Friday night Tina turned to her boyfriend, Chuckles, and their lips puckered and connected. The girl with the faux-hawk behind them tossed a dirty look their way and I looked at The Neighbor surrounded by 20-somethings clad in ugly glasses, leather jackets, and skinny jeans, a mostly ignored Lone Star beer in his hand. He was a rose in a field of grass.
“We can’t let them win,” he said and grabbed me and pulled me against his pea coat. My lips parted in surprise as his icy blue eyes locked on mine and his own lips parted and came to crush down on mine. He held me to him, his 5 o’clock shadow rough on my face. The hum of the crowd disappeared under the cheers of my heart and the soft stroking of his warm tongue on my own.
I heard my friends gasp drunkenly behind me as they saw me embraced by the man they know I love, lost in the moment and shining like a fallen star among the ignorant hipster drunks trying to be cooler than their friends.
We pulled apart, but he kept me close. I smiled and laughed like everything was normal, like I hadn’t just been molecularly modified by his lips on mine under the stars and many prying eyes. Something shifted further away from safe and much closer to terror.
We’d spent a wonderful week together; night after night he came over after Peyton was in bed and we’d cuddle and kiss, fondle the warm fleshy bits and suck and nuzzle the protruding ones. His cock lost its treasure to my hungry mouth as easily as my heart lost its treasure to him. His warm, loving, incredible, sweet, smart, worried, supportive, sexy, funny self.
He has been supple under my steady hand and as I learn to exercise my dominance over him, subtle and consistent as it is, he bends and collects himself; self-corrects and shows a beauty I didn’t know a single man could possess. He catches himself and apologizes, “I’m sorry, Ma’am,” he’ll say with a tuck of his chin and a twinkle in his eye. He’ll say it as many times as I require in front of anyone; it’s a secret code that only we know about. To others, he’s being contrite, to me he’s being submissive and delectable.
Every night when the coast was clear I texted, “Come over.” Moments later he would be in my room, stretched out on my bed with my hand on his fleecy chest. He is a cat to the core: quirky in his solitude requirements, fiercely affectionate to those he trusts, demanding of attention on his private terms. His words have spilled out, the most beautiful I have ever heard in my life.
“Hy, you are so fucking gorgeous. I love your body. You are so sexy,” he said to me Thursday night as we lay entwined after our first softball victory. “I am so lucky.” I cuddled into him, wishing I could stay there for hours.
“Thank you for saying that. That means a lot to me.”
“Well, I mean it.”
It’s hard for me to imagine my life without him. I know I am going to be devastated. I can’t understand how he can be the best boyfriend I’ve never fucking had. How is that even possible?? What kind of life was I living prior to not dating him? Who was I choosing to love and spend my time with? Even my ex-husband never made me feel so desirable, so smart, so special, so wanted and he pledged himself to me!
TN denies wanting me and yet… and yet none of that noise from his mouth matters to me right now. What matters to me is that his bloody, beating heart is drawn to me and he is helpless to stop it and he has stopped trying to hide it. From me, from anyone. That kiss at the bar — in front of our friends — was more than just a kiss. It was compliance, a real dip into submitting to what I want from him, love.
He loves me. I am sure of it. And it makes my heart burst with rainbows and glitter and all kinds of sparkly shit on the LUB and freeze and shiver and stop on the DUB. But I’m used to it now. Nothing will change — nothing has changed — but I feel loved now. That’s fucking new.
Valentine’s Day found me busier than usual. I had dinner with a friend of mine whom I don’t know super well (she dated my exhusband right after we split) and three other women I’d never met before, but it was lovely beyond words. Roasted cauliflower, Brussels sprouts-stuffed pork tenderloin, kale salad, wine and cigarettes, connections made.
At 8:30 my phone lit up. “What are you doing?” it read. I texted him back that I was at a dinner party. “When will you be back?” I smiled and said around 10. He liked that idea.
The wine flowed and the conversation improved by the minute. At 10:30 my phone lit up again. “Oh shit!” I told my dinner companions. “I have to go! I have to go get laid!” They’d been curious about my arrangement with TN and I’d filled them in on the basics. As I was getting sucked back into conversations my phone interrupted again, “I’m naked and in your bed.” This time I was serious.
“Ok, ladies. I’m so sorry, but I truly must leave. I have a naked man in my bed.” They all laughed and whistled at me as I ran through hugs and out the door. What I hadn’t told them was he was following orders like a good boy.
I parked and flew up my stairs, tossed down my things and headed straight to my room. Out of the darkness he said hello. I felt blindly for him and he pulled back the covers and pulled me down to him for a kiss. I lit a candle and undressed under his appraising eyes.
I preened and pushed out my breasts proudly. “Before we start tonight,” I said quietly kneeling beside him, his hand resting on my bottom, “I owe you some spanks.” He pretended to be surprised, but he’d known they were coming for days. He got up and planted his feet on the floor and fell forward.
I cracked my red leather belt across the soft, round mounds of his bottom until he began to react. Each flinch and stifled cry washed over me like bath water; his increasingly red bottom whet my core.
Instead of the promised 5, he got 35. I needed to warm up with a few, then he was adorably impertinent, then I was just enjoying myself. When I felt one more would be too much I stopped and kissed the warm skin, gently caressed his thick, muscular thighs.
I tied him up then sucked on his massive cock until he writhed helplessly beneath me, his hands bound above his head, and his semen spurting on the back of my throat. When he’d stopped giggling and smiling, I crawled up to his face and carefully engulfed his nose and mouth with my cunt and gripped the iron bars of my headboard so as not to kill him with my passion.
I eased back down his torso and let his erection split me like a toothpick in a grape. “Fuck, your pussy feels so good,” he moaned.
Eventually, I took pity on him and released his hands. We tumbled and fucked. I cried and let him spank me and pull my hair like a wild beast. His cock twitched and throbbed inside me as the Hitachi did the work of 100 men and their talented tongues and he held me in his arms until I uncharacteristically fell asleep in them, tears drying on my cheeks.
As he opens up this beautiful, submissive side to me and I respond to it so viscerally and powerfully, I find myself in a strange predicament. I am the embodiment of our very relationship: I am yes and I am no. I want to feel this happiness and love, yet I am terrified of its abandonment and actually hate it a little like hating to comb out a tangle. He’s such a terrible puppet, you know: he won’t do everything I want him to. Just most of it.
I see the changes in him towards me, the love, but I want more. The more I love him the more impossible I find it to not want more. I feel guilty and greedy and attempt to temper my wanton desires with reality, but I struggle. He still refuses to sleep with me and when I boldly asked him one night his refusal was swift and permanent.
“But you slept with 4 am girl and your exgirlfriend all the time,” I said petulantly.
“That was different. I was trying to have a different kind of relationship with them. They were my girlfriend.”
The words stole my breath away and I slunk down in the passenger seat wishing we were home already. I couldn’t rally; I was crushed.
He tried to repair the matter with silly jokes, but I couldn’t pretend. I solemnly climbed the stairs behind him, thanked him for a fun night and entered my apartment and had a small fit which might have included going back to the front door and slamming it as hard as I could.
In the morning I woke and asked to see him. He came over immediately and I apologized for ending the night in a huff, but explained that my feelings were deeply hurt by the fact that I’m not as special as fucking 4 am girl. If ever I wished a D/s relationship could sway a person’s wants it would be with this.
“I don’t like sleeping with anyone, Hy and you’re looking at this all wrong. You are so much more special to me than they ever were or will be. I’ll still know you in 5 or 10 years and I don’t even talk to them anymore. But I’m sorry for hurting your feelings. I really am, but I promise you you are 100 times more special to me than they ever were.”
I told him his reasoning was bullshit, but that I would agree to believe his words for both our sakes.
It’s that reckless and random pain that awaits me whenever I want to close the gap between us that clutches at my throat on the DUB. I cannot be without it. I’d be an idiot to pretend it wasn’t there. Even though we seem to have moved forward we are still in shadow. Half my friends don’t know we are lovers, my family certainly has no idea I’m in love with someone new, and sweet Peyton only knows Mommy and TN are neighbors.
I’m happier than I’ve been in months, possibly even ever, but I am scared and sad, too. I wish he’d kiss me in front of everyone all of the time. Not just when the stars are out and the moon is bright, but in the light of day as a man in love should. If, indeed, he really is a man in love.