Welcome to the inaugural edition of Tiny Treat Tuesdays. It may last all of one Tuesday. But I have a long list of little things I adore, and I need a place to post about them.
Today’s tiny treat: someone pinning me to a wall.
(In my case, that “someone” has always been a man. My usual line is that I tend to be dominant with women, but the women I’ve been with have been pretty passive—so maybe I’m not dominant, just impatient.)
The pinning can be subtle. I may be talking to a man near a wall, and he puts his hand high up on the wall and leans against it, blocking my escape.
Or it can be forceful—my hands slammed against the wall and held in place while he kisses, bites, shoves his leg between my knees… basically, does whatever the hell he wants to.
There’s a variation involving a counter. I can remember the first time my high school boyfriend stood in front of me with my back against my mother’s kitchen counter and leaned in, pinning me against it.
(CD once backed me against a counter and molested me. It was an incredible turn-on—until I noticed that his espresso machine was burning my shoulder. He hasn’t done it since, which makes me sad.)
A friend in college once held me against a brick wall with his body, giving me a weird sort of comforting hug while also blocking other people’s view of my tears, after an incident in an Irish bar. (Don’t feel bad for me—I was the instigator.)
Another memory, this one of someone else being pinned: The Ex, at one of the first big swinger parties we attended, talking to a cute curly-haired blonde with a tooth gap. He was in the hand-high-leaning-against-the-wall stance, looking down at her, and it turned me on to see him pursuing someone, taking charge, being assertive.
Something in my primitive brain, whether due to biology or childhood media exposure or an unknown kink, finds the wall pin intoxicating.
A tiny treat to be treasured.