Last night he made me dinner.

Last night Elliot darkened my doorway once again.  He ducked his head and stepped inside and I reached up and gave him a sweet kiss hello.  He held a bag of groceries in one hand while the dog’s tail banged on the paper loudly.  Finally he was here.

I had only just gotten off a work call and was frazzled.  The laundry was hidden moments before he arrived and there were still things I needed to clear away.  I busied myself while he put the perishables in the fridge and the dog continued to whack things with his tail.  I peeled off my corduroy blazer and hoped he noticed my new tan lines against the violet of my strapless dress.

I twittered and fluffed around him while he uncorked a bottle of red I’d bought.  “You seem nervous.”

“No,” I assured him, “That was just an intense meeting.”  I made sure to avoid eye contact as I said this.  I was nervous.

I was nervous because with each passing moment I like him more.  With each passing hour I see more of a human I want to know.  With each passing day I feel his spirit and humor.  With each passing everything I am crumbling into dust.

We took our wine and sat on my blue velvet couch.  My feet tucked under his thigh and his long legs folded out into whatever available space he had.  We laughed and talked about human things: our jobs our days our babies our mothers.

We remarked on the impossibility that we were sitting there so close.  He had written me despite my very clear disinterest in married men.  And I had responded because there was something there.

And then suddenly the conversation turned to his wife.  “So, just to be clear, we’re basically still waiting, right?”

“Oh,” he said smiling.  “She said ‘Yes’ about three days ago.”

I jumped and hit his arm.  “Elliot!!  Why didn’t you tell me!!”

“Well, I didn’t think it was something I should text you!” he laughed.

“Of course it is!  That way I wouldn’t be worrying about this amazing married man who I super like possibly leaving my life because I can’t handle not being with him sexually and freaking out that I’ll lose out on a friendship too!”  I stopped only to take a breath.

“Seriously!  I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!”

His grin ate his face and he pulled me down onto it and we breathed each other’s puffs and smiled together and I wished I’d hidden the laundry on my dresser, too.

::

We finished the white wine he’d brought while at my little dining room table.  The house smelled like brown sugared carrots and balsamic reduction with smokey salts and my heart felt like exploding.  I cleared our plates and returned to the table and got lost in his whiskey colored eyes.  I hung on every word he uttered.

“I better do the dishes,” I said and got up and headed to the sink.  I’d changed into a white t-shirt and stretchy cotton skirt, no bra, somewhere around the time he was deglazing the pork pan.  He sidled up behind me and cupped my breasts on the outside of my shirt.  I leaned into him and looked up, he bent down and caught my mouth.

He lifted me up onto the counter and our hands roamed as our lips locked.  I pecked at his neck and undid his buttons.  He pulled my shirt up and off just as I got his off of him.  I spread my knees and pulled him against my bare breasts.  His bulge above the counter top cradled in the pocket of my thighs.

So much is in a kiss.  It is care and skill, thoughtfulness and play.  A kiss is hope and it is momentum.  A kiss can start and sustain, it can also smash me to smithereens and shoot me to the stars.  I may have appeared to have been in my little kitchen with a large man between my legs, but I was actually in orbit. Did you see me last night twinkling in the night’s sky??

I lit candles in my room and he made a joke about my laundry.  I probably told him to shut up, but who really knows?

His magical mouth was on my breasts and pulling on my nipples.  His long fingers stroked and his hand slammed against me as I moaned and spilled out my weak heart onto his warm skin.

I tugged off his black American Tall underwear and filled a little more than two fists with thick hot man meat.

“Look at you!” I admired what was in my hands.  “You’re no fucking fruit fly!!”  He laughed uproariously – he’d been gleefully torturing me about “being hung like a fruit fly” for days not knowing anything about the anxiety that produced in me.

“I am quite happy with what I’ve got.”

“As well you should be!!”

I stuffed as much as I could down my throat and he moaned.

“Show off.”

We played and kissed and I came and he played with me some more.  Curled and cuddled into each other we dozed and I told him my fantasy to have a man who loved me no matter what or who I did.  Someone who was happy that I had a married boyfriend and a fuck buddy and a sub and who understood I was still his.

He squeezed me tightly and kissed my temple.  “I hope you find that, too.”

He operates under the notion that when I find someone who can give me “more” than he can that I will end our liaison.  What he doesn’t seem to believe is that he has already given me more than I’ve had in years.  Possibly ever.  I won’t be ending this any time soon.

It was getting later by the minute and I was still in orbit inside the ring of his long arms.  I rolled onto my back and his left hand hooked into me and I came crying into his mouth, his swollen, pulsing cock in my hand.  We dozed again.

When I stirred he woke, too.  “I have to go.  I’m so tired and have to be at work at 7.”  I kissed him long and slow, my fingers tracing the whiskers on his jaw.

“Wait…”

I switched on the Hitachi and pressed it against me.  His hand full of a breast and his mouth plying mine with comet tails.  I cried into his mouth as stars burst through me and I sparkled away.

I turned into him, nose to nose, and traced his lips with my fingertips.  “I am crushing so hard on you,” I leaked out.

“When will you believe that I’m not going anywhere, Hy?  I don’t let just anyone in.  I take this very seriously.”

“I’m trying, it’s just so hard.  I like you so much.”

“I like you, too.”

He made moves to leave again, but I convinced him to lay with his head on my breasts folded in my arms and we sailed through space together for a few more heartbeats before he had to get dressed.

We passed through the apartment making sure he didn’t forget anything and as he was leaving I stepped up on my kitchen stool, now slightly above his eye-level.  He wrapped his arms around me I melted against him and played with his hair.

“Saturday.”

“Yes, Saturday.”

I hopped down and walked him to the door where he bent down and kissed me again.  I floated back to bed and haven’t landed since.

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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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