The other night I had to write down who and when this week and I still had 6 left over in the sidebar with no time to give.
Nameless, most of them, as I probably am to them.
I had a dream about The Neighbor two nights ago. His giant, turgid cock was all mine. My hunt was over and he was going to be with me forever. I was going to feel his fuzzy, muscular body jam into mine and I was going to die of bliss.
It was all a fantasy, even in the dream. He slipped through my fingers when he realized I was still in love with him. I denied it, but had no proof. “But look!” I’d shouted into space. “Look at all the other men I’m fucking!”
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.
Outside the wind whipped freezing weather through us all, the trees, our streets, our flimsy coats, but inside I was warm and toasty. A log glowed with its dying embers and my heater spewed warm air into the apartment like a never-ending breath. I sat at the computer, my desktop, searching for apartments or duplexes, anything that would fit me and Peyton when I heard a quick knock at my door and the handle turn.
The Neighbor wasn’t due to come over until 9, after the gym and after dinner. It was only 6.
I looked up and he filled the doorway with his black pea coat and rosy cheeks. “Fuck, it’s cold out there! And I don’t want to go to the gym.” He looked at me meaningfully.
“Are you saying you’d like to do a horizontal workout?” I was half joking, but hopeful.
“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean,” he answered with a smile.
I stood up and closed the gap between us and wrapped my arms around his cold exterior while giving him a soft kiss, dropping everything I’d been doing. “You’re so cold!” I exclaimed and then screamed when two ice cold hands wrapped around my breasts. “What the fuck!” and I yelled again laughing.
“You’re so hot!!” he laughed and squeezed his handfuls with gusto.
I stood there patiently while his hands warmed up and he wiggled his eyebrows at me. I stepped back and his hands dropped to the bulge in his jeans. A ridge larger than a banana had appeared where none had been only moments before. I hmmm’d my approval and rubbed it and sat back down at the computer. He walked around to lay by the dying fire and play with the cat.
I wondered at my accessibility, how open and willing I am to drop whatever it is I’m doing to play with him: is that real? Is that sustainable? I pushed the thoughts out of my head and went to kneel beside him.
I kissed his soft lips buried in whiskers and felt his cool hands reach for my breasts again. I lifted my shirt and shifted one into his mouth.
His warm, wet mouth pulled at me and I was reminded of all those months of nursing my baby. The tug, the pull, the stinging surge of milk as it came to a head and spilled out. I wished I could feel that again. I switched breasts and he continued to suckle. Eyes closed, hands stroking the backs of my jean-clad thighs and where they joined. I moaned a little and pulled away.
His bulge was even bigger.
He stood up and I raised up on my knees. “I’m wondering if I should leave without fucking you. I told myself I would,” he said, always the game player.
“Do whatever you want,” I replied looking up at him and undoing his belt. “You probably should leave.” I peeled away his jeans and pulled out the head of his giant cock, stiff and full of itself. He helped maneuver his underpants and his balls while I licked the big head and slowly, yet softly, drove it into my mouth.
His moans encouraged me and I pushed my gag reflex away as I took as much of him as I could, still 2 inches short of all of it. My saliva began a trail down my wrist as I sucked and pulled, completely lost on my knees. He was now stark naked.
“Fuck, that feels good,” he said. “I’ve missed that so much!” I felt a pang of guilt and quickly squashed it. I do what I can.
“Let’s go to your bed,” he said, hand out to me. I took it and got to my feet and quickly followed him into my room. He lit a candle and it danced for us in the winter dusk. His naked body gleamed as he came to me and took my face in his hands.
We kissed and kissed and he whipped my clothes off of me and pressed himself against me. I wanted to say “I love you,” but kept it to myself. He pushed me roughly onto the bed instead and climbed on top, growling.
His cock pushed its way beyond my folds and spread me wide open. I wriggled and grabbed at his flanks to pull him in closer. He kissed my ear and my neck. I wanted to say “I love you,” again, but kept silent.
When he began to move I mewled and thrust and ground back. He slammed into me 1000 times and I rocked back into the mattress like a ragdoll. I came again and again and he split my legs and ground on my clit with his abdomen. I went wild with painful pleasure and wondered if I would cum this way, like scissor sisters.
“I love your cock, I fucking love your cock,” I whispered over and over, though really I wanted to say only “I love you.”
Sweat began to slick between us and I was spurred to buck harder and faster. He. will. never. forget. me. I thought. I am more than everything. The pounding, the beating I took filled my head and my arms like sand and my eyes saw only stars. We were these humping, thumping animals rutting the fuck out of each other. And then we stopped, exhausted. I felt my heart battering against its cage and I put my hand on his and felt the same fluttering. I couldn’t move.
“I really do love your cock,” I said between heavy breaths. “And I love you,” I added bravely. “I love you, too.” We laughed at my silliness, but he didn’t reply. There was only silence.
I felt tears well up inside overwhelmed by his lack of response, by him being so TN, so android-like, like the code for /reciprocate “I love you” got broken.
Slowly he pulled out and lay beside me. “I hate it when you go,” I pouted.
“But I can’t lay next to you if I don’t; I’m too far away.” I closed my eyes and let the tears come. Disappointment and satisfaction nearly equal parts of each.
He stroked my hair a few times then seemed to remember that that’s too intimate and stopped. “You get a good enough workout in?” I asked, forcing my sadness away.
“Indeed I did! Thank you!” He leaned over and kissed me deeply. We lay together for a few more minutes before he got up to leave and I decided to join him for a store-run for dinner. When we got home we said we’d see each other later, but we wouldn’t.
At 9:15 he called to say he’d decided to go to bed while the mood was hot. He was worried I’d feel rejected. I didn’t, but it made me wonder again at my availability and openness. When he’d come over I was in the middle of doing work that was important to me, but I dropped it all instantly, not to mention I would never cancel a cuddle with him just because I was tired. But that’s on me — bad boundaries and everything. I never get full. Ever. I’m a bucket with holes.
At least I get fucked. There’s always that. And I love him. Even if he isn’t entirely comfortable with his love for me. Maybe this move will be for the best.
In the blustering storm that is life, where all the leaves are bills and worries and exes and money and illness and the bright sky and warm sunshine are jubilation and health and bonds and friendship, there is always a center. It’s our soul, our heart, and it can be found in purpose.
My center is Peyton, which equates to love; I am anchored by a precocious, sensitive little person who has a wee lisp and a wild imagination just like the mama in the story, me. And my other center is The Neighbor, a different kind of purpose and love, a grown up, complicated, left-of-center, warm, sloppy, and wanting love. Between the two of them, I am filled to the brim with sunshine even as the leaves twist and flip about me.
On the 21st of December TN and I had our Christmas. One of my gifts was going to be my declaration of love, but I was nervous. We lit a fire and I cooked for us — filet mignon with a wine reduction sauce, fried Brussels sprouts and roasted acorn squash with brown sugar. We drank wine and talked, opened many wonderful, thoughtful, loving gifts (I gave him a shirt I made that said, “Logically Logical,” a throwback to an inside joke).
We held hands as we stumbled into my bedroom and undressed each other in the candlelight. We kissed with soft, wet tongues and beating hearts. He pounded into me and I arched back into him, the words so close on my lips, yet held tight behind a seal.
I came and came and my heart melted then blew into glittering bits. He was business as usual, ignorant and blissfully so. We lay in each other’s arms and I thought to myself, “Now is the time. Now,” but I couldn’t bring myself to be so vulnerable. There was every chance that he would be angry, that he wouldn’t return the words, that we might even break up.
I took a deep breath and splayed my fingers through his chest hair and trailed my fingers down between his legs and squeezed his wet, thick cock. “You know I love more than just this about you, right?” It was all I could do.
He nodded and said he knew. I quietly chastised myself, so weak, so scared. He was leaving in two days to go home for Christmas. This was the moment.
While he was gone shit hit the fan with my ex. I found out via social media once removed that he was getting remarried (“once removed” would mean that a friend texted me about my ex’s relationship status change) and that he was keeping it secret from Peyton for some reason. Between my head exploding in rage and the barrenness I felt due to our physical distance, I felt more than ever the urge to tell him how I felt. It wasn’t because of the news, but in spite of it.
Life is short and I love him. He has the right to know.
His flight arrived late the day after Christmas, about the same time Peyton and I pulled up in front of our apartment from a quick out-of-town trip to see friends. “The eagle has landed!” he texted.
I tucked in my baby and rehearsed what I’d say to TN. My plan was to just blurt it out the second I saw him. “Hi, TN! I love you!” and just see what happened. But when the time came, I was seized with nerves again. We hugged and playfully sobbed into each other’s arms over our stressful family holidays.
I took a deep breath, “I have to talk to you. I have good news and I have bad news.” He looked alarmed as I led him to my room and sat down on the bed. “Which do you want to hear?”
“The bad news first.” I sighed with relief.
“The bad news is, Exhusband and Kathy got engaged Christmas Eve, I found out via Facebook, and he still hasn’t told me about it.” TN knows that whenever my ex does stupid shit, it can affect my moods and my feelings about our relationship, in particular. “And the good news has no connection to this bad news whatsoever.”
“Ok..” he said speculatively.
“You know how I feel about you, right?” he slumped down and covered his face with a sheet. I felt every element of oxygen enter and leave my lungs. “I love you.”
He dropped the sheet and looked at me. “And I always feel it more when you’re away and we’re apart and my friends are asking about you. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you and you never heard the words from me.”
He looked at me for long moments, blinking. He thanked me.
I didn’t fall apart because it was what I expected, but when he asked for me to lay down with him, I refused. “No, thank you. I don’t feel like it right now.” I sat against his thighs, my arm straddling him, but the last thing I wanted to do was lay down with a man who didn’t return my love.
We talked about I don’t know what for a long while until finally, for some reason, he suddenly said, “Of course I love you, too.”
I sucked in my breath and looked at him intently. “Really??”
“What?!” I said incredulously. All those stupid, wasted weeks of torture and tears could have been avoided. “Then why did you date her?!”
“I don’t know,” he said simply. I let the silence hang between us and my heart softened towards the man who couldn’t help himself but love me. I quietly laid down into his nook.
“So I tell you I love you and now you want to be close?” he asked, not without sarcasm.
“Yes, pretty much. I didn’t feel close to you before. Now I do. It’s simple.” He squeezed me and I sighed into him. “I really do love you. I’m sorry.” He cringed and my heart broke for him a little knowing that this complicated things in a way he’d been athletically avoiding for at least 18 months. “At least you’ll have a lot to talk about with your therapist: ‘Theresa! It’s terrible! Hyacinth admitted she loved me and I told her I loved her, too!'”
He chuckled at my dry humor and said it was true. I felt simultaneously angry, relieved, and blessed. And royally fucked.
When he left that night I said the words I’d wanted to say so many times before as he headed for my bedroom door, “Goodnight, I love you, TN.” He paused and turned with a twinkle in his eye and through a tight smile said, “I love you, too, Hy.” And then he was gone from my doorway, still my center, but also still somehow a new leaf.
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.
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.
If it weren’t for The Neighbor and his shenanigans a year and a half ago I never would have met Marian Green (or Noodle, as I like to call her). It was the night that TN brought home a date when he had told me he couldn’t come over because he had to work late. It was an awful, awful night, really, and I reached out to the faceless, voiceless internet friends I call my Internet Boyfriend for help.
LSAM (or now Caitlyn) and Noodle both rushed in via email, saying sweet and soothing things that friends say.
I paced around my apartment chain-smoking and checking my email when I read this note from Noodle:
So apparently I’m way more empathetic that I ever imagined because I’m giving you my number. Don’t feel obligated to use it. But if words on a screen aren’t enough and you need an actual ear… here ya go. xxx-xxx-xxxx.
It took a little while before I decided to take her up on it — I’d never broken the wall of anonymity via a phone call before — but when I did I was immediately pulled into a warm embrace of a friend. And that was it: we were fast friends.
Since then she’s come to Hyville to visit twice (read about it here and here) and I’ve seen her in a restaurant in the big city near Noodleland once, but I’d never been to her sleepy little town before last weekend and it was, well, pretty fucking fabulous in an am-I-in-a-different-universe?? sorta way.
The short version is this: Noodle was right. The men in her town are vastly more “friendly” than the ones in mine.
The long version of the story goes like this:
My drive to her house was almost double what it should have been and my ass ached and my back throbbed as I pulled up to her pretty brick house. I parked, giddy with excitement, yet irritable, and let myself in knowing she had just gotten out of the shower.
She rushed to meet me wrapped in a fuzzy white robe and I bent down to hug her. All my irritation and agony evaporated as we held each other at arm’s length beaming big smiles then pulled each other close again. I loved seeing her again.
Her hair was long, wet, and curly and she smelled warm and clean as she showed me around her abode and headed back to her bathroom to finish getting ready.
“I thought we’d grill first and chill here, let you rest, then we can go to the bar I always write about.”
“Sounds good to me,” I said as she peeled off her robe and let her giant breasts spill out. I smiled to myself thinking how many of you would pay good money to see what I was seeing.
She finished getting dressed and we popped open a bottle of champagne. We used her grandmother’s glasses — I suspect because I always do with her when she’s with me — and toasted to our visit and the adventures we might have.
The night fell gently upon her sleepy little town and we drove along endless ribbons of country road to get to the nearest grocery store where the bagger insisted on helping us with our things to Noodle’s convertible. In my city, the baggers stare with dead eyes as they fill your bags, bored and painfully cool.
Back at her house we grilled shrimp and I managed not to fuck up a box of Zatarain rice. I sat at her dining room table in the middle of her beautiful, grown-up home, thinking I was living in the pages of a book. Here I was hundreds of miles away from home in Noodle’s house. Contemporary, a little country-living. Where my home is bohemian and eclectic, hers is luxurious and warm.
We finished dinner and freshened up for drinks. She pinned up my hair and made it extra fluffy because, I guess, country men like big hair and Noodle was out to prove to me that men in her town were far more friendly than those in mine. I warned her not to get her hopes up, that “Men seriously don’t talk to me. Ever,” but she snorted and told me we’d see who was right.
I was in a black, V-neck dress and wedge sandals (what I wore on the ride to her house) and Noodle donned a black V-neck T-shirt and skinny jeans. We were casual, relaxed, two old friends with a shared secret: we blog about sex and no one else knows. Totally normal.
“You ready, Hy?” she asked as we jumped into her car.
“As I’ll ever be!” I answered and lit up a cigarette.
The Bar, as I’ll call it, was in a little strip mall. Cars with big wheels and jacked-up trucks littered the parking lot. The big door guy carded us and I wondered if his ass ever got sore just sitting there for hours.
We picked a spot as far away from the karaoke stage as possible and ordered our drinks. A whiskey and diet for Noodle and a white wine for me. The bartender wasn’t even sure if they had any wine, but she returned with what was probably weeks-old Chardonnay. I didn’t care.
I scanned the room and there was a tall, Latin-looking fellow a few bar stools down from me. He tried to make eye contact, but I wasn’t interested. I turned to Noodle instead and we chatted away as she periodically checked her phone. “Lover is going to come,” she said suddenly.
“Lover, Lover?? The one you’ve written about??” I exclaimed.
“Yes! God,” she laughed, “I haven’t seen him in forever! Well, this’ll be fun, won’t it!”
A baseball game flickered on a TV over the bar and a talented black man killed it on stage song after song as our conversation flowed and our laughter came easily. Finally Lover showed up.
An average sized man with a bushy beard, a flashing smile and a baseball cap, he hugged Noodle hello, sizing her up with appreciative eyes. He nodded me a hello of my own and I saw immediately how he wiggled his way into Noodle’s pants. He looked like a good time on two legs.
The three of us got on like gangbusters until I noticed Noodle motioning to someone to join us. I turned to my right and the Latin-looking fellow had sidled up to me. “Hi,” he said grinning down at me and presumably at my cleavage, too. “I’m Tony.”
I said hello and resigned myself to Noodle winning our argument that men would talk to me if I weren’t in my shitty big city. Too bad Tony was a douchebag.
He had a big smile, but no charm. He couldn’t understand why I didn’t like his scary skull tattoo with the American flag bandana. “But it has a flag!” he pouted.
I told him scary shit didn’t impress me. Lover intervened and decided to share his tattoo with us then: a simple outline of a state with the head of a Mallard duck in the middle. It was atrocious.
We laughed our asses off at his pained expression. “Hey! I was doing an ex-girlfriend a favor!” he protested laughing, feigning hurt feelings.
“Was she drunk??” I asked choking on giggles.
“Well, sorta. She was all doped up on meth,” he answered with a lopsided grin.
We all burst into laughter and Tony thought this was his moment and closed in for body contact. I moved away subtly, not interested, but he followed. I pushed him back. “What? No love for me?” he asked.
“Nope, not tonight,” was all I said. I thought of The Neighbor and how true it was.
Tony was undeterred, however. He tried again later after Lover lifted one of Noodle’s heavy breasts and said something about loving big tits. She laughed and swatted his hand away. So Tony reached around and also lifted one of hers, then lifted mine, but I remained motionless. His hand dropped and smile faded from his face as I looked at him implacably. That hadn’t just happened.
The four of us stayed there on our little corner of the bar for another drink and I got teased some more for my wine. It seemed no one could believe it: a woman drinks wine in a bar! I laughed at how much I stuck out without even trying.
Though I was having fun with my Noodle and her Lover boy, Tony continued to bend my ear and wedge his way into our conversation. I was getting tired of him, like a day-old rash.
Then, while outside talking with more friendly strangers, Tony pissed me off with some misogynistic, racist, foul-mouthed bullshit. I blithely got up and walked away from him saying, “That’s it. I’m fucking done.” I heard a woman at our table say, “You go, sister!”
Back safe and sound with Noodle and Lover I told them what had happened with Tony. It was then this small-town bar transformed into a fighting ring. The giant, $10 and hour bouncer dashed to a mass of people throwing punches. Women screamed, men roared, the music stopped, blood spilled. It was pretty much the perfect fucking country bar experience, in this city girl’s opinion. It was goddamned amazing.
However, Noodle and I decided to hightail it out of there anyway.
She was mortified, I was fascinated. [Later, we’d find out that her favorite little bar had earned a new, more sinister reputation since she’d been there last nearly a year ago.]
Our night was off to an auspicious start!
As the police and EMS vehicles sped to a stop with lights flashing in the parking lot Noodle, Lover and I made plans for our next stop. “Let’s go to the Country Bar,” suggested Noodle, her curls twitching in the evening breeze. Lover and his big beard agreed to meet us there and we hopped back into the convertible.
The yellow center lines the only trail to follow, we swept through the darkened countryside in her speedy car recapping our exciting night thus far: Tony the disgusting, grabby fellow, Lover and his ridiculous tattoo, the bar fight.
“I totally feel like I’m on Mars right now or something!” I shouted into the wind.
“I told you the men here were more friendly! I told you you’d get hit on!” she shouted back triumphantly. “It’s kinda cool, right?”
I smiled. It kinda was. Douchebag or not, it’d been a long time since a man had paid me any kind of attention like that.
We pulled into a tree-covered gravel parking lot not long after. The bar looked like it’d been plucked from the bayou with grey, worn planks and sagging eaves. As the crunch of gravel under the tires ceased and she cut the engine we heard a woman’s voice shouting, “Fuck you fucking shit bag! Get your fucking ass over here NOW or I’ll come fucking kick your goddamned teeth in!” or some such nonsense.
Noodle and I froze and looked at each other, then looked back out into the darkness to find the source of the vitriol. We couldn’t see the woman, but knew she was near the entrance. “What do we do??” I asked. “This is fucking nuts! She seems freakin’ homicidal!”
“I know!” answered Noodle, “She does! I dunno! Maybe we should wait a minute.”
We sat there giggling nervously as this woman spewed drunken hate like vomit. The crickets never had a chance.
Finally we decided we’d just have to rush past her as she yelled incoherently about “some blonde bitch.”
We kept our eyes to the ground as we, two of the blondest of the blondes, sneaked out of the car and hustled past the raging, volcanic woman. I walked in first, out of breath and laughing, Noodle followed behind. We’d made it!
A quick scan of the place and I found the bar ahead of me a couple of steps up, adjacent to a little dance floor where a couple or two were dancing to some country song. They looked a little bored.
As I got about two feet to the bar a tall, older gentleman walked up to me and without a word picked up my hands and twirled me off to the dance floor. My purse hung heavily on my shoulder as I looked up at his grizzly face, his eyes were closed and a little smile sat on his mouth.
I could hear Noodle laughing at me as I danced with this new Martian.
I let him take me for a couple of passes then begged off, asked for another glass of wine from yet another bartender who wasn’t sure if they had any and then spied two chairs side-by-side next to some pool tables.
“Let’s go sit there,” I suggested, “and we can watch some pool.”
We made our way through the plumes of smoke and sat down and approximately 1.5 seconds later, 4 men were standing over us asking us our names and, naturally, making fun of my wine: Austin, Rick, Shawn, and Some Dude.
Shawn decided I was his immediately and was forceful and sloppy; he wore a paunch under his unbuttoned plaid shirt. Rick was quiet, big and brawny, with the looks of an MMA fighter. Austin was baby-faced and all over Noodle from Hello. Some Dude was just some dude.
My head spun as a deluge of compliments spilled over us and I barely had a moment to look at Noodle I was so busy bantering and deflecting, blinking curiously at this strange event. I’ve never not flirted so much in my life.
Another glass of wine was placed in my hand by someone and I felt small with my back against the wall surrounded by giant oak men. Noodle parried like a pro to my left and I tried to emulate her casualness, her quick-wittedness.
At midnight the music switched off and Lover, who’d made a short appearance, disappeared into the night. “Where do you ladies want to go next?” asked the oak men.
Noodle and I looked at each other as if to say, “The night is still young!” The locals picked the Third Bar and we headed back out to the car. Volcano Lady was gone, passed out somewhere in a ditch, I presumed, angrily twitching in her sleep.
Shawn groped me stupidly now that we were outside and I calmly removed his hand from my person. My ire rose as I envisioned a gang-rape beneath the pecan trees. “Well, officer, her tits were hanging out and she was drinkin’ wine!” they’d say.
He tried to ride with us, but I told him No and reached for Rick, who felt safe, instead. Shawn moaned his dismay and Austin grabbed him and directed him to an SUV parked next to us.
Rick sat without complaint in the tiny backseat, his 6’4″ heft wedged in like a clown, his knees splayed wide to make room. We zoomed down more slips of country road and pulled into our last stop for the night. Here, the other oak men met us upon arrival like a hungry pack of wolves and the bartender unapologetically had no wine for me this time. I ordered a vodka soda and looked out over the crowds.
The dance floor lit up like a rave and country music pumped out of the mouths of a band, smoke hung like a blanket over us all. It was definitely Mars.
Before we sat down, Rick pressed his body against mine and fondled my bottom. “Mmm,” he said into my ear. “Are you wearing any panties??”
I moved away from his hand, not at all wanting it on me and said pertly, “Yes! Of course I am!” and walked away to the nearest table. I played it off as coy, but that’s the game: hide your anger, be nice, give a second chance. You don’t want to make a scene, after all.
Shawn snagged a chair to my left, Noodle to my right, and Rick floated around while Austin looked at home to Noodle’s right. We talked and I watched the country folks do their country things. Partners twirled on the dance floor with the occasional bump and grind and people hugged and laughed all around us.
Next to me, Shawn crept closer. His questions became more probing, strange. All of his attention was laser-beamed onto me, like a drunken homing device. I began to feel closed in.
Abruptly, I stood up and told Noodle I was going to the restroom. She said she’d come with me.
Alone and away from the horny oak men I told her Shawn was getting dangerously close to over the line with me. She said she could tell and we planned for the two of us to switch places to put some distance between me and Shawn, but I forgot the second I walked back out into the flashing lights and loud music. Country Bar Amnesia, you could call it.
Back within arm’s reach of Shawn he turned up the volume on what I can only assume he thought was wooing. He begged and pleaded with me to dance with him to which I resolutely refused. He asked me endless questions to which I wouldn’t answer. And he kept trying to hold my hand. Then Rick sat between us and I felt better… for about 10 seconds.
How’s that saying go? Out of the fire and into the frying pan?
I felt Rick’s heavy hand on my thigh slide up to my crotch. I sat motionless, not acknowledging the grope. A new man claiming me for his own in front of his drunken friend who’d also “claimed” me. What the ever-loving fuck? In these situations, I’ve learned to play possum. It’s also part of the game.
When I didn’t respond to Rick’s advance, he got up and went somewhere else.
I nervously chewed on my little finger then, not sure what to do with myself. “Don’t you bite your nails!” Shawn suddenly yelled at me.
“What??” I asked, confused.
“I said, ‘Don’t you bite your nails!'” and he tried to swipe my hand away from my mouth.
And that was it for me.
I stood up and grabbed my purse off the back of my chair, leaned down and told Noodle I was done and would wait for her at the car. I wasn’t thinking that she’d follow me, though, of course she would, I just couldn’t breathe under the weight of the attention.
I felt like a piece of meat on a slab in front of a crew of starving men. Nothing I said or did seemed to matter to them, just the fact I was a woman was enough and it overwhelmed me. It scared me. Yes, me, the sex pot who writes about all her conquests got creeped out. It happens.
Noodle met me at the car and this time I apologized to her for running off like that. She assured me it was ok.
Back in the car headed home I couldn’t help but laugh. It was incredible, the amount of attention I’d gotten. Noodle wasn’t joking when she said the men in her town were friendly! But me?? Little old me?? I’m used to feeling like nothing special in my big city; being invisible and ignored are what I know.
“I promised you quantity, not quality!” she laughed riotously.
“Well, that much is true!” I laughed back shaking my head. “Jesus fucking Christ… that was intense!”
We walked tiredly into her kitchen and she grabbed another bottle of wine and whipped up a cheese plate. We sunk gratefully into the soft cushions of her couch. Her phone buzzed and she said Austin was down to meet up with her soon. “Good for you!” I said sipping some fresh and delicious red wine.
Then my phone chimed. “Who’s this??” I asked Noodle when I saw her area code.
“Oh, Rick wanted your number. I hope you don’t mind!” she giggled mischievously.
I read his message, something to the extent of “Sorry for my drunk and stupid friend.” I didn’t bother to text him back. He might as well have been talking about himself. He just wasn’t as scary or weird.
In the morning I awoke with a giant, ratted bouffant in a beautiful guest room. I was happy and tired, having slept later than I had in years thanks to the black sheers in my room.
I headed to the kitchen where fresh coffee and pastries awaited me and Noodle swayed around her kitchen in a light green cotton nightgown. “Morning!” she said to me smiling. “Let’s go out on the porch.”
I followed her outside and sat on a large, soft wicker couch; a quiet field stretched out to a two-lane road and round bales of hay rested patiently in the green grass. I thought of The Neighbor then. “My dad used to tell me those bales of hay were Shredded Wheat for buffalo,” he’d told me once while driving to a softball game.
I smiled, missing him a little and sipped on my coffee beside my friend Noodle who was also looking out at the pasture behind her little house, her coffee cup cradled in her lap. What a different world just a few hours away, I thought.
We dressed for the day and sped through what I’d call back roads, but are really the main threads of a country web. We got manis and pedis from small, black-haired women who clipped, rubbed, and painted us within an inch of our lives. We drank rosé and closed our eyes and giggled at the decadence. And then we topped it off with brunch at a little farm-to-table place with jars of orange marmalade on the table.
It was easy to be with Noodle, my sweet friend with a secret like me.
On our way back home the sky crowded together in dark, angry clouds and we raced its release home. We parked and quickly ran inside just as the sky opened up and rained down on the warm, sleepy little town. Trees and bushes thrashed, the ground drank and drank.
We made another cup of coffee and sat on her couch, prepared to wait out the storm inside, but I had to leave soon. It’d been a magical 24 hours with my Noodle, but I had a birthday party to attend for a bestie back in Hyville. Life is filled with stolen moments with secret blogging friends, no?
When it was time to go we hugged and promised to make another visit happen soon. She wanted me to come back with TN next time. I told her I’d do what I could, but not to hold her breath.
The skies were taking a breather when I jumped back into my car and pointed its nose towards home. I waved goodbye to Noodle as I pulled out and drove off. Later, a rainbow arced in the east.
I drove through the rain for hours and finally got home. I texted TN I’d made it back and as I wearily climbed the last few steps to my front door he came out of his apartment holding two glasses of wine.
He turned and smiled at me, shirtless and handsome, a twinkle in his eye.
In minutes I was on my back, screaming his name, his giant cock buried deep in my cunt and all the country boys washed away like the endless rain drops I’d driven through to get here.
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.