chances of meeting one would be few. With a sigh of relief I realized my time spent on the internet was a forced necessity, not an acknowledgment of my own insecurities, and I set about trying to find out if there even was such a thing even as my friends wondered why they never saw me any more after school.

As Violet Blue says in her podcast about fetishes, finding a fellow fetishist on the internet is "hit and miss". Once I got over the sweaty palms and chair-rubbing reactions of simply being on such websites (hey, for a virgin feeder girl it doesn't take much), I discovered their flaws: they are uniformly ugly and they all seem to be populated by men that are at least fifteen years older than I am, a native of India whose spelling and seduction techniques didn't get far beyond fifth grade. "Ah", said some of my college friends, "it's the same level of people you meet in real life."

Intellectual snobbery aside, it is sometimes quite difficult to find someone who shares your same tastes in bloating and stuffing as well as your level of vocabulary. As I tried to condense the essence of my desires into an easy to read paragraph that still allowed for those lovers I'd never imagined to slip through the loopholes, I reflected that this was why eHarmony's elaborate screening process had been invented, never mind their inherent homophobia. I was wandering in the back alleys of the internet where transactions were shady and boys sometimes threw bottles to get your attention.

At the same time I posted this story in the forums, simply because I liked the idea that the most-read stories ended up on the front page of the website after the readers had voted for their favorites.

Without even knowing it, I had done the right thing. Before I posted "Water Bottles" I was having to comb my way through the archives looking for someone who might be what I wanted; after it appeared on the front page boys started messaging me. Even after it had disappeared into the archives I received e-mails from boys that were intelligent, articulate, and grammatically correct, saying that they'd always wanted to do that, that they wanted me to help them start stuffing or they looked like Mister Six or knew people that were like Rufus. I had stumbled on one of the truths of writing that happened way back when things were still written on paper: good writing calls out to good writers, and they will respond.

So this is my advice to people who are just starting dating on the internet: if you have a specific thing you want to do, a life-long fantasy, or are even looking for a specific body type, lock the bedroom door, get out a little lube, and spin a bit of smut. My dirty story in which I'd written out my main fantasy had attracted more like-minded people than my short "personality profile" or even my photographs ever did. For whatever reason, a little tale with characters gets deeper to the heart of most people and crosses more barriers than filling out pages of "likes" and "dislikes". And, If you are at all good at writing (and most readers of sex blogs tend to be), people who also value the written word will be drawn to you: the creative geeky stuffer boys, in my case, who can make me melt with a well-written e-mail or whose wit can stand up to my own.

In this way, I realized, I was carrying out a fact of writing that was happening even when words were only written on paper. Anias Nin, who was sadly born too late for sex blogging and whose juicy private journals were published after her death, wrote to a friend that when one puts oneself out in wiritng, others will come bringing gifts. Among writers who are still alive, Jefferson is an excellent example of the power of smut to find you the kinky literate partner that you would never look twice at in real life. He meets women almost entirely through his blog, which details his exploits with sometimes dozens of men and women in a week. It would be easy to simply write him off as as a user, but the reason women seek him out is because his writing makes you trust him. He tells stories against himself as well as his experiences hosting the Bukakke Social Club, and his blog archives (going back three years) are so detailed that after reading them you feel you could walk through his apartment with your eyes shut. In being so explicit about so many things, from his relationship to his children to giving a woman her first orgasm, you forget you have never actually met him. You can fake a persona, of course, and there is always the danger that someone writing about him/herself will leave out their most glaring flaws, but I remain awed by the depth to which you can glimpse another human being's mental world in such simple things as a choice of word or how they construct a sentence.

It's so intimate talking to someone whose read my stuffer stories and really paid attention to them. If we haven't met in real life before this, I can have the exquisite feeing of a partner having read my mind, coming to me already filled with the knowledge of what turns me on. Writing honestly is making your mind naked to another. In the act of writing, you have already taken the first step towards intimacy, opening yourself to anyone who's listening.