“You look so hot right now,” he said looking down at me from between my calves. “You’re like a little sex package.”
His cock, buried deep inside of me twitched and then he pushed in deeper. I gasped and fluttered my eyes up at him. “I feel more like a sex pretzel,” I replied and pushed back against him from my grip on the headboard.
I couldn’t move. My ankles rested on his shoulders and his weight pinned my thighs to my breasts which tried to escape over my shoulders. I was folded in swells of my own flesh and pinned by the muscular density of a man on top of me.
I was in heaven.
He came home a couple of hours early Sunday and surprised me by waltzing into my apartment unannounced. My bed was stripped and under a pile of laundry. I wasn’t prepared to see him, but my heart jumped when he filled the doorway.
I went to give him a hug, but he suddenly dropped to the floor, looking around under my bed. “Where’s the kitten?” he asked. I stood there with my mouth a little open.
My breasts were heavy and free under my white t-shirt and my little pajama shorts clung to my thighs, but there he was. On the floor. Looking for the kitten I’d gotten the day he’d left. Never underestimate a man’s priorities and brain, I told myself.
Mirthful, I smiled. “Hey! Come give me a hug!” There was a gentle reprimand in my voice — you pay attention to the woman first, not the cat — and I still wobbled on the beam of our relationship happiness.
We hugged and caught up then, a little stilted at first. He told me of his adventures and I of mine; he apologized for not being in touch, but he thought I knew he had no cell reception. Quickly, I unzipped the stifling suit of resentment I’d been wearing, butt hurt at the lack of weekend communication, and stepped out into a light breeze of acceptance. We lay on one another and laughed and touched and sniffed lightly, like two long-separated and friendly dogs now.
He left soon after, exhausted. He thanked me for the cookies I’d left on his doorstep and gave me a kiss.
Late last night he returned, his hair rumpled from an early-evening nap. My bed was made, the house spotless this time. I was in bed watching Mad Men, Peyton slept soundly in the room across the hall, and a candle flickered messily in the corner. The kitten purred and zipped around at his arrival like an ill-working moped.
The Neighbor is like a magic trick for my day. He enters a room and my spirits lift, my heart pounds, the birds sing. Even when I am confused or angry his presence tilts my view from the trash on the ground to the light filtering through the treetops. Sometimes my fear of losing him and us closes in on me and I have to beat it off with a stick, other times I feel serene at the prospect of setting us both free. But he was there in my room last night, determined to be with me despite his exhaustion and my heart swelled, and I didn’t think of anything except welcoming him in.
He walked around to his side of the bed and I went and tucked the kitten up under my arm and joined him in the bed. The kitten, Faisal, was geeked up on the drug that is kittenhood and sped off. TN took the lack of feline distraction as an opportunity to latch onto my breast with his face.
It wasn’t until that moment that I realized I hadn’t been touched in 5 days. I’d forgotten myself. His absence was so gentle, so quiet. My time was wholly my own and in my own presence, I forgot my own pleasure. No child, no pseudo-boyfriend to keep me occupied. I could have spent the entire weekend with my hand lashed to my cunt and the idea never crossed my mind. Is Hyacinth horny when no man is around to fuck her? What a thought…
I closed my eyes and reveled in the sandpaper scratch of his face on my skin and pressed into his mouth. We tangled and grabbed, gripped and rubbed. Faisal was taken to his room so there would be no stalking of swinging balls.
When TN slid into me I felt like I was myself again: Hyacinth, fuckable, sensuous, wanted, devoured. When he is in me I feel like I am home.
His grunts were as loud as the squelching of my pussy, his words demanding and unapologetic. He pinned me down and pounded into me and my g-spot blossomed big and hard and I concentrated on spiraling it out to my fingertips.
I panted and rolled my eyes into the back of my head and he sat up and folded my legs against my chest and pistoned into me like a jack hammer. I cried out into my arm so as not to awaken my baby.
Soon, he stopped and drooped a little. “I hurt everywhere!” he cried with a laugh and rolled off and took me with him into his arms. His first attempt at snowboarding officially thwarted our usual sexual antics.
I smiled into his skin and retrieved the kitten. He purred and played with us until we settled down to watch Game of Thrones at which point he decided to attack a tinkling feather on the floor.
I felt two strong emotions laying there in his arms. Never one to be truly content for long periods of time, my brow furrowed in the darkness as I tried to put my finger on it, this strange sense of unease. Nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. Quite the opposite, actually. I was wrapped in his arms and watching — we now suddenly realized — a Spanish version of episode 3 with Portuguese subtitles. It was hilarious and conventional, all the puppies and rainbows any self-respecting unicorn could shat out. But my nerves continued to be on edge, scratching at me.
I live in this space of uncertainty. I realize I yearn for what’s on the other side, yet thrive in the workspace before it. I constantly have to remind myself that nothing is in my control, I will survive heartache, -break, -demolition. I’ve done it before, I’ll do it again.
This is how I talk myself down from the ledge of permanence and of needing “answers.” The “Do you love me?”s, “What are we doing?”s, and “Am I your girlfriend?”s. I remind myself of my current happiness and how I am merely a sensitive observer of my own life; a willing participant, but nonetheless powerless to bend others to my will. And I relax a little knowing that I’m living my life the best way I know how.
And, ultimately, what I find most reassuring about his return — above and beyond his beautiful boyish face, his magnificent cock and his big, fat brain — is that I can send him titty pics again. That was the worst part of the 4 day separation. I couldn’t send him my uniquely Hyacinth love notes: my boobs, my body, and my smile.