“It’s total perfection.”

It started out like this.

I’ve become high on love.

I dream about sharing my feelings with him and it’s a long, terrifying jump to crystal blue waters below, that feeling of my breath being stolen on the way down, the slap of wetness beneath my feet, the subsequent rush and rise to the top.

In true 7th grade fashion, I admitted to him that I like him “a whole lot.” You might be rolling your eyes at that, but it was a big deal to me.

And I invited him to spend Thanksgiving with my family on the wings of a prayer and when he said Yes I felt as though I’d won the lottery. I feel blessed, y’all.

But my lips remain sealed. I cannot say the words that boom in my heart. Those three silly little words.

I’m waiting for something. For the universe to tell me I can handle losing him. For that moment when he looks back into my tear-filled blue eyes and says, “But I don’t love you, Hy. This is just a ‘thing’ we’re doing. I’m not going to love you. You knew that.”

When I feel strong enough to weather that, my words will tumble.

But in the meantime, I float along among the clouds anchored by his mighty cock, his sweet gestures, his wise words. He roots me on every professional step I take and supports me as I navigate my tangled and painful relationship with my exhusband. He is my number one fan.

The rest of our lives is business as usual as I keep my secret. I send him a daily pic and sometimes a series if I’m feeling particularly inspired and have the freedom and privacy to do so. The weather is turning here and I recently wore jeans for the first time in months. They were a little loose, but I felt sexy and began to snap away.

Click, click, clickity-click.

I strip-teased my way down to unzipped pants and exposed breasts. He was happy to receive them.


A day or two later, I dug out my red panties with the peek-a-boo hole tied with a thick, shiny ribbon. I was curious as to what the view was like and twisted and craned my body this way and that to capture a from-behind view.

Click, click, click.

I was pleased and sent those off, too. Again, he was grateful.


Days changed into nights, cuddles turned into sweet talks, expectations morphed into reality. We tangled our parts less than our hearts. It was sweet, fairy dust; glittery longing with no release.

Finally, finally, we carved out some time to lay down inside one another. Peyton was passed out and The Neighbor was over within seconds of my “all clear” text standing in my candlelit room in black gym shorts. I wore a black spaghetti strap night dress with little sprigs of flowers dusted all over it.

We stood facing each other and he took my hand and pulled me closer, dipped his chin and captured my mouth in a long, sweet song of a kiss. I breathed him in, he inhaled me.

I ran my fingers through his hair and he clung to my bottom and pulled me towards the cradle of his hips. I felt his hardness through the thin cotton of my nightgown; my right strap slipped off my shoulder and I pulled my arm out and let my breast fall out.

We moaned into each other’s mouths and I melted into his warm skin. Every cell of my being sang of love, my pussy pulsed and my breath caught as I realized we were beginning to make love to each other.

He pulled back, breathing heavily, “We haven’t kissed like that in a long time,” he observed.

“No, we haven’t,” I agreed, though I’d argue it was closer to never.

I looked into his eyes shrouded in shadow and then his parted lips and reached forward with my own and sucked gently and slipped my soft tongue to meet his. He removed my remaining strap and I stood only in black, lace panties, then he groaned and bent to free himself from his shorts.

He pushed me down on the bed and dragged my bottom to the edge, licked his palm and rubbed it on the head of his giant erection. He positioned himself at my hole and pressed into me. Nothing happened.

Our eyes locked as we both smiled slyly knowing his first push was always the best, my favorite of favorites.

He pushed harder and I began to spread for him. I gasped a little and smiled more broadly. His mouth mirrored mine and then my eyes fluttered shut as the head entered my body completely and the rest of him eased in as if my body were a hungry constrictor.

He kissed me hungrily as his hips began to move, my body completely lubricated. “You’re not wet at all,” he joked huskily in my ear.

“Nope,” I whispered back with a chuckle, “not at all.”

He kissed my neck and my jaw and sat up and pumped into me, his hands braced on either side of me. Each punishing thrust made my breasts jiggle like bowl-shaped domes of Jell-O.

“Turn over,” he said suddenly. “Flip onto your belly.”

I did as instructed, my feet planted firmly on the ground and he slipped back into me.

“Tell me what you see,” I said thinking of my red-panty pics.

“I see my favorite thing: your beautiful body, your curves, this,” and he ran his hands from my waist to my hips. “It’s total perfection.”

photo 1

I closed my eyes and let him plow into me and light me up from the inside. My heart sparkled in time with my G-spot, our skin slapped and our moans mingled.

We moved up onto the bed completely and he pinned my knees together as he rutted on top of me, grabbed my top-knot bun and growled into my ear and struck my flanks once, twice, three times.

I lost time, wanted to be somewhere else and nowhere else. Then we were spent.

“C’mere,” I heard him as if from far away.

He pulled me into his nook and I lay there feeling more satisfied than I had in days, recalibrated. My thoughts felt like warm honey, my bones willow branches.

“Let’s go out on the balcony,” I suggested. It was in the low 60s, a rarity in September here. We dressed in white robes, him in a long Egyptian-cotton shin-length thing with my name, “Hyacinth,” embroidered on the lapel (a bridal party gift of mine from years ago) and me in a little short white one.

And there, on a balcony chair cushion beneath my knees and the breeze caressing us both, I sucked and loved on his cock, his knees splayed wide and confidently in that way that men do.

It had been weeks since I’d spent any time on him and I was ashamed. I apologized and he told me it wasn’t necessary. I answered with more sucking and smiled around his girth.

Eventually, he called me off, said he’d gotten a little too sensitive. We walked back into my room and shed our robes and laid down beside one another, the ceiling fan puffed gently on us.

The night was still young so I rolled to my side and grabbed the vibrator, flicked it on and pressed it to my bare mound. TN kissed my neck and jaw, sucked on my lips and my nipple. I climbed the rise quickly and as his mouth returned to mine I began to splinter.

He caught my orgasm in his mouth as I whimpered and gasped into him.

I fell limp and he pulled me to him as he rolled onto his back. I surprised him when I grabbed his chubby cock with one hand and turned the vibrator back on while on my side.

It was a swift ride with my ear pressed to his chest as it rose and fell quickly; his cock grew in my hand as my orgasm approached, spilled out onto us and faded away.

In his arms I thanked him for saying all those nice things about me as he was fucking me. He said it was nothing, that he loved the pictures I sent him. “I think it’s especially sexy when there are things left to the imagination.”

“Really?” I said, dancing on the edge of a doze.

“Yeah, like that one in the series you sent me the other day where your pants were unzipped but your bra still on. That was damn sexy, by far my favorite of the bunch.”

I perked up a little at that, proud and pleased in equal measure.

“Well, I’m glad. I try to be sexy and not just raunchy.”

“You do a good job,” he affirmed.

I mumbled something into the warmth of his skin, wrapped in love and kisses and compliments and told him again how much I liked him. He squeezed me and said he had to go soon.

I don’t know if loving him more will make me braver or more afraid, but as I’ve been told recently I need to act like the grown up and share my feelings and I agree. Just a few more nights like this one and I might feel brave enough to try.

His favorite.

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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46 thoughts on ““It’s total perfection.”
  1. It’s time, Hy. You owe yourself that. And, who knows, there’s just a teensy chance that he’ll respond by telling you he was scared to say “I love you.” in return. We’re both romantics, of course. We wish you well, always.

  2. There will never be that moment when you can “handle” his rejection…you already love him too much…at some point, you’ll have to decide to leap, outcome be damned…the romantic in me really wants to believe that he’ll say it back…

    I know part of it is the way you write, but the majority of what I’m reading is beautiful…your interactions with TN have changed – and for the better…there is much to be said for that…

    1. I dunno, Kayla. I’m thinking I’ll be able to handle it some day, but not until after he spends Thanksgiving with me. Ha!! I know that sounds ridiculous, it’s just I really want it to happen first.

      And thanks. You know I work hard to write my best :) xx Hy

  3. Uh huh, it’s time Hy, I agree, Kayla hit the nail on the head ….that was just incredible….thank you for letting us be privy to such a beautiful unravelling….

  4. Trust your instincts, you probably have a very good indication already how much he cares about you. It’s in his body language, the language he uses with you and the things he does for you. Be brave! I’m waiting with bated breath.

    1. Thanks for your support! I wish I’d mentioned in my post that I feel like if I tell him I love him then I have to tell him about the blog. I’m kinda freaking out now :-/ *sigh* I made this bed…

  5. Your body is perfection, Hy. Oh, sorry, that wasn’t really the point of this post, was it. Well, readers get to interpret the way they wish, right? That’s the beauty of reading stories. they’re received differently every time. I happy to say, I’m enjoying your unfolding story, and also your unwrapped body. Thank you.

  6. Feelings are so scary. After a being in a loving relationship for over a year, my fwb and I finally had the feelings talk two weeks ago. We love each other and we’re happy with what we’re doing, but it took so much to say it. Scary, but worth it — I feel a like we have a little more freedom, like I don’t have to hold anything back.

  7. It is hard to stand with your heart in your throat, and expose yourself to someone else. He has seen you without your clothes on, but perhaps he hasn’t seen you that naked, that vulnerable? Sometimes it’s more than just the fear of rejection that makes us waver…
    Maybe you’re right, after Thanksgiving sounds good… I think I’d be stalling too.

  8. So it seems the commenters have not answered your question about the blog. I am not sure you are going to like my answer though. If you don’t tell him now, or soon, then you will never be able to tell him as it will be a ‘secret’ that deep down inside you know you should have shared but didn’t. There is and never will be a right time… however, you do have the perfect opening as you get increasingly close and once you start talking about how you feel, if that is reciprocated by him (and I think it will be from all I have read) that is the time to say… look, you should know, I write a sex blog and I have written about…. etc etc.

    I have no idea if it will be a deal breaker for him or not but I truly believe you have to give him the choice because trust me, if it ever came to light in the future, then I think it might feel like a BIG secret rather than now when it is still… ‘here is something new about me’ as opposed to ‘you thought you knew me but actually I have kept big secrets from you’

    Have you ever discussed blogging, writing etc with him? Maybe test the water by talking about sex blogging in general, maybe he reads them, maybe not, but it might help you to see what his reaction might be.


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