I wrote this January of 2011.
Troy and I ended our affair tonight — or rather, he ended our affair.
I knew it was imminent and wasn’t the least bit caught off guard, hurt, or angry. I actually felt happy for him; I’ve known he’s been struggling and searching for balance.
I texted him earlier tonight and said I was afraid to ask him how his night was going (for the last two weeks he’s been inconsistent and drunk and I’ve been wrestling with hurt feelings and confusion. Part of what I wanted with him was a fun, no strings attached (read: no emotional involvement whatsoever) affair and here I found myself feeling things. Negative things. Yet, I have no hard feelings about the past couple of weeks, nor especially about tonight.)
Through soul searching and good conversation with him I had successfully exorcised the negative and found myself in a good, recalibrated emotional space tonight. I was eager and curious how my evening would play out. The ball was in his court.
When he texted back that he was lonely and trying to resist the urge to go to a bar I offered him solace at my house.
Do you want cock or just some company?
“I could go either way.
I’m gonna hop in the shower then come over.
Will you be my duraflame fairy and bring me a log?
I’ll bring you a hot log, yes.
And I’ll bring a duraflame.
And that’s how I knew what was on his mind… physically speaking anyway.
He knocked on the door 30 minutes later and stooped through my entry smiling. “Hi, Hyacinth,” he said and smiled conspiratorially.
We putzed around for a few minutes before he said, “Do you want the good news or bad news first?”
“Bad news, then end on a good note.”
“Well, I’ve decided that I need to wipe the slate clean. I want to refocus on finding a longterm girlfriend. I’ve realized it’s what I really want.”
I sat curled at his feet with the duraflame fire blazing on my back and waited. He looked meaningfully at me and I just listened. “And that means everyone.”
I nodded and told him I figured as much.
“But, the good news is, I’m here tonight. I want to have a proper goodbye.”
And we did. We lay on the floor in front of the fireplace, the glow flickering over our skin. I sucked his glorious cock and filled my nostrils with his soapy scent and delicious masculine flavors. He took a picture of my face a lollipop on his shaft. I knew he was getting close to filling my mouth with his sumptuous cum, but I hadn’t meant to get him that close, so I stopped.
I crawled up the length of his body and let my hair trail along. We kissed passionately and I rolled to his side. He propped himself up on an elbow and dipped into my mouth, his hand idly sliding under my pj scrubs. His fingers parted my curls, found my lips and began to stroke my slick flesh. He was massaging my clit expertly and I squirted into his hand and drenched my pants.
We laughed as we always do at this attribute of mine, then I said, “I want you to fuck me in front of the fire, Troy. No one’s ever fucked me in front of one before and it’s been a fantasy of mine for years.”
Hearing the words come out of my mouth made me sad — so many years of fires in my life and never once have I had passionate sex in front of one — but all I had to do was turn my eyes back his turgid cock bobbing in front of me as he got a condom ready and I smiled my sadness away.
I was going to get what I wanted now. Finally. I can wash away all the years of unfulfilled desires and hopes now because I know they can come true.
I spread my legs, the fire hot and bright on my skin on one side, the shadows cool and dark on the other, and he slowly lowered himself down into me. Deeper and deeper.
We’ve never fucked like that before; deliberate, thoughtful. We’ve always been a powder keg couple ravaging each other like parched travelers at a water trough (at least, that’s how I always felt – perhaps he was merely matching my enthusiasm). I kissed his ears, neck and shoulders. He buried his face in my neck, plunging deeply into my soaking pussy.
Soon enough I was crying out and he was straining to keep from cumming. Three, maybe four times he had to stop, our bodies joined like helpless animals in rut. “Jesus, Hy, you’re fucking killing me. You’re so goddamn hot tonight. I can barely stand it.”
For me, my center was filled with cock, my legs pressed against hard, smooth thighs, and my entire body swarmed with warmth caused by this man’s skill and care. I felt gorgeous, womanly, divine. I could barely stand it, either.
When he did cum he shook and shivered like a shaken sapling and we rearranged ourselves so he could rest between my legs panting and laughing. I kept inhaling his scent knowing it would be my last taste of it.
Earlier when I’d been sucking his cock he’d told me again it was the best he’d ever had. My gracious reply was, “I feel sorry for the girl that comes after me.” Now, laying in front of my hearth, naked and lusciously fucked I said, “I feel sorry for the man that comes after you. And I still feel bad for the girl that comes after you.”
He chuckled, “Eh, it’s ok, I’m used to not cumming from blowjobs.”
“And I’m used to mediocre sex,” I countered.
Throughout our ~9 1/2 week affair (that’s right) neither one of us ever made me cumming through oral a priority, but it was Troy’s priority tonight. It wasn’t because he hadn’t wanted to or I hadn’t wanted him to we just had so many other things we wanted to do to and with each other; all my squirting, the MMF thing, my blowjob skills. They all kept us distracted. Honestly, though, the real reason I never put it at the top of my list is because only three men have ever made me cum that way in my life (2 one time each only). I have no illusions about men’s skills or my abilities.
Naturally, he made me cum about 15 minutes in, possibly even less. His long fingers deep inside of me, his hand bumping against my opening, his tongue working motherfucking magic on me. I came and writhed and arched my back. He kept his face on my drenched pussy like a cowboy on a bronco. And wave after wave after wave hit me.
“Fuck you,” I gasped. “Just: Fuck, you.”
The feeling of being proverbially fucked was hard to keep at bay. Only two months with this man, the best fucking sex I’ve ever had, and his first real attempt to make me cum is successful all on the heels of a kind, amicable, completely understandable goodbye. Fuck me and fuck you.
“I’m glad I cracked you. If I hadn’t done it tonight, you’d’ve been my first.”
“I’m really fucking glad I’m not your first, either!”
And a little later I managed to say, “You masterful, bald man…”
Then we fucked like we loved to: me on my stomach, full ass in the air, grinding down on his shaft. I could feel his cock grow bigger and impale me further. All my thoughts left me, I was floating in sensation free of worry or concern. This is one of the things that’s so great about the sex with this man: I am able to pack into a little box all my concerns and worries and go with him wherever he wants. I actually allow my control to slip and trust someone else.
Sadly, it all had to end.
The clock became the biggest thing in the room then. He said he had to go and I said of course he did. We got dressed and he gathered his things. He thanked me for everything, for always being honest, for being a good friend and he said he had no regrets. Rather, he asked for confirmation as he cradled my face in his hands and looked into my eyes, “No regrets, right, Hyacinth??”
“No, Troy. Not one.”
We kissed, we hugged, I reassured him there were absolutely no regrets. We drew up new ground rules for our friendship going forward: no naked pics from me are allowed, no sexual contact. Platonic is the name of the game, even virtually.
I promised him I wouldn’t bait or tempt him and that I was really looking forward to being his friend and the thing is I really and truly am. A sense of relief and relaxation washed over me now that sex is off the table; I don’t have to work so hard at not having feelings for someone.
That’s not to say I wasn’t tearful when he left, because I was. I sat quietly in my big, cushy chair and was sad that we’d never fucked in his grotto or in that very chair. That all the sensation and wonder I felt with my body with him was over. But feeling sad about what I got to have with him would be doing it all a disservice. Closing a chapter is never easy, but I still feel lucky, cared for, respected. I feel like the connections we made with each other are like salve to my heart, my sexual being. I could always be myself with him and he loved it.
“You were so great, Hy. Really. Thank you,” he whispered again with tears in his eyes.
“Thank you,” I say, as I stood on my ottoman to be eye-level with him for a last hug and kiss goodbye.
This man helped me to rediscover myself. I would do almost anything to help him in return. I fucking left my marriage because I couldn’t be the sexual woman with my husband that I am with Troy. This sexual odyssey isn’t just about getting laid for me. It’s about evolving as a human being, about reconnecting with myself and with others, my body. About being whole, not a goddamned shell of a person.