I am beautiful in firelight.

The Neighbor came over tonight as hoped. He beat me yet again at Scrabble with a 48 point word. HUNG. Go figure. We laughed, we flirted. He sucked my nipples in between turns. We snuggled and watched a movie then crossed the street to buy firewood. I had it in my head to prolong the evening. I should’ve just gone with my gut and fucked the shit out of him.

He disrobed and I told him he was beautiful. I peeled off my clothing in the firelight and he remarked on how beautiful I was bathed in it. I swelled with pride.

As I shuffled Tarot cards, he entered me from behind and the coffee table shook. He was sore and in pain from working out and couldn’t keep at it. We shifted to him in my fuck chair and me on top. I rode him until I couldn’t feel my hands and then he slipped out and we laughed and peeled apart.

He noted how fucked I looked: face flushed, braids in disarray.

We kissed and touched and talked some more.

Then I shuffled the cards again and did two readings. The first one was awful, about my financial/business future, the second I focused on him and the cards were telling and embarrassing. He was gracious as I read the meanings as vaguely as possible. He dozed in a sensual pose opposite me on my couch. His shoulders high and broad, his leg hitched up over my pillow.

I told him I’d mused over his sensuality the other morning when I’d woken up in his bed. How I’d been afraid to touch him lest he be angry at me for disturbing him. He assured me he’d never be mad at me for waking him up, no matter how tired he was.

He rose and came around behind me and kissed the top of my head, stood up and started to dress.

“Fuck,” I said as I stood and stalked into the kitchen.

“You really want to be fucked right now, don’t you,” he observed aloud.

“Yes. I played this all wrong. I feel like I should have my woman-card revoked, or something.”


“Yeah, you know, like a man-card, but for a woman. Two nights in a row and you haven’t cum.”

“I don’t care about that at all,” he replied as he grabbed my robe-swathed hips and pulled me close. His breath puffed on my lips. “I had the best time.”

“Ok. You swear?” I ask.

“Oh, yeah. Will you and your pussy be available tomorrow night?”

“Yes, after my kid’s asleep. It’s a high honor to get me when I’m in mommy-mode, you know.”

“Is it?”

“Oh, yeah. Definitely.”

“Then I’d like to reserve a spot tomorrow or Sunday and a chance to rent you out for some other occasion.”

He kissed me deeply, his hands lingering on my waist, and left.

A 40-something single mother who writes honestly about sex, body image, D/s, relationships, her nervous tics, and how much she loves to fucking fuck. She also likes to show you her tits.

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