Maybe I don’t need giant dick after all.

He glowed above me, slick with sweat.  The light from the hall cast a softness along the long lines of his naked body.  His dog tags swung in my face and I took them gently between my teeth and moaned as he plunged into me ruthlessly.

It all began last week when I checked into my Adult Friend Finder email.  He’d written me the last couple of weeks of August, but I had been MIA.  Friendly and humble, his note warranted a response.

“Hey!” he wrote back.  “I was about to give up on this whole site and shut it down!  I’m so glad you wrote me!”

We emailed a few times and jumped to text to exchange face pics.  Neither one of us could believe why the other was on AFF.  His dark blond hair was cropped military short, his face dusted with golden 5 o’clock shadow.  Then he sent pics in his fatigues at work, suited up for flying.  I died.

I’m used to dating engineers and programmers, men with soft hands and clear minds, not men trained for battle with memories of lost friends.  I know soldiers and they are a sensitive lot; our politics and outlook on cultural differences often clash and so we avoid those tender topics.  I am sensitive to their situations, but they typically don’t want me to be.  Must soldier on, and all that.  How would this man and I mesh?

He flirted and teased me throughout the day and I called him on a whim after drinks with a friend.  His thick, southern accent dripped through the phone and he had me in stitches.

Quick as lightening, sharp as a tack we played off one another until I reached my next destination.  I had to go.   Later, I checked my phone and he had sent me a beautiful image of his artful body replete with erection.

He asked if he met my criteria I think not really caring about my answer.

I’d asked earlier in the day if he wore Magnums to which he’d coyly replied that he wore whatever was available.  I’ve heard that answer before and was worried, but his charm and my curiosity convinced me to brush my Size Queen snobbery to the side.

I texted back that I wished I was wrapped up around him at that very moment.  God, how I wished I was.

On my way home I snapped a pic.  My hair hung shiny and blonde around my breasts; my eyes shone blue and my smile seemed to belie something.  I called him on the way home at 1 and left a message, nervous and silly.  He would tell me later that I was cute at 1 am.  The next morning we decided to meet up during the one hour we might have available.

There’s something about chemistry that can’t be underestimated.  When it’s not there it can be devastating.  When it is there, it’s equally as devastating.  It’s the roller coaster of promise, feared loss, excitement of the blitz of energy when two souls touch when moments before they were complete strangers.  Atoms touching, magic happening.

We arrived at the coffee-house simultaneously and I waited for him to get out of his truck.  He was tall, over 6’2″ with his boots on, covered in camouflage from head to foot.  My breath caught.  Holy shit, he was hotter in real life.

He smiled and stooped to hug me and we walked comfortably side by side to a table.  The next hour flew by.  I avoided those topics I imagined we might clash over and instead focused on the things we had in common: he has two kids full-time every weekday, he works full-time, he goes to school, sometimes the military gives him weekend assignments.  The man is as busy as I am, possibly busier.

There was a strength about him, an ease that I immediately gravitated to, and as we walked back to our cars I almost took his hand.  It seemed so natural.  We talked about when we could hang out again and when I felt the time pressing on my back I said, “So, are you going to kiss me, or what?”

“When I get there, I will,” he drawled back and laughed.

He closed the small gap between us and pressed his lips to mine.  I tasted his breath and breathed against him as he pulled me closer.  I gripped his belt and opened my kiss.  It felt like I’d been there before, so familiar, yet new all at once.

The kiss lasted longer than I expected and when we broke apart we smiled like idiots.  I drove off to pick up Peyton from school with a grin plastered to my face.

Throughout the next day we texted and he sent me a picture of a helicopter in the sky carrying a military vehicle.  “Those are my feet hanging out!” the text read as I sat in my cushy office chair.  I couldn’t wait to see him later.

We met at a local dive bar at 9.  I took a Lyft and was right on time.  He was at the far end of the bar and didn’t recognize me when I first walked in, but his eyes lit up as I came to him.  He wore a dark grey shirt and jeans with a belt.  His arms, wrapped in tattoos, opened to hug me.

I stood there between his knees for the better part of an hour.  He stole kisses and left his hand on my waist.  I shook my head when he wasn’t looking trying to process our easy connection; it felt like I’d known him forever.

I challenged him to pool and got my ass kicked, though I won each time he kissed me or pulled me against him in full view of anyone caring to look.  My short skirt rode up when he held me and his eyes were hot on my cleavage when we were apart.  We moved to a booth and opened up a little more about our lives, our failed marriages and relationships, our kids, bullshit, etc. until I suggested we go back to my place “to chill some more.”  I am nothing if not suave.

At my apartment he cracked open a new beer and I poured myself some wine and we decided to play some dominoes.  The atmosphere was relaxed, but charged, and when he complained about being a little warm I told him to take off his shirt.  And so he did.

He sat on my couch, dog tags hung from his neck, shirtless with a big, black watch on his left wrist resting on his knees.  I told him to hold still and took a headless picture of him.  “Fuck, you’re hot,” I said.  “I gotta send this to my girlfriend.”  He laughed and said that was fine with him.

I lost at dominoes, too, and he asked if I wanted to save the score sheet.  I thought about the last score card I squirreled away to the box under my bed and told him I did.

And then, the games were over.

I climbed up onto his lap and we kissed, two old souls meeting once again.  His hands roamed up my shirt and found the breasts I’d freed from my bra earlier.  He directed a nipple to his mouth and I inhaled sharply as he sucked fiercely.  A delicious shot of pain went through me.  I didn’t have to ask him to suck harder.  It was just perfect.

He ripped my clothes off and I straddled him in only my black panties, I clung to his warm chest as I smashed my breasts into his face.  His lashes touched his cheeks, lost in my softness, his mouth full.

He picked me up and set me on the ground and led me around the corner to my room and roughly flung me across the bed.  I heard his belt buckle jangle and his hand searching a pocket.  The jeans fell to the floor with a rumpled thud.

He grabbed me by the backs of my knees and hauled my ass to the edge of the bed and lapped at me softly.  His hands disappeared for a moment below the edge of the bed while his mouth kissed my open pussy and when he stood up he was wearing a condom.  I told him it was an advanced and impressive move as he lifted me up and onto his jutting cock.

I had wondered if I could feel him, warned him that I got too wet and lost average sized men, that men accused me of being too intimidating, working too hard, blah blah blah.  He’d stubbornly refused to believe any of that would happen to him and he was right.

He was hard as steel as he pushed into my body and filled me to the motherfucking brim.

I blinked, confused.  He’s not a small man by any means, quite above average, but in all my experience up to that very moment he entered me, only exceptionally large men could make me shiver around them like I was at that moment.

He pumped into me less than a handful of times and I came immediately.  He growled into my ear and lifted me up and away from the edge.

We kissed, animals in the night tangled together desperate for release, and clung to one another in a complete fucking frenzy.   He bit, we laughed, I clawed, we kissed.

I cried out again and again and he moaned with pleasure as I ejaculated against our slamming bodies in as many positions as humanly imaginable.

He pulled out, grabbed his shaft and rubbed the head of his cock all over my slit and a fountain broke loose with my cries.  He growled like a beast as I writhed below him.  I began to whimper and tried to stop the sobs.  I felt shy in my abandon and my soaking wet mess.  I begged him to stop.  I begged him to fuck me.  I just begged.

Incoherently I apologized for being too wet, but miraculously I could still feel every hot, hard inch of him.  He hushed me and braced his long arms on either side of me as I gripped the foot board with one hand, hanging on for dear life, and rammed myself against him wildly desperate for more.

He glowed above me, slick with sweat.  The light from the hall cast a softness along the long lines of his naked body.  His dog tags swung in my face and I took them gently between my teeth and moaned as he plunged into me ruthlessly.

I tugged a little then released them and threaded the chains through my fingers and held them up against his collar-bone, tightened them a little and thought what a beautiful creature this man was.

His sweat dripped down onto me as I came again and cried out.  He came with a series of punishing thrusts and one long push deep inside of me and collapsed panting on top of me.

I saw stars, purple swirls, and couldn’t feel my hands.  I hauled myself up and got towels to put on top of all the wet spots.  He laid on my pillows, his arms over his head.  I crawled up to him and lay in his nook, my heart still pounding.

I traced my hand along his wet body and over the tops of his thighs.  His cock stirred and I touched it lightly.  It swelled.

I smiled against his skin and pushed myself away and straddled him briefly before sliding between his legs.  His cock was rock hard again when I kissed his upper thighs.  The scents of latex and pussy disappeared into my mouth.  I sucked and stroked and impaled my face on him refusing to gag as he went deep into my throat.

He grunted and pushed me off of him onto my back and he straddled my chest.  He grabbed my breasts and pushed them together.  I held them there as he slid in and out of my double-Ds.  I’d never been titty-fucked before.  He was surprised.  “With these gorgeous things?”  He squeezed me and his tempo increased and I lifted my head to lick the tip each time it peaked out of the tunnel of my tits.

He lifted a knee and rested a foot beside me and began to jerk off.  His hand a dark blur, his balls bounced.  I said silky, nasty things until he grabbed my head, plunged into my face and came hotly down my throat.

His cum was tart and not unpleasant, all soldier.

We laid down and wrapped our arms around each other and dozed for half an hour until the cat decided to walk all over us, particularly his flaccid, exposed member.  Fucking cat.

I got up to kick him out, but when I turned around my new friend was up and putting on his clothes.

I surprised myself and said, “You can stay.”  I had never offered that to a man, but I imagined  sex awash in the morning light and more laughing and biting and orgasms.  I wanted that very much.

“I can’t,” he said.  “I won’t be able to sleep and I feel weird with pics of your baby everywhere, like I shouldn’t be here.”  I said that was too bad, but I understood.  His sex and single-parenthood is much newer than mine.

He sat with me on the balcony as I smoked a cigarette wrapped in my robe – my attempt to prolong a magic evening with a magic man.

When I was done I sat on his lap and kissed him on his scruffy cheek. He patted my thigh and told me he had to go.  It was nearly 3 am.

We made very tentative plans to see each other the next night.

I walked him to the door and we hugged again and said goodbye.

We didn’t see each other Saturday after all despite wanting too, but hopefully it will be in the cards some time soon.

We’ve texted every day and he sends me pictures of his glorious body and of his day up in the sky and I reciprocate.  He shares kindnesses, something I’m not at all used to from a man I’ve slept with.  Saturday morning I awoke in a panic not knowing what I should say or do, but I shouldn’t have worried.  He was warm and still there.

It’s complicated from a logistical standpoint to be much more than sexual partners with him, but I’m not going to add more men to my life to fill in the gaps.  It will be just him until it isn’t.

I’m doing life differently.  Having many who care nothing about me is painful and exhausting.  I have a tendency to clamor for people’s love and attention instead of peacefully walking my path and allowing people to come to me when they want to.   It’s a new outlook on all my relationships, not just the sexual and romantic ones.  He’s the first one to get the new Hy.

Everyone, meet The Soldier.  The man who changed things as they were already changing.

 

 

 

 

We did it backwards [on the bed].

We were once the Lord and the Lady of our manor, a great big house with two wings.  He lived in the west and I in the east.  I would lay down for sleep and he would come over pale and naked with a raging hardon bobbing as he walked.  No preamble, no date, just raw and royal need.

We fucked a lot.

Now, we are a courtyard apart, a small village.  We have to make an effort; make plans, take the time to clear out a space.  We’re just like everyone else.

But sometimes, we are overcome with passion, the bed beckons, and we forget that the clock has struck 12 already.  We’re the old Hy and TN.

My room was filled with candlelight and a floral scent.  He pressed my knees against the side of the bed and pressed the length of his body along my backside.  He cupped a breast, then the other.  Sneaked his hands under my v-neck shirt and over my head.  My breasts caught on the fabric and bounced heavily as they fell out.

I was pinned between him and the bed when he forcibly bent me over.  I complied and let him smack my haunch, gently, but heavily.  He pulled my pajama shorts down and moaned when he found my bare ass and sex.  I wiggled my rear into his hot bulge all trampy like.

Then, my young lord shoved his lady down onto her stomach and she let him do that, too.

He ripped my shorts off and I raised my hips showing him whatever peek of dark pink he could see between my thick, white thighs.  I heard him remove his own clothing and growl as he climbed up onto me.  I imagined rutting horses, the stallion stiff and proud.  My little lord stallion.

The head of his cock easily slipped past my thighs as he buried himself inside of me.  Two-hundred pounds man pinned me to my mattress.  He thrust a handful of times then stopped, flipped me over, spread my knees with his one and re-entered me.

We were backwards on the bed, my head at the foot.  Different bed creaks screeched around us as he pounded into me and I came with a soft fucking boom.

He kissed me, held me, stroked me.  When I could manage to open my eyes and look up at him he was staring at me intently, groaning and grunting like an animal.  He felt more inside of me than ever before, less a combination of rote movements and more actual enjoyment.  He came with his mouth, told me how hot I was, how much he loved fucking me and I came some more.

The feelings overwhelmed me and for the first time in many months what he did to my body unlocked my heart and I began to cry.

The tears slipped down my temples and pooled into the shells of my ears.  I cried because I was crying, I cried because I saw this on an episode of Californication, I cried because he was my little lord again and not my boyfriend who pisses me off left and right.

I came more, lots more — oh, the cumming — through curtains of tears and begged him to stop.

I laid there and hiccuped on sobs and caught my breath with him beside me hot and also panting.

“You haven’t cried in a really long time,” he said.

“I know,” I whispered back.  “You haven’t been as with me as you were tonight.”

I don’t think he makes any links to the amount of connection he feels for me and how I respond to him, but I do.  When he’s really there — I mean there with me — sex is fireworks, sex is glorious, sex is a goddamned medicine.  It makes everything we work so hard on worth it.  When it’s routine, when it’s done because we haven’t in a while, then it is flat and flavorless.  I almost don’t want it.

I’ve been thinking about the next step with him lately.  I have to renew my lease this month and staying here for another year is the right thing for me and Peyton, but a year is a short time — God knows this last one flew by — and I’m imagining the courtyard between us being gone and being next-door neighbors again.  And by “next-door neighbors,” I mean living together.

It’s a year away before any such move happens, but the talks will start before then.  I’m scared and excited and worried and hopeful.

I wonder if the Lord and Lady of this story can co-habitate, if we even should.  I want tears in my ears all the time, not just on rare special occasions.  Is this lady asking too much?  Fuck if she knows.

 

 

I know how to squirt.

[A re-post from a couple of years ago because I still get a lot of questions.  Also, everything I’ve written here still stands; I’m a squirting machine!  Apparently, lots of other ladies are, too.  Both Dawn and Caitlyn have written about their experiences with it .  xx Hy]

A lot of women want to know how to squirt. Here’s what I’ve learned to do.

Making G-spot Contact

The first time it ever happened to me was roughly 14 years ago. At this point in my sexual history I had just ended a year-long relationship where I orgasmed from only sex (both while on top and bottom) and also had only ever orgasmed from oral once. I was 25.

This particular squirting night was just your average tryst. Nothing special except that this cock was significantly bigger than the one that had made me orgasm for a year. However, despite being less than 5 inches long and fairly narrow, that smaller penis had taught me to sit low and heavy on a man’s groin, to really sink into it and how to ride him with abandon.

I’d been under the wrong impression for years that making love while on top should replicate the man’s motion like when he was on top, but with a cock that was smaller that didn’t work, hence my new moves: to grind down hard and tilt my pelvic cradle against my lover’s in order to stimulate my clitoris against his pubis, to sit tall and not lean over. I came every time with a big clitoral orgasm.

So, naturally, I applied my new method with the bigger lover. I began to feel a glow in my womb and my chest felt numb and buzzing and then I felt a release similar to the sensation of urinating, but slightly higher than my urethra.  Throughout my body it felt big and blossoming all the way to my fingertips.  It was distinctly different from the orgasms I was used to.

That first time it squirted in my lover’s eye. We both stopped for a second to laugh. I didn’t know what to say. He exclaimed, “You squirted!” I had no idea what that even meant, but I felt no shame about it. He seemed really pleased. And then we kept going.

Looking back on it, that was my first experience with a g-spot orgasm.

Size Can Matter

I never felt that again until the first time I had sex with Troy (story is here) and it was because his cock was big enough to massage my g-spot no matter what position we were in; I didn’t have to be on top. He was by far the biggest man I’d ever been with (around 8.5″). He was elated by my juices and I was utterly incapable of controlling them. They just happened to me. It became the center of our fucking.

Which is what set me off in the hunt of large cocks. Honestly, that’s the only reason. I happen to have a deep well and a larger member hits me just right every time. The smaller ones simply didn’t. Until I learned some new tricks…

Head Space – What I do

Today I don’t need a large cock to squirt anymore – yay! I’ve learned to squirt on command about 4 out of every 5 times that I try, and it’s dependent on a couple of things. First, I have to be significantly turned on, and second, the more I trust my lover the easier it becomes. My head has to be in the right place if I’m the one in charge of my squirting.

When alone, I imagine gripping the shaft of a cock with my pussy like a fist, and then simultaneously I push out around it while relaxing. All my focus, all my energy, all my breath is focused on my cunt. I contract a few times, then release and push out. Repeat. It’s all I can feel. If I squirt by myself, totally alone, with nothing and no one touching me I am a quintessential pussy. I have this, I think, I am this. If I squirt with my Hitachi, which is actually fairly rare, I am typically sitting on the edge of a bed or standing, so there is pressure on my vulva.

When with a lover, tantric lovemaking elicits much wetness from me and my lover doesn’t even have to be participating in the method. Contracting my vaginal muscles as he pulls out – as if I were sucking him back in – and then pushing against him as he pushes back in – like bearing down – stimulates my g-spot. Switching back and forth like this is only possible when the pace is slower. When the pace is frantic I simply grip with all my might.

Skills – What He Does

There are two things that my lovers have done that have caused me to squirt deliberately. One is with their cock, the other with their hands and fingers.

With any size cock, he pulls out all the way or almost all the way, and if I’m doing my tantric gripping, the sensation of leaving my body makes me squirt.

With his hands and fingers, he curls his fingers inside of me with his palm on my pubis and he slams his hand against me in a small, rapid circular motion. It’s a lot of work for him, it’s not gentle. It’s rough and intense and has always, without exception, yielded results for me.

The Neighbor said that technique worked on an ex-girlfriend, as well.

Letting Go – It’s Not Pee

I don’t know how clear a picture I’m drawing here. Of course this is one woman’s experience with squirting, but I have talked to my lovers at great length about this. Troy devoured books about the female anatomy and he understood that the ejaculate traveled a similar path as urine, but was certainly not urine. He also believed that an old lover of his would have probably squirted herself, but each time she felt the sensation she ran to the toilet.

And here’s where I have to agree. The sensation prior to ejaculating is reminiscent of peeing, but that’s it. When we need to pee there’s a pressure in our bladder, unmistakable; with squirting, the sensation is lower, more concentrated around the urethra and clitoris.

We have to trust our bodies not to get wires crossed. It’s really that simple. I know I’ve had my run-ins with poo, so you’d think I’d be the last person on the planet to say TRUST YOUR BODY, but I really believe it. I know my system won’t allow me to piss all over my lover in a fit of passion. And in part my trust in my own body allows me to let go and allow the stimulation to rise and then exit my body via a squirt.

Sometimes the fluid is odorless, sometimes it’s musky, sometimes it’s less pleasant and more urine-like. And it can all come from the same woman on different days of the week. Its scent is tied up with hormones and ph levels. Some experts believe that all ejaculate has some urine mixed in, others resolutely say that’s not true. I’m of the camp that sometimes it can be mixed in with a little urine. My ejaculate, like all the anecdotal and scientific research I found, has varied from odorless to faintly musky to strongly of urine. The Neighbor has never said anything and, in fact, once lifted a soaked towel to his face — which to me smelled faintly of urine — and told me it smelled delicious. His enthusiasm helped me to not care and to truly just let go.

Go For It

And here I have to ask a bigger question in general: Even if you did piss on your lover, so what?? You’re engaged in an intimate, messy activity that is inherently complicated and involved with the bowel, bladder, anus, and vagina just to name a few. Shit might happen (as you all know it certainly has with me). So I say, even if you do fear peeing, just fucking go for it. You won’t die and your lover will have a chance to show his mettle. And that’s the worst case scenario. Best case is that you’ll feel a g-spot ejaculation/orgasm!

I hope this has shed some light on the mysteriousness of squirting. I’d love to hear from other women who do it and hear your stories. Are they similar to mine? Different? What do you do to squirt? Do you have any control over it? And to all you women who have never done it, I say to you that you have nothing to lose in trying! Most of you will have the basic building blocks (Skene’s glands are necessary, some think), but at the very least you can have a ton of fun trying!

And here are some articles I liked regarding this whole thing:

Make Her Ejaculate

Female Ejaculation

Shejaculation: Or How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love The Gush

Originally published 2/18/12.

The Neighbor cums with me.

Hyacinth Jones crossed with shadows

Tuesday morning.

It was Tuesday night, our hammock night between gym dates.  He came over, freshly showered, after his solo workout and brought a chicken breast and vegetables and asked me to work my magic on them.

It was a pleasant scene: me in the kitchen bitching about cooking his vile meat (“I can’t stand the way chickens are treated and they taste like shit anyway!”) and him on a couch teaching himself a new coding language while my ever-embarrasing dirty little secret,  The Only Way is Essex, honked away on the TV.

I’d had a stellar day with an old friend, a wonderful, connecting chat with a colleague, and a much-needed phone injection from my sweet pal, Noodle.  The day had been filled with sunshine and love and as the stars rose above my roof my heart swelled amidst the domestic calm.  And I was horny.  As fuck.

My poor Hitachi croaked and died shortly after I moved in with a spark and a snap — it was quite dramatic! — and I have been reliant solely on my sweet TN for release ever since.  But illness, stress, and exhaustion have collaborated to make those moments far less frequent so we had big plans for that innocuous Tuesday.  We were gonna make bunny-fucking magic.

It began when I was on the phone with Noodle.  His eyes lit up and he grinned like the Cheshire cat as he stroked himself and grew big enough to peek out of his underpants.  He wagged his cock at me trying to break my concentration, but it didn’t work.  I giggled and told her he was “waving his wiener at me!” but he had to admit defeat and tuck it back away until I was done.

Later, after dinner and a nice chat, he came and took my hand and pulled me into my room to cuddle and start our play.  We said loving things and laughed and I stroked him till he was big again.  I stood on my knees and grabbed his furry face and let his soft lips play on mine.  I felt my readiness grow and I kissed him more deeply, giddy as a schoolgirl, ready for what was about to happen to me.

And it did.  All the usual oohs and ahs, the moves, the plowing, the squirting, the great big, rolling g-spot orgasm.  All the same, wonderful, boring stuff I am fortunate enough to call my own.  But it was all me, all my orgasmic pleasure and none of his.

When this happens, I feel badly for him, though he assures me not to.  His anorgasmia preceded my appearance in his life, took a brief hiatus when I first entered it, but has sadly reinstated itself.  When this happens, I ask if he can cum on his own, with his meaty paw as I watch.  Sometimes he says he can, other times he begs off with a kiss and a cuddle.

But lately I haven’t accepted his begging off and have — in my gentle, dominant way — insisted that he at least try, to not give up on himself so easily.  And when he complies with his sweet, masculine trust, I nearly burst with pride of him.

That Tuesday night he said the words I love to hear, “I’ll try.”

He laid next to me in the candlelight and moved his hand on his shaft. I grabbed a teeny, tiny vibrator that he gave me a few weeks back.  A little AA battery thing that is a sad little version of my powerful, but dead, Hitachi.

I spread my legs and moved my eyes over my lover’s hand and thick, muscular thighs, his taut chest, his reddish beard, and finally let them rest on his beautiful face, his icy blue eyes.  He looked back at me and smiled, glanced at my jiggling breasts.

I closed my eyes and listened to the smacking of his leaking cock, the catch in his breath, and reopened them to the blur of his hand on the arc of his cock.  My orgasm began to build — so much more quickly than I ever expected — and a moan escaped from first me, then him.

His hips began to lift just ever so and my orgasm leapt forward in bounds.  And then it was there upon me and his was upon him and we were climaxing together, side-by-side, for each other and ourselves and as my back arched I managed to say amongst my Oh Fucks and Oh Shits, “Oh my God, that’s so hot!” as I watched him buck and spurt cum all over his abdomen.

We finished buried in giggles at my declaration and I snuggled into his nook, careful not to touch the cooling globs of semen.  I couldn’t stop gushing about the hotness of that moment.  That moment when he finally came with me, watching me watch him.

I asked if he could cum again and he said no, but that didn’t dissuade me from climbing between his legs and gently sucking him off again as a special finish.  The giggles spilled unbidden as my hair got stuck in the splatters of jizz — oh jizz — and with mischief in my eyes I spread it through his chest hair and ran off.

He chased me down, wrapped his arms around mine and smeared me with cum, massaged it on my face and in my hair.  We doubled over with laughter and headed to the shower, a sweet ending to a regular old Tuesday night.  A magical innocuous, bunny-fucking Tuesday night.

Not surprisingly, I slept soundly that night.  And Wednesday morning I woke up to even more magic: TN in my bed.

TN in silhouette

Wednesday morning.

Love is a little boring.

hyjones_cleavage_skirt_socks

Even my boob pics to him have gotten a little boring.

Last night I slathered on peachy, vanilla scented lotion wrapped only in a towel and listened to The Neighbor come upstairs, the jingle of his keys like a little bell about his neck.  I smiled and felt warm and fuzzy.  Peyton was asleep in the other bedroom and I had an evening ahead of watching Luther from beneath a blanket while my love(r) taught himself some new programming language on the other couch.  Very domestic of us, very sweet, very safe.

When he came into my room he didn’t kiss me or try to unwrap me.  He just emptied his work bag and left to the other room.

I called out to him.  “What are you doing?  C’mere!”

“Ah, man!” he replied.  “I just laid down!”

I rolled my eyes.  “TN!  Come on!”

“Ok!  I’ll be there in 30 seconds!”

I sat there in the dark, perched on the side of my bed and waited.  It took longer than 30 seconds for him to fill the doorway.

“You didn’t even kiss me,” I pouted.  I pulled him by the t-shirt and drew him closer between my knees.  He dipped down and pressed his lips and whiskers against my face.  I pulled his knee closer and pressed it into my crotch.

I inhaled his scent and closed my eyes, my hands rubbed his shoulders and I arched up in to him as his bulk pressed me down into the mattress and I imagined him pushing into me, but I quickly knew nothing was going to happen when he said, “I had a terrible day.  Very stressful.”

“Then you definitely need some of these.”  I peeled the towel apart and exposed my warm, clean breasts.  He pretended he didn’t want them and I jiggled my tits and giggled.  He latched onto one and suckled for a minute, then the other.

He popped off and stood up straight and announced, “Ok!  I had a great day!”.  He laughed before heading back into the living room.  I stood and put on my pajamas, made some popcorn and laid on the couch until sleep tugged at me.  He crawled into bed with me and we talked nose-to-nose until the tug became a roar.  He kissed me again, told me he loved me, and left.

A riveting evening, right??

I remember when I was filled with tension each night: would he come by?  would I get laid?  would he want me??  Now my nights are filled with exhaustion and cuddles.  I have no doubt about his feelings and my contentment is quiet, soft, lulling.  A mighty difference from the sharp-edged heartbreak I was so used to experiencing nightly.

I call it boring, but I’m not bored.  Life just isn’t as exciting as it used to be.  But I guess that’s ok, other things are challenges.  My brain whirrs every minute to adapt to the new configurations of our relationship. I say Hi to his parents now when he’s on the phone with them; I plan overnights with him when Peyton’s around; my parents want us to come over for dinner; I hear 3 words every day that I never, ever thought I’d hear from him.  I wake up everyday wondering if I’m dreaming.

Hi, my name is Hy and I’m in love and I’m boring.  Welcome to my blog.

You’ll have to wait for the sexy sloppy sex a little while longer, though I guess I could tell you really quick about the other night that started out as just a sweet, quick vagina hug and quickly turned into him pile-driving into me from behind while he pressed my face down into the sheets.  He grunted and thrust like an animal on top of me and I came and yelled and hoped my new neighbors could hear me.  Actually — on second thought — that was pretty exciting.

I write a letter to The Neighbor.

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The morning after.

Dearest TN,

Last night was what I needed though I didn’t want it.  Not at first.

All I wanted was your company on the cold balcony while I dragged on my sad little cigarette and drank out of my fishbowl wine glass.  My heart hurt and I was bereft that my ex is making poor decisions, fast decisions, but you sat with me and listened.

And when I cried because I was a raw nerve you held my hand and told me you were sorry and you stuck up for me like the Polish bulldog you are, your Irish heart pure and bold.

I was mush, but you turned me into putty.

You led me to my bed and you lay with me, stroked me and giggled with me.  I felt heavy and then I felt light.  Your flaccid cock came alive in my hand, large and stiff, and when you loomed over me in the candlelight I was skeptical that I was even there with you, it was another woman, someone else.

But then you punctured me, huge and taut, and began to move.

I’ve never felt you quite like that before and my body only just accommodated you. And then it became slippery, but I was still only barely letting you fit.  Every thrust, every move I felt our skin touch and my heart began to beat with our movements.  I was stretched apart by you.

You kissed me then and I kissed you back.  I arched my back and gripped the bars of my bed for purchase, for mercy.  You gave me none and bore into me and glared into my weeping face, sad and lovely, at home and so alone.  But you were there.  Big.

I clung to you, your wildly pumping buttocks, and you dumped yourself into me.  I was sobbing at this point, my heart broken into so many pieces then shattered into infinitely more by you, your love, your resistance, your everything.

You kept at me, ignoring my sobs, turned on by them, I suspect.  I felt exposed and vulnerable, unworthy and like a fraud.  Happy.  I was out of control.

“I’m going to cum again,” you said through gritted teeth, but I couldn’t take another stroke.  I had died so many times.  La petite mort and all that.

But you started up inside me again and I melted and wheezed my love into your ear, silently and coded.  Your powerful thighs flexed between my soft and gripping ones and I rolled my eyes into the back of my head to see my heart slip out behind.

Mercy came then when you chose to roll off of me.  It wasn’t going to happen for you that way.  I squirmed and writhed and tears streamed down my face as I gulped in ugly breaths of air and turned my cheek to you and watched your hand become an arc on your hard cock.

Fap fap fap fap fap fap fap, said your hand.

Unnnnhhhh, ahhhhhhh, ooooooh, said your mouth.

And then you jerked and flexed and creamy bright globs spurted out on your furry abdomen.  I stared slack-jawed and drooling for a moment, dipped my head and licked the tip of your cock as if it were fairy dust.  It was my way of punctuating your beautiful, dirty solo act.  Yum, yum.

The magic your body bears on mine is unequivocal in my universe.  I’ve never known such beauty before with another human.  It is a symphony of luck and love.

You are a balm on my aching heart and my racing mind.  You heal me in places no one else can possibly reach because your cock happens to be a magic fucking wand and not everyone runs around with one of those between their legs.  Who knew that when I decided to shove my hand down your pants in a drunken pass almost exactly 2 years ago?

But of course you’re so much more than just the sex we share.  You are terrifyingly smart and weird and loyal; you don’t like any of the foods I love so much, but yet we still manage to make eating a sinful delight between us; you don’t like anyone, but you like me… a lot; you demand alone time, but give me none preferring to a cuddle to solitude every time; you are thirsty for wisdom and I can see your impatience with “catching up” to me, yet you have your own special 29 year old knowledge I could never have; you like to fuck with your socks on and have an amazing non-relationship with clothing in general; you are generous and kind, witty and utterly likeable.

How lucky are we that we both landed in this apartment complex, in this city, in this state, and all next door to one another??

I don’t know what the future holds for us when I move out in March, but what I do know is that I will always have memories like that of last night to keep me warm when we are apart.

All this to say: I’m hoping I’ll muster the courage to tell you I love you this weekend.  We both deserve to hear it, though, I am petrified.

And please, god, don’t let it be a mistake to finally lift the veil of denial from us. Please…

We’ll see what Monday brings.

xx
Hy

He surprised me.

hyacinth_jones_nude

The morning after.

Last Thursday night I ended up subbing for a friend’s softball team. The night was crisp the mosquitoes insatiable and then I got to sub for a second game. A double-header! I ran, I hit, I caught, I laughed, I sipped on an impossibly cold light beer.

I texted The Neighbor that I’d be subbing for a second game and he texted back his signature smiley face with a nose.

After the game and a cigarette with old teammates I walked smiling to my car. It felt like it’d been years since I had the kind of freedom to say Yes to something like subbing for a game, let alone a second, spur of the moment game.

I turned my radio on; NPR and Ira Glass’ twangy voice came on loud and clear. It was This American Life and they were 10 minutes into the first act about real life superheros.

Act 2 came on and was still going as I pulled into my parking lot. I set the car in park and sat listening and laughing, in awe of the talent and wonder I was listening to. As it finished I sighed and gathered my things and, still smiling, climbed my stairs. I couldn’t wait to ask TN if he’d rather be invisible or have the ability to fly.

As I climbed the final set of stairs my phone chimed. I knew it was him so didn’t look until I reached my door, passing a cloud of cologne as I did so. I thought of Vanilla Ice for a second then looked at my phone. “You home yet?” it read. I knocked on his door instead of answering. No answer. But the cologne lingered. Had he spritzed the air between our doors or just come home? Was he lingering just inside his door teasing me? I turned my key and disappeared into my apartment.

Faisal greeted me with meow in the dark and I tossed my keys with a clank into their metal bowl. I walked a few more silent feet in the dark until I reached the kitchen and switched on a light. I stopped at the bar and reviewed my schedule for the following day taking careful note to see when I needed to go to work.

I finally texted TN back, “I knocked. Where are you?”

The cat was sitting in front of my bedroom door expectantly. “What do you want, little stinky butt?” I said as I pushed the door open ready to start folding the mountain of clothes on my bed.

I gasped when the light went on.

There on my bed, naked as a jay bird, lay The Neighbor. All creamy white and pink with dark chest hair spread like fairy dust, his hands casually cradling his head.

We laughed at me as I realized I had clutched my pearls. I dropped my hands and jumped on the bed. “TN!” I exclaimed, “You bastard!” and I fell on him with my arms wrapped around his warm waist, sat up and kissed his stomach and trailed up to his mouth. “But what a lovely surprise!”

He chuckled at his stealth. He’d seen me sitting in my car and then get out and start the climb up.

I was overwhelmed. How many nights had I dreamed that he’d do something like this? Uncountable, really, and here he was.

I gripped his cock in my hand and squeezed. It was deliciously chubby and quickly getting harder. I kissed his jaw and moaned when he flipped me over and ripped off my workout capris. “Get these fucking things off of you,” he growled as he peeled off my socks, too.

Roughly he shoved my knees apart and as I looked at him his head was framed by the whirling fan. It looked like a giant spray of gold, a ridiculous, but fitting crowning glow my lover.

He licked his hand and swept it quickly over the head of his cock, now huge and bobbing. I scowled at him. He knew I hated it when he did that; I’m wet enough. Always. He chuckled and pressed himself into me, long and slow.

I made him stop as I tore off my t-shirt and bra then let him finish filling me up, that moment when the world stops ticking and there is nothing but this man between my legs and in my heart.

He pumped once and my eyes rolled back in my head. He pumped again and I clutched his shoulders. And then he increased the tempo. Slowly, surely, intently. He watched every twitch and shudder I had gauging my presence. A little faster and the words, “I’m cumming!” flew out of my mouth as I swelled and burst around him.

Then he made me tell him all about the game as he kept fucked me. I laughed and did my best, but he was getting more serious. I could feel it as he tensed.

I peeked up at him and he was ferocious looking. My breasts jiggled and I grabbed his flanks to pull him into me. I came again and my pussy squelched her pleasure just as he groaned. We’d noticed the wetness at the same moment.

Faster, harder, more, more, more. He drove me to the brink and pushed me over one more time then collapsed exhausted on top of me. He laid down beside me, still buried deep inside and curled up around me.

I pressed my bottom back into him and he pushed back. His cock felt like a lance, harder than before, more present. I rocked back again and he slid against me. It felt velveteen and abrasive, there.

Slowly, steadily we pushed, rocked, and slid. His free hand gripped my hip and his grunts grew more intense, his pushes deeper and then in a flurry of thrusts he came inside of me, his hot, sweet breath on my neck.

The bedroom lights were still on and the cat sat at the end of the bed blinking at us.

We talked for a few more minutes and then he tucked me in. I fell asleep with my cunt filled with cum and a smile on my face.

Best surprise ever and I never did get around to asking him which super power he’d choose.

My yellow dress always gets me laid.

hy_bed

Proof of a good night.

I couldn’t help but laugh at the man wrapped in only a white towel glaring at me in my entryway.  Apparently, Downstairs Neighbor, upon being rushed out of my apartment because I was about to get the shit fucked out of me, had hidden behind the corner and when The Neighbor had single-mindedly tried to span the 5 feet between our doors he’d leaped out and scared the shit out of him.  A cat might also have run outside in all the commotion of TN’s glares and DN’s booming laughter.

“Oh, TN!” I laughed putting my hand on his stubbly cheek, the door tightly shut and locked behind us.  “Don’t be mad!!  He had no idea you’d be naked!!”  He leveled a gaze at me that made me giggle some more as if I’d conspired with DN to humiliate him!

I laughed some more, just simply couldn’t help it, frankly.

I kissed his cheek and hugged his stiff body and to prove his “anger” he let the towel drop and his erection bobbed heavily between us.  I grabbed it and whispered against his mouth, “I swear, DN had no idea you’d be in a towel!  It was just a joke!”

He melted against me with a grin and took my hand, led me back to my candlelit room.  “Ok,” he finally said still smiling and pulled me closer.

He bent his hand and slanted his mouth across mine, long, soft and sweet surrounded by sandpaper whiskers.  I moaned a little as he removed my cardigan.

“You look so hot in this dress,” he said taking a breath.  I swelled with pride.  My yellow dress, the yellow dress.  It always does me right.

He dipped his head back down to the top of my cleavage and I closed my eyes as his scruff left red blooms on my skin.

He returned to my lips and I breathed him in, lost in my love.  Our fingers explored the dips and swells of our figures, my face nibbling on his.

He pushed the little straps off my shoulders and the top of my dress pooled around my waist.  My breasts filled his hands and mouth and we laughed when I needed help pulling the dress back up and over my double Ds.

He grabbed my white cotton panties and tore them off.  “Leave the boots on,” he said lustily and shoved me down on the bed.

I sighed as he entered me and pulled my bottom to the edge of the bed.  My knee-high brown leather riding boots framed his face and he turned into one calf and kissed it.  I could hear him smell the leather.

His cock was enormous and I was wet as fuck.  He leaned down and kissed me and I stared boldly up at him then shut my eyes as he slowly stroked my body with his.

I thought of the strict orders he’d received from his physical therapist to not do any vigorous fucking for a while and groaned.  “Don’t hurt yourself, TN,” I warned as I felt his tempo increase.  “If you do, you’ll be in big trouble.”  I panted the words in time with his thrusts.  He only smiled mischievously at me and kept at it.

I tossed my head from side to side as it all began to feel more like torture.  An exquisite, stupidly hot and wet, torture.

He seemed to sense my agony and lifted me up fully onto the bed and positioned himself between my legs. For a quick 30 seconds he pumped like horny stray dog into me and I came just as rapidly; little bursts strung together by moans, grabbed skin, and warm breath on my neck.

He stopped then, panting.  “Damn you,” I admonished.  “I’m all vibe-y.  Are you ok?”  I shook my hands like little helicopters.

“Yes, I’m ok,” he said. “And that reminds me…” he leaned over, still inside of me, and grabbed my Hitachi.  “Here you go.”  He flicked it on and lay beside me with my legs over his hips.

It took forever and a day for me to spill over, but with the struggle came the reward:  his words, his mouth; he stroked my temple and told me what a good girl I was.  And then we cuddled and loved and talked and I dozed stupidly for minutes on end.

Then he kissed me again and squeezed me, tucked me in, loved on Faisal who’s claimed him for his own, and left quietly.

The next morning I awoke naked and in a sunbeam, my body sore in all the right places.  My boots lay in a heap on the floor next to my white panties, the vibrator lay like a bone a couple of feet away and my pretty yellow dress hung draped over the foot of my bed.

My wonderful, lucky, get-laid-every-time yellow dress.  Thank you, Old Navy.

 

“It’s total perfection.”

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It started out like this.

I’ve become high on love.

I dream about sharing my feelings with him and it’s a long, terrifying jump to crystal blue waters below, that feeling of my breath being stolen on the way down, the slap of wetness beneath my feet, the subsequent rush and rise to the top.

In true 7th grade fashion, I admitted to him that I like him “a whole lot.” You might be rolling your eyes at that, but it was a big deal to me.

And I invited him to spend Thanksgiving with my family on the wings of a prayer and when he said Yes I felt as though I’d won the lottery. I feel blessed, y’all.

But my lips remain sealed. I cannot say the words that boom in my heart. Those three silly little words.

I’m waiting for something. For the universe to tell me I can handle losing him. For that moment when he looks back into my tear-filled blue eyes and says, “But I don’t love you, Hy. This is just a ‘thing’ we’re doing. I’m not going to love you. You knew that.”

When I feel strong enough to weather that, my words will tumble.

But in the meantime, I float along among the clouds anchored by his mighty cock, his sweet gestures, his wise words. He roots me on every professional step I take and supports me as I navigate my tangled and painful relationship with my exhusband. He is my number one fan.

The rest of our lives is business as usual as I keep my secret. I send him a daily pic and sometimes a series if I’m feeling particularly inspired and have the freedom and privacy to do so. The weather is turning here and I recently wore jeans for the first time in months. They were a little loose, but I felt sexy and began to snap away.

Click, click, clickity-click.

I strip-teased my way down to unzipped pants and exposed breasts. He was happy to receive them.

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Striptease.

A day or two later, I dug out my red panties with the peek-a-boo hole tied with a thick, shiny ribbon. I was curious as to what the view was like and twisted and craned my body this way and that to capture a from-behind view.

Click, click, click.

I was pleased and sent those off, too. Again, he was grateful.

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Days changed into nights, cuddles turned into sweet talks, expectations morphed into reality. We tangled our parts less than our hearts. It was sweet, fairy dust; glittery longing with no release.

Finally, finally, we carved out some time to lay down inside one another. Peyton was passed out and The Neighbor was over within seconds of my “all clear” text standing in my candlelit room in black gym shorts. I wore a black spaghetti strap night dress with little sprigs of flowers dusted all over it.

We stood facing each other and he took my hand and pulled me closer, dipped his chin and captured my mouth in a long, sweet song of a kiss. I breathed him in, he inhaled me.

I ran my fingers through his hair and he clung to my bottom and pulled me towards the cradle of his hips. I felt his hardness through the thin cotton of my nightgown; my right strap slipped off my shoulder and I pulled my arm out and let my breast fall out.

We moaned into each other’s mouths and I melted into his warm skin. Every cell of my being sang of love, my pussy pulsed and my breath caught as I realized we were beginning to make love to each other.

He pulled back, breathing heavily, “We haven’t kissed like that in a long time,” he observed.

“No, we haven’t,” I agreed, though I’d argue it was closer to never.

I looked into his eyes shrouded in shadow and then his parted lips and reached forward with my own and sucked gently and slipped my soft tongue to meet his. He removed my remaining strap and I stood only in black, lace panties, then he groaned and bent to free himself from his shorts.

He pushed me down on the bed and dragged my bottom to the edge, licked his palm and rubbed it on the head of his giant erection. He positioned himself at my hole and pressed into me. Nothing happened.

Our eyes locked as we both smiled slyly knowing his first push was always the best, my favorite of favorites.

He pushed harder and I began to spread for him. I gasped a little and smiled more broadly. His mouth mirrored mine and then my eyes fluttered shut as the head entered my body completely and the rest of him eased in as if my body were a hungry constrictor.

He kissed me hungrily as his hips began to move, my body completely lubricated. “You’re not wet at all,” he joked huskily in my ear.

“Nope,” I whispered back with a chuckle, “not at all.”

He kissed my neck and my jaw and sat up and pumped into me, his hands braced on either side of me. Each punishing thrust made my breasts jiggle like bowl-shaped domes of Jell-O.

“Turn over,” he said suddenly. “Flip onto your belly.”

I did as instructed, my feet planted firmly on the ground and he slipped back into me.

“Tell me what you see,” I said thinking of my red-panty pics.

“I see my favorite thing: your beautiful body, your curves, this,” and he ran his hands from my waist to my hips. “It’s total perfection.”

photo 1

I closed my eyes and let him plow into me and light me up from the inside. My heart sparkled in time with my G-spot, our skin slapped and our moans mingled.

We moved up onto the bed completely and he pinned my knees together as he rutted on top of me, grabbed my top-knot bun and growled into my ear and struck my flanks once, twice, three times.

I lost time, wanted to be somewhere else and nowhere else. Then we were spent.

“C’mere,” I heard him as if from far away.

He pulled me into his nook and I lay there feeling more satisfied than I had in days, recalibrated. My thoughts felt like warm honey, my bones willow branches.

“Let’s go out on the balcony,” I suggested. It was in the low 60s, a rarity in September here. We dressed in white robes, him in a long Egyptian-cotton shin-length thing with my name, “Hyacinth,” embroidered on the lapel (a bridal party gift of mine from years ago) and me in a little short white one.

And there, on a balcony chair cushion beneath my knees and the breeze caressing us both, I sucked and loved on his cock, his knees splayed wide and confidently in that way that men do.

It had been weeks since I’d spent any time on him and I was ashamed. I apologized and he told me it wasn’t necessary. I answered with more sucking and smiled around his girth.

Eventually, he called me off, said he’d gotten a little too sensitive. We walked back into my room and shed our robes and laid down beside one another, the ceiling fan puffed gently on us.

The night was still young so I rolled to my side and grabbed the vibrator, flicked it on and pressed it to my bare mound. TN kissed my neck and jaw, sucked on my lips and my nipple. I climbed the rise quickly and as his mouth returned to mine I began to splinter.

He caught my orgasm in his mouth as I whimpered and gasped into him.

I fell limp and he pulled me to him as he rolled onto his back. I surprised him when I grabbed his chubby cock with one hand and turned the vibrator back on while on my side.

It was a swift ride with my ear pressed to his chest as it rose and fell quickly; his cock grew in my hand as my orgasm approached, spilled out onto us and faded away.

In his arms I thanked him for saying all those nice things about me as he was fucking me. He said it was nothing, that he loved the pictures I sent him. “I think it’s especially sexy when there are things left to the imagination.”

“Really?” I said, dancing on the edge of a doze.

“Yeah, like that one in the series you sent me the other day where your pants were unzipped but your bra still on. That was damn sexy, by far my favorite of the bunch.”

I perked up a little at that, proud and pleased in equal measure.

“Well, I’m glad. I try to be sexy and not just raunchy.”

“You do a good job,” he affirmed.

I mumbled something into the warmth of his skin, wrapped in love and kisses and compliments and told him again how much I liked him. He squeezed me and said he had to go soon.

I don’t know if loving him more will make me braver or more afraid, but as I’ve been told recently I need to act like the grown up and share my feelings and I agree. Just a few more nights like this one and I might feel brave enough to try.

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His favorite.

Don’t envy me.

It’s boring to keep saying I have an amazing sex life.

But, I do.

I can’t help it.

I live next door to a young man who has grown exponentially in the almost two years we’ve been dancing inside of each other. He knows the switches to flip, the dials to turn, the words to seethe between gritted teeth.

He’s mastered contrition and acquiescence with a look and a softening of his bones and he’s become fluent in my language of sensitivity and large need.

I was asleep before he came along, walking through a dream. Now I am awake, the breeze slick on my eyeballs, the birds in my ears, the flowers tangled upon my face.

I cannot go back to less than this. I will die. Like I was dead before him.  A hull of a woman.

It scares me, this new Technicolor life I have with him. I don’t want it to go away.  And that in turn terrifies twice over.

Does this mean I make compromises I shouldn’t? That I roll when I should dig?

Should Love be a part of my vocabulary, fill the space around me with its sound and feel? I believe I feel it, but I never hear it.

Does my fear of loss keep me from asking for what I really want?

::

I cried to him the other night while faced with the terrible thought: him or my baby? Of course, there is no question, no hesitation, my baby would win. My child needs me to fight and advocate, to protect. The Neighbor has permission to be a part of our lives only, but he’s not in it. Not yet.

“You need to understand that Peyton is innocent, TN, and I do not appreciate the way you’ve been behaving around my baby the past couple of days.” The tears leaked down my cheeks as I said the sad words. “You will not be welcome here if you can’t be better. That child is everything, my number one priority, and it’s my job to keep it that way. Do you understand me?”

He looked at me silently over the chess board he’d set up for us, shocked.

“Anyone in my life would feel honored to read a bedtime story, but not you. You roll your eyes and run out of the house on an errand and an excuse.” I paused and put my head in my hands again, then lifted my tear-streaked face to his waiting one. “Please, please, tell me I have this all wrong and that you do care for Peyton, that you care for the little heart that’s in that body and that you don’t just ‘endure’ the child.”

As the words left my mouth he jumped to respond.

“God, no! No, not at all!! Hy, I’m so, so sorry if I’ve made you feel that way. I just didn’t want to be around anybody tonight. No one! I didn’t mean to roll my eyes when Peyton was talking to me. Please, you’ve got to understand I’m just in a really terrible mood!”  He sounded sincere.

“Then don’t come over here. Don’t do me any favors. If you’re in that bad of a mood to not see the perfection and love that’s in that little person, then stay away. You’re not welcome.” I said it gently, but with a mother’s righteousness.

He nodded that he understood and I cried some more as I remembered my own stepfather, the eye rolls, the impatience, his lies and deceit. And how little I felt, how useless and empty.

“Or maybe,” TN suggested quickly, “You’re dealing with someone with absolutely zero experience with kids.” He let that hang in the space between us.

“Is that the case?” I sniffled, hopeful. “Really??”

“Yes,” he said earnestly, almost panicked that I might not believe him. Then he seemed to have a sudden idea, that maybe this was going in the wrong direction.

“I like being around Peyton, Hy, but I don’t come over here to play with your kid, I come here to be with you. You know that, right? There’s a difference. ” As if to say, Don’t make this more than it is, Hy. We’re still just “having a good time together.” “But, I do enjoy Peyton’s company. It’s just hard for me sometimes.”

I nodded sadly, but I felt better  I get it.  Little kids are nose-picking, million-question-asking, innocent angels.  It’s a tough combination for the uninitiated. “I’ve never dated anyone while I had a kid before, TN. This is new to me. And you and I have,” I searched for the right words to convey “idiotic”, “an unconventional, non-traditional type of relationship. We’ve never discussed Peyton before in relation to our relationship before. We needed to talk about this.”

He agreed.

“I don’t know what Peyton see’s at my ex’s and with his girlfriend. Am I modeling the wrong kind of relationship by not having certain things??” Namely, the unspoken Love and commitment that TN and I never discuss. “Does it matter? Does our loving, positive, sweet relationship make up for what it’s not??” I let the questions hang and TN said he didn’t know either.

Then he said he was a little hurt that I didn’t seem to see any of his sweetness with my baby. He reminded me about how wonderful he has been over the last year he’s been in our lives. The long talks, the patient playing, the sweet hellos and goodbyes. And it’s all true. He’s always been good to my baby and Peyton loves TN like any little person can.  He’d only been noticeably cranky with my sweet one for two days.

I don’t know what kind of impact he’s having on Peyton in the bigger picture.  Peyton would surely notice an absence if we separated — like when the neighborhood stray cat finally disappears: Where’d Kitty go?  Hmm.  Ooh!  Look at that bug!  La dee da — but my baby would be ok.  It’s my job to ensure that people’s’ departures don’t cause the house to crumble, after all.

We smiled sweetly at each other from our chairs and I giggled my relief, happy we had survived this small tempest.  I felt closer to him.  And then I nearly beat him at chess, my first game ever.

::

Are moments like this a bigger deal than I make them out to be because I don’t want to know that TN, my sweet lover and love, really isn’t a good fit for my life with my baby? Do I make excuses for him?

My amazing sex life — and my easy heart — have me confused.

So, yes, I have a lot of great sex, but I also have a half-cocked heart and a muddled relationship. It’s not all roses for Hyacinth.

When you read about my hot encounters remember I never hear, “I love you, Hy.”  I don’t see love in his eyes, I don’t plan for our future together.  I don’t hold his hand and I don’t even know if I should invite him to my baby’s upcoming birthday party.

::

In the days that followed, it seemed that he made special efforts to connect with Peyton and with me.  My shaky worrying about the state of our affair abated.  Just a little.  I felt lighter, back floating on a little cloud of denial.  Or maybe it’s real happiness.  I honestly can’t tell.

Big, juicy cock, fingers in a cunt, eyes locked in lust, tears slipping into the shells of my ears, blooms of orgasms that opened my soul.  Just the usual bullshit in these parts.

“I’m happy to know you,” I said one night, curled in his nook, tears wet on my face, as my body fell back into place. It was my “I love you.”

He sighed into my hair, maybe he kissed my temple. “I’m happy to know you, too.”

Perhaps it was his “I love you, too.”  I don’t know, but the sex was good.

It’s always good.