My yellow dress always gets me laid.

hy_bed
Proof of a good night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

“It’s total perfection.”

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.

He invited me to a potluck.

“You home?” he texted. “I just knocked and no one answered.”

“No,” I replied. “I was, but then I left to get baby-blocking pills. Home in 15.”

When I climbed the stairs with my new suitcase I fumbled with my keys and the kitchen mats under my arm my mother had bought me. His door opened. He looked handsome and sweet in his basketball shorts and shirtlessness.

“Hi!” I said beaming. He beamed back. “Were you waiting for me?? What are you doing?”

“Yes. I had my eye on the peephole for 20 minutes waiting for you!”

“Ok, come on in,” I said swinging the door open.

We walked in and I futzed around chattering about nothing as I put my things down. Arms free I opened them and walked towards him. I’d decided to hug him as I would any friend after a time apart. He walked into my hug and held me tight. “You did it!” I said squeezing him. I felt his arms tighten around me and his head bury into my neck.

“I did!” he mumbled into my skin.

I stepped back and rubbed his arms and walked away and went about tidying up my apartment.

“I want to lie down in your bed,” he announced.

“Go ahead. I’ll be right there.”

I joined him and flopped my suitcase on the bed. “Are you packing??” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Don’t. Come talk to me!”

I put my chore aside and cleared a space for me to lay next to him. He wanted to know all about my days away from him, every little thing I did. I went through each day, laughing as I set milestones around the pics I’d sent him. He touched my leg, my arm. I leaned between his.

“C’mere,” he beckoned. “Lie down.” I did.

His hands found my skin as we continued to talk. I reached back to adjust my panties and pulled a rip in the lace. “Goddamnit,” I complained, “I just tore my panties! I made a hole!”

“Lemme see,” he said leaning over me. “What about this hole?” he asked with a dirty smirk and a grab for my pussy. He made hard, circular motions on my clit over my panties.

“Well, there’s a hole in there, too,” I teased.

His hand worked magic. I had trouble finishing my weekend story. When I was done he pulled my panties down and pooled his shorts on the floor, spread my knees and positioned himself over me.

“Ok, tell me about your weekend,” I said as he dipped his fingers inside of me.

“When my parents met me at the airport,” he began, “the car was packed and my brother was in there.” He removed his hand from me and gripped his cock instead and aimed it at my wetness. “We went immediately to the cabin,” he said as he slid inside of me.

I struggled to concentrate as he slowly, gently fucked me. His words never wavered as he pumped against me. I gripped the metal swirls of my headboard and did my best to listen.

He spoke of history tours and museums, “That’s when I bought you your souvenir — I’ll have to bring that over later,” he said to himself as he continued to thrust. His face was placid, his hips were rabid. I was a laughing, titillated mess.

His story finally over we forgot to talk anymore. He pounded into me and my pussy squelched around us. I kissed his neck, grazed my teeth against his jaw and kissed his ear. He buried his face in my neck and hair and kissed me, sucked on my breast and pistoned away like a mechanical pony.

I tossed my head back and forth and watched him through my lashes. His eyes never left my face.

He stood up and pulled out, exhausted. “I need a break for a second,” he panted and offered me his cock. I took him in my mouth, my pussy a light, fragrant bouquet in my nostrils.

“Mmm, I taste good,” I mumbled around his meat. “You should try this for yourself some time.”

I continued to slurp and suck and grip until he gently pushed me back and told me to scoot over. He spread my knees and pulled me to the edge of the bed and kneeled down. His mouth descended on me with gentle pressure. I told him to use his fingers to stretch my hole and he obediently followed directions.

I panted and writhed under his ministrations. My hands tingled, I saw stars. I needed a break and begged him to stop. He lifted his head and climbed up on top of me. I pulled his face down to mine and kissed me off of him like a layer of frosting.

He fingered me, he fucked me, he sucked me, he loved me, he hit me, he watched me. I fucked him back, bucked on him, loved him, watched him back.

Standing on the floor, my bottom hanging off the edge, he parted my legs like the sea and watched my tits bounce and flounce to the rhythm of his cock. His face beautiful in the soft light of my room, his shoulders broad and arms flexed.

He reached behind him and handed me my vibrator. I came hard and loud around him. I quivered and cried as he told me I was hot and beautiful, how good it felt. He handed it to me again and another orgasm screamed through me.

He pulled out and pulled me with him as I sobbed alone. “Hy, it’s ok. Come here,” he crooned and opened his arms. I moved into the crook of his arms and cried into the fur of his chest. His fingers traced the lines of my back as I tried to gather myself.

“I’m sorry,” I squeaked.

“For what??”

“For making your erection go away.” He’d gone soft during my second orgasm.

“Aw, it’s ok. It’s tired, don’t worry.” I still felt bad. Then again, he is only human and an hour of vigorous, hard fucking can undo any man.

We lay tangled together for a while until I got antsy. This is when he usually leaves. I felt it. But I was wrong.

I got up and handed him his glass of wine. He made no move to leave. Instead we lay in bed and I asked more questions about his weekend. He was happy to be home, back where he belonged, he said. “That reminds me, lemme go get your gift.”

He slipped out and was back in a minute. “Have you heard back from Jack and Emma, yet?”

Last night I’d received an email on Adult Friend Finder inviting me to a sex party in another city in November and December. I’d mentioned it to The Neighbor and he was interested. I’d immediately texted my friend and ex-lover Jack to ask what he knew about it. TN wanted to know if Jack and Emma would be willing to help him feel comfortable being watched while having sex. “I’ve only ever been watched once, and that was with Marian. I’m nervous,” he’d told me.

“No, not yet. Lemme check.” I tick-tacked away on the laptop as he pulled out a slim white, rectangular package for me. I stopped typing and looked at it. It was a beautiful metal bookmark.

“Oh, TN. Thank you! It’s beautiful!” I felt awkward and flattered in equal measures, the hot laptop warmed my naked belly ignorant of my emotions. The price tag was still visible: $18.

This gesture, this nice, non-keyring-with-flashing-first-name gift, floored me. It was kind, it was sweet, it was thoughtful. It wasn’t him. But, I guess it was.

I opened it and read the inscription on the packaging as he told me more about the artist. “He wanted to incorporate nature into all his designs and felt that art and the world should coincide as one, not compete.”

I put it down and searched my email for any response from Jack and Emma. There was none.

“Are you really serious about this sex party?” I asked.

“I am. I’m really interested.”

We’d go the end of December. After our 5k in early December. After a night spent shrooming together with Downstairs Neighbor. After plans of spending Thanksgiving together.

“What are you doing next Saturday?” he started to ask me as I folded the computer shut. “Oh fuck, you’re in San Fran, aren’t you? Fuck. I was going to ask you to go to a potluck with me. Oh well, you can be there in spirit because I need you to tell me what to cook and how to do it. I need an Italian themed salad.”

I laughed lightly and gave him a recipe for something decidedly not a salad; a tomato, garlic and basil concoction that melts in your mouth and makes bread the vehicle to heaven.

Eventually, the clock, though still early, crowded in on me. I stood and dressed in a t-shirt and pj shorts and went to light some firewood. He followed. He nibbled on Peyton’s Halloween candy and we talked about my trip tomorrow — both my nerves and the pedantic what’s and whens — as I sat in front of the fire.

He intermittently sucked on my nipples and I seductively played with myself between my words of cooking wisdom for his potluck. It felt stupidly normal, stupidly awesome.

“I am so happy to be back he said,” lying on the floor and tossing a softball in the air. “Being back makes me realize all that I have here.” I looked up from my recipe notes and bounded over to him and playfully flung myself down on him, pinning him down.

My free-spirit burst at the seams as I playfully humped him and he wrapped his arms around me and giggled at my antics. I kissed his cheeks and hopped up off of him as quickly as I’d descended and returned to my spot on the couch to finish his cooking instructions. It was as honest a reflection of my feelings as I could possibly muster.

I studied my note and gathered myself back up.

“I’m getting antsy,” he gently warned. “I need to go home soon.”

“I know, I’m hurrying,” I answered with a smile.

I finished my recipe and handed it to him. He bent down and kissed each breast in turn and then me. I walked him to the door and I confirmed that he’d be up 6:10 am so we could leave by 6:20.

“G’night, Hy,” he smiled over his shoulder.

“G’night, TN,” I said back and shut the door. His words of wonder at what he would do for the next 7 days rang in my ears, his words of longing for my pussy, his words of praise. They all enclosed around me like a giant hug and have moved with me from room to room.

“I had to tell the sex party people that you’re my boyfriend. I hope that’s ok,” I’d said worried.

“No, it’s ok with me,” he’d answered.

Has something happened? Has something changed? Is there a happy ending to this??

Interlaced with these frilly sentiments are jack hammer reminders of old words, cruel and dirty. I haven’t forgotten a thing, but goddamn does it feel good to try to forget.

 

 

Even I can’t stop the seasons.

Love and interest are fickle friends.  For months I was moon-eyed over my young lover.  I noticed when his car was home, if his lights were on.  I held my breath when his door slammed shut — would my door rattle from his knuckles 2 seconds later??  Seeing his boyish face made my day, hearing his deep, news-broadcaster voice tickled me, and seeing his fit, hair-dusted body made me want to unwrap him like a Christmas present and pounce.

But something has changed.

It is the autumn of my affair with The Neighbor.  Spring brought passion and bursts of colors; highs were the only notes on the breeze.  Summer was long and arduous — I barely survived the heat of my own emotions, his refusal of me, and our irrefutable chemistry.  Today, it is fall.  The leaves of my love are turning and will soon waft to the ground like so many dizzying streaks of gold.  When winter comes, the blanket of cold will insulate me as I rejuvenate away from him and our strange, misshapen relationship.

I don’t know when or how it happened, but it did.  His glorious, meaty cock still haunts me and I admit to lusting after it, but my conquering of it is no longer tied to my heart.  If I get to wrap my fingers around hot pinkness, then so be it.  If not, oh well.  I will live without sex.  A piece of Hy dies as I write that.

Saturday night was a dazzling night in our hobbled relationship.  As asked, I woke him up in time to get ready.  It wasn’t my fault that calling his name and gently shaking him didn’t work and my only option was to slip my hand beneath his puffy white comforter and find his sleeping manhood with my hand.  What else should I have done?  Honestly.

I stroked him slowly while I watched his face, his eyes covered in the black mask that had come with his bondage kit.  His breathing was even and ignorant of my presence.  I increased the pressure of my hand and he jerked awake.

“What the hell??”

“Wake up, TN,” I said smiling.

He pulled the mask off and looked at me bleary-eyed.  He rolled onto his back so I could get full access to his erection.

“Can you wake me up like this every day?”

“You say that nearly every day.”

“Well, I mean it.”

I ignored him and continued my ministrations.

It wasn’t long before I swung a boot clad leg over his waist and slowly slid down on him, my skirt hiked up to my waist and my ridiculously tacky sequined wolf shirt sparkling in the candlelight.  His cock hit me in my throat and I flushed with warmth as I rocked on him.  He gripped my waist and I increased my tempo.  Tremors skittered across my skin as a climax snaked its way through me.

He reached for my breasts, but pulled his hands back with a laugh when he got nothing but sequins.  I laughed, too, and bent over and kissed him just as I released around us both.  “I guess I’ll have to take a shower now before the party,” he murmured into my mouth.

“I guess so.”

At the party he was attentive and hovering.  He encouraged me to eat off his appetizer plate, refilled my glass, and was sure to be shoulder to shoulder with me whenever another man came within my orbit.  I was amused and smiled to myself.  Silly Neighbor, I thought, tricks are for kids.

Our chemistry ultimately belied our ruse of easy, close friendship when an old friend of mine cornered him and asked if he and I had ever dated.  His “No comment,” clearly an admission of guilt, her smile of satisfaction an admission of her pride of sniffing us out.

Our dance continues, but the song is ending.  How many loving, connected conversations can we have?  How many tiffs easily repaired?  How many mind-blowing sexual encounters?  How many tears, hugs, kisses, games, and parries before we admit it will never be more than this?

He thinks we will be friends in 10 years.  He thinks we’ll be close friends in 10 years.  How do I tell him that it might not happen?  That I see no such future between us?  That things are winding down?

He came over last night because he was sad.  I rubbed his chest, made him laugh, and finally slipped my hand into his shorts to grip his pretty, pretty penis and rub it to a big, full handful.  He flipped me on my back and filled me to the brim.  The lights were on and I struggled under his steady, smirking gaze as I slowly, embarrassingly lost my shit beneath him.

I drenched my bed and us, climaxed and orgasmed around him, heaved and sobbed little dry sobs and then we talked some more.  He was back to being sad and anxious about an upcoming trip home.  I told him he’d do great, that he had this.  He’d be back before he knew it.  He lazily traced lines on my arm with the pads of his fingertips.  It was close to 2 am and my yawns came more frequently.

We joked about the sexy pics we’d exchanged lately.  The one of him with his fat cock hanging out of his jeans and poking up past his t-shirt-covered belly button and the one where I’m stretched out on my side pulling down my pj shorts.  I wanted him to make that his phone wallpaper and vice versa.  I’m going to stump for it.

Good morning.

“What do you do with the pics I’ve sent you?” I wondered.

“I keep them all.  They’re on my phone,” he paused for a beat then said, “And I appreciate every single one of them.  Very, very much.”

Words like those from him are like cool drafts of water on my parched throat.  “Well, I’m glad.”

More yawning.  More snuggling.  More laughing.

Then he realized the time and dressed.  I called him over to me before he left, “C’mere.  Let me give you a hug.”  I stood on my knees on the bed, letting the sheets drop, and held out my arms.  He walked into them awkwardly.  I kissed him on the cheek and squeezed anyway.  This is what friends do, after all: they support and love.  “You’re gonna do great.  I promise.  Good luck.”

He squeezed back and put his other hand gingerly on my hip before he pulled away.  “Thanks.”

He walked out of my room and I called out, “Safe travels!!” then, “And thanks for the fuck!”

I heard him laugh as he shut the front door behind him and I snuggled down into bed.  The towel covering the epic wet spot pleasantly rough on my bare bottom.

I remember the month of July as the month I couldn’t breathe and food tasted like packing popcorn.  I laid nearly comatose every spare second I had in bed watching Cheers in between fleeting hookups and interactions with him and going to work.  I knew then that it would pass.  I knew it.  I’ve been through worse and came out alive, after all, but fucking Christ was it unpleasant.

I had to let myself be a pathetic, sniveling shit for a few weeks in order to move to the next season.  I molted.  It wasn’t obvious then because I hadn’t fully emerged yet, but I’d like to think it’s more apparent now.  I forget about him most days and I check my libido at the door like a good, stoic German woman should.  She has better things to do than lead with her pussy all day.

I wonder what the future of this blog will be as I enter this strange limbo of autumn.  I am extremely busy — too busy to go hunting — but this is a blog about my dissolute life and I’m not feeling all that dissolute.  I’m beginning to feel like now Hyacinth is that best friend I made at summer camp, but I really, really don’t want to see her go.  Not just yet.

I still want to be dissolute.

I faked an orgasm, but I doubt he believed me.

I’ve been turned off and shut down towards men in general lately. I get emails daily from interested suitors and I scoff at them. I’m just a shiny object on the shelf to them. A trinket, a pretty thing, an opportunity for release. The Law Student has set me back, made me gun-shy; The Neighbor has broken my heart and hobbled me.

The men that turn my head write me beautiful notes complimenting me on my self portraits (both written and photographic). They acknowledge that I’m real and that they see me, but I don’t trust one word out of their flapping gums and treacherous fingertips. I’ve lived on lip service for months now and more recently the week in which I engaged with LS. Who goes down on a woman with whom he has amazing chemistry and spent a week of his life intellectually seducing and then basically never talks to her again?? — I should add “exhausted” to the L O N E L Y.

Last night my softball team and I agreed to meet for batting practice at a local park at 6 pm. TN, always a cheerful participant (and owner of the bat we love to use), also wanted to come. At 4 pm the storm front that had gathered the previous night began to rain down on the city, its grey clouds stretched out for miles like smudged pencil. Texts and emails flew. Who was afraid of a little rain?? Apparently no one, and so we agreed to meet despite the hazy wetness.

TN, Peyton and I were the first three to arrive. We trudged out to the far end of the field to avoid muddy spots and tossed the ball waiting for my teammates. The rain stopped and we were left with a tepid humidity surrounding us like a damp hug. My Converse filled with water and my cheeks grew flushed. TN and Peyton chased each other taking turns being zombies.

Only one teammate actually showed up in the end and more than 30 minutes late. In that time alone with TN he made innuendos and silly jokes, all of which I let slip by like so many pennies in front of a millionaire. I didn’t want to cash in, though I couldn’t help but notice his indecent bulge. The poor guy can’t even wear gym shorts without looking like he’s stuffed a sock down his crotch. It’s downright indecent.

I’d invited my teammate over for dinner along with one who didn’t show up, so when darkness fell on us with a final puff at 7:15 we packed up and went home. I did not invite TN to join us, nor tell him of my plans.

My girlfriends, Tina and Haley, teased and played with Peyton while I got started on dinner: pan-seared boneless rib eye, parsnip and potato mash with cream, Gruyère and thyme, and sautéed asparagus. It took about 5 minutes for us to remember that the debate was on and so we began discussing where we fell on the spectrum. “Where’s TN?” one of them asked me.

“I don’t know. Next door or working out, I presume,” I replied chopping parsnips. “Do you want me to have him come over to watch the debate with us?”

“Yeah, sure, why not?” they both agreed.

I texted him and went about my evening. The wine flowed, the laughter was raucous. I was tending the food alone in the kitchen when I heard a quick knock and my front door open. TN walked in and waved a bottle of wine in the air. “I’m here! And I brought wine!” he bellowed with a smile.

The girls said hello and he sat down with them as I wrapped up dinner. The debate had started 20 minutes before and I was eager to join the melee of yells and side conversations intermingled with Peyton’s My Little Pony on the computer in the corner.

We ate cross-legged on the floor and my friends moaned their pleasure and approval with each bite. TN politely declined dinner saying he hadn’t seen my text in time to not eat dinner first. The debate ended and we laid around the floor talking about the shit show we’d just seen: Tina hysterical that Romney might win and she’d lose the right to make decisions about her body, Haley a little shell-shocked in general as she learned more about Romney from us, and TN cool and pundit-like as he explained it will be nearly impossible for the Romney/Ryan ticket to win.

I accidentally found myself sitting on TN’s foot and he wiggled his toes. I moved off, not wanting to encourage any kind of intimacy, and stood to clean dishes with Haley.

When we came back TN announced he was going home. We all said goodbye and took turns reading to Peyton. I was the last to kiss chubby, sweet cheeks and brush perfectly colored hair off of temples, a whispered ritual of love.

Back with my girlfriends on the balcony our discussion soon turned to sex and penises [bread and butter]. Youthful and lost they remind how far I’ve come, hopeful and searching they remind me of what I’ve lost.

Our rants and peels of laughter were soon interrupted by an uproarious and ridiculous laugh from below. Downstairs Neighbor had overheard us.

We convinced him to come upstairs and hang out with us and no sooner had he sat down than TN poked his head out of his balcony. DN convinced him to rejoin us.

With five of us crowded on the balcony I sat feeling warm and full and happy. I love people. I love that I’m the hub of so many of my circles and that my friends are actually friendly. I blossom as a bud in sunshine.

Yet, I was on edge, tensed for flight, waiting for that ill-formed spoken thought from TN. But it never came. He was generous, funny, and normal. Respectful in speech and action.

The girls left eventually with hugs, air-humps, and cries of glee. Puppies tumbling down the hillside, tails and ears flying. I turned to TN and DN. “So, it’s just the OG now.”

“Yep,” said DN sipping on his wine.

“Indeed,” added TN taking a sip of his.

We sat and laughed for a while longer, a spell cast on the three of us wherein we were blind to the elephant perched on my goddamned lap. Eventually, TN begged off again, but before he left I said, “I want to ask you something, but later, ok?”

“Sure, but why not now?”

“Because, I don’t want to.”

“Ok,” he shrugged and I waved to him from my seat as he left.

“He is so in love with you, Hy,” DN said as the front door slammed shut. “He just has no goddamned clue what he’s doing.”

I sighed. I’m so tired of hearing this, but it’s a fascinating example of human behavior and stubbornness. Everyone gets buzzed from the alcoholic fumes steaming off of this intoxicating, infuriating relationship. We want to figure it out, our curious natures striving to answer the age-old question of, “Why…?”

We hung out a little longer before I was ready to go to bed. I hugged my tall, furry downstairs neighbor goodnight, checked on Peyton, peeled off all my clothes and climbed into my bed. The crisp, clean linens cool on my skin a stark contrast with the warmth in my belly from a full night of friends, food, and wine. I picked up my phone and pecked at the keys.

I rolled out of bed and slugged some mouthwash and no sooner had I spit than I heard a soft knock on the bathroom door. I stood there naked in the light and pushed the door open. TN looked at me.

I was suddenly bashful and closed the door with a laugh and exclamation. I heard him crawl into my bed and when I opened the door he was buried under the snow caps of my down comforter. He peeked out at me. “Close your eyes!” I said still hiding behind the door, my shyness crushing me.

He covered his face and I bounded to the bed and leapt in. He opened the covers for me and snuggled close. “I’m so cold!” he said.

I couldn’t tell. To my cool skin he was hot, yet he shivered. His basketball shorts were silky against my belly and his bulge grew large under my hand. I slid my hand over it rapidly and laughed, “I’ll try to start a fire.” He laughed with me and held me to him.

I ran my fingers through his chest hair, reticent to express intimacy, yet emboldened by his presence. He closed his eyes and I dipped my hand beneath his shorts and gripped his even hotter erection. “Mmm.”

I worked the shaft like he showed me and when a pearl of liquid dripped out I raised my fingers to his lips and traced them lightly. He opened his mouth and his velvetness closed around my finger. I pulled my hand away and dipped down to my slit, so soft, so slick.

I pressed in two fingers and raised my hand back to his bow mouth and traced my juices on his plump lower lip. He sucked me into his mouth. I nipped at his shoulder.

He kicked off his shorts and rolled over on top of me. Our eyes locked and I tried not to let him really see me in the candlelight flickering across our skin; hiding in plain sight.

He paused for a moment outside my opening, his arms tense and hard caged me in. He reared back and gently slid in to the hilt. I moaned and bore down on him. He stroked me from the inside with his silken rod and his five o’clock shadow scoured my neck, jaw, and lips like a loofah.

I pulsed and squelched around him as he thrust into me. I felt at once in the right and wrong places.

He hitched my ankles up over his shoulders and pounded into me. I gripped the iron bars of my headboard and pushed back with all my might. With each thrust my confusion and passion grew in equal parts; I met his gaze through a haze of shadows and didn’t look away.

He released my legs and reached down to my bedside basket. “We haven’t done this in far too long,” he crooned as he handed me my vibrator. He slid to my left and swung my legs around, never leaving my insides. I switched the vibe on and felt an instant bloom, but try as I might I couldn’t walk through that door.

He pumped into me and kneaded my breasts and sucked on their peaks. He asked me what he needed to do and I told him not to change a thing, but still, my release eluded me. In a fit of desperation I cried out and panted, tensed like I think I do when it’s real. I felt guilty for not cumming.

He pulled out and kissed my swells some more. I lay next to him and panted then went back for “#2” hoping for a real #1. Same distant tease with an initial hard bloom and stars. He kissed me and pinched my nipples. I shuddered for a fake #2, embarrassed and feeling more lonely than ever despite having a warm, willing man beside me.

He reached between my legs and slipped in two fingers and brought a swift (and real) climax hot and boiling through me. Different from cumming, my climax spreads like lava through my chest and core.

I kissed him again then and pushed him back onto his back and climbed between his legs. My mouth found his warm, wet cock and I fell on it slowly. I tasted goddamned delicious. I closed my eyes and mewled my pleasure, felt a small release of wetness between my thighs. I stopped when he missed his climax and dragged my breasts up his torso and captured his mouth with my own. My softness melted into his muscles and soft downy hair. I slithered back down to his cock and took him back in my mouth.

“I don’t think I’m going to cum again, Hy.” He chuckled. “I’ve cum 3 times today already.”

“Three!” I said with disbelief.

“Yes, once this morning, and twice when I got home after work and practice. I don’t think this will happen again.”

“Ok, but I still think you should keep your cock in my mouth while I jerk off again.”

He knelt next to my head as I laid back down again and spread my knees. He fucked my face and I closed my eyes. My orgasm tripped out of my reach again, unbeknownst to him. I looked up from under the trunk of his cock and whispered, “Jerk off on me.”

“On your face?”

“My tits.”

“I really don’t think I can –”

“Try.”

His hand became a blur as the vibrator churned on my clit painfully. Seconds later I was covered in hot jizz and his thick hand rubbed it over the mounds of my breasts. His hand slipped to my throat and, covered in semen, squeezed gently. My head exploded, but my body didn’t.

I wanted nothing more than to cum for him, for this, for me, so I shook and rattled for a third time, though in reality nothing happened except a disconnect within my own body. “Did you cum?” he asked, my acting so poor. I only nodded, bewildered and disappointed in myself.

He drew wet cum circles around my nipples and bent to take one in his mouth. When he kissed me, I could taste his sweet semen. He’d snowballed me with a devilish grin. I was delighted.

I laid in his arms and felt tired and heavy, strangely satisfied despite my small, emotional roller coaster. “So, what did you want to ask me?”

“It really is dumb. I’m afraid to ask you because I’m certain you’ll say no.”

“What is it??”

“I have a birthday/housewarming party to go to this Saturday and thought it’d be fun if you came with me.”

“Yeah, NO.”

“See!” I started to say then he interrupted me.

“Just kidding! I’d love to. It sounds like fun.”

He got up then and dressed. “Don’t forget to give me a proper kiss goodbye,” I said wearily from my pillow. He tucked me in and kissed me full on the mouth.

“I’ll lock the door behind me.” And he left.

I closed my eyes and cried a little for my poor, sore clit, clapped a little for my pussy that got pounded, and sighed a little for the games we play. In some strange way it felt like a pit stop on an old, familiar route, in others like a wrong turn. In the ongoing saga of Hy and TN last night was another page not fit to be dog-eared.

I fuck while she watches.

It took me a minute to realize that I was in his bed, in his room.  There was a meaty, warm arm wrapped around me and that was why I was so hot.  I sat up and pulled off my San Francisco 49ers shirt and pajama shorts and crawled back under the covers.

The Neighbor opened up his arms and I snuggled inside his embrace and turned around to nuzzle his neck and pull off his basketball shorts.  I clutched and stroked his beautiful erection and sleepily, lo, half-drunkenly, we laughed and chatted about our night.  It’d been goddamned epic.

Wine and Sidecars, fucking and hugs, laughing and wrestling, orgasms and cum.

“I want some motherfucking waffles,” he declared between laughing.  I giggled and said I had a motherfucking headache.

“Do you have any ibuprofen?” I asked standing up and stretching in the morning light.

“If I do, it’ll be in the medicine cabinet.”  I quickly discovered he didn’t have any.

“I’ll be right back!” I called to him as I headed to his front door, naked and brash.  I checked to see if the coast was clear and jumped the five feet to my front door and let myself in and was met with the proof of my ill repute.

My black club chair was pushed to the side, the ottoman was draped in a poker felt, the lilies I’d bought for Noodle’s visit had opened up overnight and their sweet smell mixed with the remnants of incense.  To my left, by the kitchen table in a heap, was my black shirt and pale pink panties and matching lace bra.  Wine and half-filled champagne glasses were on every possible surface.

I looked around, but no one was there.  Quietly I walked to the back of the apartment and pushed open my door.  Noodle was mounted on Downstairs Neighbor, his cock buried deep inside of her.

“Hi, guys!” I beamed, partially hiding my nudity behind the door.

“Hy!” they exclaimed together startled.

“Whatchoo guys, doin’?” I asked laughing.

“Goddamnit, Hy!  Get out of here!” boomed DN with a laugh.  Noodle just giggled, never breaking contact with my neighbor.

“You want some fucking waffles?  TN’s starving and he wants some fucking waffles,” I announced, mirth plastered on my face.

“Yes,” DN said annoyed, “We want some fucking waffles, but later!  Get the hell out!”  I shut the door laughing and returned to TN’s bed, the ibuprofen in hand.

“They were fucking again, but I told them we want some motherfucking waffles so they’ll be done soon,” I said to him with a smile.

::

When Noodle arrived yesterday around 1:30 I was waiting for her on my stairwell; I couldn’t contain my excitement in the apartment.  When we finally met I squealed and jumped up and down and hugged and hugged and hugged her.

With a wine glass in her hand she wandered around the apartment exclaiming at how weird it was to actually be seeing it with her own eyes.  She went out on the balcony, her wavy hair blowing in the breeze, and pointed to TN’s balcony, “Is that –?” she left off the rest of the sentence.

“Yep.  Sure is.  And that,” I said pointing below, “Is Downstairs Neighbor,” and as I said it I could see him sitting in his chair smoking his Camel Lights.  I made quick introductions and begged him for a smoke.  He said he’d just come up and give me one.

It was strange to watch as one of my characters met one of my readers.  One has had the benefit of knowing me in my skin and the the other in my head.  Did they know the same woman??

He left and Noodle and I went and got pedicures and sipped on smuggled wine.  We chatted and laughed and she said nice things about my legs and I said nice things about her tits.

By the time we returned to the apartment the rain had stopped and the temperature had dropped a few degrees.  A breeze swept through my rooms and I felt as light-hearted as a girl riding her first pony.  Hunger drove us from the house and while meandering  through Friday afternoon traffic we listened to Super Tramp curling out of the car radio.

At the little house bar we sat outside and drank more wine and nibbled on cheese and smoked salmon.  We talked and laughed and then headed home where we lounged around like college students.  I considered a pillow fight, but painted my nails while she told me tales instead.  Then I watched her put on her makeup and get dressed for dinner while laying on my bed.  It was like we’d done this a thousand times before.

Then, right before the cabbie called to announce his arrival, she made me take off my shirt to take a picture.

My girlfriend, Lindsey, joined us for dinner and drinks and Noodle brilliantly sidestepped the questions of, “So, how do you know Hy?  How long have you known her?” not for the first time that night.  We laughed and told jokes and she lamented at how lame the men in my city were.  “Wow, you really weren’t kidding when you said men don’t hit on you!”

“Yep, the men here are fucking jerks,” added Lindsey.

By 10:30 we were ready to go home.  We’d killed another bottle of wine and were eager to have the night really begin.   TN was waiting for us somewhere in the night.

I called him to let him know we were home-bound and he offered to come pick us up, always the gentleman.  He rolled up in his fancy black car and we jumped in.  He drove Lindsey to her car and then the three of us headed home.

He had no idea what a big fucking deal that moment was, that meeting those two women meant more than just meeting two random people in my life.  Noodle knows every intimate detail of everything he and I have ever done, Lindsey knows the emotional aspects of everything.  To him, they were just Noodle and Lindsey.  To them, this was the ubiquitous, omnipresent Neighbor that — for lack of a better word — tortures their friend.

I had the sense that I was suddenly writing my own narrative again, but I shook it off and barreled down the road I travel: fucking fun and frolic.

We spilled into my apartment and TN ran next door to get his Sidecar fixings.  We are going to get drunk, he said and he was right.  The liquor flowed saloon-like for hours.  We played poker.  We laughed so hard our sides hurt and TN flirted shamelessly with me in front of Noodle making a liar out of me.  He’d never been so openly affectionate before.

Memory fades in and out from there, a misty ribbon of images and feelings: Embraced by Noodle, my head clutched to her warm bosom in a loving hug; I was safe.  Fucked and pounded on the floor in the living room;  impaled  and cried in my room, TN over me and in me, Noodle’s lilting voice in my ear.  Came and cried as he rammed into me, his mouth on her breast.  Filled up with his cum.  Laughing on the balcony with Downstairs Neighbor.  Wrestling like puppies with my love while Noodle and DN kissed and canoodled under the stars.  Cuddling on the floor of his balcony.  Noodle and DN in various and sundry compromising positions on my couch.  And then, his arm around me in his bed, sunshine pouring through the blinds.

Noodle remembers it all.  Every word, every nuance, every thrust. She was my champion, my protector, my sweet tiger.  She growled and bristled and cuffed the man-puppy on the ear when he began to stray and she outright thrummed with anger when he hurt me.

After poker, when I invited TN to touch our breasts, to give him that gift, he compared the two.  I laughed, but she hissed.  Her rebuke was swift and firm.  I don’t think he knew why he had dropped to give her 10, but he did it anyway.  And then, with a smile and her drawl, she explained to him that he may never discuss her breasts with me ever.  He nodded assent.

But the lesson was short lived.

Noodle said he suddenly looked like a kid in a candy store when I’d told him she could cum from nipple stimulation.  He slipped his hand beneath her shirt and rubbed expertly over her bra until she had a little orgasm.  He looked at me watching them and quipped, “Now why can’t you do that, Hy?”

Noodle said I looked crushed, that my lip trembled and I struggled to be ok.  I have no memory of this.  And then I left for a minute to do what, she doesn’t know, but in those 120 seconds she squared off with TN.  “You can’t say shit like that.  It’s not right,” she leveled at him.  “A woman is either wired to do that or she isn’t.  And you are asking her to do something that her body physically can’t.  And all she wants to do is please you and that was an asshole thing to say.   Do you understand?”

Understanding washed over his face as he said, “Oh.”

“Don’t say something like that again.  Got it?” and she set her jaw defiantly at him right as I returned.

Without a word she opened her arms to me and I fell to the ground with her as she cradled me, kissed my forehead and stroked my hair.  TN was across the room and she said he came up behind me and spooned me, wanting to be part of my solace.  They joked that they were making a Hy sandwich, her anger at him gone and replaced with the common goal of loving me.

Then, because he knows he can always make me feel better with his body, he slipped his fingers inside of me and began to stroke as I lay nestled in her arms.  I was bashful as heat began to wash over me.  His fingers and palm worked the slow burn inside of me until  I blossomed.  I turned into him as he made me climax in front of Noodle and she stepped back and he devoured me.  Tore off my clothes and his and took me on the living room floor with our audience of one looking on heatedly.

She said he wanted to show me off, show her what I could do at his hands.  She sensed he was proud of me.

He led the both of us back to my room.  The brandy was thick in my brain and I was a bundle of passion and lust and love and trust.  It was all there, visible for anyone to see if he cared to.  Noodle saw it.

She lay on the bed, fully clothed while we rutted, steam rising from our bodies.  She left us for a minute and returned with ice cubes.  She was sure we were on fire as she rubbed the ice on our skin. I incoherently sobbed and she translated.  “She wants you to stop.”

“She wants me to pull out?” he said surprised.

“No. Stay in, but just stay.  Don’t move.”  I cried my agreement, tears streaking my face.

I caught my breath and told him to take Noodle’s nipple in his mouth.  He leaned over and sucked, his face disappearing into the pillow of her breast, his cock pumping wildly inside of me. I released around him, body and soul.  Wildly he rode me, my bed screaming, our bodies wet with passion and exploded into me, shuddering and shaking like a sapling in a storm.

He stilled for a minute and I breathed in his soapy scent and kissed his neck.  He nuzzled mine and started to move again.  Slap, slap, slap.  Noodle got up to pee and when she came out TN and I were still locked together and Downstairs Neighbor filled the doorway with his booming laugh.  “What the fuck is going on!” he cackled.

He retreated to kitchen to make himself a drink and Noodle followed.  TN and I remained in my room locked in our private embrace.  She hugged DN like they were old friends and on the balcony she told him she’d have a coronary if he didn’t kiss her immediately.  He obliged and  a minute later TN and I joined them before tumbling around on the floor.

::

We never did end up getting those motherfucking waffles, but we did all go to breakfast.  DN and Noodle on one side of the booth and TN and I on the other.  Two couples having brunch to the casual observer, four sated individuals to those looking closer.

Noodle joked about how pleased she was that DN wasn’t some fat fuck who scratched his dirty balls all day long — I guess I’ve forgotten to mention that he’s tall, dark and handsome in his own right — and we laughed because DN said he did actually scratch his dirty balls all day long.

Then I ordered TN his apple juice for him when he went to wash his hands and had it delivered in a kiddie cup. I really am motherfucking funny.

Back home TN pulled me into his arms and gave me a warm hug as he announced he was leaving.  He hugged Noodle goodbye and left and DN and I smoked on the balcony as she bustled around packing.

“Well, honey,” she said finally, her green eyes sparkling in the sunlight, “It’s been real.”

I stood and hugged her again and she kissed DN goodbye and left.  My wonderful, beautiful, wicked smart, southern drawl tiger left the building and my bubble and I felt empty.

I open my entire life and heart to the internet, to my Internet Boyfriend, and thousands of strangers a month, but I am shy and vulnerable in real life.  I don’t demand things that I know I should.  I have a hard time truly opening up. This blog is a living, breathing part of me and Noodle knows it inside and out.  She saw me stumble with TN and her resolve was true: she was never going to hurt me.  She could never touch his cock, she said, because she could see how much I loved him even if he couldn’t.  In fact, she was going to go one further and protect me.

I don’t have many protectors in my life, but she thinks I have one more besides her.

She saw what I see in The Neighbor.  His charm and sweetness, his love for me. “He was so protective of you, Hy, despite the stupid shit that came out of his mouth. It’s incredibly obvious he cares about you.  A lot.  But it’s also clear that he has no idea what to do with you.”

She was also my voice, my friend and my playmate.

She was mellow to my intensity, soft where I was hard.  She was fierce where I was vulnerable and my voice when I was silent.  Her energy left a wake in my house and with my friends, my two funny neighbors who don’t usually meet women like us.  I imagine I must be such a paragon of hedonism to them living their solitary, quiet lives, but I don’t care and I can’t help it and being this way has opened the door for someone like Noodle to walk through.  A woman I’d never have met in real life.

And she talked to DN about me and The Neighbor, something I find strangely appealing.  I feel comforted and cared about.  Two people, not involved, weighing in on the TN-Hy saga.  DN said  “TN doesn’t know who he is.  He’s learning everything he is through Hy.”

“I think you’re right,” she answered.

Now I’m having Noodle withdrawals, and a little TN withdrawals, too.  I felt so loved and filled up with them here.  She made magic out of a broken heart and loved on me like I’ve needed to be loved for so long.  “You get fucked all the time, Hy, but do you ever get loved on?” she asked me.

It was an excellent question and I had to answer, “No.  Not until you.”

Nope, not until you, Noodle.  Thank you for everything this weekend.  Thank you for twirling with me on the dance floor and never turning down the music.  You are beautiful and sensual, your peridot eyes are lit from within, and you smell goddamned delicious.  You are magical.  And I am lucky to know you.

I get what I want: Cum on my lips and giant cock in my pussy

Sam and the crew were searching for a money belt in Cheers when I drifted off to sleep on my couch.  I had spent the day loving and smiling and laughing and kissing soft, plump cheeks and hugging 60 year olds hello.  My life, so out of control and painful two months ago has careened back onto track.  My priorities are aligned with my heart, my heart is in cahoots with my mind.  I feel tall.  All 5 foot 5 of me.

The last two months have been 60-odd days of self discovery: wins and losses nearly every day and as many highs, lows, answers and questions in between.  My husband reunited with his girlfriend, The Neighbor left me for a drunk, then never actually left me; I burned out at work and decided to take a three-week hiatus to re-center; and most importantly, I finally saw Peyton standing before me in a beam of dusty sunlight glowing like an angel that had always been there to show me the way.  So I followed.

And here’s where I was tonight: laying on TN’s naked chest, his semen tingling on my lips and its heady fragrance filling my nostrils, my body limp and exhausted from multiple gut-wrenching, teeth-chattering orgasms, and me casually sitting up and saying, “Well, let’s get you outta here!”

At around 10 to 7 tonight I heard a knock on the door.  Of course I knew who it’d be.  Who fucking else could it possibly be??  It was TN in his swimming trunks.

“So!  Let’s go swimming!”

“Sorry, but no.  I have my baby.”

“Let’s all go!”

“No.  I’ve been torturing Peyton for over an hour with the promise of watching TV at 7.  There’s only 10 minutes to go.”

He pushed past me.  “Let me ask Peyton myself.”

“Ok,” I shrugged.  “Fine.”  I was fairly certain the answer would be No.

I told him Peyton was under my bed.  He quietly climbed on top and hung his head over.  “Hey, Peyton, wanna go swimming??”

“Yes!” came the little squeal.  Then, “Oh wait, No.  I wanna watch TV.”

TN looked at me.  “Can TV be watched after swimming??”

I shrugged again.  “Sure.”  They both smiled and laughed.

We played in the pool for an hour, the cool water only barely tolerable after a summer of bath-water was a strange brew in which to play.  It felt like odd magic.

Since the break up, I’ve not kept Peyton and TN separated.  During our entire relationship the two were in two separate columns and I’m ashamed to admit that I would manipulate the situation to finagle what I wanted out of it.  I would read one less book to Peyton at night in order to see TN sooner, I wouldn’t play as much in the pool when TN was around, or I would ask to be left alone by  my baby to the dirty privacy of my phone to send pictures or text.  But not anymore.

I am all me, all mama, all good Hy with Peyton no matter what TN wants from me.  Peyton comes first, my promises and my little one’s needs are all that matter.  Tonight in the pool I loved and kissed and tickled and played with my sweet angel.  I didn’t care if TN felt ignored or left out.  My heart swelled.  I felt strong and right.   Right.  I’ve never exposed this side of me to TN before.  It felt almost wrong to let him see the beauty that is my relationship with my child in the past, but now I’m flying my Mother Flag high and proud.

When I got cold enough I said it was time to go inside.  We all climbed the stairs and Peyton humorously slammed the door ahead of us to our home.  On my way inside I flashed TN one of my breasts.  I wanted him.  He wagged his eyebrows at me and we shut our doors.  It was really that clear.

Later, I simply texted him, “I want your cock in me tonight.”

My new perch lends me perspective and longsight.  I have no fear of rebuke or rebuff with a simple statement of what truly is.  I assumed I would be ignored or maybe propositioned.  Instead, I was goaded.  A good sign.  Then, KNOCK KNOCK.

I opened the door and he was clad in jeans and a t-shirt.  I was in a mens Hanes tank top and PJ shorts, my usual attire.  “So, uh, I’m going to the store.  Do you need anything??”

“No.”  I didn’t invite him in.  Peyton was watching TV around the corner and I had dinner on the stove.

“Are you sure??” and I follow his eyes which look down at his hand pointing at a prominent bulge in his pants.

“Oh…” I gasp and instantly lean into him with my hand, pressing my breasts against him.  He pulls me into him and I stand up straight.  The tip of his erection nestles in the cleft of my legs.  He pinches my breasts and the cool night air blows past my legs and curls around our limbs. His fingers nestle inside of me and gently work me.  I manage to say,  “Well, I’d like one of these then,” and I pull his buttocks towards me.

We break apart and he says, “Are you sure?”

“Yes.  Actually, I want two.”

And then I forgot all about it.  I read Peyton as many books as was asked of me, loved and kissed some more, turned on fans and turned off lights, plumped pillows, made promises of scaring off bad guys and headed back out to the living room.  I poured myself a glass of wine and sat down to watch more Cheers.

I don’t remember ever feeling so light-hearted in two years.

I laid down on my side and closed my eyes…

I woke up to a man standing over me, my nipple pinched between his fingers, his icy blue eyes looking heatedly down on me, his other hand on my shoulder.  “Hy…” he’s saying softly.

“Holy shit,” I say startled.  I sit up and shake my head, trying to get my bearings.  “Did you just get here??”

“Yes,” he says and stands up straight.  His crotch is mouth level and I see the bulge.  I lean forward and scrape my teeth along its length.  He groans and presses into my face.  I stand up and he lays down.  I wordlessly unbuckle his pants and release my hound.  It’s fat and pink and uncovered by one mere zip.

I lick and suck and moan and run my hands through his chest hair.  I bite his neck and kiss him with wild abandon.  His ardor matches mine lick and nip.  His hands roam over my taught thigh and arched back as I stand half-perched with him in my mouth.  I take his hand and pull him up.  I was tempted to grab his cock and lead him that way, but I was wary of the zipper on his exposed flesh.  Instead, I tug on his hand and we escape to my darkened room.

The closet light is on and casts a faint light on the bed.  We close the door and he rips my clothes off and crushes his mouth on mine.  I peel his shirt and jeans off without breaking contact and he backs me into the bed and pushes me down.  He pulls my bottom to the edge and slowly enters me.  He’s saying something, but I have no clue what it is.  All I can think is how badly I want his magic cock inside of me.  That I had orchestrated this.  That this is exactly what I want.  Nothing more from him.  Just his glorious. fucking. cock.

He leans into me and fills me to the brim.  I cry out and grab the edge of the bed but I can’t get purchase.  He angles me towards the headboard and we laugh as he moves me, plow-like through the sheets to be vertical on the bed.  “I’m plowing the plow!” he quips.  I get half a giggle out before he starts impaling me.

I grip the curved bars of my headboard for minutes as he buries himself in my throat via my cunt.  I cry and shake my head, beg him for release, for mercy, for more more more.  He calmly watches me with a smirk, my life narrowed down to snippets my lashes allow me to see between their fluttering: a beautiful face half-lit smiling down at me, broad shoulders casting me in shadow, hard thighs slamming into the soft undersides of my own, the wailing creak of my bed, the thought that I may snap a bar off in my hand, and then he cums long and hard inside of me grunting and panting.  His breath puffs on my sweaty neck.

He sits up then and I reach around and start to rub my clit.  It’s a new thing for me.  I’m so sensitive I can barely stand it.  It hurts.  As if reading my mind he leans over and grabs my vibe and hands me the sheet.  He leans back, still fucking hard and buried deep inside of me and starts to move as the vibrator sits gently on my mound.  With each thrust I’m taken higher and higher.

I lose all control and scream and yell and buck and clench down hard on him.  I cry and stammer.  My orgasm brought on by him, not the vibrator alone.  I toss it aside and convulse.  He holds me tenderly and with pride then sits up and silently hands me the vibe again.

We do it all over again. Faster this time, bigger, louder.  He’s still hard.  The world has melted down to the joining of our bodies, his shape looming over me and my cells.  Words cannot be found.  He hands me the vibe a third time.

I whisper, “I’m gonna die, TN.  I’m gonna die.  I swear.  I’m gonna die.”  I cry into his neck.

He assures me I won’t and  leans over me and only flexes his cock this time, gently.  He sits up briefly and holds one leg up and spanks me hard, switches legs and spanks the other flank again and again.  He lowers my legs and braces his arms on either side of me again and flexes inside of me; butterfly kisses stroke my walls.  I am encased in him in every way.  He’s to my left, right, above and in me.

I cum in under 30 seconds screaming my release and only barely thanking God that I have sound machines in Peyton’s room.  He makes to hand me the vibe a fourth time and I get hysterical.  He laughs and says he’s only joking and rolls off of me and pulls me into his arms.

“Well, I guess I’ll be going now!” he chuckles.

“OK,” I pant, totally serious.  But he doesn’t.  Instead he stays and we laugh at my loss of wits and marvel at his giant hardon.  I absent-mindedly stroke it as we talk about, literally, nothing.

“I’m not going to make you cum, but I’d really love to suck it.  May I?” I ask.  His tempting meat is more than I can resist.

“Be my guest.”

I lean on an arm and take him in my mouth.  I can taste the iron like tang of the remnants of my period on him.  Like a paper cut.  I tell him so when he asks.  “Well that’s appealing,” he observes acerbically.

“Eh, fuck it.  It’s all good,” I retort.  “It’s just our bodies.  No biggie.”  And really, it wasn’t.  I was lapping up the remnants of my very essence, the thing that makes me a woman: my very blood.  I began to mew as his erection grows even bigger in my mouth and hand.  I position myself between his parted legs and get scissored in their vice as his pleasure mounts.  He begins to pant.

I pause to let him catch his breath and look at him, smiling with the head between my teeth.  He rolls his eyes back in his head and groans.  I fall back down on him and he immediately tenses, closer now than when I’d stopped.  I stop after bringing him closer two more times before he finally grabs my head and slams my face down on his shaft and spurts his delicious cum down the back of my throat.

His cock lays glistening on his belly, near his navel and I lick it from stem to stern and trail kisses up his chest and leave semen-scented kisses on his neck and jaw.  ‘You taste delicious,” I murmur.  He grabs my head and kisses me with an open, eager mouth.

“I taste like chlorine!” he laughs.

“Well, you’re not supposed to drink the pool water!” I laugh back.

Then we lay in each other’s arms and I continue to stroke his dancing, bulging erection.  “Does this ever go away??”

“Not when there’s a beautiful naked woman around.”

“Mmmm,” is all I can muster and then I sit up.  “Well, let’s get you outta here!”

He seems startled, but this was part of my plan all along.  I was not going to wait to be left.  I was going to hit the eject button first.  This is part of putting what I want first: Peyton, then me.  And right then, I wanted the control.

He follows me out of bed and makes more jokes about why don’t we fuck all night or don’t I want him to stay the night??  Things tripped out of his mouth that ordinarily would have made my heart skip a beat, but tonight I flatly ignored.  He was grappling for control back, but I was not going to relent.  It was mine.  Today was mine.  Tonight was mine.  All of this is now mine.  Take it or leave it.

I walk him to the door and he says, “You owe me $150 for that.”

“For what??”

“For all those orgasms.”

“You owe me!  No mere mortal woman can make you cum then suck you off.”

“Oh, right.  Ok, I’ll give you $50 then.”  He smiles at me and turns around in the dark entryway to face me.  “C’mere, Hy.  Let’s hug!” and he pulls me into his arms.  I hug him back fiercely with a beaming grin on my face and grab his lush ass.

He tosses out some more jokes, half-truths, and I see it all so clearly.  He’s trying to regain the upper hand, keep me off-balance, but what I don’t tell him is that with each half-truth and little joke he erodes any trust I have in him.  I don’t know why he’d want to do that.  “I’ll always believe you, you know,” I warn him.  “That’s who I am.”

We say good night and I twirl as I shut the door.  The night is glorious, 65 degrees and black, nearly starless.  Black Angels is playing on Pandora and my heart soars as my own little angel sleeps in the other room.  It’s getting better now.  Truly, truly better.

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 will make sure he never forgets me, Part 2: Wherein he loses his shit

[Part 1]

I laid in his arms slowly recovering my breath and my composure. “That was so fucking hot, Hy,” he mumbled into a kiss on my temple. I swelled with pride again. Pleasing him is nearly orgasmic.

“I have more for you,” I said smiling wickedly. I kissed his hairy chest and whiskered neck and climbed up on top of him. His erection, having never abated from our love-making thick and wildly tempting, rested on his belly. I slid my lips along its length. He lifted it up and we tried to connect hand- free. We laughed as we butted parts; I reached down instead and guided him in. Sat back slowly, long and deep until I felt him in my throat.

I rocked and bucked on him, his hands lightly rested on my hips. I never took my eyes off of him. “I like being on top because I can see you.”

“But you can see me when you’re on the bottom.”

“It’s different.”

I leaned forward and offered him a breast, slowly raised his arms above his head and surreptitiously reached for one of the silk ties I’d hidden under my pillows. He issued a surprised muffle into my flesh when he felt the silk wrap around his wrists. In two deft motions he was tied to the bed.

I climbed back off and tied his ankles to the bed then crawled up between his legs. “Now this is more like it,” I purred as I filled my mouth with his sac and lovingly stroked his shaft.

He is always in control. Always. He almost never loses his shit like I do and his orgasms tend to happen only about three-quarters of the time either from good hard fucking or even one of my expert blowjobs — he wishes he weren’t circumcised — but when I tie him up I get results. He begs, he pleads, he bucks and cries out. Tonight I was going to make him mine again.

I pushed my finger down the length of his cheeks and found his asshole. I explored gently as I sucked with my mouth and gripped him tightly with my left hand. He moaned. I pushed the tip in further and I could feel his muscles pinch my finger like a vice. His breathing became labored, he started to moan, his cock throbbed and grew in my hand and mouth. My finger curled inside. It was soft and wet and tight and I began to gently curl it in arrhythmic motions to my bobbing and slobbering, finding a spongy patch so like my own g-spot.

His cyclist thighs clenched, his abs flattened out and he pulsed and bucked around me, shuttered, but no cum filled my mouth. “Please,” he panted, “something just happened. I think I came. Did I cum?? You have to pull out of me, gently.” I stilled and gently removed my finger. It’d been buried to the hilt.

“Holy shit,” he practically whimpered. “What the fuck was that??”

I told him about coitus reservatus, an orgasm without ejaculation that the in the late 19th century the Oneida community had perfected and made famous. He said he’d never felt anything like it. I kissed him and told him I loved to play with his sweet little asshole and then left him to recover and think about this new development. I returned with a bottle of wine and two glasses. I poured and asked if he was thirsty. He said, “Yes.”

I took a long swig and bent over his lips. He opened them and as our flesh touched I let the wine trickle out. Another drink, another exchange. And then I filled his bellybutton and drank out of it, poured some on my breasts and let him suck them clean, drizzled it on his chest and licked it off.

He was a vision to behold: alabaster white against dark sheets, his broad shoulders and chest dusted with dark hair, his meat resting deliciously under his belly button; his eyes followed my every move.

I stood up next to the bed and put my foot on the frame and grabbed my vibrator. I wanted him to watch me cum, helplessly two feet away. As the orgasm came close I opened my eyes and visions of warm flesh resplendently displayed before me flashed my desire to new heights. I shyly looked at his enormous cock between lowered lashes and could only glance at his beautiful face, intense with desire.

The orgasm ripped through me. My legs shook and my teeth chattered as I practically screamed. My eyes flew open; I was desperate to see him as I came. He looked like he would snap at any second, his eyes locked on me and mine.

Spent, I crawled into the nook of his arm and he asked me to untie his hands. He wrapped his arms around me and said, “Jesus Christ, that was hot.” I thanked him and took more pictures to go with a couple I’d already snapped of his hands and feet tied. His hand on my breast and my hand on his arm, his warm body curled against mine. The photos evoke intimacy and trust. Silken ties hung limply at the foot of the bed in the shots. I lay there thinking how much I loved him and how utterly impossible it all seemed.

He said it was time to have my treat then. He’d bought more cognac for Sidecars. I dressed and joined him in the kitchen.

“So, I was thinking since I’ll be child-free in a couple of weeks that that should be a Sex Week.” I smiled a big smile, pleased with myself.

“But what if I don’t want that??”

I was taken aback. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t want to have sex that much,” was his simple answer. He cut some lemons and squeezed the juice into a bowl.

“I want you to know something,” I said conversationally, taking a back step from my emotions, “I’m feeling some pressure to spend time together lately because this is terminal. I just want you to know that is what’s going on for me.”

He poured sugar into a bowl and filled a shaker with ice, “But isn’t that like driving a junky car until it breaks down and you buy a new one?”

I laughed. “No. It’s more like I want to ride the roller coaster as many times as possible before the park shuts down.”

“But the roller coaster has an opinion about that, too.”

“Of course it does! I’m just sharing with you my feelings about our situation, that’s all. I’m in no way trying to dictate how things go between us. I’m just telling you how I’m feeling.”

“Ok. Well, thank you.” He poured in the liquor and shook the canister over his shoulder like a pro and poured the golden liquid into two sugared champagne glasses.

He offered me one and I thanked him, sipped the tartly delicious brew and walked to the couch. He followed me. “You know,” I said between more sips, “I’m curious. What do you think I mean when I say ‘Birthday Sex Week’?”

“I think you mean constant sex.” Again, I felt this disconnect between connections he’s making about who I am in his mind and who I am in reality, a s light chastisement. It set my teeth on edge.

“TN, you’re fucking retarded,” using a word I hate to use only emphasized my seriousness about his deficient thinking process on this. “What I meant was we’d make a point to sneak over in the mornings if we had time, if we were both home at lunch we’d have a quickie and at night, if we were up to it, we’d have another round. It doesn’t mean constant sex! You think so fucking literally!!” I laughed lightly.

His contrite response was, “Oh,” and then, “Your tits look fucking hot in that tank top.

I looked down to see them bulging out of my snug camisole and sure enough they looked like buttery, creamy rounds spilling out of a dish.

Just then there was pounding on my front door. We looked at each other. It had to be Downstairs Neighbor, my confidante and our friend. DN knows everything about TN, but thinks it’s some dude I call “Jason”. He has no idea we are having an affair. I looked at TN and got up to answer the door.

Little did I know that DN was about to cause me a living nightmare, the crawl-under-a-rock kind, not the call-the-police kind.

[Part 3]