I tie up my lover.

[My Tuesday night.]

He knocks at about 7:32. Nothing could have prepared me for what was going to come.

We decide to play poker. He is patient and sweet, reminding me of the goings on each deal. He feels like shit, he says. Maybe it’s food poisoning, but he’s here, so I don’t dwell on it too much. He asks if I mind that he deals each time. I say, “Not at all, why?”

“Well, some people might think I was sending a message that they weren’t any good at doing it themselves.”

“Yeah, maybe fucking insecure assholes. No, I’m happy to let you be in charge.”

And when I feel sufficiently comfortable with the rhythm of the game I ask to take over. At this point he seems to be feeling much better. I occasionally heft out a breast while I deal, he pulls out his magnificent cock, we put it all away. I pull out just one another time and he comes over and dares me to deal while he suckles on me, his whiskers lost in the pillow of my white flesh.

I tell him why I feel men are so beautiful and he leaps up and removes his shirt. “You mean you like this?” and he points at his broad shoulders and his narrow waist. I laugh and answer, yes. Pretend to be exasperated.

“Put your clothes back on for Christ’s sake. We have a game to play! By the way, I found something in my closet this weekend when I was cleaning it out. I think you’ll really like it.”

“What is it?”

“I’m not going to tell you. You’re not well and I’d rather demonstrate.”

He begs for a minute or two, but I remain firm.

My pile of chips grows as we discuss strategy. Generally, much as in life, I throw caution to the wind and play nearly any hand dealt me. It usually reaps rewards, but tonight he occasionally bluffs and I lose a significant amount. I remind myself to be cautious. How fitting.

Earlier in the night I told him that sex was not expected of him. We had a good laugh over that, but really, he wasn’t feeling well and I was happy to just hang out with him, but his mood and energy levels seemed to be improving by the hand. I am cautiously optimistic this night may not end with us clothed.

I put two cold chips on my nipples then two on his ball sack. I think I’m pretty hilarious.

And then, like a clock at midnight, it wasn’t the same anymore. Something shifted. And against his miniscule protestations he was standing before me and I was rubbing his cock, then on my knees. When I heft out his cock from his underwear I sigh and grip it lovingly, gratefully, in my hands. Memories from the night before with a smaller cock that was all wrong for me vanish.

I suck and stroke and gag myself on his erection. “Goddamn, I love your cock.”

“What do you think when you first see it?”

I search for the words. “Tonight I thought, ‘Finally.’ What do you think when I first pull it out?”

Finally.”

Living in the moment like I’ve decided to do to, to the fullest extent I’m possible, I’m not concerned with what’s about to happen. I am only a mouth, a body, a pair of eyes filled with cock. Pleasuring him is enough, but I am also going to follow his lead.

“You know, I could fuck you if you’re not feeling up to it. But, you said we aren’t going to have sex tonight, so I have to respect that.” I slowly stand up and go back to my seat, pick up the deck and begin to shuffle.

He stands there baffled. He’s used to me being a slave to his cock, unable to resist. He puts himself back together and sits again. We play a few more rounds and then once more his cock is in my mouth and he’s removed all of his clothes. He walks back towards my room.

“Where are you going?” I ask after him.

“Oh… just going to lie down for a little bit.” I obediently follow.

He switches on my closet light, cracks the door and lays down. His cock full and proud rests heavily on his belly. I can’t see his bellybutton.

I kneel next to his legs and begin to circle my nipples over my dress, run my hand down my belly to my crotch and lightly rub. “I’m sick,” he reminds me.

“Don’t worry, I won’t fuck you. Close your eyes if you can’t handle it.” And the second that he does I rub my hungry pubis over my dress so loudly there’s no doubt about what I’m doing.

“I can hear you.”

“Oh really?? That’s just too bad.”

He opens his eyes and watches me. I pull my dress up and move my panties to the side. I am sopping wet. He can hear the squelch on my fingers. I moan.

And then he gives the green light and says I can fuck him. This is what I was waiting for, hoping for. I rip open a golden wrapper and lay it beside him, climb on top of his legs and worship his cock with my mouth. Still in my dress I remove my panties and straddle him. The second his cock impales me my pelvis tingles and heat swiftly rises up my torso and tingles crawl up my scalp, my arms burn with heaviness.

I ride him sitting tall, leaning over and then like a jockey, my feet at his hips. I start to cry. I can’t keep going, it’s too much. I lean down and kiss his lips, his jaw, his ear and rise up off of him.

“What did you find in your closet? Tell me.”

“NO. You aren’t well enough for that and I’m not going to tell you, I want to show you.”

“Ok, then you can’t suck my cock unless you show me.” My hand, which had been fondling his mostly still erect penis, freezes.

“Oh really? Well, let me suck it while I deliberate.” And, despite what he’d have me think about being a slave to his cock, he’s as much a slave to my mouth. His hands fall to his sides and he lets me fill my mouth with him. I am trying to get him to forget about my treat, but he is tenacious.

“Now. I want to know now. Are you done deliberating?” I decide I am.

Without a word I get up and kneel at the wicker basket beside my bed and start pulling out silk scarves. One, 2, 3, 4 — where is? — ah, yes, 5.

“What are those?” he asks from the bed.

“I don’t recall you getting to ask me any questions.” I don’t know if I’ve turned into the pumpkin or Cinderella, but I’m going with it.

I secure his arms spread wide to my headboard and his feet neatly together to the footboard. As I trail the 5th bright red scarf along his body I ask him what I should do with it. He stammers a little, but comes up with some suggestions. I drag it across his face and it catches on his stubble. I growl my appreciation and let it lay over the top half of his face, nip his ears, jaw, and throat.

It suddenly occurs to me how much power I have and I bite his nipple. He exclaims and bucks up. I continue to nip down his torso to his left hip. His cock is pressed against my left cheek. I fondle and suck and grip and lick his meat. I dip down and lap his perineum. He groans and stiffens.

“You like this, TN? You like not being able to move?”

“Yes, yes. I think you can fuck me again now.”

I crawl back up to his ear and whisper, “I think I can do anything I want to you now.” I straddle his bare cock making sure it’s pressed against my belly, not my cunt.

“Yes, you could,” he answers.

“I could fuck you just like this,” and I grab his cock emphasizing the lack of protection between us. He’d told me once we’d never, ever have unprotected sex.

“Yes, that’s right.” His compliance to what I am half jokingly inferring makes my chest swell.

I begin to rub my lips on his shaft. I wait to see what his reaction will be. He moans and thrusts. I slide along more of his length reveling in the feel. I’ve never felt him this way before. I can tell he’s trying to enter me. I keep him at bay for a moment longer then guide him in.

I slowly sit back in awe. His skin against mine, inside of me, is otherworldly. We both are at a loss for words. I begin to move again. Filled with emotion and love and pride and glory. My pussy weeps on his belly and my clit sings. Down a dark corridor I can sense an orgasm waving at me. I increase my tempo but my g-spot fights for dominance and the gushing and the tingling and the heat overwhelms me and I have to stop.

I have clawed and gripped at his chest for purchase throughout this ride and so when he suggests I free his hands I do so quickly, then we free his feet. CLICK. Shit changes again and he roughly grabs my shoulders and slams me down on my back and plunges into me.

He fucks me till Tuesday and until I can barely feel him for I am so wet. I cry out every filthy word I can think of, scream his name, beg him to cum inside of me. Even his balls feel better slapping against my ass without a condom.

He flips me over onto my belly and continues to rail me. I am drenched in sweat and tears. He won’t stop. The slamming, the slapping, the sucking noises, the grunts, moans, and whimpers. My headboard creaks immodestly, occasionally my hand makes pounding noises on the wall. I don’t care about anything anymore.

He stops for a minute and asks if I could cum with him inside of me if I lay on my vibrator. I tell him I’d give it a shot. The vibrations pressed against me with the rhythm of his thrusts kick me high, so high I beg him to let me raise up on my knees. He obliges.

And with my shoulders driven into the mattress and his cock in me from behind I press the vibrator against me. I climb and climb and climb some more, that ever elusive orgasm always down that dark corridor. He knows I’m close and so stops and replaces his cock with his fingers. I respond immediately. My orgasm is closer, the hall not so dark.

I am unabashadly splayed open to him. My asshole winking at him, my cunt dripping and hot under his hand. I feel free.

I flip back onto my back and his fingers curl up inside of me. I begin to tremble violently and then the universe splits and I yell out an orgasm so big, so blinding that afterwards my teeth chatter.

He pulls me into his arms and pets my wet temple. I pant and whimper some more. And through my euphoria I am heartbroken he didn’t cum. He assures me he couldn’t care less, that it was because he wasn’t feeling well.

He kisses me and gets up, starts to put his clothes back on. I am a helpless 1000lbs on top of tangled sheets. My left knee up, my right leg down. He makes a “picture” motion with his fingers and clicks his tongue.

“Could you fall asleep right now?” he asks me.

“Um, yes. Oh my god. I can’t – I mean – um, yeah…”

I follow his lead and pull my dress back down over my head. When I stand up I am dizzy and must sit back down then I stumble drunkenly after him to the living room. I am expecting him to leave immediately but he doesn’t. He stays for a strangely long time.

As I struggle to think coherently he opens up to me. He says I’m a very genuine person. I swell at the compliment. His whole demeanor is different than ever before as we talk. He seems reluctant to leave, which is not him at all. He’s usually all too eager to take off. I sit patiently and wait.

“I don’t think you’d notice if I faded to black,” he tells me. “If you did, I’d notice, but I don’t think you’d notice at all.”

“What are you talking about?? Of course I’d notice!” I feel like I have accidentally found a treasure box of sorts. Is he saying he thinks I don’t care about him? Is this what all of this is about?? “I would definitely notice, TN. First of all, I’m trained to notice people and their behaviors, secondly, I am always reaching out to you. I would know if you were pulling away.”

“No, I don’t think so. It’d be more obvious with you. You talk a lot more,” and there is a twinkle in his eye. I’m actually flabbergasted. We’ve spent hours and hours talking and certainly not just me.

A laugh bursts out of me as I lay example after example at his talkativeness. I exclaim, “Look at you with all my friends! You’re all jibberjibberjibber!” I make a yapping hand signal and he stands up and mockingly yells at me “I’m a recluse, goddamnit! A recluse! I don’t talk!! I don’t like people!” as I shout, “You’re fucking gregarious, outgoing, charming, and a great conversationalist!” The puppy bites his ankle and our debate ends in giggles.

Finally, he’s ready to go home. I am mostly back together, but still reeling from the night. He stands expectantly in the middle of the floor and I walk over to him. I put my arms around his neck and kiss him deeply, thank him for coming over. He kisses me back and holds me close. I walk him to the door and we say goodnight.

We never discuss what just happened to us.

I admit to something.

Here’s the thing. When I’m with another man I think of you.

I know we always said we were just going to be friends with benefits and part of that deal was that I would keep sleeping with other men, but I almost can’t anymore.

Tonight, when he kissed me, he was too tall, his lips too pliant, his breath wrong.

When I saw his cock I thought, “This isn’t yours.” And when I tasted it I knew for sure.

When he spanked me and I hardly felt it I thought, “That doesn’t feel right.” His hand was too small.

And when he entered me I desperately wished to feel that filled-up, stretched-apart, wholeness I feel when you enter me, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. Because it wasn’t you.

I don’t know what any of this means for us, for what we’re doing together, all I know is that I can’t keep living this farce. I only want to be with you. These other men are collateral damage; I don’t care how they feel about me or how badly they want to be with me. All I want is to be in your arms.

Under you, in you, with you. Sobbing in every way I know how with you.

I go out there and get these other men under the notion it’s for me, but really, it’s for you. I don’t want to scare you. I don’t want to upset this strange balance we’ve created between spending virtually all of our time together, yet resolutely claiming we don’t care for one another more than what our rods and holes can do for one another.

But it’s bullshit.

Tonight, when I was late coming home and I knew he was sitting on our stairs I was afraid you’d see him and know he was there for me. After he left, I was a bundle of nerves that we’d run into you.

And as soon as I was showered and the apartment was clean I texted you. “You home?” I asked. You immediately replied yes.

“Can you come over?”

“Naked in my kitchen. Cooking dinner,” you say.

“Ok. Mondays are just hard for me sometimes.”

“Awwwww,” the iPhone glows back to me.

Then, I hear your voice and my puppy squeals her delight. You’re walking through my apartment shirtless, in shorts and socks. The dog squirms and wiggles around your legs unabashedly elated at your presence. I seethe with jealousy as I watch her open up to you with her honesty. You’re making cheeseburgers and broccoli. Then make a quick exit.

The puppy, confused at your abrupt departure, stands dejectedly staring at the front door. Now I feel for her. I text you that she’s confused. You laugh. Then I say I am too. Are you coming back over? Yes, you say.

And I start this open-hearted discourse with imaginary-you. But, before long you’re back and you sit in the fuck-chair. I close my laptop. I tell you about my strange day, carefully omitting the fact that I erased all traces of a man from my body and my home only minutes before I reached out to you.

I fight tears as I listen to your words. You tell me that you have been avoiding women online.

Why?

Because I’m dating someone.

You are?

Well, yeah, sorta. I’m an optimist, so it’s a half-truth.

But why??

Because I’m not ready to open up to anyone; to put myself out there to be hurt.

I am stupefied.

You weren’t expecting that answer were you? you wonder aloud.

Um. No.

My heart beats riotously in my chest. I don’t know what this means. I mean, look at what I had just written to you. I can’t pretend this isn’t something important to me. I don’t want to anymore. But still, I say nothing of how I’m feeling.

I tell you that I haven’t met anyone that I want to connect with, either. That it’s hard when I have you in my life. You agree. I tell you I don’t think you understand the extent of it; that when I sit across from a man at a table I wonder, “Is he as good as you? Will he make me feel like you do??” You begin to understand better.

And then you say the thing I fear the most about us:

“This can’t go on forever, you know. It could be over in two months.”

I nod. It’s all I can do.

Yes. Yes. Yes. I know this is true. But you have to understand. You have to.

Words come tumbling out of my mouth. I say, “Listen, you’ve helped me in so many ways. You’re kind, sweet, stable, and safe. You’re a good person. I needed someone like you in my life to help me heal. For the first time in so many months I feel a heartbeat again and it’s because of this. What we’re doing here.”

And you answer in kind. You tell me I’ve helped you feel less lonely; I’ve helped you learn to make your apartment a home; to open up emotionally to someone. You say the sex between us is the least important part of what you feel about our friendship.

I tell you it was your cock that has single-handedly helped me heal from my ordeal with Troy. You nod your understanding and beam a smile at me.

You jump up and tease me about your magical cock; flex your beautiful muscles for me and toss me that boyish grin of yours I’d like to bottle and carry with me.

You say that I require very little of you and that it’s been easy to be around me, that I am not a woman you’re familiar with since all your others have demanded everything from you. I feel as though I could fly: you still don’t know how I feel about you. I’ve won this one. I am still safe behind your willingness to not really look at me.

You know — if this is going to end in two months like you think it might and when I was going to finally tell you how I feel about you — then I’m going to wring every second out of the time I have left and not waste my time on men who are only straw men between my legs, because who knows who will be the happier of the two of us when this is all over?

I look forward to seeing you tomorrow at 7:30, my sweet friend.

I can make a grown man beg.

The theater darkens and we quickly look at each other in the fading light.  I smile, just barely, and he casually removes his sweatshirt and drapes it on his lap.  I snake my hand under the soft fabric and find the growing lump of his erection and begin to rub.

We’d planned this, this daring little tryst in the dark.  My two friends to my right were oblivious watching Hunger Games, my lover to my left smirking as I dipped beneath his waistband to continue my ministrations.

And when I heard a faint “zzzzzp” from beneath his hoodie and the proof of his arousal hot in my hand my eyelashes fluttered and I could barely focus on the opening scenes.  My heart beat faster; my pussy throbbed a beat or two of its own.

We got home in a state of half-arousal.  We’d stolen kisses in the car on the way home and as we climbed the three flights of stairs his hands fondled my bottom beneath my dress.

This is going to be fun.

During one of the many nights of our affair wherein I found myself begging him to fuck me, to stop fucking me, to fuck me some more — basically begging him to release me from myself — I shared that I wanted to make him feel half of that one day.  To make him beg.  Just like I beg him every time.  He replied it wasn’t possible, that he couldn’t possibly get as turned on as me; he had more control.  I decided to test his claim last night.

We kiss and head directly to my bedroom.  We undress in candlelight, his cock bobs somewhat mockingly at me, like, “Hey, Hy.  Whatcha gonna do about this?”  I think, “Oh, don’t you worry.  I’ve got plans…”

He lays down and he is resplendent.  His broad shoulders are accented by a dusting of dark chest hair that tapers to his tumescence, his thighs bulge with muscles, his veins apparent along the ridges of his muscled arms.

A man is beautiful because of his control.  He can hurt me with his strength, but he chooses not to.  Instead he is tender and gentle and measured.  A practiced hand could crush me, but it doesn’t.  It pets me, brings me pleasure I myself cannot.  A man’s beauty is born of the trust I lay at his feet in my soft womanliness, my swells and pillows of flesh made to entice life to her and then to grow it.  We cannot be more different, this man before me and I, and it thrills me so.

I tell him he is beautiful and dip to kiss the inside of his ankle, trail up his calf to the inside of his knee.  I spread his legs apart and cup his sack with one hand, continue to kiss up his inner thigh.  My mouth meets my kneading hand and I fill it with warm skin and two small, bulging pouches.

“I want to taste you,” he suddenly says and he pulls me up off of him and flips me over and falls between my legs.  His tongue is broad and laps at me.  I mew my pleasure.

We’ve done this so few times over the course of our time together and the cradle of my sex sings his praises.  His fingers work me from the inside, his tongue the outside.

He gets me close, but I know it’s not going to happen.  He stops and rubs his jaw.  He’s exhausted.  “We need to practice that some more,” I note.  He readily agrees.

I kiss him and exchange places with him.  He moans and I work his cock as I love to do.  “Stay here.  Don’t move,” I say breathlessly.  I leave him for a moment and return with two stockings.  Without a word I tie him to my headboard and find a sleep mask.  He says nothing as I put it on him.

Restrained and blind in the middle of my bed, bathed in warm light with an enormous erection, he waits for my next move.  I draw lines my  from his wrist to his hip, my lips nibbling after.  I dip my nipples in his eager, open mouth, and then I climb onto his chest and ride his face.  He’s pulling on the restraints and I feel my pussy gush as I hear metal creak and see his muscles straining in effort.

I return to his cock and spit on the pad of my index finger.  I stroke the silky patch of his perineum a few times, then  press the tip of my finger into his tight, little anus.  Its fuzz gives way to slick heat just inside his body.  I let my face fall down onto his shaft and apply pressure to his sphincter in counterpoint to my sucking.  His hips thrust up and twist slightly in answer.

I focus as he beings to writhe beneath me.  I use my entire body to bring him pleasure: my cunt with its smattering of hair stamps its approval on his leg straddled by mine; my breasts press into his flexing thighs; my mouth sucks and laps; my hand grips and squeezes, the other dips and strokes.

He can’t stop trembling.  “Please, Hy.  Please.  Please…”

“Please, what, TN?”

“Please, you have to fuck me.”

“Beg me.  You said I could never make you beg.”

“I’m begging you to fuck me.  Oh my god I have to fuck you.  I’ll do anything.”

My finger never leaves his body, my mouth never leaves the region of his cock. “You’ve already given me what I wanted.  There’s nothing else I want.”

And so I straddle his hips and guide the helmet of his cock to my center, then slowly bear down, remove his blindfold, and buck wildly on him.  I feel more beautiful than ever as I look down at him, his hands still above his head, his eyes locked on my face.  He tells me to grab my vibe so I can cum with him inside of me.  I leave him again for a second and when I return I climb on top of him facing his feet.

He moans loudly as he gets a full view of my bottom bouncing on him, the tuck of my waist nearly hidden by the spill of my hair.  My pussy clenches as this new angle draws me down and then I feel his hands on my hips.  He’s freed himself, the bastard.  He thrusts hard into me and grabs my hair and pulls, his heavy hands rain down on my flanks with searing blows.  I whimper and can only follow his lead.

I was a good girl and tied him up and made him beg like I promised, but now he is done with that.  Obviously.

He has me stand on the floor and hitch my leg up onto the bed again.  My pussy rains down on his hand and arm.  (Later, he’ll have me feel from his wrist to his elbow and it’ll be wet.)  He coaches me sweetly, tells me I’m beautiful and hot, and when the orgasm rolls over me I tremble from head to foot and let him pull me into his arms to rest.

Minutes pass.

Upright now and wrapped in my robe, he tells me again he thinks I like sex more than he does, that my libido is much higher.  I struggle with what to say, but boil it down to this:

“I don’t know if you’re complaining or complimenting me.  I know it’s high, it’s part of what contributed to the end of my marriage.  I can’t help it.  I don’t know what to say…”

He’s sensitive and smart and so his answer is, “You’re right.  I forgot that you’re sensitive to a comment like that and I’m sorry.  I think it’s a good thing, I really do, but I still think your libido is higher than mine.”

I impart to him that I have never felt turned down or let down by him regarding sex, that I’ve felt like he’s kept up wonderfully.  He puffs up a little at my assessment.

I’m confused.  I’m well-fucked, my body is still tingling and I feel connected to every cell in the universe, but my heart is in knots and I am scrambling for footing.  He gets up to leave, gives me a little wave, and I say, “Wait, come here,” and pat the couch.  He comes and sits and I gently take his face in my hands and say, “I want to kiss you goodnight.”

Our lips part and press together.  We hold still.  Just there.  Breathe each other in.  When it’s over, I’m a little dizzy.

Finally, he leaves.

A night of many things.  Of hard cocks in bare hands under sweatshirts in a theater; of men restrained and forced to beg; of a woman left wondering if she is, yet again, too much for anyone in her life if she is to be truly herself.

I’ll show you my tits.

Two days.

Day 1, Wednesday night, 1:25 am:

The Neighbor: I can hear you laughing on your phone

Me: Haha really??  Talking with a jr high friend :) Wanna come fuck me??

TN (at the same time as the text above): I’m sleeping asap but you should stop by and get fucked tonight :-)

Me: lol You have to come here.  I have my kid.

TN: Leaving the door unlocked just in case!

My heart skipped a beat.

The next 10 minutes were a blur.  The friend with whom I was on the phone got only occasional “uh huhs” from me as I continued to text TN.  He said he was naked, in bed, and near sleep.  I begged off the phone and texted him again.  He said there was “0% chance” of him moving.  I insisted.  Then silence.

I weighed my options and quietly exited the apartment.  I’d be gone for no longer than it’d take to let the puppy out and come back, but that was all I was allowed.  I tried the knob next door, its metal cool beneath my hot hand. The door swung open.

“TN,” I called out quietly.  His apartment was bathed in utter darkness.  I stepped through the entry way and bumped into a box and slowly made my way to his bedroom.  “TN?” I called out again, questioning my own presence.  Still total silence.

His hallway was pitch black.  I pushed my hand out in front of me and felt for his door.  It silently swung open and I stumbled blindly to his bed.  I patted the covers looking for his form in the sea of his bed.  He was somewhere in the middle.

“TN!” I say again with more volume.  Out of the darkness a large hand grabbed my arm and pulled me down into a heap of warm sheets and skin and muscle.

He mumbled something, barely coherent.  “Are you really already asleep?” I asked.

“Mmmhmm,” he replied and found my face with his hands and his lips were on mine.  I could still see nothing.  He took my hand and guided it to his crotch where it was filled with an enormously hard erection.  Pulsing and bobbing.

“Jesus Christ, TN.  You sleep with that thing??” I say into the darkness.

“I do when I hear you open my front door,” and he pulled me down again and I squeezed and stroked and tugged on his meat delightedly as his scent filled my nostrils; the scent of a sleepy man, altogether different from one who is alert, a musky perfume around us.

I still couldn’t make out even an outline of his face or body, my eyes were filled with blackness.  I peppered my kisses and touch with words. “We have to go back to my house.” KISS “We have to.” STROKE  “I can’t stay here.” KISS  “My baby is there.” KISS “We must go back.” And my face fell swiftly to his rod for a few good licks.

He answered by pulling my shirt off and plunging his face onto a pendulous breast with gusto.  “TN… really, I can’t stay.”  I knew I’d won when he pushed me back and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

Day 2, Thursday night, 7:30 pm:

TN: Ready for Scrabble?

Me: Sure

We started the game at the kitchen table.  TN played with my kid and puppy between turns.  I kissed booboos and put babies and puppies to sleep. Once alone I played footsie with his cock and when he was trying to concentrate I’d flop my breasts out of my shirt and let them rest on the tabletop.  I finally broke my 15-game losing streak last night.

TN was hilarious in his loss.  He grumbled and bitched while I rejoiced.  I jiggled my tits in his face and bounced up and down in sheer joy at my win.  I eventually turned his frown upside down.  No one can resist true jubilation, after all.  Or tits.

I’d told myself I wasn’t going to fuck him.  He’d worked me over just fine the night before and I’m trying to put some distance between us, but I was suddenly struck with an idea as he made to leave.

“Wait,” I called out.  He stopped and turned and I closed the distance between us.  “Lemme give you a consolation prize.”  His eyebrows raised then his face split in a grin as I grabbed his cock over his shorts.

“You played hard.  Now you deserve to be hard,” I whispered in his ear.  I swear the sheer cheese of that line made it hot.

It wasn’t long before his pants were around his ankles and he was reclining in my fuck chair.  I suckled on his fuzz-dusted balls and his hands cradled my head.  I pulled my tits out of my shirt and let them rest on either side of his shaft as my mouth worked the head and top half.  I wanted to fill my mouth with his cum, that was all my goal was, but he had other plans.  “I think it’s time we go to your room.”

“Ok.  Wanna get more of a consolation prize?”

“Is this a consolation prize for me?  Or a prize for you for winning??”

“Eh.  Whatever,” I countered, and locked my bedroom door behind us.

Quickly, he’s naked and I slipped my panties off; I’m clad in a skirt and shirt only.  I pushed him down on my bed and got back to work on his shaft.  Soon he’s near the brink and he insisted we fuck.  He rolled on a condom and, still fully clothed, I sunk down on his cock.  Slowly.

Quietly I moaned as I savored every inch as it filled me, stretched me, christened me.  The moment my thighs touched his a warmth spread out in my chest to my arms and my belly twitched.  I moved, his hands gripped my upper thighs,  and the heat spread up my neck to my scalp and my pussy released its joy on his belly.  I ripped my shirt off and looked down at him staring at me, my breasts bouncing with my efforts.

The fabric of the skirt was like burlap.  It had to go.  I wanted only him on my skin.  It ended up in a heap on the floor in two seconds. Fully naked, atop him, I gripped his chest and slipped and slid on his pubis, his cock my pivot point.  My pussy released and released and released.  I could feel his balls pushed against my ass crack.

Breasts in his mouth.  My body shuddered.  My pussy cried.  My mouth devoured.  He flipped me onto my back, never broke contact.  He pounded into me.  I cried.  I laughed.  I kissed and kissed and kissed.  He came hard.  I cried uncle and he answered by hitching my ankles up onto his shoulders.

At this angle my pussy sounded like nothing on this planet, save for a soaking wet, well-fucked cunt.  Sloppy, slappy, slick.  I could feel it spattering.  He moaned his pleasure and finally let me rest.  I said I needed to roll over and cry.  He gently helped to my side, but never left me.  Then he kept rolling me over to my belly.  And he started to fuck me all over again.

I buried my face in my pillows and sobbed.  My bare mattress was ruined.  He railed into me and grew larger inside of me as I cried, “Your fucking cock, your fucking cock, ohmygod your fucking cock.”  And he came again.

Orgasm number 3 came quickly after as he lay on his back, in awe of himself and his desire.  His hand was a blur, the abs he’s been working so hard for deliciously outlined in shadow and light.  He spurted his third load into my eager mouth and shoved the pulsing length to rest on the pillow of my tongue.  The back of my throat caught the rest.

End, Day 2.

And now, here are my Scrabble tits.

"That's not how you spell it."

[I’m not usually that lopsided, by the way.  I just feel I have to put that out there.]

I don’t require sex, but I get fucked anyway.

I worried that he was trying to cancel on me when I got this text:

So fucking exhausted :-(

So I assured him that fucking tonight was not a requirement.  I thought, “Hmm, it’ll be nice just to make him dinner and chill, watch A Game of Thrones maybe…”

Butter-poached sea bass, braised kale with bacon and onion, and a roasted cauliflower with caramelized yellow onions and goat’s milk puree were on the menu.  He’d mentioned before how impressed he is at my cooking skills and I wanted to really knock his socks off.

While chopping crispy bacon bits he walked up behind me and hefted my braless breasts into his hands.  I arched my back and pushed my bottom into the warm curve of his groin and fed him a piece of bacon.  He squeezed my breasts.  I fed him another piece.  He pinched my nipples.  “Nothing better than breasts and bacon, no?” I stated.

I turned around and took his scruffy face in my hands.  “I love your 5 o’clock shadow,” I purred before I dipped my mouth to his.  It was salty, like mine.  Bacon-y.  He took a hand off his face and put it on his bulging shorts. He was huge and hot.

I took another piece of bacon, “SIT,” I commanded.  He grinned and complied.  I straddled his legs and pressed my pubis into his face.  He opened his mouth and breathed hot breath through the cotton of my dress.

I came back to reality then and finished dinner.  We ate, laughed, watched a couple of A Game of Thrones like I’d hoped.  When the second episode began he came to sit next to me on the couch, our thighs pressed along the length of each other, his arm over my shoulder.  I absent-mindedly stroked his erection; he casually held my right breast.

When the second show was over he teased me for trying to have sex after all.  I assured him it wasn’t on my mind.  Then I pushed him back on the couch and cooed to him about being so tired; how awful it must be.  I breathed on his shaft through his basketball shorts and I pulled the tip of his cock out from under the waistband and I licked.

My hair tumbled down around us, slick and cool on our hot skin.  I pulled off his shorts and my breasts strained against the flimsy top of my dress as I dragged them on either side of his erection and pink, wrinkly ball sack.  He groaned and said how good that felt.  I licked him from stern to stem and gently rolled his testes around in my mouth, spit slid under his sack.  Then I started to move on the shaft with my hand gripped tight around its girth, my mouth dancing on the head.  I drank in his salty precum and groaned with delight.  God I love to suck cock.

Somehow, we ended up in my room.  Maybe he brought the candle, I don’t know, but he was gloriously naked and I was not.  He shoved me roughly down on the bed and crawled up my length.  “I’m not going to fuck you,” he said with a grin.

“Good.  I don’t want you to,” I boldly replied.

He peeled off my panties and pulled my dress up over my head.  I stretched out under his gaze: rounded valleys of warm, cream-colored skin against stark white bedding.  I felt myself melt into the down comforter beneath me.  This is where I wanted to be.

He made to mount me and I dodged his naked shaft.  He slid it in the fold between my plump upper-thigh and my swollen vulva.  I got wetter and kept wiggling my hips away.  He left me for a minute and proudly revealed a string of golden condoms he’d smuggled into my apartment and dropped them next to my head.

“But we’re not fucking,” I reminded him.

“Nope,” he answered as he rolled one on.

He fell back over me and butted the head of his cock against my hole.  I scooted up the bed a few inches and continued to kiss him back, passionately, with every fiber of my being.  I feel for you, I screamed through my kisses.

His mocking thrusts were becoming more insistent.  I moved away again, closer to my metal headboard.  I was losing ground.

His hands ran all over me; I squeezed his buttock’s flesh in my hands, lightly scraped my fingers on his tender skin and spanked him.  He chuckled as he moved closer and I ran out of room to run all together.

“You have no where else to go,” he growled in my ear.  And then his cock was peeling me open and he was sliding in.  I felt his pressure deep inside of me, practically in my throat.  He went slow — oh, so slow — and I grasped at him with my cunt, sucked on him like my eager mouth did, and as I did I slowly and sweetly drenched us and I began to cry.

I felt exposed and raw.  This was too slow, too obvious.  I felt like he could plainly see on my forehead a marquee of my feelings for him.  I’d turned down sex on my second date with the man from Tuesday night the night before because I simply couldn’t imagine it being any better than what it was with him.  “I am so fucked,” I thought as he watched me in wonder lose my shit beneath him.

All I could think to say was “Ohfuckohfuckohfuck,” or “Ohshitohshitohshit,” interspersed with “Neighbor, I fucking love your cock.”  I felt helpless and devoured as my g-spot sang and my arms and legs became lead.  I pulled his head down to my breast and let him suck while he rocked into my core; taken at nearly every angle a single man can.

He hooked my ankles up on his shoulders and began to press into me with gusto.  My pussy smacked and squelched with my passionate releases, his tempo increased further.  I tried hard not to keep covering my face and instead focused on his mouth.  That sweet, bow mouth with the dusting of faintly red shadow.

I pivoted back on him and pushed against my wall with all my might as he pegged me to the bed.  I could sense his cock swell inside of me, could hear him lose his breath along with the manly moans that began to escape him.  And then he was riveting into me and crying out and I couldn’t help but expel my own shouts and moans of  pleasure with him.

A minute later, as he is wont to do, he began to move inside of me again.  I had given up all hope of any sense of control and let him do whatever he wanted.  He spanked me and pinched me and I just kept crying helplessly, happily.

Finally, he was through with me and he rolled onto his side and pulled me into his big spoon, a heavy arm draped over my waist, his hand nestled between my breasts.

We talked for a while, about what I couldn’t tell you if my life depended on it.  All I know is that his cock, still mostly hard, found its way into my eager mouth.  He came close to cumming again a couple of times, but wasn’t able.  It’s usually his custom to not cum at all during sex.  Or so he’s said.  Certainly, there have been several encounters of ours where he hasn”t.  I do my best to not feel as though I am unskilled; I, of all people, know that you don’t have to orgasm to truly and deeply enjoy sex.

I felt gorgeous and relaxed with him right then.  More so than before and so I grabbed my Hitachi and stood on the floor with my knee hitched up on the bed, the candle flickering to my left, my lovely neighbor splayed out before me.  I turned it on and pressed it against my mound.  He slid closer, under me, and reached his fingers inside.

Immediately, I bucked against his hand.  He stroked his finger against my channel’s padding and I strained not to loose myself so soon on him.  I told him to hold still and I would move against him and the blinding light, the intensity of pleasure that cracked through my cells caused me to shiver for minutes and minutes more when I was cradled in his arms.  His chuckles puffed onto my neck as he held me.

I’ve never been split in two like that before.  I reveled in it, the hormonal surges reminded me of when after I pushed out my baby I lay on the hospital bed, teeth chattering, and comparing it to all the times I’d ever done Ecstasy.  It was like that last night.  I couldn’t think.  I wanted to tell him how I felt about him.  I wanted to lock all my windows and doors and never let him leave.

However, I didn’t, but I also didn’t escape totally unscathed.  I jokingly told him my social security number and a deplorable fantasy I had the other day about a client. ” I am not allowed to think of clients in a sexual manner,” I told him, “I feel horrible.”  He assured me it was ok if I did.  I told him he should leave his friend’s birthday party early tonight to come and fuck me and “do absolutely whatever” he wants to me knowing full well he’ll never do that.  He’s taking the-girl-who-won’t-touch-him and I think he always has hope that might change.

The point is, I didn’t give a fuck how obvious I sounded.  It was a Herculean effort on my part to say only those simpleton things.  Logically, I knew it was the oxytocin, so I was saved from irreparably damaging this magic thing I have going on with a babble of stupid words, but I still said stupid shit.  — ARGH, I’m sure I could fill an entire blog with the stupid shit we say after a bone-jarring orgasm.  But still, he praised me, wondered at me, and kissed me, and then he began to spank me.  So hard I felt his hand prints like a sunburn on my bottom and flanks.  I begged him to ice it and he obliged. The water cooled my bulging, raw pussy lips and wrapped around my waist to end in a tepid puddle under my belly.

He suggested we watch another episode of A Game of Thrones after that and I ended up falling asleep I was so spent.  Granted, it was late, but I had nothing left to give.  Even to the fucking TV at that point.  He woke me up with a laugh and I sat upright for the last 7 minutes, embarrassed and longing for my bed.  He stood up, noted the time (1:15 am) and said it was bedtime.  I agreed, kissed him, gave him a smack on the ass and said goodnight.  I didn’t even care I was going to sleep alone.

I go on first dates reeking of sex with another man.

The Neighbor fucked the shit out of me this afternoon and I had the distinct (dis)pleasure of answering his, “What are you doing later?” with, “I have a date.”

He teased me. I wanted to die. He kissed me, fondled my ass, and asked what I’d do if my date could smell the cock on me. My only answer was, “That’d be hot.”

He wished me luck on my “daaaate” and I cringed.

So, now I sit and wait, my braids still in disarray, and cross my fingers that I’ll discover chemistry with this new fella as bright as what I have with TN.

Nothing less is acceptable anymore.

I am a mentor.

I found this welt Saturday morning.

After the onslaught of painful emotions a couple of weeks ago, I feel more stable. I spent time with my child last week and was Mommy again; a place I love, a place from which I draw strength and balance. And I even got fucked a couple of times by The Neighbor.

The first time was the night he shared this photo with me. I’d made my friends pasta with a homemade spaghetti sauce and topped it with arugula and goat cheese. We drank 3 bottles of wine and scarfed everything off the table. My kid hung with us and chattered away with my friends as though being far from an adult were no big deal. We all took turns reading Sandra Boynton books and then we reclined on my sofa, opening our hearts and our ears to each other’s lives. Ten o’clock came around and I was alone with a brand new text in hand.

“Oh shit! I’m sorry I forgot about tonight! I got busy. Are they still there?” he wanted to know.

“Nope, they just left.”

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

An hour later, his meaty cock was cradled in my hands and I was sprawled on top of him, inhaling his clean, soapy scent.

“Maybe we should go somewhere where there’s a locked door between us and the rest of the house.”

Good idea. I always seem to lose my head when he’s around. Naturally, I would be devastated if my little one came walking out to find me with our neighbor’s private parts in my mouth.

So, we went to my bedroom — a pleasant Thursday night surprise for us both — and we rode each other until we were shiny happy people. I drenched us, he wailed on my buttocks and flanks, we talked and cuddled and kissed, and I was alone by 12:30 am.

Friday was a planned outing for us. He had to work late, but I didn’t care. He came over at 9 and surprised me with dinner plans at my favorite restaurant on the planet. I jumped up and down and didn’t believe it. This place is unrivaled in my city and it’s expensive as fuck.

We arrived at 9:30 and the place was jam-packed. We loitered with 30 other hipsters with money-lined pockets in the warm waiting area drinking wine and brushing up against each other.

He would occasionally pinch my nipple and I would lock gazes with a stranger over his shoulder knowing he could see us misbehave. I still couldn’t stop the giddiness from bubbling up and I would jump up and down and beam at him for my happiness was uncontrollable; my heavy breasts jiggled against his chest and arms as if to celebrate, too.

Dinner melted in our mouths, conversation flowed. We talked about the sex toy I was going to surprise him with later, how he would never fuck me without a condom, and how I wanted to fuck a couple and he didn’t braided in with his work, my work, how I wasn’t going to completely dump Jason because a bi-sexual man is hard to come by and I shouldn’t burn that bridge, life in general, hopes, dreams, family. You name it, we talked about it between morsels so delectable I swear I came a little. Then it was time to go.

I thanked him profusely all the way home and then beat him soundly at strip poker.

Naked in my chair, I told him how pretty he was. He seemed surprised. A lovely creamy man, sprinkled with dark hair, and his arousal jutting up to his belly button. I don’t know why he was surprised.

In my bedroom I produced the new toy. A little vibrating cock ring. It was interesting, but it threw us both off our game. Lesson learned. So we went to old-fashioned fucking and spanking. I impaled my face on his tumescence and delighted in his rod pulsing and straining against my hand and lips. His arousal caused me to sprinkle ejaculate on my feet folded beneath my bottom as I did my cock work.

Later, his fingers curled deep inside of me, with a bird’s eye view of my cunt, he drove me to an orgasm that split me in two, just like the night before. I sobbed into a pillow and laughed some more. He crawled up my body and pulled me into his arms still quaking. He kissed my mouth and my temple. I played with his chest hair.

At 3:30 he went home.

I have promised myself numerous times that I will not decode another’s behavior, but I find it nearly impossible to resist. The point of this post is more or less to document understanding of myself gained. He’s 27. He’s an incredible human being, but he has me neatly in a box and I am struggling to find one for him.  It’s my job to make this work for me.

The thing of it is, I have to admit that he has my heart and I also have to realize that it’s ok if I don’t have his. Full stop. It’s my decision to keep on with him. Someday I will have someone’s heart, but it’s not now, and until then, I am going to look on this as if I am his mentor.  Maybe it’ll save my heart.

I will teach him how to stroke my body and how to be with a woman; I will praise him and lavish him with support and kindness. In return, I will allow him to take my trash out and lift boxes for me; to be kind; to bring me to passionate heights; to tell me I’m beautiful; and to gently share my life with him under the auspices of neighborly friendship only.

I hate that this post has morphed into some kind of relational/emotional document.  God, it’s tiresome and tedious.  I want to be the old Hyacinth; the one who eats men for breakfast, lunch and dinner, the one who tumbles with new men every month and week sometimes.

I don’t like having feelings.  I don’t like them at all.  The closer I get to healing the more the feelings come and I am conflicted and confused.  Why can’t I feel nothing while simultaneously having the ability to feel on command?  It doesn’t seem fair.  But, shit ain’t fair, is it?

I am holding off bringing more men into my sheets because of TN.  If he finds out, which of course he would because I’d tell him, I feel as though I run the risk of turning him off of me all together.  I’ve slept with only two men since I’ve met him due to my grand experiment to slow down and now I don’t know what to do.  I am lost and lonely and often bored, overwhelmed by unrequited feelings, and ready for more with someone, or at the very least to be kept preoccupied by many.

Have I mentioned how much I hate that this is what this post has morphed into??

So, yeah.  I am a mentor.  Let’s see how well this works for me, my lizard brain, and my thumping heart.

I get “permission” to post cock shots.

The Neighbor and I hung out last night after my friends left. It was terrific and we even got a little fucking in (I’ll write about that later, I promise).

We laughed about my “sock-cock shot” and he asked if he’d sent me one of him. I told him no and got excited — god knows this woman loves a photo of a penis.

So he showed me this and I about died.

20120309-094738.jpg

And then we laughed our asses off as we compared my version.

20120309-094909.jpg
I think I needed a third pair to really do the man justice.

Then I said I wished I could post these somewhere. He said, “You should!” of course not knowing I actually do have a platform. So, I’m taking that as a green light for my conscience and sharing with you all; for the ones who asked to see and for those who’d like a good chuckle.

There’s something wrong with me.

When I participated in the Bare Your Sexual Soul Day I went back to a place that I loved and memories of my exploits with Troy filed my head and my belly.  The men, the cocks, the raw, animal sex where I felt nothing but my hole and my cells for hours on end; the emotional upheaval of being connected to a sociopathic narcissist; and the intense pleasure I received for abusing my body via sex.  It all felt so good to relive those moments, but I was also walking the edge of concern.

Then, a friend wrote of her father’s passing and another friend wrote of his experiences with a cruel lover followed closely by a run in with my mother — who, besides my father, is the lynch pin in my world view and of my personal views of myself.

The first two things are important because I could closely and strongly relate.  I had a tortuous relationship with my father and I watched him die a horrible death.  I know now that I would never truly wish it on anyone because even a man deserving of no mercy should be granted it.  His spectre haunts me to this day and the pain he caused me is often like a cruel friend luring me into complacency only to rear its unruly head when I least suspect it.  And my affair with Troy was beyond my control, my compulsion to fuck him, to do anything he wanted of me, so all-consuming I felt lost and ravaged for months.  It left me in tatters.  And well, my mother is slowly emerging as a villain to my heart and the realization has been devastating.

I’d already begun asking myself Why do I need sex so much?  Why do I like it to hurt? when all of these things occurred  and it has become clear to me now: I have always meant nothing to those with the most power over me.  Who I am and what I am has never been enough and never will be and therefore I seek out connections that reinforce this belief: I wield sex to fulfill the painful longing in my being.

Last night, a Saturday, I had no plans.  Jason decided that our plans were to be cancelled and The Neighbor was going to a party in hopes of getting laid.  The night before, Friday, he had ridden me until I was a puddle and narrated my journey as he put me there.

As he’d slid his cock deep inside of me he said, “First, you get wet, oh so wet,” and he continued to stroke my grateful body’s cavern.

When he pounded me into my sheets he breathlessly said over me, “Then, you get incoherent.  God, I love watching this.”.

We kept going.  He kissed me, stroked me, buried his face in my neck.  I ran my fingertips along the ridges of his back muscles delighting in the loss of my control, the sensations of impalement.

We turned me on my side and his long shaft found new spots deep within me, he noticed it, too.

And then finally on my stomach with my face buried into my mattress I cried and shook and pressed back on him with all my might.  “Ahhh.  The crying.  The last step.”  And he released himself into the condom, waited a few moments and took me up again to where I was nothing but sensations of a collection of cells and heaving lungs and a tear-streaked face.

We slipped on robes and stood on my balcony watching spa-goers below us.  I stood behind him and wrapped my arms around the soft cotten, pet his hard chest and nibbled on his neck.  He turned around and we stood locked in an embrace high above the people below us.

I felt safe and important, forgetting that my feelings had been bruised by his request to start our evening at 10 pm.  I had been hoping we’d do something more “date like,” but that was folly.  This is what I have with him.  I am no pseudo girlfriend, despite my wandering, uncontrollable emotions.

After more belly soaking sex and an orgasm later we were playing poker together.  Chatting.  I said very clearly that I couldn’t rely on him for anything.  That I can’t.  How could I possibly?  He said that was a terrible thing to say and I made it even more terrible for not recognizing it.  Later, in his bed after yet more sloppy, delicious sex I apologized for hurting his feelings.  He said his feelings weren’t hurt.  I was confused.  He insisted he felt nothing about it, that it was simply an offensive thing to say, but I still couldn’t understand the logic.  I said as much and tried to explain that it wasn’t personal.

“If I’m having a bad day, you’re not supposed to be there for me.  You’re not supposed to come and hang out with me and be there for me.”

He said he would be.  Which only has caused me yet more confusion.

We talked about our relationship.  He believes it will go out with a whimper rather than a bang; he thinks it’s going fantastically; I am down to only one lover now and I can’t have it all be up to him, it’s not fair.  Not to him, not to me.  If I’ve learned one thing in my life is that I am too much for anyone and my sex drive is among the traits most delicately – or indelicately – rejected in me.  I sometimes get the sense that TN thinks I think of nothing else, when in reality, I am inundated with thoughts and feelings so much more pressing I can barely function some days.  Like this week.

So, I sat alone last night after beers with one of my dearest friends.  Antsy, anxious, sad, in pain.  The Neighbor, my crush, gone for the  night, and I alone with my thoughts with no outlet for my building release.  I scoured OKCupid, but saw no one of any interest.  I sipped wine, I watched TV, I read, I ate food that tasted like cardboard.  I remembered to drop off my rent check and so layered on warm clothing and walked down to the office.  The cold night air coated my arms and body like salve.  I felt immensely better for it.

And as I stood by the drop box I looked up at our building and my eyes were automatically drawn to his empty, lit bedroom window.  I stood there numbly, dumbly, wondering why I was frozen in place.  I breathed the chill into my chest and felt more pain as I turned and walked away and then suddenly I was vomiting into the bushes.  Hard and fast, with tears in my eyes and a sense of surrender in my heart.  Headlights alerted me of a coming driver and I quickly dashed up the back stairs to avoid being seen such a mess.

I calmly reentered my apartment and headed for my bathroom sink.  Cold water splashed on my wrist near a nasty burn, crusted and bright red, and I expelled the rest of my dinner.  The burn drew my attention and I contemplated cutting myself and wondered where on earth I’d find a spot on my body that TN wouldn’t notice.  And so it came to me that I am truly broken.

I have been thinking about opening up my AFF account again because this calm, this one-man show who has his eye on a woman who has yet to make herself known to him, is bringing me to my knees.  I have aligned myself with yet another person who finds me wanting. I am a mother.  I do not want more children.  He is looking for something better.

I told him last night, while wrapped in his arms in his giant, unbelievably comfortable bed, that if he were older and wanted no children things would be very different.  He was surprised.  I felt relieved to get it off my chest.  I said no more about it.  He shared that he has always worried about my feelings for him, though I have revealed nothing outright.  It has been a general concern of his.  I was somewhat offended by this since I have been above reproach in most things involving my feelings for him: it is a girlish mistake to make this something it is not; he’s never done this before.  He should be the one that’s the loose cannon.  Not me.  He’s never done this before.  He’s young and inexperienced.

But in the end, he’s right, and he has no fucking clue.  Or maybe he does.  This has been extremely hard for me because the better and more brutal the sex, the more bonded I become.  There is something wrong with me.

I want so badly to be enough for someone.  To be the right fit, to fill his heart and his loins with excitement each time he sees or thinks of me.  I want him to strike my flanks, bite me, twist my tender skin and use me until I don’t know my own name.  And then I want him to cradle me in his arms, kiss my temples and tell me what a good girl I am, to fill that black fucking hole inside of me that my parents slowly stretched wide with their conditional love and cruel character, and to tell me that he loves me.

That’s what I really want.

And so I sat on my balcony and dragged on a cigarette.  Slowly, deliberately.  Feeling the hot smoke fill my lungs and mingle with my breath as I expunged it from my center.  I got my leather-bound journal and began to write in my chicken-scratch scrawl.  I wrote of my pain, where it comes from, why it’s there and, ultimately, my hope for mastery over it.  I told myself I could do it, that I would survive.  Then finally with tears in my eyes I wrote, “I love you, Hyacinth.  I love you.  You are enough.  Always enough.”

I am beautiful in firelight.

The Neighbor came over tonight as hoped. He beat me yet again at Scrabble with a 48 point word. HUNG. Go figure. We laughed, we flirted. He sucked my nipples in between turns. We snuggled and watched a movie then crossed the street to buy firewood. I had it in my head to prolong the evening. I should’ve just gone with my gut and fucked the shit out of him.

He disrobed and I told him he was beautiful. I peeled off my clothing in the firelight and he remarked on how beautiful I was bathed in it. I swelled with pride.

As I shuffled Tarot cards, he entered me from behind and the coffee table shook. He was sore and in pain from working out and couldn’t keep at it. We shifted to him in my fuck chair and me on top. I rode him until I couldn’t feel my hands and then he slipped out and we laughed and peeled apart.

He noted how fucked I looked: face flushed, braids in disarray.

We kissed and touched and talked some more.

Then I shuffled the cards again and did two readings. The first one was awful, about my financial/business future, the second I focused on him and the cards were telling and embarrassing. He was gracious as I read the meanings as vaguely as possible. He dozed in a sensual pose opposite me on my couch. His shoulders high and broad, his leg hitched up over my pillow.

I told him I’d mused over his sensuality the other morning when I’d woken up in his bed. How I’d been afraid to touch him lest he be angry at me for disturbing him. He assured me he’d never be mad at me for waking him up, no matter how tired he was.

He rose and came around behind me and kissed the top of my head, stood up and started to dress.

“Fuck,” I said as I stood and stalked into the kitchen.

“You really want to be fucked right now, don’t you,” he observed aloud.

“Yes. I played this all wrong. I feel like I should have my woman-card revoked, or something.”

“Woman-card?”

“Yeah, you know, like a man-card, but for a woman. Two nights in a row and you haven’t cum.”

“I don’t care about that at all,” he replied as he grabbed my robe-swathed hips and pulled me close. His breath puffed on my lips. “I had the best time.”

“Ok. You swear?” I ask.

“Oh, yeah. Will you and your pussy be available tomorrow night?”

“Yes, after my kid’s asleep. It’s a high honor to get me when I’m in mommy-mode, you know.”

“Is it?”

“Oh, yeah. Definitely.”

“Then I’d like to reserve a spot tomorrow or Sunday and a chance to rent you out for some other occasion.”

He kissed me deeply, his hands lingering on my waist, and left.