TN

Begins: Nov 30th, 2011

1st ending: Jul 5th, 2012 (He starts up with 4 am girl)

2nd beginning: Jul 22, 2012

2nd ending: Jul 27, 2012 (He finally fucks 4 am girl)

3rd beginning: Jul 31, 2012

3rd ending: Oct 1, 2012

4th beginning: Oct 6th, 2012

I find out my friend Sara has died July 9th, 2013.  My writing slacks off a lot, but we continue to grow closer.

March 25th, 2014,  I move two minutes away and start self-hosting.  I become deeply ambivalent about my relationship with TN.

August 7th, 2014, The Neighbor chooses to move into my apartment complex.  Now we’re 3 buildings away; a short 3 minute walk apart.  It’s as close to co-habitating as I can do right now.

 

 

He kissed me and there we were.

Friday night Tina turned to her boyfriend, Chuckles, and their lips puckered and connected.  The girl with the faux-hawk behind them tossed a dirty look their way and I looked at The Neighbor surrounded by 20-somethings clad in ugly glasses, leather jackets, and skinny jeans, a mostly ignored Lone Star beer in his hand.  He was a rose in a field of grass.

“We can’t let them win,” he said and grabbed me and pulled me against his pea coat.  My lips parted in surprise as his icy blue eyes locked on mine and his own lips parted and came to crush down on mine.  He held me to him, his 5 o’clock shadow rough on my face.  The hum of the crowd disappeared under the cheers of my heart and the soft stroking of his warm tongue on my own.

I heard my friends gasp drunkenly behind me as they saw me embraced by the man they know I love, lost in the moment and shining like a fallen star among the ignorant hipster drunks trying to be cooler than their friends.

We pulled apart, but he kept me close.  I smiled and laughed like everything was normal, like I hadn’t just been molecularly modified by his lips on mine under the stars and many prying eyes.  Something shifted further away from safe and much closer to terror.

We’d spent a wonderful week together; night after night he came over after Peyton was in bed and we’d cuddle and kiss, fondle the warm fleshy bits and suck and nuzzle the protruding ones.   His cock lost its treasure to my hungry mouth as easily as my heart lost its treasure to him.  His warm, loving, incredible, sweet, smart, worried, supportive, sexy, funny self.

He has been supple under my steady hand and as I learn to exercise my dominance over him, subtle and consistent as it is, he bends and collects himself; self-corrects and shows a beauty I didn’t know a single man could possess. He catches himself and apologizes, “I’m sorry, Ma’am,” he’ll say with a tuck of his chin and a twinkle in his eye.  He’ll say it as many times as I require in front of anyone; it’s a secret code that only we know about.  To others, he’s being contrite, to me he’s being submissive and delectable.

Every night when the coast was clear I texted, “Come over.”  Moments later he would be in my room, stretched out on my bed with my hand on his fleecy chest.  He is a cat to the core: quirky in his solitude requirements, fiercely affectionate to those he trusts, demanding of attention on his private terms.  His words have spilled out, the most beautiful I have ever heard in my life.

“Hy, you are so fucking gorgeous.  I love your body.  You are so sexy,” he said to me Thursday night as we lay entwined after our first softball victory.  “I am so lucky.”  I cuddled into him, wishing I could stay there for hours.

“Thank you for saying that.  That means a lot to me.”

“Well, I mean it.”

It’s hard for me to imagine my life without him.  I know I am going to be devastated.  I can’t understand how he can be the best boyfriend I’ve never fucking had.  How is that even possible??  What kind of life was I living prior to not dating him?  Who was I choosing to love and spend my time with?  Even my ex-husband never made me feel so desirable, so smart, so special, so wanted and he pledged himself to me!

TN denies wanting me and yet… and yet none of that noise from his mouth matters to me right now.  What matters to me is that his bloody, beating heart is drawn to me and he is helpless to stop it and he has stopped trying to hide it.  From me, from anyone.  That kiss at the bar — in front of our friends — was more than just a kiss.  It was compliance, a real dip into submitting to what I want from him, love.

He loves me.  I am sure of it.  And it makes my heart burst with rainbows and glitter and all kinds of sparkly shit on the LUB and freeze and shiver and stop on the DUB.  But I’m used to it now.  Nothing will change — nothing has changed — but I feel loved now.  That’s fucking new.

Valentine’s Day found me busier than usual.  I had dinner with a friend of mine whom I don’t know super well (she dated my exhusband right after we split) and three other women I’d never met before, but it was lovely beyond words.  Roasted cauliflower, Brussels sprouts-stuffed pork tenderloin, kale salad, wine and cigarettes, connections made.

At 8:30 my phone lit up.  “What are you doing?” it read.  I texted him back that I was at a dinner party.  “When will you be back?”  I smiled and said around 10.  He liked that idea.

The wine flowed and the conversation improved by the minute.  At 10:30 my phone lit up again.  “Oh shit!” I told my dinner companions.  “I have to go!  I have to go get laid!”  They’d been curious about my arrangement with TN and I’d filled them in on the basics.  As I was getting sucked back into conversations my phone interrupted again, “I’m naked and in your bed.”  This time I was serious.

“Ok, ladies.  I’m so sorry, but I truly must leave.  I have a naked man in my bed.”  They all laughed and whistled at me as I ran through hugs and out the door.  What I hadn’t told them was he was following orders like a good boy.

I parked and flew up my stairs, tossed down my things and headed straight to my room.  Out of the darkness he said hello.  I felt blindly for him and he pulled back the covers and pulled me down to him for a kiss.  I lit a candle and undressed under his appraising eyes.

I preened and pushed out my breasts proudly.  “Before we start tonight,” I said quietly kneeling beside him, his hand resting on my bottom, “I owe you some spanks.”  He pretended to be surprised, but he’d known they were coming for days.  He got up and planted his feet on the floor and fell forward.

I cracked my red leather belt across the soft, round mounds of his bottom until he began to react.  Each flinch and stifled cry washed over me like bath water; his increasingly red bottom whet my core.

Instead of the promised 5, he got 35.  I needed to warm up with a few, then he was adorably impertinent, then I was just enjoying myself.  When I felt one more would be too much I stopped and kissed the warm skin, gently caressed his thick, muscular thighs.

I tied him up then sucked on his massive cock until he writhed helplessly beneath me, his hands bound above his head, and his semen spurting on the back of my throat.  When he’d stopped giggling and smiling, I crawled up to his face and carefully engulfed his nose and mouth with my cunt and gripped the iron bars of my headboard so as not to kill him with my passion.

I eased back down his torso and let his erection split me like a toothpick in a grape.  “Fuck, your pussy feels so good,” he moaned.

Eventually, I took pity on him and released his hands.  We tumbled and fucked.  I cried and let him spank me and pull my hair like a wild beast.  His cock twitched and throbbed inside me as the Hitachi did the work of 100 men and their talented tongues and he held me in his arms until I uncharacteristically fell asleep in them, tears drying on my cheeks.

As he opens up this beautiful, submissive side to me and I respond to it so viscerally and powerfully, I find myself in a strange predicament.  I am the embodiment of our very relationship: I am yes and I am no.  I want to feel this happiness and love, yet I am terrified of its abandonment and actually hate it a little like hating to comb out a tangle.  He’s such a terrible puppet, you know: he won’t do everything I want him to.  Just most of it.

I see the changes in him towards me, the love, but I want more.  The more I love him the more impossible I find it to not want more. I feel guilty and greedy and attempt to temper my wanton desires with reality, but I struggle.  He still refuses to sleep with me and when I boldly asked him one night his refusal was swift and permanent.

“But you slept with 4 am girl and your exgirlfriend all the time,” I said petulantly.

“That was different.  I was trying to have a different kind of relationship with them.  They were my girlfriend.

The words stole my breath away and I slunk down in the passenger seat wishing we were home already.  I couldn’t rally; I was crushed.

He tried to repair the matter with silly jokes, but I couldn’t pretend.  I solemnly climbed the stairs behind him, thanked him for a fun night and entered my apartment and had a small fit which might have included going back to the front door and slamming it as hard as I could.

In the morning I woke and asked to see him.  He came over immediately and I apologized for ending the night in a huff, but explained that my feelings were deeply  hurt by the fact that I’m not as special as fucking 4 am girl.  If ever I wished a D/s relationship could sway a person’s wants it would be with this.

“I don’t like sleeping with anyone, Hy and you’re looking at this all wrong.  You are so much more special to me than they ever were or will be.  I’ll still know you in 5 or 10 years and I don’t even talk to them anymore.  But I’m sorry for hurting your feelings.  I really am, but I promise you you are 100 times more special to me than they ever were.”

I told him his reasoning was bullshit, but that I would agree to believe his words for both our sakes.

It’s that reckless and random pain that awaits me whenever I want to close the gap between us that clutches at my throat on the DUB.  I cannot be without it.  I’d be an idiot to pretend it wasn’t there.  Even though we seem to have moved forward we are still in shadow.  Half my friends don’t know we are lovers, my family certainly has no idea I’m in love with someone new, and sweet Peyton only knows Mommy and TN are neighbors.

I’m happier than I’ve been in months, possibly even ever, but I am scared and sad, too.  I wish he’d kiss me in front of everyone all of the time.  Not just when the stars are out and the moon is bright, but in the light of day as a man in love should.  If, indeed, he really is a man in love.

I figured out how to buy a sports bra that fits.

My bust line is 44″. Forty-four motherfucking inches. On top of that my ribcage is huge; it’s a 36, but it’s also slightly concave as I’m sure you’ve noticed in my more revealing pics.

All this to say, I am large on top by mainstream standards. I wear a 36 DD bra and large, sometimes extra-large, shirts.

Thus, I’ve been buying XL sports bras so the cup will fully cover each breast.

The problem, however, is that if it fits the largeness requirement, it doesn’t fucking provide the proper support! There’s nothing more uncomfortable than large bags of flesh on your chest being tugged away from your body like hot gum from the pavement.

So in a moment of brilliance the other day, I bought two sports bras in a medium. It was as if the skies fucking parted.

The fabric, broad and soft, didn’t cut into me like I’d always expected, and the smaller size held me in like a warm, ace-bandage hug.

Oh, the bliss of my bountiful, bouncing boobies being blessedly bound to my bodacious body! Bliss, I tell you!

On a side note, I discovered today at softball practice that The Neighbor and 4 am girl are on some kind of Sunday Funday league thing together (this league stuff is how he met her 2 or 3 years ago).

I saw her stupid, $1500 mutt when I pulled up to the practice field where they were wrapping up their thing and my heart stopped for a second.

I know he’s lost all interest in her and only interacts with her for this team thing. I’m cool with it. As he once told me, “You won. You got me.” And it’s true. I don’t worry about losing him to someone anymore, least of all her. I’m a leaf in the wind, after all.

It still felt strange that he’s having anything to do with her, but, I guess, no stranger than finding out recently that two weeks after they broke up she called him from jail and he had to do one of those personal bond thingies to vouch for her dumb, drunk ass.

He’d said she’d wanted to keep it a secret and he’d honored that back then, but he no longer cares to keep her secret these days. I can respect that. I still can’t respect her or her $1500 mutt.

Anyway, lets talk about how awesome my new $10 Old Navy sports bras are!

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Being friends with benefits.

A friend is someone with whom you share common interests and feel safe, someone whom makes you feel right and better; a good person with a good soul with whom you’ve chosen to spend your time.  There is trust, love, camaraderie.

And, simply put, a benefit is a perk.  In this case, a sexy perk.

So, a friend with benefits is an amazing person you feel connected with that comes with a tasty topping.  It’s specialIt’s also a colossal pain in the motherfucking ass.

I make friends easily.  I’m jovial, warm, open, and forgiving. I don’t make everyone my friend, but I have a knack for finding something in someone else that I can plug into and I can make it work.  Once a friend, always “just a friend.”  And my lovers, well, they either stay “just my lover” or become a boyfriend.  Until The Neighbor.  He blurred the lines of both like he was a giant eraser and my rules faded pencil.

He waltzed into my life under drunken starlight, fucked my lying, irresponsible girlfriend in my bed within two hours of my invitation into my life and was in my bed with only me — and firmly out of her life for good — within 7 days of our paths crossing.

Cigarette in hand and laughter on my lips I’d looked out over my balcony that November night and saw a pale, dark-haired man leaning over his banister.  “Hi!” I’d called to him.  “Your name is TN, right??  We met briefly a few months ago.”

“Yeah.  And you’re Hy, right??”

“Yep!  Wanna come over and hang out?”

And the rest is, as they say, history.

I resisted sex with him for several days repeating, “I don’t shit where I eat, I don’t shit where I eat,” but obviously to no avail.  He was sweet and charming, utterly disarming.  I found him to be wickedly funny and loved his dry Mid-Western sense of humor.  And he was fun to play with.

Those first few nights together are a blur of red wine and Scrabble tiles, blind excursions down jeans and hands up shirts.  He brought me DuraFlame logs like it was his job and took out my trash with a sweet sense of duty.

He blew my mind in bed, his giant cock stroked me from the inside out like he was made for me.  I drenched everything we laid on and we reveled in our compatibility.  My expert mouth drew from him his sweet seed for the first time in his life, his expert hands and hips drew from me mountain-like climaxes and gut-wrenching sobs.

I kept Peyton far away from the both of us as a couple, but couldn’t help but introduce him as our neighbor; soon I was introducing him to my friends, too.

We gingerly discussed boundaries and expectations.  I insisted I could handle it, he reiterated it would all end when he looked for “the one.”

Jason and Phillip were decent distractions, but neither of them could stand up to the searing spotlight of TN.  They soon faded into the shadows and I was left with only one man on my center stage.  And then I was fucked.

It was at that moment that I realized I was in love with my young “friend with benefits”.

The friendship, so tender, natural and easy coupled with the electric, intensely satisfying sex overrode every good intention I’d had for us.  I simply didn’t care what I’d promised to him.  I was in love.

Book and movie endings filed through my brain on a reel, friends came forward with real life anecdotes about friends with benefits having happy endings, and my heart pattered with hope and frivolity all the while my relationship with him unraveled in a glory of fire and lights.  He ripped out my heart, stomped on it repeatedly, yet came back again and again with tender, healing touches.   I stumbled and gasped.

I felt like an animal in a trap: in pain, confused.  I didn’t know what was happening to me or where the pain was coming from.  It took me weeks to realize it was wrapped up in the silken plundering of my cunt and convivial chats we continued to share.  My bad boundaries and pulverized heart didn’t know any other way of coping with the pain he’d left me in.  I needed him to get over him.

And  I am now a thousand miles away living next door.  To the outside eye, you’d never guess the distance between us.

We are once again back to his firewood delivery and trash removal days.  He curls around me during movies and rests his head on my hip, he vacuums for me in pale peach lace panties and reaches around my breasts to stroke the cleft between my legs.  He shoves his giant erection down my throat and films me as I cum and squirm and whimper.  We nap together.  I make him dinner.  He is my chauffeur.  I am his stylist, his confidante, his buddy, his release.  He sucks on my nipples and insists I take pictures.  He texts me just to say Hi and immediately answers mine.

Vacuum breaks include sucking on my nipples through my shirt.

I am his girlfriend.  I am his non-girlfriend.  And I realize this cannot go on forever.  It is a clusterfuck, but I see the path out.  It seems strangely clear to me.

Saturday morning after breakfast with my friend and a long night of togetherness, TN and I spent the day together.  At breakfast he’d sat next to me and whispered something in my ear.  I’d laughed and winked at my friend.  “You guys are such a great couple,” she said suddenly serious.  I froze and looked at her questioningly and a little uncomfortably.  “No, really.  Y’all are great together.  It makes me sick.”  And with that she continued looking at the menu and we all went on about our morning.

Back at his place I napped in my panties under the clouds of his comforter and he periodically came in to check on me.  Finally he crawled into bed with me and I lay with my hand on his erection and drifted off to sleep.  I awoke on my back, my breasts exposed, and his mouth hotly pulling on my nipple.  I gasped and arched and pulled him closer.

Our warmth puffed out from under the covers as I sat up and crawled between his legs and lavished my love on his rigid pole.  I struggled out of my panties and climbed up on top of him and slid down, the curve of his cock hitting my g-spot as I rocked back on his hips.  His headboard obnoxiously thumped our rhythm to the surrounding neighbors.

I climaxed quickly and shook my hands.  We laughed at my silly, unavoidable quirk.  With embarrassment, I noticed watery blood splatters on him and his sheets.  I insisted that I wash all his bedding for him — his pale blue sheets no match for the body of a woman — and gathered them up and went home.

That night I neatly folded his linens with the care my grandmother taught me.  I wondered what it’d be like to be able to always fold his linens for him, a small effort in love, then quickly pushed it out of my mind’s eye like pants that no longer fit. That was an old habit, thinking like that.  Only an old habit, not a new hope.

Later, he helped me make my bed with my own clean sheets after he surprised me with my first DuraFlame of the season.  “Close your eyes and put out your hands!” he’d said excitedly.  Then he asked to grab my breasts as payment for the bed-making and I let him as I walked him to the door.

Sunday I burned the log as he vacuumed with his resplendent erection straining against the delicate threads of my panties.  I wasted the rest of the log as we lay rooms away twisted in my bedroom naked and aroused.  “We should have done all that in front of the fire,” I said as I walked him back to the front door.

This would look better in firelight.

I went to sleep, sated and light, and awoke later to a text from him.  “There’s a present on your doorstep.”

I opened the door to a cold blast of air and looked down.  It was another fucking log.

I shook my head and picked it up, tossed it on the grate and went back to bed.  He is completely in love with me, was all I could think.

To the world, it’s just a stupid wood-shaving-pressed log saturated in chemicals, but to me — to us — it is love. It’s his heart in a crinkly, red wrapper.  I want to pick it up and hold it to me, but I can’t anymore.  Suddenly I realized my heart isn’t in this anymore.    I’m tired of it, of his limitations.  It’s not that he won’t go farther with me.  I’m beginning to think he can’t.

He is my best friend.  He is my lover.  He is my nemesis, my source of pain.  He is my lesson.  I either accept rejection as part of my journey or I strive to rewire how I view love and find someone who will turn to me with open arms.  It’s that simple.  Do or do not.  There is no try (Jesus Christ, I love Yoda).

I don’t know that I’m going to do much to change the way things are right now.  Our friendship has become more fortified than ever over the past several months.  The pain and heartache somehow forging a strange bond between us, a bearded-lady and her frog-faced lover under the big top.  For better or worse we share something extremely special.

How I simultaneously feel close to and far from him is as mysterious as birds flying south for the winter; I am simply following some invisible compass.

A friend with benefits, indeed.  I think we’ve proven it is possible, just possible and messy.

He leaves for a trip home this Thursday and the morning after he gets back he’s agreed to take me to the airport.  I’ll be in San Francisco for a week.   I texted him that I want to fuck his brains out before our trips, then sent him pictures I took recently of me on my back, shirt pulled up exposing my pink lace bra; one of me masturbating with the Hitachi, my skirt hiked up; and finally, one of my pink pussy, labia peaking out like a little ruffle.  “It looks pretty :)” he’d texted back. “Makes me want to stick something in it…”

Indeed.  I want him to.

I’ve come through this somehow.  With both a friend and a benefit.

When I walk away, he comes running.

I got bored this afternoon.

Thursday night The Neighbor and I had softball games at the same time.  For the first time in weeks I forgot he was even at the park with me.  His team’s red shirts little laser dots on the neighboring field, my green team’s bright, grass green jerseys like blades of grass on ours.  It was a splintered Christmas theme.

After we slaughtered our opponent, we regrouped on the bleachers and drank our leftover beers.  Peyton and my friend’s kid ran amok and swung like monkeys off of anything they could get their hands on.  We passed cigarettes around when the children weren’t looking and called each other names.  I idly noticed that TN’s team was also hanging out on their bleachers.  I couldn’t even muster the energy to shrug.

Tuesday night with TN was liking going to a restaurant.  “Yes, I’d like the salad to start, the fish of the day, and a good, hard fuck for dessert.  Thanks.”  My heart didn’t flutter once Wednesday and I was shocked to realize at the end of the day that neither of us had contacted the other.  In fact, I’d forgotten to completely.  A clear departure from the old Hy.

Old Hy would have concocted some reason to text, would have felt sad that he hadn’t texted her.  She would have danced with despondency, but not this new Hy.  New Hy has honey badger style: she don’t give a shit.

So as I stood enjoying myself with my teammates, friends, and child, full and tough as nails I watched TN run from his team to me.

“Hey, Hy!” he said smiling.  My friends who’ve known him this summer said, “Hey, TN!”  I waved and asked him how his team had done.

“We killed them!”

“Good for you!  We did, too!”  We high-fived each other as his team trickled past like slow moving blood cells down the sidewalk to their cars.

“So,” he said, “Do you want to come to Bob’s for a drink with my team?”  He looked at me expectantly.  I struggled to keep my jaw from dropping.  Oh, how I’d hoped for a moment like this all summer long and now here he was offering himself to me when I had all but forgotten about him.

I looked to my girlfriend with whom I carpool.  “I’m down if you are,” she said.

“Ok,” I turned back to TN.  “Looks like I’m in.”

“Great!”  He ran off to grab his backpack and bat and quickly returned and stayed with us until we bled out into the parking lot.  Tina caught him stroking his bat suggestively to while saying, “Hy, don’t you just love my bat?  Isn’t it just the perfect size and weight for you??”  Her eye roll could have launched a trebuchet.

At the pub the kids ran to the playground with peals of laughter, a fire roared in the stone pit and people hunched over their beers.  I ordered a beer and sat next to him with the rest of his team.  4 am girl wasn’t there.  She’d dropped out due to an injury.  TN lit up and would occasionally put his hand on my lower back.  He introduced me to everyone and I teased them that we’d kick their asses next week in our match-up.  Between buffalo wings, my cheap beer, TN’s attention, my friends, and looking after Peyton I felt like a one-woman band.  Boom-clang-ping-boom! and on and on.

TN’s team left and he remained behind with me and my teammate, Ashley.  We played cornhole and laughed until he decided he’d turned into a pumpkin.  Ashley and I didn’t even bother discussing him once he’d left.  She’s been on this ride as long as I have.  What’s the fucking point?  You might as well discuss the stripes on a zebra.  Goddamned pointless.

Thirty minutes after TN left, I followed.  I carried Peyton up to bed and did the sweetest routine known to man.  TN had forgotten his to-go salad so I texted him, “I have something you might want.”  During my readings to Peyton I heard the telltale ping-ping from the kitchen.  When the baby was asleep I padded out and checked my phone.

“Yay.  Where?  Naked in bed,” was his message.

I texted back, “Come and find out.”

I peeled off my clothes, grabbed the to-go box and put it under the covers with me.  As soon as I’d pulled the sheets up to my chin I heard a knock on my bedroom door.  TN pushed it open and came in, my candle sputtered spastically at us.

“What do you have?” he asked with raised eyebrows.

“Oh… you know,” I answered suggestively.

He walked closer and when he reached for me I threw back the covers and handed him his salad.

“Here you go.”

He stood there dazed.  “My salad??  That’s what you were talking about?”

“Yep!  What’d you think??  Aren’t I funny!”

“Yes.  Hysterical. Can I get in bed with you? I’m cold.”

“Sure.”

He climbed in next to me and we laughed at my awesomeness. I rolled on my side and he stroked my arm then reached down and began to rub me.  He hit my nub with startling precision.   Heat flooded to my face and I let out my breath.  “Wow… you’re actually really good at that.”

“Really??” I could hear the smile in his voice.

I looked at him and nodded.  He continued to rub and I continued to wade in the surf.  “I have to check on Peyton in a minute or two.  I promised I’d go back in.”

“Just as well, I should go.”

New Hy volleyed, “Ok, sounds good.”  He continued to slide over my silky panties and my wet cunt, neither of us totally willing to break the spell.  I sat up and pulled the covers down off of his waist.  His erection strained beneath his slippery shorts.  I pulled the waistband down and took the glistening aperture of his cock in my mouth, salty precum spread across my palette.  I pulled his shorts down further and gripped his cock.  The tape on my left ring finger gently abrading his shaft.   He moaned and I forced my face down to his pelvis.  He moaned louder.

“Goddamn, that feels good.”

“Mmm mmm,” I mumbled back.  Then, “Ok, I have to go check on my baby.”

“Ok, I better go anyway.”

“Alright,” I said as I pulled my tank top back on.  He followed me out into the hallway and grabbed my breasts.  I leaned in for a kiss and his tongue danced with mine.  “See you later, Neighbor.”

He let himself out and I returned to Peyton who was sleeping peacefully.  I returned to my bed and to Frasier, smiling.

I parried with TN from a position of balanced power, confidence and disinterest.  I am on the offensive no longer a whimpering heap of shit.

Tonight is my friend’s party; he stopped by earlier to see when we were leaving.  I answered the door pantsless wrapped in an afghan.  I blushed from head to toe, out of breath with guilt.  Immediately, he knew what I’d been up to.  My rush to the door was to prevent him walking in on me.  I saw the interest dancing in his eyes and my redness spread.  He grabbed my breasts and snuck the blanket out of my hands.  I stood before him pulling my see-through t-shirt down.  It was all pointless, my blushing, but blush I did nonetheless, ever the shy seductress.

Tonight is yet another day in the ongoing struggle for my independence from him and his beautiful, fat, pink cock.  I am stuck in the web of his friendship obviously, bu let me not continue to twist myself in the web of his desires.  I want so much more than just sexual release with him.  I used to want it all, today I feel like it’s a disservice to only want his sex.  It’s not fair to either us.

And so I remain light on my toes, my love for him fading like the best friend you made at summer camp. She never fits in with your real life back home, it’s like sitting too close to the ballet.  Or maybe in this case, like sitting too close to the sword fight.

En guarde, friends.  En guarde!

My injury won’t keep me from gripping hard.

I tripped and fell on his cock and then he called me “Sunshine.”

Sunday morning I lay in a strange bed, sunlight streaming in around us. A man lay curled up behind me, his cock buried deep inside of me, my buttocks pushed softly into his thighs. Our breathing was soft and deep. I closed my eyes and he pulled me back into him with a heavy arm. I drifted off to sleep content and happy.

I awoke later and we were disengaged. I turned on my side and spooned him, his round bottom pulled into the cradle of my hips. He stirred and sleepily looked over his shoulder at me, “Good morning, sunshine,” he said as he rolled onto his back and pulled me into his arms and kissed my forehead.

“Good morning, Neighbor,” I answered back.

::

Monday night my anger at my young lover had reached another breaking point. I couldn’t justify spending one more minute with a man who blithely joked about taking me for granted and who deliberately turned a blind eye to my boundaries. Stubborn as a mule, and as about as enlightened half the time, he could no longer get the pieces of me he wanted while I sat empty-handed, the girl at the coffee shop furtively glancing at the door waiting for her date to finally show up. I was going to leave the building again.

I had drinks with my friend Lindsey and came home determined to once again end this once and for all. I wasn’t sad, I wasn’t even dreading it. I texted for him to come over and “be neighborly.” He said he wasn’t home, but would be soon. He came in and we sat down and I looked at him and said immediately, “I can’t do this anymore. We have to stop. Again. I can’t find love and someone who really cares about me so long as you’re in my bed and you can’t find whatever it is you’re looking for, either.”

He just looked at me, his light blue eyes glued to mine, an implacable look on his face. “I don’t want to fuck you anymore, either.”

My mouth drew into a hard line. “Gee, thanks for that,” but I understood that he was trying to get the upper hand. “But, really, we have to stop this. I cannot be with you when I get nothing out of this. The only reason I picked up with you again was because you weren’t looking for anyone else and we have an incredible time together, but it’s hard on me. You come and go as you please, as your moods and desires dictate. I have no say in any of it. I could justify it all because at least I got sex, but then you love to hold that at bay and torture me with it. The breaking point was when you said you took me for granted the other night. That hurt me so badly, TN. I can’t do it. I can’t be with a man who thinks so little of me that he’d laugh at me and say those things.”

His mouth dropped open a little. He didn’t impress me much the next few hours we talked. He said I should have asked for clarification regarding the “taking me for granted thing.” I said he needed to stop saying reckless, mean things if he didn’t want me to believe them.

“I only meant that sex is the least important part of our relationship. It’s the friendship I value the most! I told you in that moment I’d probably regret saying that…” His voice trailed off as I sat there thinking, “I bet he’s really regretting it now.”

I told him it was bullshit that he wasn’t capable of saying, “Jesus, Hy, I’m so sorry for saying that, for hurting you. I didn’t mean to.” He felt I was condescending to him and he tried to storm out. I had to master my face into a mask of calm lest I burst out laughing at his adolescent outburst.

“No, TN. You’re going to stay here,” I calmly stated as I stood in the foyer doorway, my hand on the jamb. “Go sit down and we’ll keep talking about this.”

He looked at me again as I pulled myself up to my full height. Somehow we were almost eye to eye. I walked over to the balcony door leaving the doorway free. “I’m really feeling the age gap right now,” I said. He walked back to the couch and sat down and waited for me to continue. “What are you going to lose in apologizing to me. You said yourself you didn’t mean to hurt me.”

He sighed and said he was sorry. “Thanks,” I said.

I cried when I relived those moments with 4 am girl and him and how he’d said Peyton was six strikes against me. The pain I feel in my chest at being discriminated against for things I can’t control feels like someone has tampered with my oxygen tank. I feel bleak and desperate, strangely lusting for revenge, but possessing of exactly zero weapons. I sobbed and he looked heartbroken.

“Can we still be friends?” he whispered.

“I don’t know, TN. I really don’t.”

“Then I guess I’ll leave.” It was too early and he was going off in another huff.

“Stop,” I said firmly. He turned and looked at me. “Stay. Sit.” He obediently came back and sat down.

Four hours after he came over I stood and told him it was time to say goodbye and to give me a farewell kiss. “Unless,” I added, “You don’t want to say goodbye and you want to be my boyfriend.” He stood a foot away and may have been touching my arms, I don’t know. I only remember him locking his gaze to mine and saying firmly, enunciating each syllable with precision, “No. That’s never going to happen.” He chastely kissed my jaw and said, “That’s all you’re getting.”

I wanted our lips to touch gently and firmly and to hug him goodbye. I wanted to send him off with a sweet kiss and a tender moment, but he is somewhere else.

I rolled my eyes and said, “Thanks, once again, for misunderstanding me.” I walked him to the door and he slipped next door. I hadn’t made any promises of friendship, nor had he pushed me for any. I went to bed feeling accomplished.

::

Friday rolled around and I nervously awaited my date dressed in my favorite yellow dress. His name was Law Student and he was tallish and beautiful with milky blue eyes and rusty golden curls. He wore black dress pants and an impeccably white button-down shirt that lit up our table like a diamond on black velvet. I made a joke about the medical tape on our table from taping my broken finger and he laughed, probably relieved at my comedic attempt.

I poured him a glass of red wine and we settled in, our banter as lively and intoxicating as it had been all week. I’d met him online and our virtual chemistry was instant. It was an enormous relief to discover in person it poured over us both like honey, sticking in all the right cracks.

We met early, at 5, so decided to grab dinner after we’d drained our bottle. We walked to his beaten up Toyota and chatted as he drove the couple of miles to the Mexican restaurant. His cologne filled my nostrils and I sighed with contentment, then I giggled as I remembered how I’d stupidly revealed I wasn’t wearing any panties. He asked me what was so funny. “Nothing.”

Dinner came and went with more laughter and a margarita. He left to use the restroom and in his absence I asked two girls at a neighboring table if I could bum a smoke. “Sure,” one said as she handed me one. “Are you on a first date?”

“Yes. How could you tell?”

“Oh, body language,” she said with a shrug. “He’s really cute!” she added. “Good job!”

I laughed and sat back down. LS returned to me and I could see him appraising me with pleasure. “So, it’s really early,” I pointed out. “Would you like to come back to my place and watch Bull Durham?”

“Sure,” was his immediate response.

He drove me back to my car and he followed me home. I was giddy with excitement, hoping beyond all hope that TN would run into this Adonis of a man trailing behind me with his suit jacket slung over his shoulder and smelling like tangy clovers. We made it into my apartment with no mishap and a bad quote from me from Pretty Woman and the penthouse.

“Wow,” he said turning around slowly taking in my apartment. “This place is really nice. Like, really, really nice.”

“Oh, well, thanks. Ignore the pile of laundry in the chair, though, ok?” We both laughed. “Do you want some wine? I only have a little.” He nodded and I poured us two glasses. I handed him one, still standing in the kitchen, when he stepped an inch closer and blocked my way. He looked down at me intently, his mouth parted. I tilted my head up and he grabbed my face and kissed me. Gently at first, then with fervor.

His control unraveled swiftly and his hands roamed all over my body, touching and squeezing my bottom and my breasts. In a deliberate attempt to remain chaste that night, I had left my pussy unshaved. It was clipped short, but there were hairs outside the bikini line and certainly in places I would normally attend to had I been planning on any intimate touching. But I should have known that it wouldn’t matter.

His hand hiked up dress and his fingers found me. I gasped into his mouth, embarrassed and turned on. His finger stroked me, hot and skilled. I gushed around his hand and his ardor increased tenfold. He tore my straps off my shoulders and feasted on my breasts silently. His breath came in heaving gulps.

I bucked against his hand as I released around him again. He pushed me roughly against the pantry door and pinned me like a butterfly to a foam board. I was breathing heavily, my breath quite literally stolen from me. His passionate kiss and touches rendered me speechless. I lifted my chin and looked at him. He kissed me again. I staggered away and grabbed a towel to wipe my ankles and thighs dry and sat down at the kitchen table.

“Jesus Christ,” I managed. “That was fucking hot. Also, I’m not fucking you tonight.”

“Good,” was his simple answer.

I sat there collecting myself and it dawned on me that I was the only one who’d been looking forward to the movie.

We sat down on the couch and talked some more. He kept our glasses full and I watched him walk away with a smile on my face. Not only was he gorgeous, but we had lists of things in common, hadn’t stopped talking or laughing once, and I hadn’t had such a good date in months. I was his first date ever from this website, however, and red flags sprouted like mushrooms all around us. I chose to ignore them and barrel on, however, when he asked me to share some of my bad date stories.

So I regaled him with the all the dates I’d had this year while dating TN. Most were chaste, some were R-rated, but I kept those discreet and not boastful. When I got to Kevin, I said, “Yeah, he was this young kid and he was on my roster for a while.” I froze and slapped my hand over my mouth. “Oh my God, I didn’t mean to say that! Not ‘roster’! That’s the old Hy! Not the new one!”

He laughed at me and his eyes twinkled mischievously. “Sounds like you’ve had a rough time of it!”

“Oh, well, I had another lover, too. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea or anything –” and before I could say more his mouth was crushing mine again, his smile evident in his kiss.

He loomed over me and I fell back onto the cushions and once again my breasts spilled back out. He maneuvered me so my legs hung off the side and he hitched my knees up over his shoulders. My head spun, I pinched my eyes shut. Oh god oh god oh god. His mouth dove down on me and it was hot velvet. I moaned and pressed my hips into his face. His eyes were closed as he lavished my fuzzy pussy lips with his own clean-shaven face.

He reared back up over me and the passion on his face scorched me. I had to look away for a second to catch my breath. “I’m not going to fuck you,” I repeated for both our sakes.

“I know. I like that.” He came down on me again and the sweet taste of my own body filled my head.

I stood up, trembling. My dress was soaked. I left to change into my pajamas and when I came back he’d put his shoes on. “I better go. Thanks for tonight. We’ll see each other again soon.”

“Ok,” I said and walked him to the front door. He opened it wide and bent down and hauled me into his embrace. I wanted so badly for the genie to appear right then and read my mind and have TN see me cradled in this man’s arms, my breasts crushed against him, but, alas, the genie must have been napping.

::

After I broke things off with TN he, as he is wont to do, closed the gap.

He gave me a bottle of wine Tuesday night when I asked for one. He invited me over to watch the debate Wednesday night and when I arrived with the remnants of his wine and some popcorn my girlfriend had left behind Tuesday night he lit candles and incense and reclined on the couch in a familiar way, peppering our shouts at the TV with brushes on my knee and pats on my elbow. When he had to abruptly leave and run to his office he texted me an hour later apologizing and said how much fun he’d had hanging out with me. Thursday night we had our playoff game against his team. We clobbered them and 4 am girl hung back in the dugout and shied away from good sportsmanship entirely. He had strutted and preened in front of me, laughing and joking with me and my team. It was a little glorious, I won’t lie, and when I got home that night — after two more exhausting games — I asked him to come have a drink with me.

He abstained, but we talked some more about 4 am girl. He asked that I stop bringing her up, that it made him uncomfortable and he wished that it’d never happened. I agreed as much to say, “See? I can respect your wishes, so you can respect mine, too” (I had railed on him about his inappropriate comments about women Monday night and he had finally seemed to catch on).

He left later after lots of laughing and I felt mostly ambivalent. I was still chewing on this “friendship” thing. I wasn’t feeling that old draw, my ankles were firmly crossed. I had LS on the brain, and big time.

Friday morning driving to work I got a text. It was from TN. I opened it up and it was his giant, resplendent cock, inappropriately and gorgeously displayed for my eyes only. I ignored it and praised his fluffy comforter instead.

Saturday afternoon was beautiful here. The city thrummed with a cold front and the sky shimmered with promised winter. I read my book, took a shower, found a man to have a drink with me, but he’d basically disappeared. I had plans with Amy later that night and my friend Tina, but I was antsy and bored. I cleaned everything I could, but really wanted my floor vacuumed. I knocked next door.

“Hey,” he said standing in a workout shirt and shorts.

“Could you do me a favor? Do you have a minute?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Will you vacuum for me?”

He disappeared back inside and came over a minute later. He cleaned my floors as I folded laundry. The fact that he was clothed a 2 ton elephant in the room. When he was finished I went out on a limb. “Do you want to go grab a drink?” I asked.

Again, “Sure.”

We headed downtown and the wind whipped around us as we parked beneath the skyscrapers. We were near my old downtown apartments and I took him on a quick tour. “I fucked in that hotel,” I said pointing to a tall building with flags cracking in the wind. “I also fucked in the fancy one we drove by.” I rather liked my “Hollywood Stars Homes Tour.”

I showed him my old bedroom windows and those of the Original Neighbor with whom I got entangled 15 long years ago. “Wow. The first Neighbor!” he laughed.

We headed to the bar and ordered margaritas and appetizers. I thanked him again for vacuuming and said at least he got to keep his clothes on. “That’s not really a good thing,” he retorted. I shook it off and left the bait on the hook.

As the night progressed and the liquor did its work he moved closer to me, his comments got more laden with innuendo. I didn’t get drunk, but he did. A rarity. We sat and talked with some chick for an hour and I propped my boots up on his chair. He ran his hands over the leather and kneaded my calves as he spoke. The girl regarded us with an open look. I ignored her.

I invited him to Amy’s house with me, but he begged off. We got in the car and we were nearly home with Tina called and wanted me to come and get her. TN had answered my phone and he agreed, so instead of turning left to get us home, I went straight and the night took a turn.

At the house party TN drank more and I saw him unravel and join the rest of the world by losing his iron-like grip on his control. One little thread at a time. He was all over me by now in an affectionate, protective way. We leaned in and whispered and made jokes and finally it was time to take Tina over to Amy’s. I was not taking TN home first. He was fully on this ride now.

Parked in my friend’s driveway waiting for her to put her son to sleep TN breathed with strain in the back seat. Tina lay half passed out in the passenger side. “I think I’m going to puke,” I heard him say. He jumped out and I ran around to help him.

“Hug a tree, honey. You’ll be fine.” I smiled as he dropped to all fours and retched. I patted his back and giggled. “Welcome to the world of losing control, TN! I’m so proud of you!” He laughed at my strange logic and I helped him to stand.

“Wow. I feel a lot better!” I helped him back in the car and we waited a few more minutes before Amy came bounding out to let us in.

We gathered firewood and got the heat going and pulled up chairs. Tina poured us all some wine. TN declined. Across the fire pit he sat with his ankle on his knee, my two girlfriends between us. The warm, yellow light licked at his face and I felt happier than I had in weeks.

We drifted off into the darkness and gathered more wood and I sat back down next to him. He pulled my chair closer and we put our heads together whispering and chatting, laughing at inside jokes. Tina and Amy gave us our privacy.

When the stars were their brightest I had to go lie down. I made sure TN was ok sleeping on the couch and I headed in to the spare room, but he followed behind and shut the door. He tossed me down on the bed and peeled off my clothes, unzipped my boots, and fell on top of me burying himself inside of me.

I moaned and thrust and writhed under him. He panted and kissed and pummeled me into the darkness. First the night and then to sleep.

::

“We’re not having sex any more, you know. Last night was an accident.” I was smiling as I said this tracing his bow shaped mouth with my finger tip. His hands were tracing lines on my arms as I touched his face.

“I know.”

“Good. We’re just a couple of rutting magnets, but we can do this. No. more. sex.”

“Yes. No more sex,” he repeated.

I drove Tina home and then the both of us. I started to whimper as I climbed the stairs in pain. “You can sleep in my bed for a little while if you want,” he offered.

I fell into a light sleep, woke up 20 minutes later and ran off to fulfill my Sunday responsibilities. “Can I come back over around 1 and nap?” I texted, desperate.

“Ok.”

At 1:15 I showed up looking like something the cat dragged in. I didn’t hurt anywhere except my back and I felt like weights swung from my eyelids. “Aw, Hycie. Come in!” he said with a smile when I knocked. He gently pushed on my shoulders and guided me to his bed. I climbed in and modestly removed my clothes while he lit candles and incense, grabbed me a sleep mask and brought me some water. I slept for two hours pain free.

Dressed again and headed back out to fulfill more Sunday responsibilities I quipped, “Well, thanks Lil’ Buddy. It’s been real,” and I disappeared into my own apartment.

::

I didn’t hear from Law Student at all until today. It was a pointless chat and we have not made plans to hang out again.

::

Every morning I wake up wishing someone could see this:

;

;

My libido is holding its breath.

I went to bed last night after having brought myself to two swift and powerful orgasms.  I panted and moaned under my breath and released with a quiet whimper throwing my head back into my pillow.  I imagined him over me, his huge cock plundering my insides, watching me with that satisfied smirk that he likes to wear as he sees me lose my grip on myself.

But when I opened my eyes I saw only my whirling ceiling fan, dark and dizzying above me.

He is gone.  I know it in my soul.

He stopped by yesterday and before I could keep my little one from reaching the front door it was already swung open.  My baby asked The Neighbor if he’d like to come in.  I said, “No, honey, TN is busy.”

“Then can he come over later to play??”

TN and I looked at each other over my child’s head.  I was apologetic.  So was he.  “No, Peyton, I can’t,” he said.

“Well, ok!  Just lemme know when you can!” and with that Peyton ran back inside to watch TV.

“You’ve just been asked out on a date,” I said to him with sadness in my voice.

“Yeah… and I just said, ‘No.’  I’m such an asshole,” he said with a grimace.

I stood there looking at the man I wanted so badly to feel something for me who resolutely refuses to do so.

“So, I saw our sick neighbor today,”  he continued.  I looked at him inquisitively.  “She was trying to cross four lanes of traffic off of the sidewalks.”  I wasn’t sure why he was telling me this, but I stood there with him in the doorway curious nonetheless.

“Also, I need you to help me with a mission later.”  There it was.

“What is it?” I asked.  My heart stirred, my gut clenched.  This was the starving person at a soup kitchen about to take whatever she could get.

“I’ll tell you later,” he said slyly.

“No, tell me now,” I insisted.

“I want you to help me pick out patio furniture, like, if you have an hour or so sometime this week we can go to the store.”

This would have been terrific fun for me a month ago, a ripe, juicy peach running down my chin and throat after running across the meadow with friends, but in that moment it felt like a rice cake stuck in my craw.  An entire week of my life had been spent being distant from him and he was impervious to and completely ignorant of it.  He thinks I’m still at his beck and call; nothing is awry in Neighborland.

“Why do you need patio furniture now?” I wondered aloud.  He’s lived there for 3+ years without.

“For when I have someone over who smokes,” he replied matter of factly.

I felt the wind being slowly squeezed out of my body, a limp balloon.  In the year I’ve known him he’s had three people over: me, Vanilla Ice, and 4 am girlHe’s planning on feathering his nest for another woman, was my first and immediate thought.

“Who are you going to be having over who smokes?” I boldly asked.

Silence hung in the air as I could see his wheels spinning, searching for an answer.  Finally he said, “Do I need to hold up a mirror, Hy?  You smoke.”

I didn’t believe him for a second.  Not even a millisecond.  He wants me to help him make his place more welcoming and comfortable for the other women he plans on bringing home.  Not me.  Give me a motherfucking break, dude.  Really??  You want to get patio furniture for the woman you insist you don’t love?  The woman whom you spend time with only when you need something from her?

And then I asked him about the mat.  “What the fuck did you do to it??  Did you kick it?”

“Don’t worry about it,” was his reply as he righted it, the “Welcome” still backwards.  “Now, don’t think anything about this, ok??”

“Yeah, don’t worry.  Thanks,” was my dry response.

“So, will you help me with the furniture?” he followed up with a smile.

“Um, maybe.  We’ll see.”

“It’ll only take an hour or so.”  (It so wouldn’t, by the way.)

“Yeah, maybe,” was all I could muster.  I couldn’t look at him three feet away and give all my cards away.  This is a poker game of high stakes for me.  I either blow it by going all in now, or I play conservatively and slowly earn a pile of money.  I’m going the route of the latter.  I want this to happen to him over the course of weeks, like it did with my best friend.  Politely distant, I reminded myself.

He knows Peyton goes to my ex today.  This is where the real work starts.  I am horny and lonely, my soul is sore.  I will be vulnerable, but I need to remind myself that change is uncomfortable by its very nature.  I can’t expect something better if I stay where it’s comfortably painful.

I have to dig deep and live in memory.  Memories of the good times, like when he called me “baby” and kissed me tenderly and tucked me in, when he told me I was the best lover of his life or when he said I was his best friend.  Those memories will assuage my loneliness as I touch myself and writhe with desire alone, or maybe, with another man.  The memories of the bad times — when he told me my very life history is a liability and all the times he disrespected me and held me at bay — will keep me focused as I step further and further away.

I am not a pathetic woman and I refuse to behave like one.

My libido is treading water right now.  A constant companion in my life I’m trying to figure out where to put it.  How do I handle this separation and loss this time around?  Last time, as this blog is testament to, I hunted and prowled and got drilled by as many cocks as I could manage.  But am I still that person?  Am I truly dissolute anymore??

I sometimes feel that raging confusion of lust and pain mingled together where it feels like only a man can stem the bleeding, but my relationship with TN thus far has kept me from that avenue.  What would he think of me if he found out I was racking up notches on my poor, disapproving bedpost?  But now, I no longer care what he thinks of me and the gate has been thrown open.

This morning I woke up and ran my fingertips over my body, once again mourning the loss of my love and the opportunity to share myself with him.  My swells and dips lightly toasted marshmallow, warm and sweet, inviting.  There for the taking, yet refused again and again.  How can he not want me??

I’m thinking about it, my need.  It’s lurking.  A slumbering dragon.  For now Mother Nature has bought me another week of solitary contemplation, but next Monday I will be set loose.  Who will get to see my breasts, taste my skin, feel my  heat and hear my moans??

It can’t be TN.

For your eyes only, IBF.

The butterfly gives him more rope.

The night after he told me he took me for granted The Neighbor knocked on my door at 9:30. I was in my pajamas, had just lit some incense, Peyton was snoozing, and The Black Angels were playing. I opened the door and he stood in my doorway with his backpack over his shoulder, sweaty, and in his gym clothes.

I need you to sniff me,” he said and walked in. I let him pass and walk a few feet into my apartment, gingerly holding my wine glass out of the way.

“Ok,” I said and I leaned in to his neck and sniffed. He smelled clean, but sweaty. “You smell fine,” I told him and turned us around and herded him back to the front door.

Outside my open door I quickly added, “But I’m not sniffing your shorts. They’re fine.”

He looked at me mischievously and pulled out the waistband of his shorts and said, “I have something you can sniff.”

“No, thanks,” I replied succinctly. “Goodnight,” and I shut the door on him. But before I could close it all the way I saw his face split into utter shock, his mouth open, and he jammed his foot to prevent the door from shutting.

“What?? Really??” he asked incredulously.

“Yep. No, thanks. Goodnight!” I said again pushing against his foot.

“Uh… ok. Goodnight,” he relented and removed his foot. The door slammed resoundingly. I walked away with a smile and my chest puffed up.

That night began a week of an embargo on Me. My heart needs to heal and fortify. His words, “I take you for granted,” echo in my mind every hour of every day. How can I possibly recover from that? I give him every piece of me, yet get so very little in return. I am not allowed to talk about him with my friends or family; I may not rely on him; I have no overt control over when we hang out or the nature of those visits. The only way in which I’m allowed to connect with him is through acts of affection — which he determines based on his current mood and needs — and through my body, but I am limited even in that.

As he very honestly admitted to me that night, unwittingly, he cares for none of what I do or who I am. Frequently, and with pleasure, he tells me I may not have the only thing I’m allowed to ask of from him: his cock. I am alone and sinking in a frozen pond and he is waving at me from the shore, bundled up and warm.

It was a devastating blow, much like his “six strikes” comment, and I cannot unring that bell.

This week has been relatively easy. I’ve been distracted and engaged elsewhere and I’ve flitted in and out of his life with detached smiles and polite words. I’ve yet to have the pleasure of texting, “Sorry! Busy working on a project!” but I am ready, poised to parry.

Thursday night I had a dream of him. He’d told me he loved me and I knew it because he’d turned his doormat, which reads “Welcome”, around to face out properly. (I had turned it around weeks ago as a joke in real life.) We fucked and connected and my heart had soared in my sleep. He loved me! I’d thought. But then I crumpled and was fearful it was all a joke, possibly a mistake or a misunderstanding.

I couldn’t shake the dream yesterday and decided to tell him.

His response was, “Yeah, that’s crazy.”

“Outrageous,” I said dryly. “So this means you can never turn your mat around now hahaha (actually, I’m totally kidding in case you take me literally)” his logical, programming brain often misses the nuances of my sick sense of humor.

“I’m going to flip it over,” he typed back.

“Like upside down?”

“Yeah.”

So before I left the apartment that day I took the liberty of flipping it over myself. The word, “Welcome,” hidden from us both and a giggle in my throat. I thought it was incredibly funny and poignant.

Last night the grey clouds that had hung wet and heavy over the city all day spit and soaked the streets. The loamy smell of earth filled the world and the bugs sung as I wearily climbed the 40 steps with Peyton. I was bone weary and fighting a slow, blue sadness. And when I cleared the last set of stairs to my apartment, a little hand gripped in mine and out of breath from singing, “The Old Man is Snoring,” I saw TN’s mat rolled up inside out outside his door. It wasn’t enough to leave it flat as I’d left it. He had probably kicked it so its ends curled under.

Again, the message. Clear. Concise. Thanks. Was this supposed to be funny?

I took a deep breath and walked inside with Peyton and did the bedtime routine and prepared for my best friend to come over, my long week not yet over. This would be the first time I’d see her since the week of Fourth of July when TN shredded my heart.

She had abandoned me in my hour of need. I’d called her and begged her to come be with me multiple times and she had simply said, “No.” My response to this years long pattern between us was to pull back, spread out my needs among other friends who could be there for me — Internet Boyfriend most certainly included — and to simply wait and see what would happen between us. She did not rise to the occasion.

She remained distant and preoccupied with her own life. She confirmed her attendance to my birthday party and then simply never showed up and I didn’t hear from her for another week. My heart crusted over further as other friends showed their mettle and fortitude in my time of need and I began to move on. I simply could not close the gap between us anymore. It was clear that I only got a friendship out of her when I made the effort. She didn’t care.

But Friday afternoon she asked me what was really going on and I gently and honestly shared my feelings with her. She said she wanted to see me right away to talk. I agreed that once I was home I would let her know, so it was around 9:30 when I heard her knock and let her in.

She was distraught and strange looking, her eyes intense and watery. I assumed it was because she was broken-hearted over losing me, but in reality it was because her husband had put her in a choke-hold and thrown her across the garage to land in a heap on her side, her feet never touching the ground. She sobbed and apologized for having to talk about this horrible night instead of our friendship and with tears in my eyes and my heart pounding with rage I assured her it was ok, that I was there for her.

She cried harder. “Of course you are, Hy. You’re always there for me. Always. For every single major moment in my life you’ve been there and I have let you down for so long. I didn’t realize it until now how important you are to me. I love you more than anyone else and I want you in my life forever.”

I thanked her and hugged her and assured her we would be ok. I had never heard such beautiful words from anyone in my life. “You are so good, so kind. You give so, so much, and I am limited. I know that. You deserve more and I can’t promise to be as good a friend to you as you are to me, but I want you to know that it’s not because I don’t love you, it’s because I can’t handle things and I shut down. I wish I could be the same kind of friend to you. I’m going to work on it.”

The conversation turned to catching up. She was shocked and disappointed to learn that I had picked back up with TN. The last she’d known was when he’d left me for 4 am girl. I hung my head shamefully, sucking on a cigarette. “I know. It’s like we’re two rutting magnets. But back then the big deal breaker for me was when he’d said Peyton was ‘six strikes’ against me and then he took it all back and he’s been wonderful with my baby ever since.” She shook her head at me. “Don’t worry,” I quickly added, “he’s done it again, something I can’t forget. He told me he took me for granted.”

“Like I took you for granted,” she said quietly.

I only gave her a pained look of apologetic agreement.

“Hy, you have to stop letting us take advantage of you. I’m glad you did this with me, I’ll never do it again. We don’t deserve you if we don’t value what you do for us. You have to stop this with him, immediately.”

We talked some more, she cried some more. Our conversation bumping like a pinball from TN, to her next move, to my struggles with my ex and his new girlfriend who is overly fond of tagging him on FB with notes like, “My hot, hot boyfriend” and exchanging inside jokes with my old family, to her friendships that recently fell apart and back again to her safety, her fear, her pain. This was not bubblegum chit-chat. It was chewing on gravel and spitting out dust.

Then, naturally, TN popped his head out. My heart sank. He, caring about me, has known my heartbreak over her and she my heartbreak over him. I held my breath. They said hello and quickly warmed up to each other. He wasn’t leaving, I wasn’t inviting. I poured us some more wine and he noticed that we were almost out. “I still have some wine if you want some,” he offered.

My best friend and I looked at each other. I gave her the tiniest nod. “Why don’t you bring some over?” she suggested.

“Really? Ok! Hy, which kind do you want? The vintage we’ve had already or a new one?”

“Surprise me,” was my only response.

He disappeared into his dark apartment and my best friend asked if that was ok. I said it was. It wasn’t breaking any of my rules, we wouldn’t be alone together, and maybe she needed a distraction from our Big Girl Talk.

He brought the wine out onto the balcony that now only had two chairs instead of the usual four. He stood awkwardly for a minute then went to leave. I thanked him for the wine, the bottle tucked in my arm like a baby, and he shut the screen door.

“Well, I guess I’ll leave you two alone now,” he said with a droop, and in a heartbeat, my best friend invited him to drink with us. His face lit up and he looked me square in the eyes. “Really?? Is that ok?”

I held his gaze, my dark blue eyes to his icy ones. “Sure. Get a chair.”

He returned with the chair and sat down to my left, she was on my right. No sooner had his ass hit the chair than we all heard the pool fence clack and rattle and 3 women in bikinis, a small child, and a man came to the hot tub.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he said suggestively as he looked down over his shoulder.

My response was immediate and unfriendly, “Shut the fuck up, TN. Just shut. the. fuck. up.” This had been a mistake.

“What??” he asked, looking to my friend for assistance who looked at him with pure disdain.

“‘Shut the fuck up,’ I said.” I wrestled infinitesimally with myself. I had smacked him down hard, like a child. He sat frozen, waiting for what I would do next. I let the tension hang a beat more before I picked up the conversation and moved on. It didn’t feel right to make a scene and ruin what my best friend and I had so tenderly woven between us. I have learned to give TN more and more rope each day. Let him be a disrespectful prick. It only helps me.

We talked for some time, my friend sullen, yet trying to be open and present, and TN mooching whatever it was he needed from me for a couple more hours. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it was strange and somewhat forced, a pill that wouldn’t quite go down.

My poor, broken friend was in no mood to socialize in reality like I think she’d hoped, and I was in no mood to be gracious, yet there was a sense of dejá vu. She was my first conspirator in my affair with him and we spent countless hours together last winter in just this constellation of chairs, wine glasses and cigarette butts.

Eventually, he begged off, and I let him show himself out.

He passed through my apartment as he has hundreds of times before, but this time without so much as a wink, a rub, a touch, or an innuendo from me. My heart shriveled a little, a piece turned to ice. My hope dwindles away every passing minute.

My friend apologized and I assured her it was ok. I want nights like that to happen. I want him to see the “after.” I want this to be visceral, real, like realizing he’s burnt the fucking chicken on the grill. You can’t undo the char, motherfucker.

It took several weeks of polite distance from me for my best friend to realize what had happened, but what I learned is that I am capable of holding firm on my boundaries. I wasn’t trying to punish her, just as I’m not trying to punish TN. I’m simply done. “Hy, please get better boundaries,” she implored upon me. “Please.”

This last week with TN was a good start, but I know it was easy. I had Peyton, I was angry, I was filled with things to do, places to go, friends to see. Next week is Peyton’s father’s turn for two weeks straight. I am nervous. Polite distance, polite distance, polite distance. I repeat it over and over.

If he approaches me and asks what’s happened I will share, but, just like with my best friend, I’m done doing all the work. I am comfortable with taking a break for a change and watching what happens. This allows me time to wrap my head around a formal goodbye. Goodbye to the friendship, the chemistry, the cock, my heart, my hopes.

That cruel sliver of hope which always resides within me is only needle thin now; it’d be a robber’s moon if it shone anywhere but on my soul.

Yet shine it does. I would leap at the chance to see him be the man I know he could be — present, loving, all-in with me. Yes, even now. If he admitted he loved me and stood to face me he would be incredible. It makes my heart patter faster even typing this.

But I can’t take less. Not one inch less than, “I love you, Hyacinth. I am so sorry for everything I’ve said and done. I was such an idiot. Will you forgive me? I want to be the man in your life. I want to hold you when you cry and laugh with you when you’re beaming. I want to share my day with you and my hopes, thoughts, and fears and hear and hold all of yours. I want to see where this goes, Hy, and I am all yours. I love you.”

When my best friend and I finally gathered our battered selves together and crawled into my bed I gave her half my pills, put on a Frasier, and checked my phone. There was a text from TN from about an hour before he had shown his sweet, infuriating face. It read, “Busy tonight??”

I wish I’d seen it sooner.

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Noodle and I are gonna give The Neighbor a double blowjob.

Ok, not really. Read on, friends. It’ll make sense in a minute, I promise.

Boundaries are something I’m chewing on. Sometimes I have good ones, like, for example I turned down a possible foursome and a for-sure fucking with Kevin last night — he always complains I’m too athletic of a lover. I don’t have time for that bullshit. Usually, though, I have bad boundaries, for example with The Neighbor.

Last night I asked him to hit balls with me and my softball team and he said yes, but at the last-minute my team backed out. I offered for it to be just me and him, but he opted out. Then I realized that the new girl on my team, a petite girl with a brash, yet ineffectual personality was still in. I asked if she’d still want to practice with just me. She said yes. When I told TN, he said he was, once again, “in.”

Now, I don’t know if it was because there were now three of us (sort of a requisite for a good practice) or if he’s stuck in some parallel universe where hitting on my hot, young teammate is ok. I didn’t bother asking, but instead decided to just sit back and observe.

On the car ride over we discussed her. “Maybe she just needs a good fucking from me,” he wondered out loud. I rolled my eyes and called him a fucking dick.

Please, TN. I don’t fucking care who you want to fuck, but keep it to yourself!”

“If you don’t care,” he leveled at me coolly, “Then why don’t you want to hear it?”

The classic trap. I was damned if I did and damned if I didn’t. That sparked an odd, prickly exchange for the next hour laced with aggressive sexual innuendo. It saddened me to no end. He was playing some angry game with me and instead of telling him it hurt my feelings and to stop, I stooped to pick up the proverbial ball.

We decided to play catch while we waited for Hailey to roll up on her bike and while the balls flew I told TN that I didn’t like us like this, that I wanted to be nice, that it took too much out of me. “Ok, so say 3 nice things about 4 am girl.”

I went mute.

“Um, ok. She’s not on welfare,” TN cackled as he caught a ball and I racked my brain for something else. “She’s never murdered someone -”

“That we know of!” interjected TN.

“Ok, so that doesn’t count.” We continued to throw the ball as I went through trait after trait. I thought, “She washes her hair – no, can’t prove that. She does her taxes – nope, can’t prove that either.” Loudly I say, “She pays the registration on her car,”

“Nope, actually, she doesn’t.”

“Ok…” The ball continued to make thwacking noises into our gloves. I couldn’t even say, “She rescues dogs,” because she spent a fortune on some weird hybrid dog from West Virginia, a thousand plus miles away. What a fucking waste. “Ok, she has rich parents!”

We stopped throwing and came closer. “I’m sorry. I can only come up with two. Could she say 3 nice things about me?” I asked.

“Oh yeah, she –” and he suddenly broke off and clammed up.

“What?”

“Nothing. Never mind,” and he resolutely refused to carry on.

It was mysterious to me why he forced me to do this little exercise and I resented it. It was bad enough in the car. What the fuck is going on in his head?? Just then, Hailey rolled up and to his credit he was the consummate gentleman. He didn’t even look sideways at her — those lascivious glances were reserved for me.

They’d met briefly once before after our first game when she and I were going to sub on his team. She’s 10 years my junior and looks like I did in my early 20s: athletic, small-busted. She’s petite where I am substantial. I like her, though think she’s rough around the edges, a little too insecure and a lot clueless.

We headed to the diamond with our gear and started warming up. TN took the mound, Hailey lurked in left field and I stretched at home. An older Hispanic man in a white tank top and khaki Dickey’s lounged on the bleachers behind home base, his elbows on his knees. I could smell his Axe body spray and wondered if he was looking at my ass.

Then, with glee and skill, I hit ball after ball, right over shortstop into left field as TN pitched to me. I wore a short black skirt stretched taut on my round bottom, Converse dusted in dirt, and a shirt that read, “Neither Here Nor There”. My smile never left my face.

Hailey ran and ran in the outfield, then headed for home to hit. I coached her from behind the pitcher, “Don’t take your eye off the ball! Follow throw with your swing! Make him pitch to you!” She made some cracks, but was inconsistent. I broke into a sweat from running from right to left fields and smirked as TN and I made dirty banter on the pitcher’s mound out of her earshot.

Then I pitched and he hit deliberate line drives as my young teammate flailed around in the outfield and tried to throw the balls back in to me. She was a sad little monkey caught in our crossfire in more ways than one.

On the way home we chatted amiably enough, our anger at one another seemingly shelved. I felt good about his overall behavior during practice and my red face and sweaty back filled me with energy. I told him Noodle was coming to see me this Friday. “I’m gonna take her to dinner and drinks then just come back to my place to drink and hang out. I want to spend as much time as I can with her.”

“Oh cool,” he remarked remembering I’d told him about her a few months ago. “How long is she staying? She’s a man killer, right?”

“Yeah, she’s gorgeous. Just one night. I’m thinking of taking her to one of my favorite restaurants.”

“Your favorite sushi place??”

“Oh hell, no, I can’t afford that!”

“What if I took you both out? Could I get a double blowjob?”

I’m pretty sure I laughed, but I felt slapped again. I don’t know what I have to do to get him to stop with this bullshit. Yell? Scream? Storm out? I was going 75 on the highway with the windows down. I’m sure he wouldn’t have felt much if I’d pushed him out of the car right then.

But I’m cooler than that — as always, so cool. When a normal woman would rage I roll. “I don’t know if she’d be down, but she might be. I’ll ask her.”

He tensed in his seat. “Really??”

“Yeah, sure, why not? Just a double blowjob, right?” I had visions of Noodle and I on our knees, our tongues lapping at his huge, turgid length, our cheeks brushing against each other, our breasts pressed against his knees, and then abruptly stopping and asking him to leave. “Nothing more.”

“Yeah, just a double blowjob.” He was getting more excited, I could see. “Maybe a double-double. Like two! No — I couldn’t do that. That’d make me a John. She’d really do it? Well, it’d sort of be like dating, you know, because of dinner…” his oral internal dialogue only served to push me further into an angry corner. Did he really think this was a good idea?

I parked and he put my hand on his erection. I stroked it kindly while I fumed, angry at both of us. We unloaded and climbed the stairs. He set my cooler down in my darkened apartment and left. I immediately texted Noodle to tell her.

She’s probably right about that last bit.

Of course, it will never happen. I simply couldn’t handle it. Also, Noodle has no desire. She loves me more than some cock.

The only reason I went with his suggestion was so that I wouldn’t have to get mad. That’s right. So I wouldn’t have to get mad. My aversion to anger is practically a pathology at this point. But then I did get angry. Alone. I yelled at him in the shower and continued to yell as I got dressed. “I don’t have to justify why I don’t want to hear about the women you want to fuck!” I said loudly to his imaginary face, “It’s enough that I don’t want to hear it! Why not tell Justin or Aman? Why do you think telling your ex-lover who told you she was in love with you 2 months ago is a good idea?? You’re a fucking dick! Stop, stop, stop!!”

I don’t want to hear angry musings of his on how he wants to fuck this chick that I know or that chick that I know, or hear mean sarcasm drip from his mouth. I don’t want to call him names or talk about the tall hot guy on his softball team. I don’t want to feel defensive every time an attractive girlfriend comes over when he asks me about her, his eyes alight with interest.

I want to feel safe and loved again, gentle, Me. I can’t handle even one evening of erosion between us. It kills me.

I considered asking him to come over so we could talk, but decided I need to do this on my own. Like learning he lied to me recently I’m letting this tip the scales. Talking to him about how I feel about his insults and verbal assaults on my ears will only set me back on a path to him. I need to block that path. I need to find a new way around this.

I felt so good Sunday and it’s receded after one shitty little night. He’s never treated me this way before and I’m a little hurt and a lot confused.

We’ll see if Noodle gets to meet him this Friday, but a double blowjob will not be happening.

Not having orgasms or sex has cleared my head.

My head, it’s clear.

My phone chimed Sunday morning to tell me The Neighbor and 4 am girl  broke up.

Saturday night he was on my couch seeking support and counsel. He was depressed and confused. I sat there with cheap white wine on my breath wondering what I was supposed to do.

All I could say was that no matter what, it’s always rude to ignore someone’s texts. He saw I was hobbled.

I wanted to help him, truly, but where could I go with this? My enmity for her is open and, well, there. He’s fucked if he wants me to decode her bullshit.

We talked some more about his childhood and his current patterns. Eventually he declared he was feeling much better and he thanked me. I told him I was probably the best thing ever. He agreed, but asked that I not make him repeat all that he loved about me. I think it pains him.

I promised with a shit-eating grin I wouldn’t, took a swig of my wine and leaned back into my pillows. “I need to tell you something.”  He looked at me expectantly.  “I’m not going fuck you again unless you don’t look for anyone else. It’s not fair to me, to you, and certainly not 4 am girl.” He said ok.

He stayed a while longer then eventually stood and thanked me, hugged me warmly.

I was relieved to have sex off the table and went to bed smiling.

Sunday, after sharing his news, he came by for a hug, left to run errands, then offered to buy me and Peyton ice cream. I privately shook my head in wonder, but told him, “Strawberry,” anyway.

A few hours later in the pool with friends and my baby someone cannon-balled in front of me. I shook the water off my beer can and waited for the jerk to surface. It was him. Quel surprise.

“Where have you been??  I’ve been trying to bring that ice cream over for two hours!”

“What??  I told you I was going swimming.”

We played in the pool for hours, laughing and playing catch as we always do, then climbed the stairs to our apartments and he brought over his frozen treat. Peyton gobbled it up on the balcony and shouted down to Downstairs Neighbor, “TN bought me strawberry ice cream!” I pantomimed that TN and 4 am had broken up by pointing upstairs and breaking an imaginary twig in my hands.

DN guffawed and quoted Jabba the Hut, “This bounty hunter is my kind of scum…fearless and inventive.”

At 10, TN texted. I was busy kissing a precious face and sticky fingers. When I was done he came over, nonchalant and relaxed. He lay with me on the couch, Frank Sinatra crooned overhead.   This time I had cheap red wine in hand.

I watched and waited while we talked and slowly, shyly let our limbs touch.

He asked how my promise was going. I said ok. Then he slipped his hand between my legs and watched me shiver. My hands trembled and I licked my lips.

I told him I was steadfast in my pledge, though my friend had already folded. It felt good to be in control of myself for a change, I told him. He smiled and nodded. “You don’t have any kind of rule right now, do you?” I asked as I snaked my hand up his gym shorts. I’d been trying to avoid looking at his chubby pink meat which would occasionally slip into my view all evening.

“Nope. You’re the only one.”

“Good.” I stroked my hound beneath the slippery basketball shorts and purred that I was a hound master. TN raised an eyebrow.

“It’s true. It’s always done what I wanted when I wanted. You, of course, were another story, but my hound, it always listened.” And as if to answer precum drooled out its hole and strung a line down to his belly.

In the end, my mouth and pussy steered clear and instead I watched him work his magic cock, his hand a peach-colored blur, until he spurted out thick, white globs of jizz. I bent over and licked his belly clean and tickled him when I dipped into his navel to get its little pot of cum.   It was delicious.

He moaned and chuckled. “You have cum on your cheek.” And so I did.

Don’t be disappointed in me. Nothing has changed except I was right. He admitted she was horrible in bed. He can’t get over me. We are like magnets. Throbbing, wet, ridiculous magnets.

I still have two days to go on my promise and a second date tonight. I will not re-enter this dating purgatory with TN unless two things happen: overnights and exclusivity. Period.

Which, essentially, is me saying NO. He will never agree to these conditions, but for me, I can’t lose; it will feel like standing on a hilltop with a breeze and the warm sun on face for me to set my declaration. “No, you can’t have my sweetness unless you take care of the rest.”

It’s been a liberating few pleasure-free days.

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Sometimes I wonder if these are see-through when wet.