My head, it’s clear.
Saturday night he was on my couch seeking support and counsel. He was depressed and confused. I sat there with cheap white wine on my breath wondering what I was supposed to do.
All I could say was that no matter what, it’s always rude to ignore someone’s texts. He saw I was hobbled.
I wanted to help him, truly, but where could I go with this? My enmity for her is open and, well, there. He’s fucked if he wants me to decode her bullshit.
We talked some more about his childhood and his current patterns. Eventually he declared he was feeling much better and he thanked me. I told him I was probably the best thing ever. He agreed, but asked that I not make him repeat all that he loved about me. I think it pains him.
I promised with a shit-eating grin I wouldn’t, took a swig of my wine and leaned back into my pillows. “I need to tell you something.” He looked at me expectantly. “I’m not going fuck you again unless you don’t look for anyone else. It’s not fair to me, to you, and certainly not 4 am girl.” He said ok.
He stayed a while longer then eventually stood and thanked me, hugged me warmly.
I was relieved to have sex off the table and went to bed smiling.
Sunday, after sharing his news, he came by for a hug, left to run errands, then offered to buy me and Peyton ice cream. I privately shook my head in wonder, but told him, “Strawberry,” anyway.
A few hours later in the pool with friends and my baby someone cannon-balled in front of me. I shook the water off my beer can and waited for the jerk to surface. It was him. Quel surprise.
“Where have you been?? I’ve been trying to bring that ice cream over for two hours!”
“What?? I told you I was going swimming.”
We played in the pool for hours, laughing and playing catch as we always do, then climbed the stairs to our apartments and he brought over his frozen treat. Peyton gobbled it up on the balcony and shouted down to Downstairs Neighbor, “TN bought me strawberry ice cream!” I pantomimed that TN and 4 am had broken up by pointing upstairs and breaking an imaginary twig in my hands.
DN guffawed and quoted Jabba the Hut, “This bounty hunter is my kind of scum…fearless and inventive.”
At 10, TN texted. I was busy kissing a precious face and sticky fingers. When I was done he came over, nonchalant and relaxed. He lay with me on the couch, Frank Sinatra crooned overhead. This time I had cheap red wine in hand.
I watched and waited while we talked and slowly, shyly let our limbs touch.
He asked how my promise was going. I said ok. Then he slipped his hand between my legs and watched me shiver. My hands trembled and I licked my lips.
I told him I was steadfast in my pledge, though my friend had already folded. It felt good to be in control of myself for a change, I told him. He smiled and nodded. “You don’t have any kind of rule right now, do you?” I asked as I snaked my hand up his gym shorts. I’d been trying to avoid looking at his chubby pink meat which would occasionally slip into my view all evening.
“Nope. You’re the only one.”
“Good.” I stroked my hound beneath the slippery basketball shorts and purred that I was a hound master. TN raised an eyebrow.
“It’s true. It’s always done what I wanted when I wanted. You, of course, were another story, but my hound, it always listened.” And as if to answer precum drooled out its hole and strung a line down to his belly.
In the end, my mouth and pussy steered clear and instead I watched him work his magic cock, his hand a peach-colored blur, until he spurted out thick, white globs of jizz. I bent over and licked his belly clean and tickled him when I dipped into his navel to get its little pot of cum. It was delicious.
He moaned and chuckled. “You have cum on your cheek.” And so I did.
Don’t be disappointed in me. Nothing has changed except I was right. He admitted she was horrible in bed. He can’t get over me. We are like magnets. Throbbing, wet, ridiculous magnets.
I still have two days to go on my promise and a second date tonight. I will not re-enter this dating purgatory with TN unless two things happen: overnights and exclusivity. Period.
Which, essentially, is me saying NO. He will never agree to these conditions, but for me, I can’t lose; it will feel like standing on a hilltop with a breeze and the warm sun on face for me to set my declaration. “No, you can’t have my sweetness unless you take care of the rest.”
It’s been a liberating few pleasure-free days.