I send love notes.

underboob, sexy, panties, see-through top
Love notes 1, 2, and 3.

“You look so hot right now,” he said looking down at me from between my calves.  “You’re like a little sex package.”

His cock, buried deep inside of me twitched and then he pushed in deeper.  I gasped and fluttered my eyes up at him.  “I feel more like a sex pretzel,” I replied and pushed back against him from my grip on the headboard.

I couldn’t move.  My ankles rested on his shoulders and his weight pinned my thighs to my breasts which tried to escape over my shoulders.  I was folded in swells of my own flesh and pinned by the muscular density of a man on top of me.

I was in heaven.


He came home a couple of hours early Sunday and surprised me by waltzing into my apartment unannounced.  My bed was stripped and under a pile of laundry.  I wasn’t prepared to see him, but my heart jumped when he filled the doorway.

I went to give him a hug, but he suddenly dropped to the floor, looking around under my bed.  “Where’s the kitten?” he asked.  I stood there with my mouth a little open.

My breasts were heavy and free under my white t-shirt and my little pajama shorts clung to my thighs, but there he was.  On the floor.  Looking for the kitten I’d gotten the day he’d left.  Never underestimate a man’s priorities and brain, I told myself.

Mirthful, I smiled.  “Hey!  Come give me a hug!”  There was a gentle reprimand in my voice  — you pay attention to the woman first, not the cat — and I still wobbled on the beam of our relationship happiness.

We hugged and caught up then, a little stilted at first.  He told me of his adventures and I of mine; he apologized for not being in touch, but he thought I knew he had no cell reception.  Quickly, I unzipped the stifling suit of resentment I’d been wearing, butt hurt at the lack of weekend communication, and stepped out into a light breeze of acceptance.  We lay on one another and laughed and touched and sniffed lightly, like two long-separated and friendly dogs now.

He left soon after, exhausted.  He thanked me for the cookies I’d left on his doorstep and gave me a kiss.

Late last night he returned, his hair rumpled from an early-evening nap.  My bed was made, the house spotless this time.  I was in bed watching Mad Men, Peyton slept soundly in the room across the hall, and a candle flickered messily in the corner.  The kitten purred and zipped around at his arrival like an ill-working moped.

The Neighbor is like a magic trick for my day.  He enters a room and my spirits lift, my heart pounds, the birds sing.  Even when I am confused or angry his presence tilts my view from the trash on the ground to the light filtering through the treetops.  Sometimes my fear of losing him and us closes in on me and I have to beat it off with a stick, other times I feel serene at the prospect of setting us both free.  But he was there in my room last night, determined to be with me despite his exhaustion and my heart swelled, and I didn’t think of anything except welcoming him in.

He walked around to his side of the bed and I went and tucked the kitten up under my arm and joined him in the bed.  The kitten, Faisal, was geeked up on the drug that is kittenhood and sped off.  TN took the lack of feline distraction as an opportunity to latch onto my breast with his face.

It wasn’t until that moment that I realized I hadn’t been touched in 5 days.  I’d forgotten myself.  His absence was so gentle, so quiet.  My time was wholly my own and in my own presence, I forgot my own pleasure.  No child, no pseudo-boyfriend to keep me occupied.  I could have spent the entire weekend with my hand lashed to my cunt and the idea never crossed my mind.  Is Hyacinth horny when no man is around to fuck her?  What a thought…

I closed my eyes and reveled in the sandpaper scratch of his face on my skin and pressed into his mouth.  We tangled and grabbed, gripped and rubbed.  Faisal was taken to his room so there would be no stalking of swinging balls.

When TN slid into me I felt like I was myself again: Hyacinth, fuckable, sensuous, wanted, devoured.  When he is in me I feel like I am home.

His grunts were as loud as the squelching of my pussy, his words demanding and unapologetic.  He pinned me down and pounded into me and my g-spot blossomed big and hard and I concentrated on spiraling it out to my fingertips.

I panted and rolled my eyes into the back of my head and he sat up and folded my legs against my chest and pistoned into me like a jack hammer.  I cried out into my arm so as not to awaken my baby.

Soon, he stopped and drooped a little.  “I hurt everywhere!” he cried with a laugh and rolled off and took me with him into his arms.  His first attempt at snowboarding officially thwarted our usual sexual antics.

I smiled into his skin  and retrieved the kitten.  He purred and played with us until we settled down to watch Game of Thrones at which point he decided to attack a tinkling feather on the floor.

I felt two strong emotions laying there in his arms.  Never one to be truly content for long periods of time, my brow furrowed in the darkness as I tried to put my finger on it, this strange sense of unease.  Nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.  Quite the opposite, actually.  I was wrapped in his arms and watching — we now suddenly realized — a Spanish version of episode 3 with Portuguese subtitles.  It was hilarious and conventional, all the puppies and rainbows any self-respecting unicorn could shat out.  But my nerves continued to be on edge, scratching at me.

I live in this space of uncertainty.  I realize I yearn for what’s on the other side, yet thrive in the workspace before it.  I constantly have to remind myself that nothing is in my control, I will survive heartache, -break, -demolition.  I’ve done it before, I’ll do it again.

This is how I talk myself down from the ledge of permanence and of needing “answers.”  The “Do you love me?”s, “What are we doing?”s, and “Am I your girlfriend?”s.   I remind myself of my current happiness and how I am merely a sensitive observer of my own life; a willing participant, but nonetheless powerless to bend others to my will.  And I relax a little knowing that I’m living my life the best way I know how.

And, ultimately, what I find most reassuring about his return — above and beyond his beautiful boyish face, his magnificent cock and his big, fat brain — is that I can send him titty pics again.  That was the worst part of the 4 day separation.  I couldn’t send him my uniquely Hyacinth love notes: my boobs, my body, and my smile.

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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31 thoughts on “I send love notes.
  1. Well, back in the saddle. Happy for you, happy to eavesdrop as you try to figure it out — even while you’ve already figured out that you never will. Hugs.

  2. Oh Hy. How your story speaks to me! I struggle with some of the same questions and strive to not need the answers. It is much less of a burden to live in the present. Hopefully someday ill be there. It’ll take some Practice though. And PS. You are one hell of a MILF!

      1. Horseshit!!! I second the must see kitty motion! Then, detailed descriptions of little kitty antics! This should take precedence over all aspects of your blog. Your boobs, TN, feelings, stories and whatnot, all superseded by kitty. Get your priorities straight. Kitty. Now.

  3. You can send me love notes like those any day.

    I’m happy for you – in your comfort and happiness, and your scratchy man-face against your skin…and in your observation of life…no matter how much of a teeter-totter it might feel at times.

    1. Haha Ok! Will do! ;)

      I’m all over the place and can’t believe anyone keeps reading me. I’m such a damn mess, Kayla! But I’m glad you’re here with me! xx Hy

      1. You depict your feelings (and your amazing sex) so well that I promise you don’t come across as messy you probably feel like you are in your every day life…I say that as someone who appears to be very thoughtful and filled with self-knowledge who can’t remember to cook dinner some nights…I get it…I promise.

  4. This was so soft even with the uncertainty sprinkled in. I feel like you two have meshed more lately, bouncing back into something good instead of falling apart. I’d wondered how this would go when he returned. Glad that it wasn’t the drop. Maybe he’s maturing? Maybe both of you are? :)

    1. I love your feedback, Cara. I try hard to make it more than a recounting of events (though, I think a better editor than I could do more). I’m feeling that “need” to talk again and it’s been more than 90 days so… maybe I will? I dunno. I like to let those things come naturally. Perhaps there will be a drop, perhaps not. I’m getting harder, I know that much. Not sure about more mature ;)

  5. “I constantly have to remind myself that nothing is in my control, I will survive heartache, -break, -demolition. I’ve done it before, I’ll do it again.”

    Oooo how I have missed you! You have a way of panty wetting with your words. Always have, I guess I am stating facts here

    That up there that I quoted though. I LOVE that. There is a comfort in knowing that if you made it through all the bad in the past, you will make it through whatever is to come in the future.

    Thanks for that Hy

  6. First I’d like to say your writing is lovely. Which…I imagine…is how I always find myself here when I should be doing other things.

    Second I’ve been reading here and there for awhile now and I am thoroughly amazed and impressed at your ability to stay and seemingly thrive in the pseudo-relationship you’re in (I don’t mean that in anyway as a pejorative or negative) – I can’t do it.

    Don’t get me wrong I’ve DONE them…I just don’t DO them well. At. All. I don’t have a problem being in an open relationship. I don’t have a problem being in a committed relationship. But I CAN’T do an exclusive non-official relationship.

    We’re together or we’re not. And if we’re not then I’m def seeing (and doing) other people if for no other reason I REFUSE to twiddle my thumbs wondering what you do or be all deeply in love just to be hit with “But we’re not a couple”

    Okay…now I’m ranting…(lol)…my point is…I don’t know you do it and do it so well. Hats off to you. I’ve never been able to live that much in the now. And I doubt I ever will.

    1. Thanks, Big Butt (may I call you Big Butt? love it). It’s tough — as you well know, apparently — and even last night I wrestled with it as I noticed my exhusband’s FB status change to “In a Relationship with _______”. Such a kick in the gut, man…

      1. FYI, studies show that hanging around Facebook actually makes people less content. We compare our lives to what we see posted there (only the cheeriest and best news) and we find ourselves lacking. Duh!

        Remember, you were married to him. You KNOW what being in a relationship with him is like. Perhaps the proper response is pity for the poor woman he’s with now.

        1. Ah, I know. He warned me that it’d happened and we talked about t — we’re close still and he’s a great guy. It was important to her that he change his status. He didn’t want to. But still…

          1. I know. “But still…”
            My ex got remarried in December. I truly thought it would be “no big deal”. It affected me way more than I could have imagined.

            Whenever I read you, my empathic heart aches for you in both sad and wonderful ways. I want so much for that TN to love you, want you, cherish you. It’s like I’m wishing for all the fairy tale happy endings, all the rights to be wronged, all the injustices to be repaired.

            I am such a soppy, sentimental fool.

  7. ” Never one to be truly content for long periods of time”

    I relate. Hate that I relate, but I do. I’m working on it.

    That said, I envy you the proximity of your TN. Sometimes just showing up is enough.

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