I wait at bars for friends.

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Would you come say hi?

I promise I’m a friendly sort.

My yellow dress always gets me laid.

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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.

 

I still love him.

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Spilling my guts in a coffee shop.

It’s happening again.

That lurch in my chest, that belly ache.  The wild sense of fear and loneliness has somehow returned in flashes here and there.  I can’t decipher if it’s because of the year I’ve had with him or because my life has primed me for fear of loss.

The funny thing is loss hasn’t killed me yet, so why would it now?  Fear is an infection on my life.  It steals the beauty of a bright blue day with sounds of twittering life on the breeze.  It robs the beauty of a moment between lips and thighs and puffs of breath.  It decimates the beauty of a feeling between beings, that raw, wondrous energy one human transfers to another.  Fear is death of all things beauty.

I’ve lost much in my life, like most — I’m no different from the hipsters sitting next to me.  Loss isn’t just a death of a being, it’s also the death of a thing, a feeling, an agreement.  Divorce is the death of a life planned and hoped for.  The death of love and trust, even faith.

And yet, I’m still kicking.  No loss has gotten the best of me.  I continue to grow, feel, love.  Why am I so afraid, then?

It confounds me that I fear losing TN so much.  What would happen to me? I wonder.  Well, I would hurt.  I would ache and flail and sob and shrivel up a little, but I wouldn’t die.  Perhaps I would find beauty in my pain.  I believe it exists there because pain is life and life is art.  Some put it on our bodies, others turn it out.  I put it into letters on pages and sometimes I put it into my pussy.

Pain is unavoidable and grand simultaneously.  It’s reassurance that we’re here.

And: I am falling in love with him all over again.  That’s why I fear.

I’ve been avoiding writing that sentence — even saying it to myself — for weeks now, but it’s unavoidably true.

I do.  I love him.  Perhaps I always will, I don’t know.

Switching to the top, becoming his Domme, has transformed me.  I feel as though it’s where I should have always been.  I feel frantic about it and stupidly calm.  He needs me to care, I need him to need me.  Why has it taken me this long in my life to surrender to this?  Would this have saved my marriage?  I’m certain my ex-husband would have plugged into this — wait, I should never speak in absolutes — I’m confident he would have liked it.  Maybe it would have salvaged our broken promises from the wreckage.

Feeling TN’s desire for me to care, to take charge, to reprimand him and tug him this way and that lights my insides like a Roman candle.  The trust between us is growing, my love expanding, and thus, my fear.  I am juggling two kittens and an ax.  One wrong toss and the kittens are ribbons and my hand gone.

We have spent night upon night together cuddling and/or inside each other — literally and figuratively.  Since last Monday, we haven’t played with our new roles much other than setting light boundaries.  The way he speaks to me, for example, is up for review.  He gets punished when he says things on the assumption that I am silly or that I am old.  It’s a brilliant way of communicating.

Me: I’m going to get an ice-cube for your bottom now.

Him: But the water will drip down!

Me (firm and holding up one finger): That’s 1, TN.

Him (thinking): It’s because I assumed you wouldn’t take care of the drips, right?

Me: Yes.  Good boy.  (SMACK!)

Me (as I’m cooking us dinner): Could you please put the dishes in the dishwasher away?

Him (smiling): Why?

Me (smiling back): Because of my bad back and because it’ll help me stay organized.

Him (with a face-splitting grin): It’s because you’re old, right?

Me (also still smiling): That’s 2.  You are not to make fun of my age any more.

Him: Yes Ma’am.

Touching him, his cock, his lips.  I feel as though they’re mine.  I require a kiss now before he leaves.  He always presents his bottom for a nice smack, but then I pull him back in to feel his 5 o’clock shadow on my face and under my fingertips, his pliant, warm lips on mine.  I take what I need and he obliges.

Sunday he donned another pair of my panties and vacuumed my apartment for me.  I languished on the couch in my yellow dress, breasts to my chin, and mused that I should probably invest in a nice vacuum cleaner, one that wouldn’t wrench my back each time I used it.  He stopped the rhythmic push and pull and stood up straight, and looked at me.

“I don’t think I like that idea.”

“Why not?”

“Because then you wouldn’t need me.”

And so the story goes.  He wants me to need him as much as I want him to need me, though we dance around labels and real commitment and loving each other as openly and proudly as we are able.

This week I felt myself unraveling.  That fear of loss has me stumbling and gasping.  He has pulled back infinitesimally and it I feel like it’s the Titanic to my iceberg.  It’s ridiculous: He didn’t want to cuddle with me Tuesday night.  It was the first night in weeks that we didn’t spend time with limbs entwined.  And last night, as we cuddled and he said firmly for me not to touch his beautiful cock with my mouth or pussy, he wasn’t forthcoming with details for his plans on Thursday.

“I don’t remember what they are,” he said, eyes closed, brow knit.

“You don’t remember?” I asked, clearly not believing him.

“Yeah, I don’t.  I’m all out of it tonight.”

And just like that, the seed was planted.  He has plans with a woman! I thought.  They’re probably just friends, but he doesn’t want to tell me. What does that mean?  How am I supposed to respond?? I’m like a dog with a bone.

When asked, he assured me that We were cool, that he was just in a bad mood and that it had nothing to do with me.  I emphasized that he was welcome to discuss any problems with me if he had them.  He accused me of being insecure.  I scoffed at that.  He had the wrong reaction to deduce that.  Yes, I am insecure, but guaranteeing open lines of communication is not the indicator.

When I see him, my heart skips, my eyes twinkle.  He loves on me, cuddles me, kisses my shoulder, strokes my hair.  He humps me.

When he was vacuuming my bedroom I jumped on the bed, lay on my stomach with ankles crossed.  His erection was mighty and straining at the cotton of my panties.  He turned the machine off and came around to my face.  I patted his meat and breathed on him.

“Lay down,” I told him and we switched spots.

I pulled my panties down over his hips and fell on him with my mouth.  I crawled up the length of him and he popped my breasts out of the top of my dress and sucked on them with exquisite perfection.  I slid down back between his knees and when I stood up we laughed because his cock was caught under my dress, popping a yellow plaid tent between us.

photo 1
Mine.

I reached down and grabbed his shaft.  “It looks like it’s mine,” I said.  He pulled up the fabric of my dress and I stood there with no panties on with a giant cock leaping out at him.  Again we laughed as I took a picture.  It really is mine.  We both know it, though never say it.

I rode him and he rode me, hearts pounded.  It was the old TN and Hy.  No D/s, just me losing my shit and him reveling in it.  “God, I love fucking you!” he said over and over.  I thrashed beneath him naked, my breasts round Jello domes of jiggle, my eyes fluttered to his unable to keep eye contact.  If only I could get him to remove one word.

Monday night shifted things inside of me.  For a few hours my fear was gone.  I know I have no control, I know that life will do as it wills, I know I am insignificant.  But for a few hours I was in charge of something important to me: Him and Us.

I scribbled words of devotion all over his body, though he didn’t know that’s how I meant them: “glorious cock,” “yummy chest,” “broad shoulders,” and, over his heart, “Good Boy”.  If he ever finds this blog I hope he sees the love seeping out of every word I’ve ever written about him, good, bad, or ugly.

He wrote on me.  It was his reward for behaving: “magnificent breasts,” “sexy, horny slut,” “hottest, wettest best pussy ever” with a little arrow to my shaved vulva.

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Reflection.

My fear of loss, my need for love.  They are constantly warring, constantly pulling me into a million little different directions.

I can’t say more.  I feel shy and protective of him now; I am incapable of sharing the details of the D/s encounters, my fingers will not move, but I feel beautifully vulnerable sharing the changes in me and the other wonderful sex and things between us.  I think I’m ok with the fear.

I think I’m happy.

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I shamefully admit: this is my love.

I need advice about my ex-lover.

Internet Boyfriend, I need you!

This will be short.

I’m in my yellow dress and I’m trying to rest up before my first date with the Law Student. Here’s my question:

If I decide to invite him back to my place to hang out, should I give The Neighbor a heads up? A, “Hey, I’m on a good date and we’re coming back to my place. I just didn’t want you to be surprised if you saw us,” kind of thing.

Here is why I’m torn: 1) He never gave me that kind of consideration so why should I give it to him?, but 2) I’m not him and actually am a considerate individual so that would be me being myself.

What do I do??

Don’t worry. These are for LS only. TN’s ship has sailed…

Sidenote: I’ve been spending a little completely platonic –and somewhat ironic — time with my young ex-lover this week. I have felt nothing but benign curiosity about what this next phase will look like for me/us. He, however, sent me a cock shot this morning. I think my eyes bugged out. It was an impressive photo, of course, but I wasn’t impressed.

I go on first dates with a light heart.

He called and asked if I was free. Turns out the hydrocodone had just kicked in and I had no plans.

He’s sweet and kind, but may be too nervous for me. He’s smitten. My curse.

Meanwhile, two other men want to meet me out tonight. Let’s see how I juggle them all.

And, the yellow dress strikes again.

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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.