We lay cuddling last week in my bed and then suddenly we weren’t.
I grabbed the soft mound of flesh beneath his basketball shorts and squeezed and pressed my cheek on his warm, firm chest then slid my head up until the bridge of my nose rested under his jaw. I have discovered a place here which is even better than the nook. It’s my nook within the nook.
He sighed against me and I continued to slide my hand on his stiffening bulge. His hand traced swirls on my arm and I sunk deeper into a new state of being, so far from stress and worry which I’d been wearing for so long before that moment.
I melted against him beneath my closed lids and let him kiss my face and my lips, his cock hard and twitching beneath my fingers. I deftly pulled his waistband down as he equally deftly lifted his hips and let me slide them down around his thick, round backside.
The lights were on and illuminated our pale limbs and lit his icy blue eyes upon my darker ones. Finally, I thought, I could lose myself again. It’d been far too long. Boxes and money and my failed marriage, my hurting baby and career worries, they all twirled away like smoke. None of that mattered. All that mattered for those moments turned into minutes, were the two of us returning to what we knew best about one another.
My hand wrapped around his giant hot cock as he shifted over me, his mouth was wet and urgent on mine, then his hands were pulling off my little pajama shorts and his knees shoving mine wide apart. Soon, soon!
I held my breath and clung to his bare shoulders and let my gaze hold his for one, two, three seconds before I had to break away. Still, after everything, I am a chicken shit to let my soul pool in my eyes for him to see.
Shirt hiked up over my jiggling breasts, cock knocking at my door, a push, a sigh, then the long, deep slide into home. My home.
This is always where I will feel welcome, like I always belong.
His hips curved into me slowly at first as he warmed up and then the tempo increased to a frenzy. Banging, moaning, arching, begging.
I breathed in his puffs of breath upon my neck and reveled in his warm, manly weight pinning me to the mattress. I hoped we disturbed my cranky asshole downstairs neighbor.
He sat up then and did his move, the one that slays me each and every time. Sometimes I resent his control over my body and our easy slide into a routine, but not that night. That night my eyes widened with anticipation and I couldn’t wait for the thrill of orgasms his body would play upon mine.
With my ankles hitched up on his shoulders he angled himself inside of me to hit my g-spot and rammed away at me as the orgasms bled through me and I felt my juices release down the crack of my bottom. I whimpered and bit my own forearm to keep from screaming and thrashed around like a wild animal.
I begged for breaks and he gave them to me before starting up again, splitting my legs this way and that then flipping me over and twisting my long hair around his hand for a better grip and let loose on me from behind.
Tears slipped out of my eyes and I lifted my rump to meet his hips; my breath stolen by his weight and strength surging into me. I pushed back onto him as he threw himself towards my throat through my fucking pussy. Such a good boy.
His hand slammed down on one flank, then the other, and I hoped he’d leave a mark on me. Then I held my breath and hoped he’d cum, but he didn’t, like so many times before. It’s a rare occurrence now, so we finish when he gets tired, not when he’s climaxed. So I simply have to wait for him to tire and embrace the selfish feelings of pleasure he so eagerly gives to me. It’s a tough life, I know.
Eventually, my robust lover grew exhausted and fell limp like a giant, panting puppy who’s run wild in the yard on top of me. My puppy, though.
It was good to fuck like old times again and it was good to be home.
I blinked in the sunlight that streamed through my windows and stretched like the cat who lay on my pillow purring like a crazed motorboat. He’ll be here soon, I thought, and as if on cue, I heard the front door open and close and the cat tore off to greet our visitor.
“Good morning, TN!” I called.
“Good morning, Hyacinth!” he called back.
I fixed my eyes on the doorway and let him fill my view as he sauntered in, sheet marks pressed into his skin and his eyes puffy, but his cock enormous and jutting out against his shiny black basketball shorts.
I giggled at the image of his exhaustion mingled with a giant erection.
He walked up to the side of the bed and pulled himself free of his shorts, his taut, pink skin a slightly curved appendage for my viewing pleasure.
I wrapped my hand around it. “Mmm,” I said and stood up. “I have to pee. I’ll be right back!”
When I came back out he pushed me roughly down onto the bed and licked his hand. “I doubt I needed to do this. Hmm, let’s see. Could Hyacinth be wet already?”
“It’s possible,” I answered looking up at him. “You wake up with that monster between your legs everyday. I happen to wake up wet everyday.” He pushed at my opening and sure enough he slid right in.
We moved together in the sunlight, carefully avoiding each other’s morning breath and hugged and humped and clutched and climaxed. He pinned my legs onto his shoulders and moved until I was begging him to stop and then with a puffy-eyed grin kept going.
We were done relatively quickly, it being the morning and all. He gently removed himself from me and lay beside me. “Hang on,” I said and rolled over and grabbed my phone, something I’d done alone for so long.
I began taking pictures of us freshly post-coital. It felt intimate and odd, like a salty candy that gives you two flavors at once.
He left shortly after to go to work and I smiled, stupidly happy.
And then I realized how uncomfortable I am with happiness and how I am doing my best to destroy what little peace I’ve finally managed to accomplish with him: I suggested that he fuck other women.
The night I came up with this grand plan I had just met his parents. Over the course of roughly 4 and a half hours I’d had a glass of white wine while getting dressed, a glass of Prosecco before dinner, and a glass of Rosé with my scallops, but when I’d suggested it to him he seriously wondered if I were drunk.
“I trust you, TN, I really do. And I’m proud of you and I think you’re amazing in bed. I want you to be able to go out and have fun.”
He just looked at me, dumbfounded as I blithely continued. “No, really. I’m so happy with you, I want you to be happy, too.”
“Ok…” he said, incredulous. “But why the change of heart? You’ve never felt this way before.”
“It’s because you told me you loved me and I feel safe with you, content. I really feel like I could handle it.”
I’d dozed off then on his warm, furry chest and forgotten all about it. But he hadn’t.
The following day he brought it up again. “So, what you said the other night. Do you still mean it? Or were you just drunk?”
It all came rushing back to me: the warm glow of acceptance, the sense of safety, this ridiculous drive to prove I were invincibly in love with him. What.the.fuck. But I was too embarrassed to back out. “No, really, I do,” I replied and then began that weird dance that people in open relationships do wherein they try to think of every possible thing they can’t handle: no two dates with the same woman, no threesomes without me, no lies, everything has to be transparent to me. Then, of course I asked if he’d care if I slept around.
He was thoughtful, then said he’d be ok with me and another couple, but not with another man. I told him I couldn’t imagine fucking another man anyway, I already had my unicorn firmly in my grasp. He’d smiled at that and then I felt a twinge of something, like a tiny splinter: why would he want to fuck another woman? aren’t I good enough? the best? And that’s when I knew I was full of shit and actively trying to sabotage my own happiness.
The next night, after the sweet, yet brief morning love session, I came to him with hat in hand, sheepish and utterly embarrassed. “You’re right, TN. I can’t handle it. I think I’m just really uncomfortable with how happy I am. I mean, look, we’ve only been this kind of happy for 3 months and I’m already looking to inject it with chaos.”
He pulled me into his nook and stroked my arm. “I thought so,” he said. “Besides, I’m not a player. I’m really not that interested in opening this up.”
I’m almost 40 years old and this is a humiliating moment for me. I left a marriage that was safe, yet passionless, and embarked on a wild year or two of no safety whatsoever, but chocked full of passion. I manage to cultivate a passionate — and safe — relationship and the first thing I try to do is dismantle it.
After everything we’ve been through — 4 am girl, my secret sex blog, his resistance, my anger — we’ve made it. He wants me and my entire life and I am inexplicably uncomfortable with his unconditional regard despite my longing for just this very thing. I am a stupid bastard.
So for now we have agreed to just be happy with each other and I’ve vowed to immerse myself in this new sensation called happiness. It’s strange and terrifying, but I happen to like salty candy so I’m going to keep chewing.
I pressed myself against his bare back and reached my arm around to find his stiff cock resting on the mattress. We’d been cuddling for a while and our new configuration had interrupted my stroking. I sighed into his back and kissed his shoulder, squeezed the hot thing in my hand. He picked up his stream of consciousness and I closed my eyes with a smile as I breathed him in and indulged completely my joy of curling around him while sunk deeply into my mattress.
My hand, wrapped around his hotness, lazily moved the length of him and I felt a familiar draw between my legs. I was surprised; I thought for sure the pounding headache I’d endured all day had surely killed any kind of libido, but no… she was purring just below the surface. I decided to test it and thought out loud to us both.
“How long has it been since you masturbated?”
“Since Saturday or Sunday whenever I sent you that pic.”
“Mmm,” I replied remembering the glorious cock shot I’d received, all resplendent dark pink skin arched like a dolphin above the surface of his belly. “I remember now. Thanks for that.” I squeezed my hand again and pulled his shoulder toward me to reposition him on his back.
“I want to watch you cum tonight,” I said softly, firmly. The room was filled with light and an evening stillness, waiting.
He politely declined, but I persisted, perceiving the game. “It’s so hot when your hand is a blur, to watch you tense your big thighs,” I whispered.
I traced my hand over his meaty quadricep. “And to watch you shake a little. To see your arm flex, your biceps harden. Your little grunts and then you curl.”
“I curl?” he asked.
“Yes, you curl, just a little, like this at the end,” and I demonstrated the little crunch he does during climax.
He moaned a little and took over. A slight smacking sound from the head of his cock joined the lilt of my story as his hand moved quickly and expertly over his own body. “Mmm, how could I have forgotten about that sound?” I wondered.
“I want you to cum with me,” he said. Then added, “Please, ma’am.”
I rolled over and retrieved the Hitachi resting on a nest of tangled cords and put the head over my polkadot shorts. I lifted my white see-through t-shirt and lay in the bright light, his eyes locked on mine for a moment before we both shifted to each other’s bodies.
The wand seared through me as I watched the blurry arc of his hand. Words tumbled out of me as quickly as my orgasm tumbled toward its cliff of release. “I love your cock,” I gasped, “It’s so fucking big. Look at you: so beautiful, so sexy.”
His body was doing all the things I’d already described. His legs were rigid slabs of muscle, his chest was taut with exertion, his breath coming fast and in little jerks.
“I can’t believe you put that giant thing in me,” I managed to say and then my orgasm pushed through me like a wave crashing on the beach. It came so swiftly the second I was done I wanted more. He was still beating himself with a steady, sexy rhythm.
“You’re going again, right?” he asked, hopeful.
“Definitely,” I confirmed. “Talking — hearing my own voice say those things — made me cum faster,” I said a little incredulously. “But it’s hard. I’m so shy.” He said he felt the same way when he tried to talk and I felt less silly.
I put the Hitachi back on me and kept talking. Again, it pounded through me in seconds and I arched and moaned and called out. He closed his eyes and moved to his own music, his own needs. His hand moved impossibly fast and his breathing shortened. I pressed my hand gently on his thigh, close to the magic and waited.
And then he curled a little and spurts of his seed came spilling out to rest on the brambles of his hairy abdomen. He giggled a little and relaxed. “See?” I said kissing his shoulder. “You curled!” He giggled again and sighed, wiped the cum off his belly with his bare hand.
I took it and licked some off and smacked my lips, rolled back onto my back and quickly had a third orgasm with the taste of his cum on my lips and his mouth latched onto my breast.
“Let’s talk about our feelings,” he joked. I snuggled down into my nook and kissed his chest. His arm squeezed me to him and he nuzzled me for a kiss on the lips.
“Ok,” I said. “I love you.” He smiled and I got lost in his icy blue eyes, the whiskers he was growing back for me.
“I love you, too,” he replied and I quietly wrapped myself in the evening’s joy as I looked out into the quiet stillness of my brightly lit room, his chest a pillow beneath my smiling cheek.
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…
My body opened for him, my heart pumped for him, my legs spread for him.
It had been days since we were able to connect; weekly demands, family in town, and work schedules conspired against us. I felt an angsty itch I couldn’t swat away, but we had promised each other that last night would be the end of the itching.
“I need you deep inside of me,” I texted. “It will make my world right.”
He popped over later in the evening and lit a fire for Peyton and me. They chatted for a minute and then he and I talked on the balcony while Pey watched How the Grinch Stole Christmas.
My heart was heavy and has been re-broken as I navigate a new stage of my relationship with my ex and my ex-family. He was kind, offered words of encouragement. “Fuck them, Hy. Repeat after me, ‘Fuck them!'”
I said the words and joked that at least I had his cock to make me feel better. He agreed as I leaned across the chilly night and grabbed his warm, soft bulge.
“You ok?” he asked me.
“Yes,” I answered eyeing his lips. I brushed them with my own and his soft beard tickled my skin. “I am now.”
“Good.” He stood up. “Text me later, ok? I’m off to get dinner.”
I thanked him again and finished my warm, cozy night with my gangly limbed little one and the second I knew that sleep had descended on my house I texted a simple, “OK!”
I changed out of my jeans into maroon scrubs and removed my bra. My heavy breasts sagged against my white cotton shirt and I sighed. I went and laid down on my couch to wait, excited and even a little nervous.
I heard heavy footsteps, a door open, a door shut and then my door open. He was here.
I looked at him as he walked into my apartment wearing only black basketball shorts. “Come on,” he said with his hand out. “Let’s go.” His face was serious, his bulge obvious.
I giggled and sat upright, grabbed his hand and skipped a little as he led me to my room. He shut the door and locked it lest Peyton wake up and need Mommy for something.
I handed him a lighter and gestured toward the candle on my nightstand as I turned off the lights.
I heard the lighter and the room filled with a warm glow. He turned to me and took my face in his hands and kissed me. His cologne filled my nostrils and I inhaled the sweet, manly scent. I pressed my body against his bare chest and pulled back and in one motion removed my shirt then my pants.
I stood before him in purple knee-high socks and black lace panties. I arched my back a little as I noticed him glance at my breasts and abdomen. He grabbed me again and pulled me in for a deeper, longer kiss.
I tugged at his shorts and shoved them off the rest of the way with my stockinged foot. He giggled at my antics, kissed me again then shoved me down on the bed and ripped off my panties.
I could feel my wetness and grew more excited to see his reaction. He pushed my legs apart and positioned himself between them, his cock found my hole and his eyes grew wide when he felt his cock slide in with such ease.
“Jesus Christ, Hy,” he moaned into my ear.
He began to rock into me and I clung to him. He kissed my ear, my neck, my lips. I grew greedy and mewled at him, kissing him back like it was my last opportunity for touch.
I grabbed at his flanks and ground down on him as his arms wrapped around me to hold me to him. He pounded my fucking pussy like it was his last opportunity for touch.
I gushed and I came in so many bursts that left me breathless, my breasts crushed against the fur of chest grew hot from our friction. His mouth was all over me, such a rare treat, I felt like a chocolate beneath his mouth and tongue.
He pushed himself up on his knees and bent my legs, my dark purple socks looked like boots. My pussy was so slick I could barely feel him and I worried aloud about it. He assured me that wasn’t the case for him.
I began to pant how much I loved his fucking cock over and over, a broken, lusty record. I clenched, I prayed, I hoped to God he could actually feel me and then I heard a hitch in his voice and his pants began to come in earnest.
The tops of his thighs slammed into the soft undersides of mine as his body jerked and he came deep inside of me. He paused for a minute and I wanted to cry with relief. I felt like a rag doll. But it lasted only a moment before he started to move again.
“No, wait,” I begged. “Please, stop, please. Let’s just rest!” He laughed at me and asked if I was sure. “I said, yes, please. I know you’re a sex machine and you can go forever, but please, go easy on me. I really just want to lay with you. I’ve cum 14 times already, I swear!”
He laughed again and flopped down next to me and I curled up into his nook. I lay there thinking how weird it is that I have to tell the man-who-never-cums-in-me to stop fucking me after he finally does. He’s a special one, that’s for sure.
We lay in each other’s arms and I felt the ooze between my legs and smiled. I couldn’t wait to wake up the next morning and feel its continuous drip, proof that he was there.
I stroked his shoulders and his temples, anywhere I could lay my hands on him and he melted into me before announcing his departure.
I realized that it has been a solid year since I’ve been monogamous with him. It feels weird, scary and also very right. A year’s worth of one man’s semen in and on me, one man’s cock, one man’s eyes. It feels possessive and free all at once. It feels truly lovely.
I walked him to the door, gave him a good, hard smack on his ass and kissed him goodnight. My love, my neighbor, my TN walked next door through a cold 5 feet and disappeared for one more night.
My emotions aren’t unstable, but they do run the gamut. One week, I feel solid, another I am shaky. I rehearse speeches to no one and I ferret out my feelings about my non-relationship relationship with single-minded determination. I want to make sure I am doing what I want to do for good and noble reasons, not out of desperation or habit.
The Neighbor lights me up. And despite the trauma of our early days I love him more now than ever. I fight to keep the darkness away, the fear of a life without him, but it’s an easier fight all the time. When this is done, I will be ok. I know it. And part of how I know that is because of what I feel today with him. I cannot regret one thing we’ve done because it has always been magic.
A few days ago, something happened that was new.
He kissed me softly and his new beard pricked my nose and lips like a little nibbling hedgehog. I moaned and opened my mouth against his and breathed in the perfume of cologne and soap and love.
A candle flung fleeting light against the walls and ceiling and he moved to cover me with his naked, pale body. His knee pushed my knees apart and he settled his weight above me and positioned his giant cock at my opening. Our mouths remained connected with soft laps and locked lips.
He pushed at me and I lifted my knees higher and wider and hooked my ankles together behind his buttocks. He pushed harder and I gave way. The universe shifted as we joined and pressed our bodies as close together as humanly possible.
“Don’t move,” I whispered against his mouth. “Stay.” And I pulled him in deeper until I felt him poke my heart.
I wriggled a little and twisted my hips until I screwed down tighter onto him. He growled into my ear and curled his hips into me slowly. We began to move like this, the slow motion dance of timeless lovers, on endless waves of lust and passion.
Again and again and again he curved his curved cock into my cunt. I clung to him with all my limbs and kissed his neck as he kissed mine, a connected yin and yang.
I whimpered as my heart began to feel tender and my pussy began to bloom. His tempo increased and I heard a squelch from where our bodies met and then another. He went faster and faster, the curl now a thrust, the dance now a beat.
He pressed up on his arms and I grabbed his hips to pull him in faster, harder. He hitched my ankles up to his shoulders and sat up, watching my face twist in ecstasy as I came and came in little bursts.
He didn’t cum this time, but he was smiling when he finally stopped and I fell loose into a the puddle below us. He opened his arms to me and I rolled heavily into them, catching my breath.
“Wow, that was really good,” he said, stroking my arm
“It really was,” I answered. “It was like you were curling into me.”
“Yeah, it really was. It felt amazing. You felt amazing.”
Then we chuckled at our self congratulations and fell silent. Later, with me on an elbow facing him and him on his we talked about our day, our week, everything, nothing, our navels. My hair was still in long, wet ropes from my shower and with one hand I pinned it as I talked.
He looked at me softly, strangely then. “You look really pretty right now,” he said shyly.
“Aw, thank you,” I said and leaned forward to kiss him, but he ducked away and latched onto my bare breast instead. “No,” I said pulling him up. “Kiss me here,” and I tapped my mouth with a finger tip. He gingerly touched his mouth to mine until I pressed in for more and as we kissed I said between them, “That is the sweetest thing you’ve said and thank you so very much. I’m so glad to know you.”
When our lips fell apart he ducked his head again, but this time into the pillows. “Aw, what’s the matter?” I asked, rubbing his shoulder.
“I had no idea that was all I had to do to make you feel that good,” was his muffled reply. “And now I might be feeling bashful.”
“Yep, fuck me hard and tell me I’m pretty! I’m easy like that,” I laughed, my heart smiling from its melted place.
He looked up at me and I read in his eyes a desire to reach out to me, to touch my face, but he held still and didn’t move. Then the look passed and we were both back in bed smiling at each other, but the moment had been there. It’d been there. He had surprised himself with his sentiment and I was lucky enough to witness it.
He may be too scared to admit it, but I know he’s curled up around my heart as much as I am around his. We are a tangled, dirty, mess of love and fear. Take us or leave us. I choose to take us.
Go here to read a little about Geoff. He proved himself to be an agile, robust lover. If it weren’t for his incessant talking I might have enjoyed myself a lot more than I did. We were lovers in March and maybe April of 2011.
This post is from old writings from that time. I hadn’t met The Neighbor, yet; I was on a mission to fuck anyone and everyone if only my heart would stop breaking.
Also, amazing what a couple of years of writing will do to the quality of my work. I cringed when I reread it, so I’ve made some changes so I’m not so embarrassed to share.
My sex drive is off the charts. Being fucked once does nothing except make sure I don’t combust; it whets my appetite for more. It’s the Sisyphus aspect of this whole thing.
So I made a date for Geoff to come and fuck me midday, then leave.
I ran out to the top of my stairs to meet him and hoped he could see my white panties up my skirt as he climbed the stairs.
He smiled all the way up the steps. Fun times were ahead! A little naked party just for me and him!
I flung myself at him as he climbed the last steps and he caught me in his arms and kissed me passionately at the top of the stairs.
Laughing, kissing, and walking backwards I led him to my front door. His cologne filled my nostrils as his mouth devoured mine and we fell into the apartment.
Pearl snaps popped open and his shirt fell in a heap on the floor as we continued towards my bed. He threw me down and stripped off the rest of his clothes.
“I love being fully clothed with a naked man,” I purred as I looked him over.
He was hairless and freckled mostly everywhere and his big, meaty erection hung down and to my left like a wayward banana. He’d ignored my questions about the direction of his erection the one time I’d brought it up, so I figured a man was allowed his secrets.
I peeled my dress off and he grabbed my panties, then a condom. Suddenly he was on top of me pile driving into me. I could feel the tip of his cock on the left side of my canal, brushing my cervix and making me twist beneath him.
For minutes on end he slammed into me and I pushed against the wall and bore down, pushing hard with my velvety muscles with every thrust.
He grabbed my feet and put them together before his face and fucked me like a rabid dog. I could barely move when he cussed and stopped, gathering himself, “Oh my God, I’m gonna fucking cum. I gotta wait a second.”
I laughed and grabbed his ass as he pulled out and dove onto my pussy with his mouth. His goatee tickled my thighs as his broad, warm tongue lapped at me like a scoop of ice cream.
I panted that I wanted him inside of me again, but he said no. He lifted his face and kissed me deeply, my own scent a delicious cloud about me. His other hand worked my clit and I squirted fiercely into his hand as I cried out. His eyes lit up and he stroked harder; I squirted more, writhing beneath his hand and begged him to fuck me.
He flipped me over and drove into me, his hands gripping my hips tightly. I swung back down onto him with all my strength, curving a little at the end. I reached back beneath me and cupped his balls.
I heard him moan and then begin to speak about how he loved my body and how I was such a good fuck and so good at it. Little sexy kindnesses every woman loves to hear.
My insides were filled and my arms and shoulders were going numb with delight. I felt tears and laughter pricking my face, giddy with desire and sensation.
Our bodies were slick with sweat when he finally came, his control pinpoint. We flopped onto my pillows and I quickly grabbed my vibe, asked him to hold my throat tightly and came fast and hard, even squirting some while doing so.
Finally I relaxed and we chatted amiably. He didn’t talk as much this time and for that I was grateful. Again he asked if I wanted him to stay or if he should go. I fibbed and told him a friend was coming over soon and he’d have to leave in 30 minutes. “Besides, I need to freshen up after the two-hour fuckfest I just had,” I said.
I lazed with my leg slung over him and he held my hand as we laughed and shared stories watching the clock tick 30 minutes. Then he patted my ass and got up and dressed. We hugged and kissed and he pressed me up against the wall by the door and promised to call me later.
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, theyellow 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.
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.
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.
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.”
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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