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?”
“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.”