Saturday I was in a tumult. The experience with the Dom from the night before had seeped into my cells. Memories flooded me. Old memories of never saying no, of being misused and looked through. Utterly disrespected.
I felt confusion about the entire night. I was proud of myself for getting the fuck out of there, but also kicking myself for not leaving after he’d snatched at my panties uninvited and suddenly. Jason came over at 8. I was showered and ready to leave the house except I was wrapped in a white robe. We were supposed to meet another lover of his – a woman – for a threesome later that night.
He hadn’t been over in weeks and we’d been misfiring since before Christmas. Unbeknownst to me, he’d angrily recoiled from me when I told him I was sleeping with The Neighbor. We hashed it out one Saturday afternoon over coffee. He claimed to like me too much and he knew his jealousy and anger were misdirected. The meeting was too brief and when we’d parted I ached in my belly. For a fuck, a hug, a kind word. I felt like so much was left unsaid.
Let me re-circle a bit — Jason has always been open about liking me, about feeling affectionate towards me, about his thoughts on my beauty, coolness, personhood. He’s the only one who’s never been afraid to treat me so kindly and I have been tentative in responding, but have felt it a terrific testing ground for my heart. It’s part of why I agreed to go bare with him and why I continue to see him despite his non-compliance to basic communicating etiquette.
That Saturday in the coffee shop I shared with him that there was no way I could have ever known he was mad at me (and therefore not talking to me) because he was so awful at correspondence. So, not only had I been accosted the night before, but Saturday was going to be our first date since our big hash-out. I needed him, his lovingness, his cock, his hugs.
I poured him some wine and led him to my bed where I retold my story. He apologized profusely for being out of commission the night before and missing my 12:30 am text while on my way home in the rain.
He listened with rapt attention. Apologized some more, then said, “Hy, if you want to be dominated, I will do that for you.”
I leaned into the crook of his arm and sighed. This was so much better; having someone to erase the previous night was cleansing. I unbuttoned his shirt and ran my fingers over his hair-dusted skin. My cat sat on his crotch and we laughed at his bad timing.
We kissed. Tenderly. His blond beard tickled my lips and face. He stood up and removed his shirt, pulled me up on my knees and his hands traced over me. He began to – lack of a better word – make love to me, though of course he doesn’t and we don’t. But it’s what it was.
He laid me out so he could see me – he loves looking at me – and he whispered what a good little slut I was in my ear as his naked cock pressed against my hole. I pushed against him as he slid so effortlessly inside of me. I thought of Phillip and their differences; Jason’s kindness added inexplicable flavor, his open appreciation of me even more. I can’t help but think of the others.
His gaze bore into mine. I couldn’t maintain eye contact and instead focused on his open mouth and his cock inside my sloshing pussy. This time, more than any other, I knew he had less control. It turned me on wildly and I continued to constrict around his girth when he pulled out and push against as he forced his way back inside of me. I whispered how badly I wanted him to fill me up with his cum.
He demonstrated skill in holding off. I kept squirting as he slowed his rhythm, then he groaned as he felt me spurt hotly on us. The kisses got deeper and more demanding and I could feel his muscles straining in his back under the pads of my fingers. He shook and cried out and I imagined being filled with hot, loving, moments strung together. A daisy chain of passion filling my channel to the brim.
The night ended with us eating dinner at 12:30 am sans our third wheel. She mysteriously bailed on us and Jason and I killed a pitcher of beer. I wanted very badly for Jason to stay the night; to sleep in the nook of his arm, but he only stayed for another 30 minutes then insisted on heading home. He had research to do early in the morning.
I texted him a “<3″ after he left and heard nothing. Super Bowl Sunday I texted, “Thanks again for last night. I like liking you <3 :)” and also heard nothing. However, I texted him a sexy photo of my tits and my pussy (the actual cat, naturally) and he said, “Rover has big titties,” but the more affectionate of my texts were ignored.
I felt let down. After such an incredible, sweet, touching, sexy night together I felt ignored. I put very little pressure on the men I date: respond to my texts is about the only hard rule I have and I’m extremely flexible even in that. I ended up on the couch of The Neighbor. I was taken aback by what a sight for sore eyes he was. His hand was warm on my knee, he fondled a breast and lamented at how goddamned sick he’s been. It’s been weeks and weeks since we’ve lain together. I think of him much more than is probably good for me. He is not normally affectionate with me, therefore he certainly wasn’t Sunday night.
I feel as though I’m on the cusp of something… what, I’m not sure. I want TN. I won’t lie. It’s him who I think of the most. And then, when I feel like I’m getting too attached I jolt back. It’s mildly exhausting.
Also, after this weekend, I’ve resolutely decided to not tell Jason that I also had unprotected sex with Phillip. I’m approaching this much as I would with an infidelity. It’s a one-off, so why hurt everyone involved? I’ll just not do that again with Phillip: problem fucking solved.
A good friend of mine is coming into town on Thursday. A man who once inspired me to write about my sexual exploits before they’d even begun. He took me to a nice dinner last summer, held my hand and made me cry, then stuffed my face with his hard heat. He has a girlfriend and is a lawyer and – of course – doesn’t normally do this sort of thing. He’s an upstanding member of his community, but after knowing me for 18 months, I guess things change.
So, yeah. I’m not telling Jason about Phillip. I’m not telling TN my feelings about him or what’s recently happened to me. And I’ll likely get fucked in a fancy hotel later this week. I wish things could be different between me and everyone else. I really do. I just can’t wrap my head around what that’ d look like. The idea of losing anyone makes me sad…
Goddammit. This post was horrible. It’s what I’m fighting. I came home and cried Sunday at Super Bowl halftime. I drank a small swig of red wine and texted TN hoping he’d finally be up to seeing me. He was and I was so relieved and scared at all the relief. I wondered if he felt the same way. He’s so different from Jason – he’s determined to keep me at arm’s length and not show too much affection, though I hope it’s hard for him. Seeing him was wonderful. Crying was even better because I never let myself. Sometimes I have to admit that I’m a mess and just let it flow – like this fucking post.
I refuse to decode anyone’s behavior but my own.