“It’s total perfection.”

hy_striped_tank_jeans
It started out like this.

I’ve become high on love.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Click, click, clickity-click.

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

hy_striptease_jeans
Striptease.

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

Click, click, click.

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

hy_hearts_bottom

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

photo 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You do a good job,” he affirmed.

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

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

hy_TN_favorite_jeans
His favorite.

I need to be preferred.

My heart thudded in my ribcage, my breath caught in my throat.  It was dark in my room and only the sweet-smelling candle gave light.  What had happened?  Why was I awake?

My pulse loud in my ears I stood up and walked to the front door.  Though I hadn’t heard anything, it was the only explanation.  He had knocked.

I opened the door and a gust of wind blew by me.  I caught his heels running into the mouth of his cave.  My sleep-fogged mind scratched its head.  He quickly returned before I could even think to shut the door.

“Here,” he said and handed me a prescription bottle.  I was still confused and just looked at him standing there braless in a white v-neck and black lace panties.  “For your pain.  You asked me earlier?”

“Oh, right,” I mumbled.  “Come in.”

He followed me through the dark and winking apartment.  Christmas tree lights illuminating my questionable decisions as usual.  “Lay down,” I said simply and he went to his side of the bed and climbed in.

I flopped down beside him still disoriented, my heart still not back to its usual 60.  He patted me and rubbed me.  We haven’t seen each other like this in days.  I felt like I’d been missing him.  Maybe he felt similarly because his warm hands didn’t leave my body.

“Mmm.  See-through panties!” he exclaimed.  I rolled over and showed him my round bottom.  He spanked me and I rolled back on my belly and giggled sleepily.  His hand crept to the cleft of my legs and I lifted my hips.  His fingertips began a slow circle over my lace-trapped clit.

A small ball of heat appeared in my center and I gently lowered and lifted my hips.  My back pain completely forgotten amidst my purrs of contentment.

His hand left me and pushed on my hip.  I rolled onto my back and he returned to me.  My lashes fluttered and I could see him staring at me, his head held in one hand while his other pushed me into the brightness of arousal.  I looked at him as I could, but his gaze, so lustful, so him pushed me back below my eyelids.  I concentrated on the sensations between my legs and in my gut.

He stopped and I realized I was panting lightly.  “Did you like that?” he asked rhetorically.

“Yes.  Yes I did.”  My hand ran along his torso, his clothing suddenly an offense I couldn’t bear.  “Take off your clothes.”

He played coy for a second and I repeated myself.  He removed his shirt and ran my hand over his muscular abs covered in his light furry hair.  “I feel them.  I always feel them,” I crooned as I kissed each little pack.  “Now take these off,” and I tugged on his shorts.  “I said all of it.”

He peeled them down and I curled up on my knees, perpendicular to him and fell on his shaft with my mouth.  He was huge and hard.  His hand came down on my flank 1, 2, 6 times.  Each smack I winced and whimpered, but didn’t hurt his tender member gingerly captured in my mouth.

“Get on your back,” he ordered.

I didn’t move.  “No.  I’m going to suck you.”

Then he hit me on the lace.  I grinned around his glorious cock.  “I said, ‘Get on your back’!” he said more forcefully.

I sucked harder and I heard him moan and he leapt in my hand.  He was close.  I was thinking about his jizz drenching my mouth, lips and throat when I felt another sting.  “NOW, goddamnit,” he said through gritted teeth while pushing me off of him.  I went to dive back down and he grabbed me by the shoulders and pinned me down, spread my knees, and slid into me.

A tumble and a wrestle, a small battle of wills where I felt us slip into our rightful, comfortable places with the sounds of a sloppy wet pussy.  *click*

He drove into me slowly and bumped into my cervix.  I winced and curled my hands around the bars of my headboard, tilted just so so he could get past it.  He went slow, feeling my heat wrap around him with each long, unendurable thrust.

I began to whimper as my arousal spread across my chest and tendrils wrapped their way around my hips and pelvis.  My cervix lifted like a good girl and he began to slam into me; I no longer had to tilt.

His beautiful face looked down at me, a slight curve of a smile on his lips.  Everything I’d thought of the past few days were bubbles popping one by one overhead.  Yes, I love him.  Yes, this is complicated.  Yes, he cares about me.  Yes, it’d be nice to have more.  Yes, I’m ok with what this is.  Yes, I feel special.  Yes, I don’t give a fuck about any other woman.  Yes, I feel unendangered in his life.  Yes, he wants me.

I wrapped my legs around his pumping hips and locked my ankles and drew him in closer, harder, deeper.  My pussy’s squelching and the bed’s disgruntled squeaks joined my moans and helpless cries and The Neighbor’s pants.  A symphony of passion.

He sat up and rested on his haunches and I pushed my bottom up onto the tops of his thighs and wrapped my legs tighter around him, my arms overhead pushing me further down his rod.  He chuckled and then fell forward and wrapped his arms around me, kissed my neck and began to move again.

He sat back up and put my ankles together over my face.  I began to sob and cover my face.  The intensity of pleasure centered around my cunt more than I could bear.  I began to gush, my hot juices running down the crack of my bottom and pooling beneath me.  He slammed into me harder then gently left me.

“Stand up on and lean over the bed,” he said.  I pushed myself up on trembling arms and wiggled off the bed.  He handed me my vibe and entered me from behind.

I collapsed on the mattress and held the vibrating head to the bulkhead of my desire.  I began to shake and tremble.  He twisted this way and that inside of me.  It was too much for me to cum; I was overloaded.

He gently lifted me up on to the bed and hooked his fingers inside of me as I replaced the Hitachi on my mound.  He was gentle knowing that if he was too forceful I would gush and be done too soon.

Slow and rhythmic he pet me.  My mind’s eye saw him glowing in candlelight, looking down at me affectionately, attentively and the swirling, curling mass of pleasure released the waters of my sex and the pool beneath me spread like a dead man’s blood.  I came hard and deep and cried and bucked.  He gently hung onto me and when I was done he climbed over me and laid down.

I sobbed and laughed for ten minutes.  “What’s the square root of 49?” he asked me.  I couldn’t remember.

We laughed and slowly pet me as I curled up into his arms and waited to return to myself.  His penis was chubby, but done.  I was disappointed that I couldn’t get him to cum, but he was busy telling me how awesome that had been for me to worry about it all that much and I let it go as I would a leaf in the wind.

Monday night when I’d told him Jack and Emma were definitely coming over this weekend he was excited; his face lit up and he bounced in his seat a little.  “I won’t cum until they’re here, or with just you!” he’d promised.  I’d only smiled and beamed inside at his acceptance of this new and strange thing entering his life and at the prospect of lots of his cum.

Laying in his arms last night I decided to broach one of the things on my mind.  “So, I want to talk about this group sex stuff.  I’m going to need different things from you.  It’s just how I am.  I know what I need based on my experiences with Troy.”  He nodded and urged me to continue.  “Like, for example, I’m going to need to hold your hand at that party.  And I’m going to need to feel like you think I’m the most beautiful woman there.  That you prefer me.”

“I know, Hy,” he said gently.  “You’ve mentioned this before.” I cringed under my own absent-mindedness and continued to play with the languid meat between his legs.  “Don’t worry, I understand completely.”

I sunk deeper into the mattress and splayed my fingers through his chest hair.  “What are you worried about with all of this?  How are you feeling about Jack and Emma coming over?  Jack wants to do a ‘Sunday brunch with champagne, croissants, and lechery’.”

“I’m worried that I’m going to freak out and shut down.  Or that I won’t be able to get hard.  I’m pretty sure I’ll be ok, but I’m just not sure.”

“Well, what do you want to do with them?  I’m not even clear on what I want to do other than have them watch us.  Jack has Emma on a ‘no-refusal’ weekend as her Dom.  And don’t forget, if you start to freak out, I’m there with you.  You’re not alone.”  He nodded his understanding.

“Do you want to fuck Jack??”

“Not particularly.  I’ve never been attracted to him, but he’s a wonderful playmate and a sweet guy and he’s hung like a mule.  I trust him, but no, I’d never feel like I had to fuck him.  If you told me to fuck him while I sucked you, however… that’s hot and I’d do that.”

His face split into a huge grin and he stroked his chin like an evil genius.  “Hmm,” he said, “That would be hot.  What if we both fucked you together?  How would Emma feel?”

“Emma is his sub.  She’ll do anything he wants.  He absolutely adores her, cherishes her.  They have a wonderful bond and therefore she’s never jealous.”

We talked some more about the intricacies of group sex, how much I loved it and I could sense his exploration in his thoughtful questions.  He was poking places in his psyche he’s never bothered with before.

He got up to dress and had a hell of a time finding his clothes trapped in my twisted bedding.  I laughed and stretched out to turn on the light.  “Wow, Hy.  You look really beautiful right now,” he said suddenly as his eyes rested on my body.  “Your just-fucked hair, red cheeks, the spank marks.”

“Well, thanks, TN.”

He found his clothes and slipped them on and came around and captured a nipple in his mouth.  He stood and began to walk away.  “Wait.  Come kiss me.”  He drew closer and I pulled him down to me and he crushed my mouth with his.  He pulled away and I looked him in the eyes.  “I’m not some pussy-hole, you know.  You kiss me.  Sometimes I think you freak out when you think we’re getting too close.”

“I don’t ‘freak out,’ I just pull away.  We’ll talk later.”

He began to say something, then dropped it and returned his mouth to mine, deep and passionate.  I rose and walked him naked to the front door and said goodnight smiling sweet smiles.

I met the man who woke up my cunt

In November of 2010 I was about to move out of my marital house into my own apartment.  Every cell in my body was screaming and crying, yet my veneer was like a mountain lake.  I was icy, detached.  Lost and lonely.

At the time all I wanted was cock.  Lots and lots of cock.  I opened an online dating account at OKC in late August and slept with my first man in October.

Dave was the second guy I met.  He had washboard abs and looked a little like John Cusack.  I’d invite him over for tea (and bourbon) while my kid napped and we’d kiss a little before he’d leave.  Our first official date was an out-of-town affair at a sausage festival.  “Should I book one bed or two?” he’d asked when making our hotel reservations.

“Surprise me,” was my loaded response.

That night we drank two pitchers of beer and I poured whiskey on my tits as I rode him on the squeaky hotel bed.  It was one of the hottest nights I’d had in years, but little did I know my life was about to change forever the next afternoon:  I had my first date with Troy.

Dave drove me home where I changed quickly and tied my hair back in a messy ponytail.  I clearly had sex-hair, but I didn’t care.  I was turned on by the thought of going from one man’s bed to another’s arms for a date.  Dave thought it was pretty great, too.

I texted Troy that I’d be a little late.  He’d said no problem.  I arrived at the local haunt to find him reposing on the flower beds, all 6’6″ of him.  He stooped to hug me as I tilted my head back to return the embrace.  He was cuter in person, I’d thought.

Lunch was uneventful until he grabbed my wrist and asked after my bracelet.  “What does this mean?” he wanted to know and for emphasis stroked the metal — and my skin — with a long finger.  My pulse quickened and I looked at him with new eyes.  This guy knew what he was doing.

After lunch we went back to his place, a cavernous two bedroom loft-like apartment a few blocks away.  There was a ladder under the dining room table in lieu of a place to sit.  “So I would stop nearly decapitating myself,” was his answer to my silent question.

“Ha!” I snorted, “Us little people don’t have to worry about things like that,” and I demonstrated by passing under the offensive lamp with a twirl.  He poured me a glass of wine and we sat on the couch.  I loved his reach and sheer size.  I’m not a petite woman; I like to be made to feel diminutive, and my personality is huge: hobble me, please.

We made out some that afternoon and I had to pull back from following him upstairs.  The birds were singing too loudly.  I wanted to play hard to get, not roll out the pussy-carpet.  His lips were soft and pliant, his weight pinned me to the couch.  We made plans to see each other the very next day, Sunday.  I left his place not feeling my feet hit the ground and his soapy, masculine scent in my nostrils.

I was a little nervous as I drove to his house after dark 24 hours later.  His physical presence, while obviously anatomically looming, also filled me with a buzzing excitement.  We had chemistry.

He opened the door in jeans and a t-shirt. I walked up the steep wooden stairs ahead of him knowing he was probably checking me out in my tights and boots.  My hips swung harder.  He offered me some wine, I obliged.  I teased him about his freakish height.  We laughed.

Conversation was easy and flowed as we sat on the couch together.  He was on the cushion next to mine.   The conversation turned to sex.

I told him about how my first orgasm was on the back of a horse; about how I once won a blue ribbon in a college equitation competition after I had orgasmed for what felt like minutes in the arena with five judges’ eyes on me; about my first cock experiences (big, tiny, big, etc.).  Then I told him about my wild night with a friend in September.

My story was stilted, but I did my best to remember some of the finer moments: I was soaking wet, he fucked my face, I swallowed his cum, I was vibrating.

He took a deep breath then and told me he had “big cock” fantasies.  About touching one, sucking one, seeing one live and in person.  “Holy shit,” I stammered, “That’s my fantasy, too!  Being with two men…”

His sherry colored eyes bore into mine, the pause was heavy and humming.  Two beats more and he closed the gap between us and his mouth was on mine, passionately.  He laid on top of me and gyrated his hips into mine.  He kept kissing me and kissing me and kissing me.  His hands roamed all over my body, my mind raced.  All logic left my head and I abruptly panted between kisses, “Let’s just go fuck. C’mon,” and I took his hand and he jumped up after me.

On my way up the stairs I unzipped my skirt, inside the doorway it was on the floor, by the time I got to the bed my shirt was off.  I spun around and lay back on the bed to watch him undress.

He was huge, broad-shouldered and had a smattering of soft, downy chest hair.  His cock took my breath away, dark and throbbing between the creamy white of his thighs.  The next several hours were a blur of huge cock in a soaking wet pussy.  I had never been fucked like that in my life.  Never.

He was on top of me, piling into me, so large over my smaller form.  His headboard cracked with disapproval under my grip and I pushed against the wall instead, impaling myself on him.  His grunts and cries compelled me to thrust down harder on him; his cock hard on my g-spot I lost all sense of myself and could do nothing but buck wildly down on him.  He turned me on my left side, swung my right leg over, but kept my bottom leg between his and found a new way to stroke my screaming cunt from the inside.  He pumped into me a few more times, cried out deeply and fell on top of me, kissed my ear.

We laughed, panting, and sweating.  He was overjoyed at going balls-deep with me, said he could feel my cervix.  Said he could rarely do that with women.  I’m unbelievably wet.  Like gushing wet.  My body had become a fucking faucet.  He kept laughing and saying how amazing it was, shaking his head.

I asked him for his social security number and $20.

I let him rest unassaulted until I couldn’t stay away a moment longer. I fell down on his suddenly rigid cock with my eager face.  I was feeling something for a change.  Really feeling something.  The ice had receded and I was warm, then hot.  I felt alive for the first time in months, maybe even years. I wasn’t going to stop.

Fat on the bottom, slightly tapered at the top, his balls pliant in my hands.  I could taste a little of the condom, and a lot of me.  I sucked harder, alternated my grip strength and my exploration of his perineum.   He shot a delicious load down my throat and I swallowed it with gusto, kissed him on the mouth and lay on his big chest smiling and proud of myself.  He was in shock.

I asked  him what his orgasm-in-a-single-night record was and he said, “Three.”

I glibly replied, “We’re gonna break it tonight.”

On top, straddling his hips, I rode him like I was galloping with gunmen at my back.  My arms felt hot and heavy, my face flushed; I relished his big paws on my hips pushing and pulling me on top of him.  My pussy released herself all over the cradle of his hips.  I didn’t know what was happening to me, I felt like a bear in a trap: confused and riled up, seething with something.  I saw stars, had a sense of elation unlike anything else, I kept fucking him, crying out again and again.  He came again.  Number 3.

This time I offered him my social security number and $20.  He smiled and said, “I’m at your cervix.”

On the bottom, I heard more cracking of the headboard, more deep-voiced cries, my entire body was my moaning cunt, pulsing, pouring juices, ejaculating all over us; every thrust is a ripple of pleasure to my very fingertips, except they’re coming at breakneck speed, falling and crashing down on top of one another.

I started to cry and laugh.  It felt so good I couldn’t help myself.  I was completely overwhelmed.  I have left the motherfucking building.  He flipped me over on my stomach and drove into me with violent, hammering thrusts.  I envisioned splitting in two, cried and laughed into his sweet-smelling sheets.  Got impaled.  By a giant.  He came a fourth time like I’d promised he would.

“I know how your hair got to look the way it did yesterday,” he said grinning holding me in his arms.  He gave my long locks a little tug, “From fucking.  Am I right?”  I answered with a shy smile and curt nod.  “Mmm, I love it,” he murmured into my neck.

Something had just happened to me.  This is what I had been craving my entire life.  This out-of-body pleasure, this total consummation of my physical being, my sexual soul exposed and devoured, freedom to be who and what I wanted to be and to shout it to the rafters.  Fuck that whole notion that great sex can’t happen out of the gate, I say.  Either it’s there, or it isn’t, and when your heart isn’t involved that’s all there should be, clearly.

I spent the next 8 months having mind-blowing sex with Troy at the expense of my own emotional welfare.  He was cruel and insensitive on two legs, a wondrous magician of a lover off of them.  He helped me learn my own body in ways I never even knew existed and to this day use with my current lovers.  No woman had ever sucked him off before and my techniques with him have proven tried and true with others of his ilk.  His cock pounding on my cervix and g-spot taught me how to teach others where to find it.  And his rabidly unjust personality taught me to fight for my rights and to walk away with my chin held high.

I made love.

“I hope we didn’t just make a mistake,” he said as I laid in his embrace.

“Shh,” I answered.  “Don’t think about that right now.  I’m trying to enjoy the afterglow.” I smiled into his chest and squeezed him. He chuckled, but then was serious.

“But what if I just did something really shitty?” his voice was strained and I could see his profile lit by the burgeoning dawn in my bedroom window.

“Shh,” I crooned again.  “You didn’t.  This hasn’t changed anything.  We’re still best friends with incredible chemistry who happen to love each other as friends.”

“But morally –” he dropped the sentence.

“Morals don’t enter into this.”

“No, you’re right.”

::

Thursday after my double-header softball game and a day filled with rage and nuance he waved at me as my team meandered out of the park.  My ex-husband was there as was Peyton and my girlfriend and her son.  I gave him a sullen/shitty thumbs up in response.  On the way home my friend and I digested more of my relationship with The Neighbor, how ugly she thought 4 am girl was and how she paled in comparison to me; the usual things that girlfriends tell their heartbroken sisters.  I smiled at her efforts, but my heart was still heavy.

As I pulled into my apartment complex after I dropped her off I realized his car was pulling in in front of mine.  Great, I thought.  We parked on opposite ends of the lot and I dutifully unloaded my car with my stuff and made my way for the stairwell.

“Hy!” he called, “Wait up!”

I stood there with attitude.  I was not happy about this.  “Hey, can I come over and hang out for a bit?” he asked.

“If you want,” was my reply.

“That doesn’t sound very friendly.”

“What?  I said’ if you want’.  Come on over.”  I had three tallboys in me and shutting him out completely seemed completely foreign to me.

“Should I bring the left over Jell-O shots?”

“Sure.”  Fuck it.  Why not?

We sat on my balcony with my anger and tension a third party.  He remarked on it and I opened the floodgates and told him everything I’d thought of and put to words earlier that day.  I told him how angry I was at him, how hurt, how unfair it all was that he had her to distract him.  He nodded solemnly and said he understood, he looked crestfallen.

“Hy, this is equally as hard on me as it is on you.  I just manage it better.  I hide it better.”

This mollified me.  “I miss you so much.  I’ve lost my best friend.  We used to do everything together.”

His eyes filled with tears in the moonlight and his voice lowered to a whisper, “This has been awful.  I know.  I miss you, too.”

I shared my dream with him, that I’d called him that morning and a girl answered his phone.  “Is this The Neighbor?” she giggled into the phone.  I was heartbroken.  He said he hasn’t told anyone I’m his neighbor.

He also told me he hadn’t slept with her yet, they’d only been dating for a week, and that he hadn’t touched himself since we broke up.  He was punishing himself, he said.  I didn’t ask for this.  He offered the information. We went deeper, I told him I’d cut myself and why; I set parameters up, boundaries; I wanted nothing to do with her, ever.  His response was it’d be unlikely if they were together still in 6 months.

We tenderly tread through our feelings and gently touched emotionally.  Butterfly kisses of reassurance and resurrection.  We kissed each others’ cuts and bruises and space around us became just the two of us.  My additional passenger of anger slipped away through the bars of the balcony to mingle with the stars.   My heart  lifted.  His words were a balm, our laughter and friendship a warm embrace.

We spoke and laughed about our games and our performances that night.  My sports bra was soaking wet and my legs were caked in dirt.  I pulled my arms into my shirt and removed the bra and threw it in his face. We laughed hysterically as we pegged each other with it back and forth.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” he said suddenly.  He was back quickly and he threw what I thought was my wet bra back in my face.  But it was his underwear.  I laughed so hard I cried and gave him a high-five.  We were back on the rails as friends, our hurts placated, sex off the table.  I was in heaven.

“I want to be friends with you, I really do, but I’m having a really hard time getting over the sex part,” I said more seriously.  “I need some space, you can’t crowd me or rush me.  It’s different for you because you have someone else to be interested in.  I don’t.  I’m all alone in this.”

“I’m alone, too, Hy.”

“No, you’re not.”

“How many dates have you gone on since we broke up?”

I had to think.  “Three maybe?  But I’m just trying to stay busy.   They don’t count.  I’m just looking for someone to love me.  I just need more space from you.”  I told him of the time I slept with Tuesday and all I did was think, “TN doesn’t taste like this.  TN doesn’t sound like this.  TN is bigger, better, more of everything.”

“And I’ll be honest, I want you to think the same thing. I want you to be with her and think, ‘This isn’t Hy’s taste.  These aren’t Hy’s breasts.  She’s not crying like Hy.  She doesn’t suck my cock like Hy.  She doesn’t feel like Hy.  She’s not squirting like Hy.'”  He smiled and laughed.

“Yeah! Fuck any girl who doesn’t cry!”  He always loved that about me, the response in me he could invoke.  “I really want us to be friends.  I really do.  You can text me any time you like, you know.”

“No, I can’t.  You never respond to my texts. Ever.  And I can’t handle that.”

“I promise I’ll respond.”

“I’ve heard that before, too.”

When it was time for him to leave he opened his arms to me for a hug.  We have never been huggers.  Not ever.  It’s new ever since I asked for one that awful Sunday night.  I moved into his arms and his left hand deliberately brushed my breast.  I hit him on the back and he squeezed me tightly, groin to shoulder.  He inhaled my scent off my neck and I put my cheek on his shoulder and wrapped my arms around him.   It was a long hug.

And as he pulled away he caught my breast again.  “TN!” I scolded.

“What??  It’s how I hug!” he laughed and I walked him to the door and we hugged again, chastely.

::

Friday I woke up smiling and horny as fuck.  My dream had been vivid.  I decided to test the new texting/friendship waters.

I sent him this at 8:10 am:

My dream:  We’re at the fields, you wait for me for some reason.  She weaves in and out between us curious and nervous about our friendship.  I’m exhausted and you offer me a drink at your place.  I sink to the floor on some pillows and begin to drift off.  I’m awoken by your touch.  It’s gentle and kind at first, then more demanding.  Your mouth is on mine.  You taste delicious.  I’ve missed you so much.  Your mouth finds my nipples and I cry out, my pussy gushes.  I whimper and shake.  Your hands undress me.  My response to you is sudden and intense.  “What are you doing??” I ask looking into your eyes.  “Loving you,” you answer.  I don’t believe it.  You plunge your fingers in me and I can’t think or talk.  Your kisses are searing.  I cum again and again into your hand.  And then you climb up onto your couch and close your eyes.  I’m confused.  My heart is racing.  You look peaceful so I leave you alone, stand up.  I am naked.  You open an eye and I hope you like what you see.  I saunter wordlessly into the bathroom and turn on the shower, look for signs of her, see none and step under the water.  My hair is short and I smile, run my hands over my curves.  I’m bathed in light from a floating alarm clock you have.  The time flashes 6:08.  It’s time for me to leave.  Better than Thursday night’s dream, that’s for sure.

Less than an hour later he texted back:

A floating alarm clock?

I asked him jokingly what he thought it meant.  He said he wasn’t sure and asked if 6:08 had any significance to me.  I said only in as much that we always left each other; I’d had no plans of crawling back into his arms in my dream.  Then I told him that everything that happened in my dream happened to me in real life.  I had orgasmed in my sleep and I laughed and wondered if I was writhing around in my bed.

Immediately he replied:

If it makes you feel any better, I woke up humping my damn bed last night

I said it did make me feel better and I asked when he’d have time to talk to me again, I had something on my mind.  I wanted to share with him my idea that maybe we could be friends sooner than I’d thought.  We made tentative plans to talk late Friday night or Saturday afternoon.

At 4:05 pm I was awakened from a nap with another text from him — he really was keeping his word about texting me back.

Date tonight cancelled.  Wanna chat at 5’ish?

I say sure, no problem.

And it’s 6:08 off the eastern seaboard.

I didn’t respond, not knowing what to say to his unusual attention to detail, but fell back asleep with a smile on my face tangled in my comforter with my yellow dress (yes, that yellow dress) hiked up to my waist and my cheeks rosy from sleep.

Around 5 he knocked and I jumped out of bed. My hair tousled, my dress righted, my cheeks still rosy.  “Hey,” I said, “Wanna just come lie down with me?”

He followed me back into my room and kicked off his shoes and laid down on his side facing me.  We made small talk for a bit and laughed.  My heart soared at having my friend back and the irony of us laying in my bed wasn’t lost on either of us.  I offered him a drink and he declined.  I poured myself some disgusting bottled Sangria and made a face.  He laughed then burped.  I told him he was disgusting, but said I was a much better burper.  Sure enough, I proved it between peals of laughter.

“Ok, ok.  You’re crossing a line, Hy!”

“What line??  There is no line anymore!  I don’t have to impress you!”  I laughed at him.

And then I summoned my courage and told him how happy I was all day at having spent time with him again and that perhaps we could forge forward so long as I could reserve the right to back away when necessary.  He seemed excited at my idea.  “Yes, absolutely.  I totally understand.”

I laid back down and we were careful not to touch one another.  “So, I still have those two Dark Knight tickets.  If we left right now we could make it,” I said.  “I’ve asked three virtual strangers and every friend I know and no one can go with me.”

“I can’t.  I’m going tomorrow night at 10.” The unspoken part was with her.

“Oh, who cares!  Come on!” I pleaded, but he wouldn’t budge.

We talked and laughed and teased each other some more.  I was hyper-aware of my cleavage and careful not to let my breasts spill out, but I could do nothing about my thighs showing or my general shape.  His erection was obvious and huge through out.  He mentioned having run out of underwear and free-balling it.  I didn’t take the bait.

Then I said something that made him playfully slap my leg.  I squealed and he did it again.  And again.  It was too much. I jumped out of bed and with my hands held in the air I said, “You have to stop that.” I leveled a gaze at him.   “It turns me on.”  My chest rose and fell visibly.

He leapt out of his side of the bed and quickly put on his shoes and headed for my front door.  Once there he opened his arms to me and I fell into them, his scruffy cheek against mine.  He humped me then with me wrapped in his embrace and we laughed.  I quietly shut the door behind him and headed back into my room.  I had to cum.

I grabbed my vibrator and laid down on my wine-colored sheets.  I’d told him it was particularly difficult to not send him sexy pics anymore.  We both agreed I’d find a way, but I was turned on, vibrating like the wand in my hand.

I sent him this with the note, “Just me in a dress like you just saw me.”

Innocent.

His instant response:

fuck you.  Fuck you so much.

Goddamned vibrator in your hand

I told him that since I wasn’t going to fuck him I still wished I could and that I’d think of how much I loved it while I jerked off.  He could live vicariously through me.

Yeah thanks a lot.  That helps me keep my m ind off of sex

My orgasm was strong and swift and I thought of him over and in me just like I’d promised.  It rained down through me and I screamed openly as I quivered and shook.  I felt a bookend text was in order.  “And now… a cigarette :)”

He quickly replied:

Congrats.  Must feel nice to orgasm.

My happy sarcastic response? “A little. I was lonely.  Gotta get used to it.  But it was huge :D”

Fifteen minutes later, after I’d left for my date with a quiver in my belly he sent this:

Breaking the two-week streak. Life sucks!

My heart was bright, my pussy placated, my smile was genuine.  My date that night was charming and sexy and fun like I’d remembered him but it wasn’t him that was making me feel that way.  It was the knowledge that TN was struggling, that he clearly felt everything I was feeling, too that had lifted my spirits so high.

Later that night when my date was flaccid and small, I called him off of me and I lay in his horrible bed with his arm around me.  I lazily watched the lights twinkling from the beautiful view of downtown skyscrapers and cars whizzing by on the highway below.  I thought the misfire with him was worth only this snapshot and I slipped out of bed at 4 am and went home, fell into bed, and then a deep slumber.

::

I woke up Saturday hungover and laid in bed most of the day watching Cheers on my laptop.  Sam and Diane were on the verge of breaking up.  They were never any good for each other.  They had only contention to share, not true love.  They each wanted the other to be someone else.  My heart got heavy and I turned it off, showered, and called a dear friend.  I told her of my exploits from the night before, smoking a hot cigarette on my hot balcony when TN came out to flip his jeans over to dry.  He heard, “... and it ended in disaster.

He raised his eyebrows at me and I had to say, “I’m not talking about you!”  He smirked and disappeared back into his apartment.  I quickly followed suit happy to talk to my friend in some AC when I heard a knock.  It was him.

“Do you want a piece of pizza?” he asked.

With the phone still to my ear I nodded yes.

A minute later he came back over and I told my friend I’d call her back in 5 minutes.  He handed me a piece of pizza and sat on the couch with me while I nibbled on it.  I was confused.  What was he doing here??  We chatted about nothing, laughed, teased, talked.

I told him I had decided to be celibate for a couple of months.  His mouth literally dropped open.  He closed it with a finger and let it drop again.  But I was serious, I told him.  After Friday night’s disappointment I realized that I can’t go on like this.  All I do is compare every man to him.  He preened a little.

We started to play a ridiculous game that I love wherein we throw balls at each others’ chests.  You know, that spot right in the middle that makes a delicious thwack! sound?  That’s where we like to throw the ball.

While playing, we talked about our sexual exploits with one another for most of his visit.  It made me fidget uncomfortably for lack of release, but I’m always happy to oblige a man who wants to recount my sexual prowess, so I participated in the banter all the while confused.  He missed my mouth on him he confessed, but, he said, he was back to not touching himself again for at least another two weeks.  “Punishment,” he reminded me when I looked at him questioningly.  Why talk about all this sex stuff if he’s in a sexual purgatory? I wondered.

We continued to throw balls and then he started to misfire deliberately, aiming for my nipples and my crotch.  I felt like I was on the playground.  I wasn’t wearing a bra and my nipples would flare angrily after each swipe.  We played for what felt like forever giggling like children until finally I told him I had to go run errands.

Our hug was long and sweet again and I felt strong.  Like maybe this really could work out like a flirtatious friendship.  We talked about our sexual activities like old drinking buddies.  “Remember that time you squirted so much you soaked two towels?”  “What about that time you broke my cock?  You did that like 3 times you fucked me so hard!” And the physical stuff was just playing around.  I didn’t mind it.

I closed the door behind him and got my things together and left.  Later I texted that I wanted a thorough movie review.  He said, “Ok.”

That night I rented a couple of movies I wished I hadn’t.  Charlize Theron in Young Adult could be me every other week minus the narcissism and alcoholism: spending empty time with empty people because she didn’t believe she was loved.  And the protagonist couple in Friends With Kids spend a year as just friends sharing a child together until one slips up and develops feelings and, not surprisingly, the man doesn’t see her that way, though he loves everything about her.  A year later he comes to his senses and admits that he’d loved her all along, he’d just been a fucking idiot.

I dozed through both of them, but still felt battered by their messages.  At 10 pm I’d thought, “TN is at the movie now.”  At midnight when I went to bed I’d thought, “TN is likely done with the movie.”  I laid my phone down on my bedside table and forgot to turn it to silent.

At 3:40 am I get a text:

Still up?

I had woken up 10 minutes before from a nightmare.  “Yes,” I replied.

Haha u crazy

“No shit.  Had a bad dream.  What’s your excuse?”

And then knock, knock, knock.

I leapt out of bed.  My breasts jiggled under my white t-shirt that read “I <3 Dave,”  and my little pajama shorts hung daintily off my hips as I quickly closed the distance to my door.

He was standing there in a dress shirt and his nice jeans that I’d helped him pick out.  “Who’s Dave?” he asked and poked my breast as he pushed past me into my apartment.

“A friend of mine.  It doesn’t matter.  What are you doing here??”

“I wanted to tell you about the movie.  It was terrible.”  I took him to my couch.  “Can I lie down here?”

“Of course.”  I laid down with him and he started to recount all the plot holes and how much it sucked.

“Your couch is terrible.  Can we lie down somewhere else?”

“Of course,” I said again and took his hand to help him up.  He was drunk, not a usual thing for him.  And he was here all on his own.  Also not a usual thing for him.  As I lead him back by the hand to my room I thought, He should be with her! He came home!

He kicked off his shoes and climbed into bed and I fell back onto my pillows.  We touched this time, but innocently.  He rubbed my forearm, I had my arm on his belly.  He unbuttoned the top 3 buttons of his shirt then and I slipped my fingers through his chest hair.  I could feel his erection near the waistband of his jeans with my elbow.  He unbuttoned his shirt entirely and I splayed my fingers through his hair and let my hands follow the contour of his muscles as we talked for an hour and a half.

I asked him questions.  Random, innocent things like his most embarrassing moment, his biggest regret, what was one of the best days of his life, when was he most happy?  His answers?: when his brother pantsed him in front of 200 people, not calling Molly Lannister in college, when he was fucking me, and when he was with me.

Our legs entwined, we cuddled unabashedly.  His breathing began to slow instead of him departing.  I smiled as he squeezed my arm in his sleep and began to twitch.  I am encased in love for this man.  Not hope for the future, but just love.  He cannot resist me.  He cannot stay away.  I know without a doubt that he loves me and no matter what the future holds it is a gift.  I feel righteous.

I silently mouthed, “I love you,” into the dark and kissed his ribcage gently and settled down to sleep with a smile on my lips.  I drifted for a minute or two when he rolled towards me and pulled me into his arms.  His hand dropped to my waist and rubbed me.  My heart pounded as his hand moved to my waist.  He rolled back onto his back and took my hand and put it back on his chest.

I ran my hand up to his shoulder and down past his waist to his knee, my arm heavy on his ever-present erection.  My breath was hot on his side and I nuzzled his skin.  I looked up into his eyes and could only see darkness.  I made a decision then.  I was going to make love to him.

I was going to have him one last time and know it was the last.  I was going to put my heart and soul into touching him and loving him and not hide behind closed eyes and fluttering lashes.  I slipped my hand beneath his jeans and the helmet of his cock was sopping wet.  I circled the crown and he moaned.  I arched into him.  I began to love him.

I unbuttoned his pants and his cock filled my hand with a flourish and a pulse.  I felt like I was holding the holy grail.  I looked back up into his eyes and I could see them blazing with desire.  I moved between his legs and before I took his glorious cock in my mouth I dragged myself up to his sweet, beautiful face.  Our eyes locked with meaning, longing, and lust.

I bent down and took his mouth and it was everything I’d imagined.  Our passion ignited like in my dream and I whimpered as he devoured me.  I kissed him again and again then dove onto his shaft.  He arched his back and exclaimed lustily.  He was huge and ready.  I wondered if this was all I was going to get when he suddenly sat up and ripped my shirt off and quickly peeled off his pants.

I fell back down onto him and his hands guided my head.   He reached around and found my slit.  “Jesus Christ, Hy,” he whispered as his fingers found their way inside of me.   Little orgasmic waves rippled through me as his cock filled my mouth.  I could feel he was close when he gritted out, “Get on your back.  Now!” and roughly pushed me up and tore off his shirt and my remaining shorts.

He spread my knees and climbed between them, kissed me again and joked that I probably wasn’t wet enough.  Perched just outside of me he asked, “Have you been with anyone else since we broke up??” the urgency in his voice thick and heavy.

“No,” I whispered back.

“Good.” And he plunged deeply inside of me.  He railed into me, impaled me, kissed me long and hard, our lips locked as were our groins.  My pussy gripped and slobbered on him and I came again and again as I soaked the bedsheets beneath us.  His scent filled my head, his sounds my ears, his cock my soul.

He lifted up and hooked my ankles on his shoulders and I stared into his eyes.  His face mostly in shadow I hoped he could see that I was finally looking back up at him.  I cried out as another climax rolled through me and my hot ejaculate spilled down my cracks.  His tempo increased, his exertion a blissful friction between us and he pumped madly and spectacularly into me, his seed spilling into my emptiness.

He lowered my legs and I blew on him gently.  He kissed me again and started to move.  I whimpered and clung to him.  He flipped me over and pounded into me.  Spanked me hard and pulled my hair.  I trembled and floated above us as I surrendered completely.

He stopped slowly and kissed my dampened neck.  “Here, lay here,” he patted the side of the bed.  He quietly walked into my bathroom and returned with a towel and tucked it under my bottom.  He laid down facing me and rolled me onto my back, hooked me like a fish and began to slam against my cunt with his meaty hand.  I curled the towel around me to catch the spray of my juices as he made me flood into his hand.  “No, no, no,” I begged as I convulsed.

“Yes.  Yes, you are,” he countered in a growl.  “This is so fucking hot.  I love this about you.”  And he kept going until I was a little curvy puddle.  “Ok, you’ve had enough,” he deemed and handed me my vibrator.

I was limp.  Exhausted.  In love.  A little sad.  Saying goodbye.  All of it.

I meekly took the toy in my hand and spread my legs.  “Will you put your fingers in me, please?” I asked.

“Not yet.  Take this first.”  I looked to my left and his cock was in my face.  Turgid and bobbing.  Hungrily I sucked it down.  “That’s a good, little girl.”  I pulsed and my orgasm leapt ahead several notches.

“Look at you, you little slut.  A vibrator between your legs and a giant cock in your mouth.”  I squirmed and convulsed as my orgasm split me open.  I laid there and panted as he kissed me.

“Will you put your cock in me now?”

“Yes.”  He slipped inside of me and I shivered as he lay down next to me, my legs slung over his hips.  He pushed into me as I lay the buzzing head on my sex.

His hands were heavy and demanding on my breasts, his kisses light on my skin when he said, “I want you to fucking cum for me.  Cum for me now!”  He’d never demanded this before.  This was new.  I wanted to make him proud, do this for him.  I searched my body for my orgasm and hooked onto it.  “Do it now, you slut.  Be a good girl.”  I pushed against him and sucked on his shaft with my cunt like it was me gasping for air.

His hand moved to my throat and squeezed.  The storm grew in my core tenfold.  “Cum for me now or I fucking swear I’ll choke the shit out of you.”  He flexed his hand gently and I purred and mewled, my eyes shut tight.  The orgasm pounded into me as he whispered that was what he wanted.  He kissed my temple and my ear and my lips as I cried and shook.

We stayed linked together for minutes while I looked loving at him propped up on an elbow. I ran my fingers through his hair.  I didn’t care what he saw in my eyes.  I wanted him to see it all.  I was done hiding.  This was a farewell between this life between us and I wanted to finally be genuine.  It seemed he did too.

“You’re trembling,” he noticed and he stroked my face and my arm.

We disconnected and he rolled over.  I nuzzled into his nook.

“I hope we didn’t just make a mistake,” he said as I laid in his embrace.

“Shh,” I answered.  “Don’t think about that right now.  I’m trying to enjoy the afterglow.” I smiled into his chest and squeezed him. He chuckled, but then was serious.

“But what if I just did something really shitty?” his voice was strained and I could see his profile lit by the burgeoning dawn in my bedroom window.

“Shh,” I crooned again.  “You didn’t.  This hasn’t changed anything.  We’re still best friends with incredible chemistry who happen to love each other as friends.”

“But morally –” he dropped the sentence.

“Morals don’t enter into this.”

“No, you’re right.”

I finally asked him the question I’d wanted the answer to all night.  “Why did you come over here tonight?”

“I wanted to tell you about the movie.”

“That could have waited until tomorrow.”

“I wanted to see you.  And I was horny.”

I cringed because I didn’t believe it.  “Well, that’s flattering.  Did you think you were going to get laid?”

“No.  I really just wanted to see you.”

We dozed for a few more minutes before he said he had to go.  He kissed me tenderly and said he was walking next door naked.  I smiled at him and laughed and we wished each other a good day.

I will make sure he never forgets me, Part 4: Wherein all is right between our worlds

[Part 1, Part 2, Part 3]

I rolled out of bed and felt a flush of color on my cheeks. Holy shit last night had killed me. I brushed my teeth to wash out the zoo-like taste and pulled on a cotton skirt and low cut white v-neck. I padded next door and tried the door handle. It gave way under my twist and I pushed the door open and walked inside. “There are my flip flops!” I thought as I saw them laying like dismembered flippers in a sunbeam.

I walked back to his bedroom, feeling like a burglar. His air purifier’s hum drowning out any of my accidental rustling. He laid on his back, covered in meringue peaks of down comforter. I didn’t know what to do. Should I shake him awake? Should I get naked and crawl into bed with him? Instead, I knelt on the bed to test his consciousness. Nothing.

I pulled up the covers and slid my hand up from his ankle to his knee. His skin was hot. My eyes never left his slumbering face. He looked 12.

I found his hot, lazy member resting peacefully on his trimmed nest of hair and gently grabbed it. It pulsed, he didn’t move. I gripped and released it gently until it doubled in size and marveled at his body’s unconscious response to my hand.

Fully erect in my fist, I pushed the covers off of him entirely and dipped my mouth to his rod. His precum salty and delicious I began to suck. I released him and peeled off my clothes quickly and got back to work. It was minutes more before he jerked awake and stretched, smiling at me.

“I expected you 7 hours ago,” he yawned.

“Yeah, well, I fell asleep. Besides this is better. I’m not drunk anymore.”

“Mmhmm,” he agreed as I kept sucking.

I crept up his torso, kissing along the lines of his abdomen to finally reach his mouth. “I don’t care about morning breath. I just sucked your cock,” and I dipped down and kissed his soft lips nestled in a sea of bristle. Open-mouthed and passionate.

His hands roamed over my body and I felt as though there was some kind of communication about what had transpired a few hours earlier. I was telling him nothing had changed between us and he was saying, “I know. I get it.

He flipped me onto my back and fucked me like he was a starved man. I tried to stifle my cries, lest Downstairs Neighbor hear us and possibly put two and two together (after all, he saw TN leave my place at 4 am and now he was fucking someone at 9 am).

I noticed that his headboard wasn’t making any noises this time and I couldn’t help but wonder about that. Had he fixed it so DN wouldn’t hear him having sex anymore and then broadcast it to the world via FB, and ultimately keep it a secret from me?

Mid-thrust I asked him if he’d fixed it. I couldn’t help it. He said he hadn’t. I said it was just as well since we didn’t need DN hearing him and asking about it again. “I’d just lie,” he said as he kissed my neck. He said it so confidently it gave me a chill.

But what the fuck was I doing? Get out of your goddamned head, Hyacinth! You’re fucking the man you love! You’re on borrowed time! And so I fought back to focus on what was happening between the two of us and let him continue to stroke me from the inside, creaky, banging headboard or not.

He crushed my legs to my chest and panted hotly in my face, inches away from mine. He smirked as he recognized the tell-tale signs I was leaving the building: my pussy started to slosh, I got quiet, yet incoherent, I shook my head in helplessness.

He flipped me back on my belly and straddled my knees and went so deep I thought I was going to cough up his cock. He grabbed my hair and pulled my face up out of the mattress and whispered filthy, beautiful things to me, and I let go all the way as my climaxes rolled through me. Eventually, I gave up all together and just cried dry tears into his pale blue sheets, totally forgetting my suspicious Spidey sense from several minutes before as his hand came raining down on my buttocks.

He gave a final thrust and collapsed on top of me and pulled me to my side as he rolled off and slipped out.  His king-sized bed cradled my temperamental back like a baby bird and his arm lay heavily across my waist and stroked my hip.  His open invitation from the night before to wake him up with a blowjob any time I chose caused me to smile.  Was he finally understanding my point of view?  That we should take advantage of our proximity to the max?  I didn’t know, but I was there and I was welcome.

“Fuck, your cock felt so good.  How does it feel for you?”

He gave me a squeeze.  “Soft, hot, wet, awesome,” was his succinct answer.  “What is it like for you?”

I turned over and lay in his arms.  “I feel filled up, stretched out, like I’m fulfilling some deeper primal goal; I can feel you here,” I said quietly and I touched the base of my throat, as near to my heart as I dared to point.

“Jesus Christ,” he laughed, “I say, ‘soft, hot, wet, and awesome,’ and your answer is mystical and about being one with the universe!”

I laughed, too.  “I know!  But it’s so much more than just the physical feelings.  That’s part of it, too, but it’s not what I love so much about it.”  I sighed and played with his chest hair. “I’m glad you left your door unlocked.  I’m always afraid that you’ll wake up and be mad at me, but after our chat last night, I know better.”

“I’ll never be mad at you for wanting to wake me up like this.  Never.  I promise.”

“But you seem so put out whenever I knock otherwise.”  He was surprised.  “No, really, you open the door and you’re like, ‘What do you want?'”

“I’m usually busy with something.”

“So what?  I’m usually busy with something, too.  What’s so wrong with being friendly and hospitable and not a curmudgeon?” I teased him with a light pinch and a shake.  I wanted him to know how I was perceiving him, give him the chance to respond.

“Like I said, I will never be mad at you waking me up with your mouth and I’ll try to be better about the other times,” he grinned and squeezed my breast and I relaxed into his embrace.  We chatted about other things for a few minutes, reestablishing our connection and rapport when he realized what time it was.  He was close to being late for his first softball game of the day, a double-header.

This is when 4 am girl entered our sacred space.  He had to call her to see if she had his team shirt.  I was surprised not to feel any kind jealousy, only intense curiosity about how she might have ended up with it.  “Well, it’s complicated,” and he gave me a completely viable excuse about having two shirts with him and having to put on his second one.  Regardless, I decided to bring up his lying in general, the lying that he’d so readily admitted to doing earlier.

“Do you still lie to me?”

“Sometimes, yeah.”

“About what?” I asked as I lay sprawled out and watching him get dressed.

“Mostly when you ask me if I’m busy so we can hang out I’ll say yes, when really I’m not.  I just want to be alone,” I wondered if he was waiting for me to freak out as he ransacked his room to find the missing shirt.

TN, why don’t you just tell me the truth?  That’s utterly ridiculous.  And don’t lie to me about fucking anyone else, either.  I don’t care if you do, but I’ll be upset if you lie.”

“I know, and I swear I’m not fucking anyone else; and I’m getting better at being honest.  I’m just not used to being able to tell someone how I feel.”  His face held a somewhat confused look mixed in with the delivery of a status report.  Ever the stoic Midwesterner.

“How do you manage your need to be alone so much when you’re in a relationship?  This all seems so difficult for you.”

“It’s different when I’m dating someone; I can go longer.”  I appreciated his honesty, but I wish he felt differently about me.

He finally settled on a blue shirt that he hoped would be acceptable.  I climbed out of bed and pulled my clothes on.  He came over and let me taste a vodka gummy bear he’d made for his team.  I walked out and slipped on my flip flops and wished him luck on his games, content in knowing I wouldn’t see him again for the rest of the day.

Loving someone who doesn’t love you back — or who thinks they don’t — is a special kind of paradise and hell on earth.  On the one hand I get to experience feelings without any kind of responsibility.  Meaning, I love him, but he requires nothing from me.  He has zero expectations of me other than to leave him alone when he wants, really.  I don’t have to check in with him, be there for him, or even take care of him.  I do all of those things, of course, but it’s all of my own volition.

On the other hand, I don’t get any of those things, either.  His loving, tender nature that I so crave, that I have identified as the best I’ve ever had, is only a wedge of who he is.  I love him and what he’s done for me, but he’s given me only what little he wants.  Can you imagine what it could be like if he gave me more?  If I gave him more??  Because despite how it may appear, I have kept much of myself from him.  What he sees is only a sliver of what I am capable of, as well, and in some sad way it reminds me of Shel Silverstein’s poem Masks.

He thinks that there is something better out there for the both of us, and he may be right, but I’ve also lived and loved a lot more than he has and I can’t help but feel as though he is missing what we have right in front of us; that if it’s this good and we’re hardly even trying, just think of the potential if we pushed on together!  I recognize the potential.  He only sees a stepping stone.

He’s not perfect, of course, there would be difficulties, but I believe we have that special mix of attraction, compatibility and  difference, communication, and intelligence that are the fundamental building blocks to any successful relationship.  Of course, he disagrees based on my age and parenting status, which thereby automatically disqualifies him from my life, as well, but I still fantasize that given the choice between losing me all together and giving it a shot, he’d choose the latter.

A pipe dream, I know, but this is where I’m my most honest, remember?

Later on Sunday after a day spent in bed watching SVU and a quick stop over by TN to retrieve his sunglasses I headed to a local bar for some Prosecco with a girlfriend.  She and her friend, both 27-year-old women, reminded me of who and what I’m “up against” and I laughed at the joke the world was playing on me.  By their own admission they felt like hot messes and were sad for me that my lover didn’t love me back.  I was them 10 years ago and I would have passed right over TN in a heartbeat.  Sometimes I wonder if he knows he’s out of my league and whether or not that makes me a piece of shit for even thinking it.

On my way home I texted him this: “Last night kid-free until Friday so I’m going to leave my door unlocked… just in case.”

[Finale]

I have a story to tell about love and lust.

In November of 2010 I was about to move out of my marital house into my own apartment.  Every cell in my body was screaming and crying, yet my veneer was like a mountain lake.  I was icy, detached.  Lost and lonely.

At the time all I wanted was cock.  Lots and lots of cock.  I opened an online dating account at OKC in late August and slept with my first man in October.

Guy #3 had washboard abs and looked a little like John Cusack.  I’d invite him over for tea (and bourbon) while my kid napped and we’d kiss a little before he’d leave.  Our first official date was an out-of-town affair at a sausage festival.  “Should I book one bed or two?” he’d asked when making our hotel reservations.

“Surprise me,” was my loaded response.

That night we drank two pitchers of beer and I poured whiskey on my tits as I rode him on the squeaky hotel bed.  It was one of the hottest nights I’d had in years, but little did I know my life was about to change forever the next afternoon:  I had my first date with Troy.

Guy #3 drove me home where I changed quickly and tied my hair back in a messy ponytail.  I clearly had sex-hair, but I didn’t care.  I was turned on by the thought of going from one man’s bed to another’s arms for a date.  Guy #3 thought it was pretty great, too.

I texted Troy that I’d be a little late.  He’d said no problem.  I arrived at the local haunt to find him reposing on the flower beds, all 6’6″ of him.  He stooped to hug me as I tilted my head back to return the embrace.  He was cuter in person, I’d thought.

Lunch was uneventful until he grabbed my wrist and asked after my tattoo.  “What does this mean?” he wanted to know and for emphasis stroked the ink with a long finger.  My pulse quickened and I looked at him with new eyes.  This guy knew what he was doing.

After lunch we went back to his place, a cavernous two bedroom loft-like apartment a few blocks away.  There was a ladder under the dining room table in lieu of a place to sit.  “So I would stop nearly decapitating myself,” was his answer to my silent question.

“Ha!” I snorted, “Us little people don’t have to worry about things like that,” and I demonstrated by passing under the offensive lamp with a twirl.  He poured me a glass of wine and we sat on the couch.  I loved his reach and sheer size.  I’m not a petite woman; I like to be made to feel diminutive, and my personality is huge: hobble me, please.

We made out some that afternoon and I had to pull back from following him upstairs.  The birds were singing too loudly.  I wanted to play hard to get, not roll out the pussy-carpet.  His lips were soft and pliant, his weight pinned me to the couch.  We made plans to see each other the very next day, Sunday.  I left his place not feeling my feet hit the ground and his soapy, masculine scent in my nostrils.

I was a little nervous as I drove to his house after dark 24 hours later.  His physical presence, while obviously anatomically looming, also filled my emotional space and this was a disconcerting thought.  I hadn’t felt this way in my life.

He opened the door in jeans and a t-shirt. I walked up the steep wooden stairs ahead of him knowing he was probably checking me out in my tights and boots.  My hips swung harder.  He offered me some wine, I obliged.  I teased him about his freakish height.  We laughed.

Conversation was easy and flowed as we sat on the couch together.  He was on the cushion next to mine.   The conversation turned to sex.

I told him about how my first orgasm was on the back of a horse; about how I once won a blue ribbon in a college equitation competition after I had orgasmed for what felt like minutes in the arena with five judges’ eyes on me; about my first cock experiences (big, tiny, big, etc.).  Then I told him about my wild night with a friend in September.

My story was stilted, but I did my best to remember some of the finer moments: I was soaking wet, he fucked my face, I swallowed his cum, I was vibrating.

He took a deep breath then and told me he had “big cock” fantasies.  About touching one, sucking one, seeing one live and in person.  “Holy shit,” I stammered, “That’s my fantasy, too!  Being with two men…”

His sherry colored eyes bore into mine, the pause was heavy and humming.  Two beats more and he closed the gap between us and his mouth was on mine, passionately.  He laid on top of me and gyrated his hips into mine.  He kept kissing me and kissing me and kissing me.  His hands roamed all over my body, my mind raced.  All logic left my head and I abruptly panted between kisses, “Let’s just go fuck. C’mon,” and I took his hand and he jumped up after me.

On my way up the stairs I unzipped my skirt, inside the doorway it was on the floor, by the time I got to the bed my shirt was off.  I spun around and lay back on the bed to watch him undress.

He was huge, broad-shouldered and had a smattering of soft, downy chest hair.  His cock took my breath away, dark and throbbing between the creamy white of his thighs.  The next several hours were a blur of huge cock in a soaking wet pussy.  I had never been fucked like that in my life.  Never.

He was on top of me, piling into me, so large over my smaller form.  His headboard cracked with disapproval under my grip and I pushed against the wall instead, impaling myself on him.  His grunts and cries compelled me to thrust down harder on him; his cock hard on my g-spot I lost all sense of myself and could do nothing but buck wildly down on him.  He turned me on my left side, swung my right leg over, but kept my bottom leg between his and found a new way to stroke my screaming cunt from the inside.  He pumped into me a few more times, cried out deeply and fell on top of me, kissed my ear.

We laughed, panting, and sweating.  He was overjoyed at going balls-deep with me, said he could feel my cervix.  Said he could rarely do that with women.  I’m unbelievably wet.  Like gushing wet.  My body had become a fucking faucet.  He kept laughing and saying how amazing it was, shaking his head.

I asked him for his social security number and $20.

I let him rest unassaulted until I couldn’t stay away a moment longer. I fell down on his suddenly rigid cock with my eager face.  I was feeling something for a change.  Really feeling something.  The ice had receded and I was warm, then hot.  I felt alive for the first time in months, maybe even years. I wasn’t going to stop.

Fat on the bottom, slightly tapered at the top, his balls pliant in my hands.  I could taste a little of the condom, and a lot of me.  I sucked harder, alternated my grip strength and my exploration of his perineum.   He shot a delicious load down my throat and I swallowed it with gusto, kissed him on the mouth and lay on his big chest smiling and proud of myself.  He was in shock.

I asked  him what his orgasm-in-a-single-night record was and he said, “Three.”

I glibly replied, “We’re gonna break it tonight.”

On top, straddling his hips, I rode him like I was galloping with gunmen at my back.  My arms felt hot and heavy, my face flushed; I relished his big paws on my hips pushing and pulling me on top of him.  My pussy released herself all over the cradle of his hips.  I didn’t know what was happening to me, I felt like a bear in a trap: confused and riled up, seething with something.  I saw stars, had a sense of elation unlike anything else, I kept fucking him, crying out again and again.  He came again.  Number 3.

This time I offered him my social security number and $20.  He smiled and said, “I’m at your cervix.”

On the bottom, I heard more cracking of the headboard, more deep-voiced cries, my entire body was my moaning cunt, pulsing, pouring juices, ejaculating all over us; every thrust is a ripple of pleasure to my very fingertips, except they’re coming at breakneck speed, falling and crashing down on top of one another.

I started to cry and laugh.  It felt so good I couldn’t help myself.  I was completely overwhelmed.  I have left the motherfucking building.  He flipped me over on my stomach and drove into me with violent, hammering thrusts.  I envisioned splitting in two, cried and laughed into his sweet-smelling sheets.  Got impaled.  By a giant.  He came a fourth time like I’d promised he would.

“I know how your hair got to look the way it did yesterday,” he said grinning holding me in his arms.  He gave my long locks a little tug, “From fucking.  Am I right?”  I answered with a shy smile and curt nod.  “Mmm, I love it,” he murmured into my neck.

Something had just happened to me.  This is what I had been craving my entire life.  This out-of-body pleasure, this total consummation of my physical being, my sexual soul exposed and devoured, freedom to be who and what I wanted to be and to shout it to the rafters.  Fuck that whole notion that great sex can’t happen out of the gate, I say.  Either it’s there, or it isn’t, and when your heart isn’t involved that’s all there should be, clearly.

I spent the next 8 months having mind-blowing sex with Troy at the expense of my own emotional welfare.  He was cruel and insensitive on two legs, a wondrous magician of a lover off of them.  He helped me learn my own body in ways I never even knew existed and to this day use with my current lovers.  No woman had ever sucked him off before and my techniques with him have proven tried and true with others of his ilk.  His cock pounding on my cervix and g-spot taught me how to teach others where to find it.  And his rabidly unjust personality taught me to fight for my rights and to walk away with my chin held high.

My life with The Neighbor is 100x better than it was with Troy.  I trust TN, I love him, and the sex is even better than what I had with Troy and I never felt that was possible — and it was phenomenal right away with him, too — but they also share something else and that’s their belief that I fall outside of what they want in a partner.  They’ve each taken different paths to express it, but the end result is the same.  Just like with my exhusband, I am a misfit for their lives, and — more importantly — they don’t fit in mine.

My heart clenches at the thought of leaving TN, I love him so, but I simply cannot have a man in my heart who doesn’t want both me and my child in his.  There are no exceptions to this rule.  I’m dragging my feet to D-Day simply because I will miss him and I know it will hurt.  A friend thinks I should drop the hammer now, but I’m waiting.  I feel as though the right time will reveal itself.  I know it’s soon.

And if my experience with Troy has taught me anything, just because something is the best you’ve ever experienced thus far, it certainly doesn’t guarantee that it will never happen again.  TN proves that rule.  He came around and blew my mind, healed my wounds, and opened my eyes to a different kind of life.

God, I’m scared.

Some kind of balance can be achieved. And I get the bejeezus fucked outta me.

Yesterday I lounged on my therapist’s large brown couch, a foot tucked under my bottom.  I’ve worked with this man for 9 years.  Nine.  And only after the 8 and a half was I brave enough to share a little bit about who I am sexually.

“So, I’m doing ok,” I start, “last week was pretty good.  Things are going well with The Neighbor.  I feel balanced.” As I sit and talk, my eyes roam about the room, skitter across book titles like Pathology, The Neurotic Child and Adolescent, Inner Torment.  I feel like I’m in good company.   My face cracks into a smile as I finish my thought, “But I don’t know how I’m going to recreate that feeling.  I mean, I had, 8, maybe 10 interactions with men, a great week at work and with my friends.  It was magical, but even I know it’s a lot.”

My therapist, a man of about 60 with a salt and pepper goatee and floppy hair, put his hand to his chin and quietly looked at me, said nothing.

“I feel more — ‘stable’ isn’t the right word, nor is ‘secure’ — I feel, calmer.  More in control.  Ever since TN said the “6 Strikes” thing I feel better about losing him, less on the receiving end.  More empowered.”  I pause and look at more books: Jung, Freud, Rogers, my friends and mentors.  “And I’m certain now that TN is in love with me.  He may never tell me, he may not even admit it to himself, but I know he does.  There’s no way he can’t.  And knowing it for myself makes me feel amazing.  I have the love of this young, Midwestern boy next door and I still get to go out on dates and fuck whoever I want.”

Finally, he decides to speak.  “It’s interesting to me that you don’t seem interested at all in developing that part of you that is ok being alone with yourself.  You describe a life that sounds chaotic to me, but you don’t think so.  You are in control, in your element.”  I quietly listen and give a small nod.

And he’s right.  The thing I’ve worked so hard on the past year and a half is balance and acceptance.  My entire life has been comprised of fighting my core urges, and to what end?  The demise of a marriage, strained relationships with my parents and sister, heartbreaking disappointments.  And all because I was working harder than everyone else in the room just to be accepted.  Well, fuck that and fuck everyone else.

“I’m tired of subscribing to this American ideal that you are only enlightened if and when you love being by yourself all the time.  I want to run head first into being me and see where that leads me.  I don’t not like being alone, I just struggle with it when I don’t want to be alone.  I get tired, I need time outs, I need to be left alone.  But on those nights when I want contact and I can’t get it, I’m frantic.  It’s true.  That’s the only thing I’m trying to work on changing.”

“But all these dates,” he counters, “you put yourself out there and, I can’t help but admit again, it just all sounds so chaotic.”

“No.  I love it.  I love people, I love the energy.  And what’s so different from having three dates on Monday from having three friend commitments on Sunday??  It’s still a lot and I can handle it.  Driving from one to the next I feel more alive, like I have a purpose, like I’m really me.”

Comfortable silence hung in the air and the red digital numbers on the clock ticked by; that indoor ivy plant everyone has languished in a beam of sunlight to my right.

I sometimes wonder if I should tell him everything about my sex life and if I’m doing myself a disservice by keeping my proclivities a secret.  I’ve opened up to him about Troy, but not the group sex or MMFs; he knows that TN and I have an active sex life, but no clue to what deeply penetrating degree.  But it’s not the acts that are relevant, it’s the feelings behind them.  And I’m completely open about those.

So, I feel strangely balanced after a week filled with dates, sex, blowjobs, desire, wanting, emails, laughs, friends, activities, accolades at work, drinks with friends, and tons of quality time with TN.  We talked for hours, flirted, kissed, petted and played.  He surprised me multiple times with sweet words and kind gestures, a desire to stay with me longer than even I wanted.  And all without sex. All without me wanting it.

I’m happy to feel this empowered calm, but I’m fighting a knot of nervousness that it will melt under the bright sun of my exposed week without my child by my side.  My life is cyclical: non-custodial weeks find me frantic and scrabbling for things to fill me and my time, custodial weeks I am soft and centered.  Having an awesome non-custodial week, while exciting, is also generally a fluke.  And I’m a little worried, though I wish desperately I wasn’t.  But again, it’s me, so I’m going to walk right into it and see what happens.

Last night after I’d read Little Critter and Spider Man books and tucked in my sleeping babe I went back out to my couch.  I text some friends, catch myself giggling and realize I was in that place within me: I wanted company.  So, instead of fighting it, I texted TN this with a note that said, “They’re lonely.”:

Well, hello there.

I hit send and then realize I was actually goddamned exhausted.   Hmm.  Fancy that.  But, I’m going with this shit, so I get up, put the leash on the puppy to take her out one last time before I went to bed and literally ran into TN on my way out the door.

“What are you doing here?”

“You said your tits were lonely.”  The puppy wraps her leash around his legs and wriggles against his shins.

Bent over untangling him I look up at him, “They are still lonely.  Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

We lay on the couch and he curls into me, a yang to my yin.  He discovers I’m insanely ticklish and makes me squeal and plead.  How could it be that after 7 months he doesn’t know this about me?  It’s telling.  Then he pulls down my tank top and suckles on my breast.  Heat floods to my core.  I haven’t been touched, really touched in days.   I stroke his hair, we chit-chat between his suckles, he rubs my legs, my mound over my little pajama shorts.  But I didn’t touch him.

I’d made a bet with him on Friday on our date that I wouldn’t touch his cock until he asked me to.  His bump-condition-thingy (and no, it’s not an STD, just an unfortunate rash for those of you who have been wondering) was torturing the both of us, causing him anxiety and me frustration, so the bet was to alleviate both for us.  Of course I lost the bet two hours after I made it because he caught me completely absent-mindedly massaging it as he stood behind me.  Talk about fucking stupid.  It had taken the both of us a few seconds to even realize what I was doing!  Oh well.  But I had reinstated the bet and last night I was sticking to it.  I wanted the control.  He had other ideas, however.

And because my rule is to do whatever it is I feel like doing in an attempt to appeal to whatever thing it is inside of me that drives me, I let him lead me into my room and pull the sticky door shut with a squeak and lock the handle.

He peels off his clothes and his erection springs out and down like a falling tree, bobbing and swinging under its own weight.  I snuggle up beside him and pull my covers closer to me.  I don’t know what to do.  He tells me to hold it.

I feel shy, but do as he says.  In my hand it’s thick and hot, a beautiful dusky pink.  I slide the skin up and over the head and back down again.  He rolls onto his back and I climb up on top, spread his knees with my own and watch him tug on his meet, his balls bouncing as if on a blacktop.

I lean over and breathe hotly on the head, let spit slip out of my mouth onto the head.  I look at him and his light blue eyes are boring into my own darker ones.  “Ok.  Just the tip,” I say.  “Don’t worry, you’ll still be a virgin when I’m done.”  He laughs, but cuts it short as I take him into my mouth.  His hand rests on the back of my head and I never get “just the tip,” as he eases his cock as far as I can take into my face.  My pussy pulses.  He just took control.

I lave his cock with my velvet tongue and grip the shaft with my left hand, bracing my weight with my right.  His thighs tense and relax in rhythm to my ministrations.  He is close.  And fast.   He grabs me and hauls me up his chest.  I’m still clothed, but he’s buck naked, his chest hair springy against the cotton of my tank top.  He kisses me hard, I beg him to let me finish, but he instead he orders me to roll over onto my back.  “But, why?  I don’t understand.”

“I don’t want to cum, yet.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“Do you understand now?” he asks as he shifts my shorts to the side and presses the head of his cock into my hole.

“Yes.  Yes, I understand,” I moan as he slowly pushes all the way inside of me.  My pussy weeps with joy, my chest swells.  I feel one with the primordial loam, all woman-kind, the sun and moon and stars.  There is nothing more pure, more me than this moment of being filled with the perfect partner.

I am overwhelmed with a sense of balance I can’t create by myself.  The sounds of sex, of his breathing, his taste in my mouth and the stretching of my center by him.  I cry into my hand, my arm, anything to stifle the noise from my slumbering child in the next room.  I grip the wire head-board and push back with all my might.  He mewls his own passion, losing control.

He flips me over, pulls my pants off.  “Mmm.  I haven’t seen you from this angle in too long, Hy.”  I can’t speak.  I only raise my bottom higher for him.  He slides back in and roughly pushes my shoulders down, grabs both my arms and yanks them back.  Both my wrists are held tightly, painfully, in one of his.  With his other he grabs my hair and pulls my face up out of the mattress.  His cock rams into me.  Tears run down my face, gasps are all that escape me.  I rock my hips back on him.

“You love that, don’t you, you dirty little slut.  You fucking slut.”

“Mmmhmm,” I manage to reply.  “Yes.”

“Yes, you do, you slut.”  He roughly shoves my head down and pins my arms down by side and slams into me.  I’m sobbing dryly into my white sheets.  My center is blooming.  This is the first time it’s more than I can handle.

“Roll over again, Hy.  I want you on your back.”

“TN, you’re killing me.  I want to die,” I say as I comply.

“You’re not going to die.  You’re going to do as I say.”

What little protest I had in me was lost into his crushing mouth and his hand buried in my cunt.  He began to stroke.  I whimper and grasp at shoulders, hang on for dear life.  The climax swells up and over me in a thunderous crash.   My ejaculate spills into his cupped hand and splatters all over us.  My center is now flaming so brightly it’s painful.

I grab his wrist panting and pull it away from me.  “No, really.  Please,” I look into his eyes, hold contact.  “We have to stop.  I’m going to fucking die.  I’m going to die from sex.  Truly.  My belly hurts.”

He chuckles and kisses me softly.  “Ok, sweetie.  I’m sorry for breaking you.”

“It’s ok.  I think it’s my cervix.  And I have to pee.”  I stagger into the toilet and relieve myself.  When I return to the dimly lit room he’s mostly clothed, he’s trying to figure out how to stuff his giant cock into his jeans.

I feel embarrassed that I had to cry uncle and I feel supremely stupid, like Sex Stupid, which happens frequently with him.  I can’t remember my name.  “What’s the capital of Peru?” he asks.

“Lima.”

“No it isn’t.”

“Yes it is!”

“What’s the capital of Honduras?”

“Dude, no one knows that shit even on a good day!  What’s the capital of Canada?”

“Canada City??” he says wryly.  We laugh and I walk him to the front door.

“Fuck, that was awesome.  Thanks.  It’d been way too long,” I say with a shy grin.

“Yes, it had.”

“I’m sorry I had to stop.  Maybe my body forgot how to fuck you.”

“It’s ok, I had fun.  We’ll practice some more.” he replies as he pulls me close for a long, slow kiss.  And then he leaves and I shuffle off to bed.  Feeling balanced, feeling nervous, feeling sore, but mostly, feeling happy.

I have a fantasy about a married man, Part 2.

I’m all about follow-up posts apparently this week.  Part 1 is here.  And who knew this would be more than a 2-parter?  Not me, certainly.  Enjoy!

He pushes the door open and I walk through, making sure to brush my breasts against him as I pass.  The room has two beds and a clean, modern look. I casually toss my purse on a chair and pull the curtains open.  The city sparkles below, the river curls lazily on its back as if inviting me to do the same.

He has kept pace with me and as I stand gazing out the window and kick my shoes off a beat later he is pressed behind me with his hands cupping both breasts.  I throw my head back and expose my throat to his mouth.  He nibbles my ear and traces his teeth along the chords of my neck, kneading my breasts, puffing deep-throated grunts along my skin.

I feel the bulge of his erection on my bottom and I press back more.  He bites me and I moan.  His hands slip beneath the thin cotton and free each heavy breast.  I moan louder.

He presses us both closer to the window until I must catch myself on the glass.  I hear him fumble with his britches and then his rod is caught in the folds of my dress between my legs.  I spread my feet just a little.

He falls forward on me and I brace myself under his weight.  He hikes up my skirt and finds my hot flesh, inflamed for him, dripping.  His fingers gently part the folds and dip inside, his cock is still safely tangled in fabric.

“Jesus Christ, you’re wet, Hy.  I thought you made this shit up.”

“No.  I never make it up.  It’s real.  And it’s for you,” I manage to answer.  His fingers begin a brutal rhythm and I start to shake a little.  His cupped hand is filled with my ejaculate and my dress suddenly feels like burlap, my hand prints have become sweaty smears on the glass.

Apollo seems to feel similarly about my dress and pulls it up and over my head in one motion.  He’s still fully clothed.  When he enters my pulsing slash, we haven’t yet kissed.

He pushes in slowly and an inch more when his pelvis reaches my buttocks.  I pant gently letting that filled-up feeling wash over me and tingle up over my shoulders and down to my fingertips.  He begins to move, his hands tight on my waist.

“Apollo – ” I start to say.

“Hy, don’t speak.  Not a word.”

I shut my mouth and begin to whimper as his pace increases and I hear his breathing become labored.  I wish we were on a lower level so a passerby might see me pressed against the cool glass wall, but find my view of his reflection a pleasant consolation prize.  He’s gazing down at me, his face transfixed with pleasure.  I rock back and pivot my hips just a little.  I feel him swell inside.

His balls swing and smack my vulva with each pump and I reach back and gently pull on them.  I have one shoulder pressed against the glass and the awkward position heightens my arousal.  I can’t move.

He pulls out and pulls me up to my full height.  He begins to dip down to take my mouth with his, but kisses my jaw instead.  My hand is wrapped around his wet cock.  He runs his hands up my body, pinching my nipples hard as he passes them, to rest his hands on my shoulders.  He gives a warm squeeze, then I feel pressure.

I lower to my knees and his bobbing meat glistens in the sun streaming through the window behind me.  I lick the head and taste my cunt.  I grab the base and impale my face on him, begin to move, do my thing.  He involuntarily pushes his hips forward and groans.  I lap and slurp and stroke like my life depends on it.  Like sucking his cock will turn back time, fill my bank accounts with money, solve world hunger.

He is lost to my ministrations.  My pussy cries happily, my juices running down my thighs as I taste precum and feel him grown then recede and grow again beneath my tongue and lips.  I press my finger to his perineum, slide it back to his anus.  It constricts and he thrusts almost angrily at my face with his hips.  I push a little further, just the tip and his thighs are like brick walls on either side of my face.  He begins to tremble.

He’s close, I know it.  I want so badly to taste his seed, to feel his beautiful, thick cock spurt into the back of my throat.  To look at him with his cum glistening on my lips, my face flushed with exertion.  I want this so badly.  I dive down harder and concentrate.  This is going to happen. My pussy pulses, little mews escape my throat, tears begin to run down my face and then he roughly breaks us apart, grabs me by the arms and throws me roughly down on the bed and undresses as he climbs up over me.

I had a lovely threesome once, Part 2.

Here’s Part 1. This was when I really understood where I fell on the sexual orientation spectrum: a little more straight than wholly bisexual, I know now that given the opportunity to have sex with a woman I’ll do it, cuz I do love pussy and the feel of a woman’s body against mine, but I’ll want to have a man around, too.

I groan and Becky smiles knowingly then kisses me passionately. Her hands run all over my body, knead my breasts; her mouth slides over the sides of my breasts and up and over the mounds to capture my hard nipples in her hot, wet mouth.

My pussy is slick and happy to be filled again. I haven’t fucked anyone since the last time I was with Troy and Ryan together. My body is screaming for touch and satisfaction.

Becky climbs off of me and bends her face low to my curls. She carefully avoids getting bumped in the head by Ryan’s thrusts and presses her tongue on my clit. I arch my back and grab the cushions. Minutes tick by. I’m on Cloud 9.

Then we switch around: she lays on the couch with knees apart and I kneel before her. Ryan situates himself behind me and enters roughly. I fall forward onto her shaved pussy. She tastes tangy and female and her slight stubble scratches my tender skin. I push forward and find her nub and start to lap at it with the rhythm of Ryan’s pumps.

His hands grip my hips, my hands grip her small breasts, she grips my hair.

I’m so happy to be here with them. They are so generous, it feels so collaborative. I only hope I’m giving as much as they are.

We switch around again. Ryan takes a spot on the couch and has his girl climb aboard. I’m still on the floor and can see her pussy stretch to take all of him, her dark pink anus a little star in front of me, his darker brown balls an enticing pouch, low hanging fruit.

I duck under and take his sack into my mouth as she bounces on top of him, then sit up and reach around and rub her clit. She moans and leans back against my breasts. Her skin is so unbelievably soft. So different from a man’s. I flatten my fingers and press hard. She rocks into me and on him. My shared goal with Ryan is to make her feel more pleasure.

The music on the TV fills the space as our pants and moans interchange depending on who’s being the center of attention. Sometimes it’s me, sometimes it’s her, sometimes it’s him. There’s no rhyme or reason, but it all seems to make sense.

It’s my turn again to climb on top of Ryan’s gorgeous cock. I slide down, feel it deep inside and start to move. My clit pressed tight against his abs. My arms and chest are heavy and numb and Becky is behind me nibbling on my shoulders and cupping my breasts.

Suddenly, my eyes fly open as I feel her tongue on my asshole and perineum, bold and assured. I guess she’s licking us from balls to anus and back again because he gets twice as hard inside of me and a small yell escapes my lips. They are both fucking the shit out of me.

I stop moving twice because I got overwhelmed. This space I’m in is so heady and lustful. Whenever I get here I sometimes lose steam because I’ve lost myself in bliss. It’s delectable, rich, exhausting. But I come back down and keep impaling myself, keep getting licked and caressed. Keep. getting. fucked.

Once I’ve exhausted myself I throw myself over on the couch and tell them they’re wonderful. They laugh and smile and thank me for saying so. I watch for a few minutes as she fervently sucks his sack and he strokes his pole while idly playing with her clit and tits. I catch my breath and stand up over her and press my breasts against his chest, nibble his shoulder, then bend down and take his cock in my mouth again.

I recall what he liked from before and I do my best. He gently pushes me off of him and Becky sits back on her haunches obediently, her eyes locked on him as his jerking tempo increases.

I kiss her neck and rub her breasts and I hear Ryan lose it as he cums all over her chest. My hand smears it across her silken skin and she and I kiss a final time. Her skin shines in the light from the TV.

We all repose on the couch and Ryan starts channel surfing. We chat amiably. I try hard not to doze, but unsuccessfully. It’s past midnight, so I beg off. Hug them both, say I hope we can do it again sometime and leave.

Driving home I think about how tonight felt. It was fun and easy, but I’m still not so sure I’m the biggest fan on the planet of FFM. Several times I found myself longing for another cock despite Becky’s devoted attention to me — and she is truly devoted and lovely. They made me feel like an equal partner and as wanted as possible and still the lack of cock was not something I could chase from my mind. The lesson here is: I LOVE COCK.

I think MFM, MMF, or MFMF is more up my alley than only one cock in the room.

I tie up my lover.

[My Tuesday night.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finally.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can hear you.”

“Oh really?? That’s just too bad.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, you could,” he answers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We never discuss what just happened to us.