Last night I slathered on peachy, vanilla scented lotion wrapped only in a towel and listened to The Neighbor come upstairs, the jingle of his keys like a little bell about his neck. I smiled and felt warm and fuzzy. Peyton was asleep in the other bedroom and I had an evening ahead of watching Luther from beneath a blanket while my love(r) taught himself some new programming language on the other couch. Very domestic of us, very sweet, very safe.
When he came into my room he didn’t kiss me or try to unwrap me. He just emptied his work bag and left to the other room.
I called out to him. “What are you doing? C’mere!”
“Ah, man!” he replied. “I just laid down!”
I rolled my eyes. “TN! Come on!”
“Ok! I’ll be there in 30 seconds!”
I sat there in the dark, perched on the side of my bed and waited. It took longer than 30 seconds for him to fill the doorway.
“You didn’t even kiss me,” I pouted. I pulled him by the t-shirt and drew him closer between my knees. He dipped down and pressed his lips and whiskers against my face. I pulled his knee closer and pressed it into my crotch.
I inhaled his scent and closed my eyes, my hands rubbed his shoulders and I arched up in to him as his bulk pressed me down into the mattress and I imagined him pushing into me, but I quickly knew nothing was going to happen when he said, “I had a terrible day. Very stressful.”
“Then you definitely need some of these.” I peeled the towel apart and exposed my warm, clean breasts. He pretended he didn’t want them and I jiggled my tits and giggled. He latched onto one and suckled for a minute, then the other.
He popped off and stood up straight and announced, “Ok! I had a great day!”. He laughed before heading back into the living room. I stood and put on my pajamas, made some popcorn and laid on the couch until sleep tugged at me. He crawled into bed with me and we talked nose-to-nose until the tug became a roar. He kissed me again, told me he loved me, and left.
A riveting evening, right??
I remember when I was filled with tension each night: would he come by? would I get laid? would he want me?? Now my nights are filled with exhaustion and cuddles. I have no doubt about his feelings and my contentment is quiet, soft, lulling. A mighty difference from the sharp-edged heartbreak I was so used to experiencing nightly.
I call it boring, but I’m not bored. Life just isn’t as exciting as it used to be. But I guess that’s ok, other things are challenges. My brain whirrs every minute to adapt to the new configurations of our relationship. I say Hi to his parents now when he’s on the phone with them; I plan overnights with him when Peyton’s around; my parents want us to come over for dinner; I hear 3 words every day that I never, ever thought I’d hear from him. I wake up everyday wondering if I’m dreaming.
Hi, my name is Hy and I’m in love and I’m boring. Welcome to my blog.
You’ll have to wait for the sexy sloppy sex a little while longer, though I guess I could tell you really quick about the other night that started out as just a sweet, quick vagina hug and quickly turned into him pile-driving into me from behind while he pressed my face down into the sheets. He grunted and thrust like an animal on top of me and I came and yelled and hoped my new neighbors could hear me. Actually — on second thought — that was pretty exciting.