My malaise is somewhat percolating below the surface whenever we are apart; when we are together, it’s blown away like a cloud of gnats.
The Saturday before Christmas — after buying him a winter coat — The Neighbor gave me my first Christmas gift: a purple Rabbit. Its cool, beaded body sunk into me while his face latched onto my breasts. It was overwhelming and my body rejected its ministrations. It felt like a cold, little cucumber with hiccups.
So, his cock took over and he fucked me until I cried, pinned me on my back and stared deeply into my eyes as the daylight poured in through my bedroom windows.
He left me in a puddle and came back at 8, his handsome, boyish face plastered with a smile and his big paws holding one of those round fruitcake tins. “It’s your second gift!” he said beaming. I opened the lid and it was a gorgeous, 9 inch dildo.
“TN!! It looks just like you!!”
We laughed and giggled at the likeness and he bent over my chair behind me and kissed my neck and nuzzled my cheek as I covered my face, overcome with emotion and bashfulness.
“Let’s watch a movie tonight,” he suggested. I gathered up my cigarettes, a bottle of wine, popcorn, and of course the dildo, and marched next door. I was quite literally vices on two legs.
I stuck the dildo on the coffee table and it stood guard as we snuggled down into each other to watch Tom Cruise do some impossible mission. Half way through the movie, his cock distracted me and he tugged me back next door with his doppelgänger cock tucked under his arm.
“Why don’t we just fuck in your bed?” I wondered as I followed.
“The vibrator is here,” he replied simply.
Clothes flew off, a candle was lit, his mouth found its way between my legs. His tongue hot, soft and pliant tucked inside of my folds and his five o’clock shadow scrubbed my soft inner thighs. Cock in cunt, plundered. Kisses, sighs, words of beauty. Then two cocks inside of me. I cried out as it burned and I stretched.
I relaxed and breathed around them both. His eyes lit up as he began to move. I drenched the man and the imposter and cried and shook as I sucked them both deep inside.
“Jesus Christ, that’s so tight,” he moaned. I whimpered back and guided his hips to the smallest of thrusts. Too much, too tight. I felt womanly and proud. A baby came through there. I gave life and now I was giving pleasure, showing him something new and wondrous we could do with our bodies.
My tears leaked down my face and he kissed them away and I pushed out and around and then he was alone inside of me. He bucked into me hard and fast and I cried and I felt my ejaculate slip down the crack of my bottom and pool beneath me.
Vibrator and orgasm, hooked fingers, a wriggling, helpless fish I was. I bawled and sobbed and couldn’t think, couldn’t see but for the stars. He hushed me and pet me, made fun of me. I managed to garble out a chastisement of my own, “If you’re going to make me lose my shit all the time, then you are not allowed to tease me. You must only be kind to me.”
He chuckled and agreed and pulled me closer while I returned to my body.
Then, he left town the next dawn and with his absence the cloud of gnats returned. I felt alone and adrift, heard little from him while he was gone, but, I know, more than anyone else got from him.
When he returned the day after Christmas I had Peyton and was slumped with sadness. He’d been texting me from the airports, keeping me apprised of his whereabouts. At approximately the time I’d guessed he’d be home I heard a thud of a neighbor’s door. Five minutes later there was a knock on my door.
“Hi!” he said, coolly, handsome in his new pea coat. “I have your last gift!” I’d forgotten he’d told me there’d be three. He brought his hand out from behind his back and handed me a small, white box.
“What is it?? I can’t open this if this is of an adult nature. I have Peyton.”
“Ok, just look at the return address.” It said something, something Hitachi.
My eyes flew open and I looked at him and squealed. “Attachments?!”
He nodded and walked inside and covertly opened the box for me while Peyton told him all about the Christmas haul. I hugged him and thanked him and welcomed him home.
He stole over later that night when sugar plums were dancing in the room next door and pounded me with his fat, glorious cock and held me and told me all about his awful holiday. We spoke more about the sex party we were planning on going to the upcoming weekend and I continued to feel together, yet separate. Happy and sad. My life is sweet and savory.
Thursday night he visited again, and again I cried and l clung and sucked him dry.
The landscape, the season, the emotional canvas I have with him is not unlike how two magnets work. They’re only drawn to one another when in proximity. When I am separated from him I am filled with doubt about what it is I’m doing with him. Can I handle this? Am I tough enough? Do I want to be? My exhusband thinks I’m wasting time — well, as does everyone else — but he doesn’t know what I get from this. I’m still not sure, entirely.
No wait. I guess I get a sex party.
I also get a sex party pre-party where he fucks me up one side and down the other in our hotel room; I get to hear how beautiful and sexy and awesome he thinks I am; I get to travel with him to distant cities; I get to share his unique sexiness with a wonderful friend and be ourselves; I get to suck on his glorious cock and be taken to physical heights I never knew existed; I get to blow him in a room filled with people where a pile of girls are making love behind me; I get to suck his cock and then let two other girls suck him off as I slobber on their men around a campfire; I get to take a couple back to our room and fuck him while she and I hold hands and our men stuff our pussies; I get to have him devour one breast while she laps the other — soft and sweet on the left, harsh and demanding on the right; and lastly, I get to hear him tell me that he will look back on our time together with nothing but fondness when it ends because, “Before you, I was nothing. I was no where. You made me somewhere and something. I stabilized you, but you made me be something.”
And this afternoon I got to try out what I’m calling the Gonzo Hitachi attachment and when I was spent and my body done quaking I took a picture of it and sent it to him not knowing he was next door. But soon his cock was shoved down my throat and Gonzo was buried back deep inside of me as he told me what a good girl I was. His fingers hooked back inside of me after I came again and he brought me a warm g-spot climax and then left to return to the office.
I am alone for the next two hours until he comes back to me after visiting two of his friends’ parties. I was not invited. I wrestle with how that makes me feel, but then again, I get him for the rest of the night and our plan is to have him buried deep inside of me at midnight with champagne cascading down the swells of my breasts and the tips of my nipples little bubbly shooters to his open, eager mouth. Shrooms will be laced in our tea and we will be on a different plane of being, full, vulnerable and determined to never forget each other for the next several hours. And certainly the rest of our lives.
Happy New Year, Internet Boyfriend. Be safe, love big, and I hope everyone gets their rocks off in glorious fashion tonight.
Tits and bubbles.