I made us a bacon carbonara with butternut squash with some fried sage and lemon zest. An old friend came over, Peyton cleared the dishes and we all read stories until little top and bottom lashes met and Z’s were had. With a twinkle in his eye, The Neighbor said he’d wait until my friend left before he’d leave. “Adults gotta have time alone,” he said into my ear.
We aren’t having tons of sex lately. I think on average, we have sex about once a week. It’s a strange balance. Back when we were a precarious couple we fucked non-stop. Now that we’re solidly together, it’s once, maybe twice a week if we’re feeling frisky. I’m perplexed at the shift. I’ve read Mating in Captivity and it explains a lot; it backs up much of what we all already know: We like strange. And then everything else sort of falls into place from there.
Beyond that, we’re in the stage of maintenance. We’re figuring each other out, fine-tuning all the ins and outs of our needs. It doesn’t leave much for sexual exploration or deviancy. I am just so wrung out at the end of each day. What he does has little to no effect on my sex drive, either. Whether we’ve gotten along famously or butted heads it makes no difference: I’m just a whooped ass motherfucker.
But last night, it was the old TN and Hy. The promise of delayed debauchery kept me on track and after the final hugs goodbye to my dear friend we went immediately to my room and lit candles. We laid on our sides and talked. Checked in and tenderly touched with all our words the nooks and crannies of our day.
He’d burned his face with coffee that morning when he’d slipped on a step and had a tiny little fan of red below his right eye, right in all the crows’ feet. I touched it tenderly and he watched me closely. When I noticed the look in his eye I moved my hand from his eye to his crotch and found a large, warm and swelling mass of flesh. Yum.
I worked his cock until it was mostly stiff in my hand then moved between his knees and fell on him with my face. He wanted me to be extra soft, extra smooth. I backed off the pressure with both my hand and mouth and let his hard warmth slip through my lips and fingers.
“I’ve had enough,” he said. “I want to fuck.”
“No,” I replied between sucks. “Beg for it.”
I closed my eyes and let all of him move over my tongue and through my grip. I could do this forever, I thought.
He was tentative at first, but once he knew I was serious his urgency increased. “Please, Hy, please.” I perked up and waited to hear more. “Please fuck me.” It was a whisper now. “Fuck me, fuck me…”
I popped off of him and looked at his pretty, bearded face. He froze and looked back at me. A heart beat or two passed.
“More,” I grunted. And started sucking again.
His pleas became more urgent, more real. “Please, please, Hy. Fuck me. Let me be inside of you.” The tone was different and drilled down right inside of me.
Finally, I relented.
He sat up and flipped me over on my back, peeled of my panties and butted the head of his cock at my opening.
“Do you want this?” he asked, staring down at me.
I nodded and he pushed inside, deeply. I held him there with my ankles linked under his ass. His breath puffed on my neck.
He moved and he thrust. I clawed at his flanks. He rocked and I bucked and moans floated to the ceiling. Mine and his and all the trivial life things slipped away with each slip of sound.
Our tempo increased and the candlelight flickered on his face. Without thinking I lifted my hands to his face and covered his eyes. His hips hit me harder.
“You’re so beautiful,” I said.
And he was. The sinews on the backs of my hands cut lines across the boyishness of his face. His bowed-mouth fell open with the passing of his breath and it caught each time he pushed inside of me.
“So beautiful,” I breathed again.
He began to hammer at me and we twisted and writhed together and contorted our bodies until I came and came and cried out.
“Grab my neck,” he said.
I switched my hands from his eyes to his neck and watched the veins in his neck pop as I squeezed gently. He ground into me and his cock swelled as I tightened my grip. I switched back to his eyes and blinded him again. He moaned, I moaned, and he slammed into me until I screamed with an orgasm. He stopped and pulsed inside of me.
I lowered my hands slowly and he opened his eyes.
We looked at each other in the dim light. His eyes glowed, light and clear.
We grabbed the vibrator and repositioned ourselves. He pumped his cock with his hand and I rocketed out with orgasms and many bursts of sound.
Then once more.
When we were done he kissed me deeply and we laid together and caught our breath.
“That was good,” we said almost together.
It had felt different, somehow. Sexier.
He gathered his things and got redressed. When he left I felt solid, content.
If this is the kind of sex we have once a week, I’ll be perfectly content… maybe forever. I just hope we can make it happen.