I have a houseboy.

He was going to vacuum my entire apartment wearing my black lace panties. I stood him in front of my dresser and laid out three pair, reached around from behind him and grasped his giant cock in my hand. “I’m going to let your cock pick which pair it wants to wear, like one of those metal detectors. It’ll let me know.”

He laughed incredulously. I was dead serious. His cock picked the middle pair.

And then he proceeded to clean my house. I took a picture and he said I had to find a way to put it on the internet. I told him I’d do my best.

The last room he cleaned was my candlelit bedroom. I’d been skipping from room to room, beaming, slightly pink from my first time in the sun this year. He’d noted I looked like a kid in a candy store. Indeed, I was.

On my bed, I languished in my tangled sheets as he moved the machine slowly back and forth. I imagined it was his cock in my sheath. Slow, steady, deep. He finished and we grabbed wine glasses and spent all of 30 seconds on the couch before he said we should go lie down for a spell.

Naturally, I acquiesced.

In my room, on his back, we laughed about what he’d just done. I stroked his bare member and pulled my dress off in one motion. I had on nothing else. I don’t remember how it came up, but I was then in my closet rummaging for my tie. “I love wearing ties,” I told him. I found it, slipped it over my head and let it dangle between my heavy breasts.

“Mmm, I like that,” he murmured.

I trailed the end along his stomach, splayed my fingers through his chest hair, licked the precum from the helmet of his cock, engulfed the rest in my hot mouth. I licked and sucked and we chatted in between his moans of pleasure. He found the tie and hauled me up and I mounted him and sank down slowly for a bounce or two before he flipped me over and pummeled my insides.

I drenched the joints of our bodies and cried out. “God, I love how your pussy feels,” he breathed into my mouth as he kissed me.

He flipped me again onto my stomach and began to rail into me, my buttocks slapped against his thighs softly. He grabbed my hair for purchase and yanked my face up out of the mattress. I gasped and cried some more. Then he grabbed the tie from behind, slipped it in my mouth and rode me like the mare in heat I was. He wailed on my flanks with one hand, held my head high with the bridle in the other. I ejaculated each time his hand met my skin.

Then he pressed my face down into the wine-colored sheets and pistoned into me some more. I rocked back and pivoted the way I know he loves. He was close, I could hear it in his pants and grunts, I clenched hard on him. Almost there, and then he slipped out and punched the bed with his cock and cried out in pain.

“Ahhhh, fuuuuck!” he lamented. “I think I half came all over your bed and broke my cock!” I lay panting on my stomach for 30 more seconds before I had a suggestion.

“Why don’t you put it back in? My pussy will make it feel better.”

He seemed to agree and he impaled me for a few minutes more.

And then we talked and laughed for two more hours. He complained about the women he kept dating. No life experience, no ambition, no direction, not intellectually interesting or stimulating. He basically was saying, “Not you, Hy,” but I’ve traversed that impasse. It was nice to hear, but my heart did not flutter like it would have days earlier. “You’re beautiful and interesting and ambitious, you’re smart as fuck and have so much life experience.” Naturally, TN, naturally. Moving on.

When he said it was time to go I helped him find his shorts and kneeled on the bed beside the candle, the tie dangled down my body. He noted how it almost reached as far as my pussy and kissed me again.

Ready for business.

We made no plans for this week deliberately. He said he hates making plans. I agreed to do it his way this time, though it’s frustrating. I also plan on fucking as much as I can this week. I don’t have any idea how often it will be with him.

Control feels good. And so do clean carpets.

I am deliriously tired.

When a friend checked in on me tonight this was my response:

I’m doing ok. I read Gillian’s post today about vulnerability and it really touched me. TN and I missed each other before I went out for a drink tonight (he knocked, but I was napping) so I left the note I’d written the night before on his door.

He tried to see me all night after that not realizing I was gone; texted me about where I was. The second I got home he came over, thanked me for the note. Said it meant a lot to him. We ended up cuddling in my bed.

He wanted to know about my day, the details, all of them. It was hard, more vulnerability.

I finally asked him why he’d decided to stop using condoms. He said it was because he’d noticed I wasn’t sleeping with anyone else, but when we do again we’ll use condoms again. Not sure I like where that’s headed… But I’ll deal with that when it happens.

I told him I had a date with Kevin tonight. It was weird. He still has his date with Vanilla Ice. Then we fucked when we’d both said we didn’t want to. He came faster than ever before and then made me cum. It was a different kind of sex from him… I’m still processing. He had less control and it was tender.

I’m so sorry to go on and on. You only asked how I was doing! I’m deliriously tired. xx

I can also add that he said more wonderful things to me about me and my note, that I have a command of my words and he was envious. He said I have so much wisdom and life experience, he feels his lack of it when I open up. I think he feels my scope.

He said he wanted to stay with me and could he come over to fuck me after his date tonight. That’s when I told him I might see Kevin. There was a slight pause in his, “Oh, cool.” The truth is, I don’t want to be home alone knowing he’s next door with Vanilla Ice, so I’m trying to stay busy. I wish that’s what I’d told him.

The puppy woke me up at 4:30 am to go out and again at 5:30, though I stayed in bed that time. And now I’m up and ruminating. Goddamn, I’m fucking exhausted. And confused. So, so, so confused.

One thing is for certain: I promise myself to keep being vulnerable and to end this when it hurts too much and I begin to feel crazy. I promise.

Ugh. So. Fucking. Tired.

I told him how I feel. Mostly.

At 11:11 pm he replied, “Didn’t say I was working late. I said I was busy tonight.”

I replied, “I must have misheard you. Can we chat?”

At 12:41 am he texted, “I’m still with her but later yes.”

I wrote back, “Good deal.” (Thanks, Noodle.)

I had only just gotten off the phone with one of you, dear readers, and I’d been emailing with Noodle and LSAM from about the moment they read my last post, and was only barely under control when, at roughly 1:30 am there was a knock at my door. He was in jeans and sneakers. He had not been naked.

“You look like hell, Hy, like you’ve been at war, or something.”

I smirked and nervously sat down in the chair. What was I going to say to him?? I’d already planned an after-lunch text that simply said, “Hey, I’m ok. Nothing’s changed,” but how would I convey that as a fidgety, cigarette-stained mess?

We shot the shit for a minute or two and then he asked if I was ok.

I told him about what my night was like and he listened with a soft face and direct eye contact while laying on my couch.

“I’ve been wrestling with whether to tell you this or not, but… when I came up to my door the hallway was filled with the scent of vanilla and I immediately thought, ‘Have I been smelling her in his hair this whole time??'”

He immediately jumped in to say this was their first date and it was purely coincidental. Yay for me reining in that crazy.

“I swear I’m not making it up. I smelled vanilla in my doorway. Apparently Vanilla Ice is a big fan.” He raised an eyebrow at my choice of words, fought a smile.

He apologized for the miscommunication, didn’t deny saying he had to work, but didn’t remember saying it, either. I asked him why he felt like he had to keep it secret; explained that I understood our unspoken agreement to not ask direct questions. We explored this new territory together and came up with a new plan. We are allowed to say, “Yes, I have a date, ” but no follow up questions other than, Did you have fun? are permissible. He explained he felt uncomfortable with sharing that information with me, I assured him that all he had to say was, “Hy, I’m not really comfortable answering that,” and I would back off. And it’s true. I would and I would feel ok because it was honest.

The thing of it is, is that we are so totally open in all other aspects that this felt shady. He agreed and apologized formally, admitted that it had been shady of him. I told him of the time a man had gotten stranded outside my front door because I was late meeting him and I had been frantic at the thought of him seeing him. He understood.

People, I know that you all have your opinions on this and no one is wrong. None of the comments were wrong from last night. I truly believe now that he’s had no idea what’s been happening between us.

I told him that what I felt tonight was a surprise to me, as well, that until that moment, I hadn’t realized that I didn’t feel special to him. He looked at me with a pained expression and said, “Oh, Hy. You are so very special. You are the first woman who…” and I thought he was going to say, “… to make me cum, ” but instead he said, “… I’ve formed a close friendship and bond with ever that I also happen to fuck. I’ve never even felt this way about my ex-girlfriends. They were only ‘compatible enough.’ Not like us and how we connect.

“You are so far more and far better a person than just being able to make me cum and those are the parts of you that I like the best.” I asked him to repeat himself; I’ve not heard such a message from moving lips before. He repeated it, slower. I committed it to memory and we laughed.

“The thing is, TN, I didn’t know you think this about me. I’m so effusive in how great I think you are, how great you are in bed. It’s no wonder you ‘feel nothing’ when I share my tales of mediocre sex, small dicks, and bad kissing. You know I hold you in the highest regard. I never knew. But thank you. That makes me feel very special.”

“No, how could you? I’ve never told you before.”

And then, dear friends and readers, I took your advice and I kept opening up. I told him that something had happened to me and that I was beginning to struggle with feelings for him. He looked crushed; surprised, as if I’d just told him I ate babies for lunch.

Silence hung gently in the room.

“You look surprised.”

“I am,” he said, “We aren’t supposed to have those feelings for each other.”

“TN!” I exclaimed, “You of all people should understand this was inevitable. You’ve done nothing but beat into me that I am a person with feelings, more than ‘just a pussy’ and that I should allow myself to feel something again. Well, I am feeling something. And believe me, if I could do what you do and not feel this way I would. Apparently you have more control over your faucet of emotions, I don’t. It’s either on, or off, and no one’s more surprised than me, I promise.

“And I’m mad at you. I’m mad that you’re so kind, sweet, gentle, considerate, know my life, and are an amazing lover. I’m not used to having feelings for someone I fuck. And yesterday I realized that you’re the best boyfriend I’ve never had and it makes me sad and happy all at once. Sad for the old Hy and happy for the future one to know that man like you exists. But it hurts today to know I don’t have it now.”

He volunteered that he saw no future with Vanilla Ice.

I was placated by this somewhat non sequitur. I tossed back one of my own.

“When can I see you next? What are you doing Friday? Are you still busy?”

“I’m seeing Vanilla Ice again.”

The silence became heavy for me and I began to squirm.

“Ok, in the interest of transparency, I’m going to keep going — you told me last night you couldn’t see me on Friday, but you can see her?”

“I was going to have a night off to myself before the weekend.”

“But you’ll see her, but not me?”

Silence. His brain clicked.

“I guess I’ll have to take Thursday off, then.”

Heavier and heavier the room shrank around me.

“The thing is…” I start, but can’t finish. I try again, “You see…” and again I’m verklempt. I take a deep breath. “You see, when this thing between us begins to hurt me, I’m going to have to pull the plug. I’m not going to wait around for you to say goodbye. I’m not going to watch you beat your wings in the nest knowing that one day you’re going to fly off and I’ll be left behind. I’m going to end it before it gets to that point.”

He looked downright sad, his shoulders slumped. “That sounds so ominous.”

“I’m not saying I’m pulling the plug now, but I’m saying I will. When I was dating Jason I once told you what a weird predicament I’d found myself in. You were both willing to fuck me, but were also looking for something else and I was just waiting around to be left. That’s not ok anymore. I have to say goodbye first.”

“That will make me extremely sad, Hy.”

“It’ll make me sad, too, but I don’t want to become a crazy person, I never want to feel jealousy. I don’t want to do that to either of us.”

“And you’re saying you think that’s inevitable.”

“It might be.”

We sat sipping our water chewing on what had just been said.

“I want this,” he motioned between us, “to never go away. What we have here, our friendship, it means so much more to me than the sex, no matter how great it is for us.”

My heart stitched. He doesn’t understand that there would be a long period of healing for me alone, but I didn’t want to say it.

“You still seemed surprised by all of this.”

“I am. I never wanted feelings to happen. I don’t want to hurt you.”

And then I remembered Bi’s recent post and that the past several – lo, many, many – years of my life have been filled with anguish and pain. “I think we’ve all done ourselves a great disservice to think that the human condition can maintain a sense of happiness and contentment. I think we’re built for anguish – and this from the eternal optimist that is, Hy – and it’s the suffering and longing that shapes us. All the great art of our world is predicated on that pain, not of happiness.

“I find beauty in this. You don’t have to be afraid of hurting me. I make my own decisions and I will live. This won’t kill me.”

He agreed, spoke himself of the concept and his deeply personal understanding of it.

“I’m not saying I love you,” I continued (what? I wasn’t going to drop the L-word tonight, folks), “but it’s like unrequited love. It’s unbearable and poignant and we all define ourselves based on surviving it and I wouldn’t trade any of the pain I’ve ever experienced for it. It gave me my baby.”

“What does ‘unrequited love’ mean?” he asked.

“It’s unreturned, one-sided, unfulfilled.”

“But friends can love each other.” He placed the words tentatively between us, almost like a question.

“Yes, they can, but then it’s not unrequited.”

He sat on that for a minute just looking at me. I held his gaze.

“And I’m also confused as to why you keep saying there’s this two month drop date on us. I imagine if you had cancer and were going to die I would milk every second with you because I love hanging out with you.”

“You’re right, I shouldn’t have said that. It was dumb of me. We should just keep doing this.”

“Exactly. You yourself have said you’re in no hurry to get married and have kids, so why can’t we just keep going until it’s time to die??”

“I don’t know why not. It’s just I know this has no future. Realistically speaking, we’ll never get married.” He watched my reaction closely.

“I know. I have a kid, I can’t erase that -”

“And you’re not 12-14 years younger.”

“And I definitely can’t erase that. But I know that’s not me. That’s you. I’m not hurt by it personally, but I wish you felt differently.

“Earlier tonight, when I was so strung out from a bad day and this ‘shady’ business I went and had two screaming orgasms and while it was building I kept saying to myself, ‘This doesn’t take away from anything we’ve had. I’m ok.’ and when it tore through me I really was ok. It was a cellular shift of faith. I’m ok with this going away someday. I will survive it. I’ll be ok when the sex goes away.

“And you should know that I’m going to bring this up again. No shadiness and no elephants in the room between us.”

He agreed. And then maybe because he’d become deliriously tired, I don’t know, he dry humped my cat and I had a visceral reaction to his thrusts and told him so between laughing. “I’m trying really hard not to sit next to you and touch you right now. Don’t do that, please.”

“I think you’d think of something to touch, alright.”

“No, really…”

“And I’d think of someone to do.”

I’d been fighting serious fatigue for at least an hour. He had been too. And no sooner had he’d spoken those words than he said he had to go home. I got up to let him out and couldn’t help but blurt out, “I can smell Vanilla Ice on you,” as the sweet cloud punched me in the face yet again.

He had the good sense to look embarrassed. “Let me smell,” I said as I tried to close the gap between us. He leapt up and ran out on the balcony. I blocked the door and he looked into my eyes steadily, then I leaned in for a whiff. He cringed. “Honestly, I didn’t have to do that, I just wanted to torture you a little. I can smell her from here. Tell her to take it easy on the Victoria’s Secret lotion next time, ok?” My eyes, I know, twinkled, my lips curled in an easy smile.

“You are torturing me.”

“You obviously made out with her. It’s all over you,” I observed with no emotion.

“Maybe, a little bit, yes.”

Suddenly, I had a hunger for him. “Smelling her on you is turning me on,” I murmured and I kiss him. He grabbed me tightly and pressed his mouth firmly on mine. I pull his head down with strength. I imagine how much better this must feel to him than kissing her.

We keep kissing on the balcony, his hands roamed my body, I rubbed his hot bulge. “We’re not fucking. It’s almost 3 am!” he lamented.

“Yes, no fucking,” I answered and made to touch his chest, but turn and head for the door instead. He followed and grabbed me again. Kissed me passionately.

I kissed him harder and deeper, fumbled with his buckle. He continued his protests, but took off his belt. “Just a suck, no fuck. Please, TN.”

“No.” (And this is where everyone rolls over in their grave because I am begging to feel his cock in my mouth – but wait, bear with me.) “I want you to cum right now and send me a picture of it.”

“Ok. But you have to watch. No picture.”

He waffled for half a second and took my hand and lead me to my room. “Stand in the doorway. You can’t touch me.” He stiffly obeyed and I fumble with my pajama pants, trying to hide my sex from him with a sheet. He came to the bedside and ripped it away.

I lay half exposed to him under my bedroom light.

I grabbed my vibe and turned it on. I asked him to make the occasional sound from his vantage point so I know he’s still there. “I’ll do one better,” he replied and I feel his hot, wet mouth on my nipple over my tank top. I moan and arch, literally think, “He can’t resist me.”

The orgasm is elusive this time. He exhausts one breast and moves to the other, pulls it out of my shirt. I’m shaking with emotion and sensation, denied my release. We can hear the juices of my pussy being jostled by the vibrator. Then I feel his fingers enter me and, without orgasming, I cum all around his fingers . My vulva bright and hot as lava and my core shaking. And the thought, unbidden, comes to me, “He loves me.” I take several little breaks and then when it finally does shatter over me I am shivering and my teeth are chattering, my screams still echoing off the beige walls and the thought of “He loves me” floating in my mind.

He lay down next to me and kissed me again. Held me.

“Ok. Now you can go.”

I dress and walked him to the front door. “So, even though I don’t want to hang out tomorrow, can I come and fuck you for, say, 15 minutes in the kitchen?”

“I don’t know. We’ll see,” I say confidently.

He kissed me again, gave me a soft, tender look, and walked back next door.

Thank you to all of you for your support, kindness, and love. I pushed through this tonight without a drink to numb me and without reaching out to a man. It was your presence that helped me flex this emotional muscle. My gratitude knows no bounds. Also, I told him he’d thawed my heart.

  • I keep remembering more. Like, I never said, “I want you to love me”.
  • He told me how vulnerable I am. I asked him tonight or in general? He said, “Tonight, this week, this month, the whole year.” (I’d had a bad day in general yesterday relating to my kid going overseas with my ex for a week & 2 of my dearest friends having major issues.)
  • He suggested I rub my pussy on him to leave my scent before his date Friday in return for her intense love of vanilla and musk. I told him that was a great idea. He could tell her it was eau de 532 (my apartment number).
  • I told him I’d painted myself in a corner because I no longer wanted notches on my belt and mediocre sex, so I wasn’t remotely interested in dating.
  • He offered the notion that maybe I’d find someone to date “for real” first (before my admission of feelings for him). I scoffed, but he was serious.
  • I texted him right after he left to say I’d finally remembered something I’d forgotten and said I’d write it down. It says, “Its a big deal to me that I wanted to introduce you to my other set of friends that I’ve known for almost 20 years bc I want you to know them and them you because… Because you are good to me and for me and I’m proud of who you are and that you’re in my life.”
  • And – OH SHIT – when I was kissing him after I’d discovered the vanilla clinging to him and became so turned on I began to stammer. I couldn’t speak due to exhaustion and emotion and lust. He asked me my name and I said, “I don’t know. I think it’s Hyacinth.” “‘Hyacinth’?!” he says confused. “Yes, I think it’s a beautiful name…” and I kissed him again.

I get hurt by one I never thought would.

Last night The Neighbor bore away the rubble that had become me.  Tonight he has crushed me.

Dramatic, maybe, but I am beyond caring what I sound like.

He told me he was busy tonight and Friday, but he was free Thursday.  I asked him what he was doing tonight and he said “working late.”  We talked about Thursday, but I have plans with friends.

After I broke down last night I shared with him that I turned down a proposition from Kevin because I was focusing on him instead.  I didn’t want to put him at risk of anything and why should I settle for mediocre sex when I could have amazing sex?  He was humbled, honored, flattered, he said.  I topped his list as best ever, too, he said.

Tonight I put on my bikini and robe, grabbed my spa keys and headed downstairs.  I forgot my car keys to grab my smokes, so headed back up.  Back down I went and while at my car below I heard, “clip, clop, clip, clop” from the third floor corridor.  I looked up and saw two dark heads enter The Neighbor’s apartment from the back way.

My plans to sit in the tub dashed, I climbed the stairs with a thudding heart.  The hallway was filled with the scent of musky vanilla.  A scent I’ve remarked in The Neighbor’s hair at least twice before.

My heart stopped.

It fucking stopped.

It seemed to me I’ve smelled that perfume.  In my lover’s hair. 

When I’d teased him about it he’d said it was Herbal Essences.

I went out to my balcony for a smoke and immediately heard TN close his sliding glass door.  I went back inside, and like a foolish little asshole put my ear to the wall.  And then I heard her laugh.  Vanilla Ice.

I texted him this:

I am crushed.

I don’t know what to fucking do.  He lied to me.  I told him not to and he’s done it anyway and unless it’s an enormous coincidence that she douses herself in vanilla, he’s been seeing her for a while, then coming to my bed.

This wasn’t supposed to fucking happen.

I feel alone, awful, ripped apart.  I had just last fucking night opened up to him, bared myself.  LAST FUCKING NIGHT, PEOPLE!!  LAST NIGHT!!!  And now this.

I am the biggest fucking idiot known to man… I was better off a bitter, lonely libertine.

He’s the best boyfriend I’ve never had.

“Assume the position,” he said over me and handed me the Hitachi.

I lay panting and half sobbing beneath him, my legs on his shoulders.  I swung my left leg to meet my right and he shifted to my left and lay next to me, his cock still buried inside of me.  I turned the vibrator on and put it to my mound.  Instantly I was electrified as his thrusts buzzed into me.

I fluttered my eyes and looked at the shadows cast on the ceiling from the flickering candlelight.  He pinched and kneaded my left breast as I writhed, gently bucked and whimpered into the space around us.

His rocking thrusts were a goddamned sparkling unicorn horn inside of me.  The swell of the distant wave, the anticipation of it climbing closer, then receding again as he pulled away, then it was there again so quickly when he returned, the sharp sparks of impending orgasm due to cock and vibe.

And then it was on me.  In me, over me, through me, lighting up my veins like a torch in a tunnel.  I was almost screaming out as he pounded into me and told me how beautiful I looked.  Tears sprang to my eyes and I lay my arm across my face and cried fat, wet tears.  He crooned to me and curled my hair behind my ear.  “It’s ok, Hy.  You’re ok.  Just relax.  Relax.”

I fought to steady my sobs, but this was so different.  My heart was crying this time, no doubt about it.  No longer was just my cunt and body crying, my disloyal heart had joined them.

“I want you to do it again,” he said and he kissed me gently with force.

I could only nod.

He’s still hard and still inside of me.  I start all over again only this time the orgasm bears down on me with a fury and the spasms haven’t stopped before I start to ball.  Real tears, real emotion, real feeling.

He pulls me into his arms and holds me, whispers that I’ll be ok, kisses my face, and still the tears come and still I can’t stop the crying.  I don’t even want to.  I want him to see what this does to me.  I’m tired of holding it back.

He shifts and pulls me into a deep, sweet, painful kiss.  I’m crying into his mouth and I imagine he is telling me he loves me with every stroke of his tongue, every press of his lips.  He is absorbing my pain, my pleasure: me.  I cry harder for a second and then let him calm me like a quaking mare.

He engulfed me and could handle it.  And I let him.

And that’s when I realized he’s the best boyfriend I’ve never had.

I decline a facefucking.



And now I’m gonna lock my door.

I’ll do Hy and you do you.

Fuck.  Fuckity fuck fuck.

Ok, I admit it, I freaked out yesterday.  I need to put my  Big Girl Panties back on, get back up on that horse, rub some dirt in it, etc., etc., etc.  Y’all know what I’m trying to say: I will keep on doing what I do.

I got a good night’s rest, thought about it, and realized I have to do me.  And this blog — believe it or not — is me.  Totally and completely.  The good, the bad, the weak, the strong, the sexy, the insecure, the ribald, the ridiculous.  It’s all Hy all the time.

Really committing to this means I will write about all of it without fear and without reservation.  And you guys will, hopefully, be entertained and titillated, go home to your lovers and pound the sexual shit outta them, then keep coming back for more.  More what I couldn’t begin to say, but I’m glad you’re all here.

And now for what you all really want to know.  What’s happened next with The Neighbor?

I spent yesterday working, running errands, mothering (both child and dog babies), and slowly degrading into a highly irritable state.  My baby human is having a difficult time with the baby canine and so there is much, much training going on under my roof.  Training of the damn dog, training of the damn child, training, training, training (and don’t forget I’m training myself, as well).

I suffered through extreme crank and rose above by continuing work on a giant canvas along side my (eventually) subdued babies.  The four-legged one stealing random objects to chew, the two-legged one with a paint-brush in hand on a smaller canvas.  The wine flowed down my gullet, I kissed and tucked in my baby, and sat down to watch America’s Next Top Model: British Invasion (I should have listed in my 7 things that I love reality competition shows).  Then, KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

I was dressed in my striped see-through tank and polka dot pajama shorts, my hair in a loopy knot on the top of my head.  I smiled as I opened the door.  The Neighbor was there.

“Hey. What’s going on?” I asked.

“I’m in a bad mood, so, I’m going to get drunk.  Alone.  But hopefully with you.  Gotta go to the store first, though.”

My belly was already warm from my own little excursion down Vino Lane, so I said, “Sure, come on over when you’re back from the store.”

When he came back, I was busy mothering.  My little one had woken up and needed some songs and love.  I left TN to his own devices with the puppy.  My attention rightly focused on my Poo for as long as it took to settle things back to dreamland.  When I came out, his lap was filled with puppy and a giant bottle of vodka was on my counter.  I mixed him a drink, poured myself some wine and we settled down to hang out.

We chatted and flirted; I told him I wasn’t going to fuck him.  He tried to get me to sit next to him, but I politely declined and stayed in my own chair.  His eyes widened in utter surprise.  My little 24 hour journey to greater self-awareness bolstered my decision to hold back.

And when I wanted to make contact, I climbed onto his lap and dipped my mouth to his and tasted his lips and tongue.  I pushed him down onto his back and loomed over him.

“So, tell me this, TN.  Why didn’t you text me earlier in the night last night to let me know you weren’t coming over?  I could have done something else; gone to bed, gone out.”

“You’re right, so very right.  I felt really badly about that.  I should have texted you at 10 o’clock at least.  That’s part of why I came over later.  I felt awful for standing you up.  Please, accept my apology.  That was rude of me and I shouldn’t have done it.  I really am sorry.”

Well, knock me over with a feather, folks.  “Yeah, I felt like that was a good apology-fuck.”

He chuckled.  “Yeah, it was.”

“Well, thank you for saying all that.  Apology accepted.  Truly.” I smiled and grabbed his cock over his basketball shorts.

“I like how you accept an apology, Hy.”

“Well, I know you mean it.  So, issue resolved, right?”  I squeezed again.

He grabbed my breasts, “Yes, but so many don’t let it go and then men don’t know how to apologize, either.”

I thought about how right he was.  I married my ex in large part because of his apology skills; no one had ever apologized to me in my life and I’d jumped on that raft as soon as it passed close to me.  I wondered how many times TN had apologized to me so far.  This was the third time.

First time was after a good cock-sucking and he wondered aloud to me why he couldn’t find a 23-year-old hot girl with a banging body who didn’t want a commitment and who loved to fuck.  Um.  Yeah.  The second time was after telling me too much information about another lover he had which overlapped with me.  Not fun to hear.  And then last night.

We made out some more and I asked him what he was doing Friday night.  He said, “You.”

I laughed.

Of course he’s doing me.  I mean, why not?  He’s secretly and madly in love with me after all.  All my fretting and anxiety is silly!  I should know all this! – queue crickets –  Um…

The clock struck 12 then and he buggered off.  I made myself a bite to eat, checked on my snoozing baby, and crawled under my covers.  My last thought was how centered I felt.  And then I thought about his cock in the center of me later Friday night.  Good dreams for me, for sure.

My pussy is better than his hand.

This was The Neighbor’s  reasoning for coming over at 1:30 last night.

“Honestly?  I was about to jerk off when I thought, ‘What the hell am I doing??  There’s a willing girl who loves to fuck next door.'”

I’m not sure if he meant it as a compliment.  I’m not entirely sure I took it that way.  I appreciated his honesty, to be sure, but I still think there’s more to it.  Yes, I’m a willing cunt, yes, I love to suck cock, yes, I’m easy to be around, but one thing I’ve learned about this man is that he doesn’t do anything he doesn’t truly want to.  And right then it was me.

An hour before I had been wearing pajama shorts and a tank top reading Leah Lays London.  I’d looked up when I heard my puppy whimper from the other room and my door push open.  There he was filling my doorway.

He quickly closed the distance to my bed.  “What the fuck are you doing here??” I asked.

“I thought you’d like some of this,” and he pulled his shorts down and flopped out his meat.  “What are you doing up still??  I was hoping to wake you up.”

“I couldn’t fucking sleep.”  He deftly shut my laptop, grabbed my phone and put them on the bedside table.  In two more seconds, his pants were off and his cock was in my mouth, my heart firmly lodged in my throat and my heart beating thunderously.

I should be fucking pissed, I thought.  I mean, I had been.  I’d been downright angry, but by the time he’d walked into my room, I’d settled down, made a game plan, reined in my emotions and I was ready for his surprise offering.  I wasn’t doing him a favor by sucking his cock, I was doing me a favor.

He pulled off his shirt and sat on my chest and fucked my face.  I choked on his length as my fingers curled up through his chest hair.  I scratched his flanks and made him cringe and cry out.  I hit him hard with an open palm as I moaned and mewed around his shaft.  He spanked back when I was done.  I didn’t have many swings in me.

He turned out the light and my room was filled with candlelight.  I pushed him off of me and pulled my shirt off.  My breasts bounced heavily as they were freed.  He grabbed them and stuffed both nipples in his mouth at once.  I straddled his erection and rubbed my pajama-clad  pussy along its length, then kicked the shorts off all together and impaled myself on him as he tried to draw milk from my flesh.

I drenched us, I cried, he moaned and bucked wildly into me.  Without disengaging he flipped me under him and nailed me to the mattress.  I scratched his back and sobbed and bucked back; released all the hours of pent-up anxiety and anger at him  through my vaginal walls and muscles.  I tried to choke his cock with my passionate, angry pussy.

Ankles hooked over his shoulders, pussy weeping, my face leaking.  I weaved words of encouragement and filth all around us.

“I love your fucking cock.  Oh god, oh god.  Your fucking cock.  It’s in my throat.  It’s splitting me!”  Sob, sob, sob.

He flipped me again and pushed my shoulders into the bed.  I rocked my pelvis back on him, gaining greater strokes deep in my well.  He rained kisses down on my neck and ears.  “Holy shit, Hy, keep doing that,” he said as I found a stronger pivot point on which to drive down on him.  “Oh fuck, oh fuck,” he groaned behind me.

And then his semen burst into me and his midpoint pummeled into mine.  He collapsed on top of me, pulled my wet hair off my face and temples, tucked it behind my ear; he kissed my cheek, took a breath, and began to move again.

“Do you like that?” he whispered as he grabbed a handful of hair and yanked my head up, curling into my pussy with each thrust.

“Yes,” I gasped.  “Do you?”

“I don’t know if I always like it, but I like it when it’s you.”  And then he punched my hole with his fist-like cock some more until I was utterly incoherent.

Finally, we rested and I cuddled up into his nook and he trailed his fingers along my waist, I made patterns with my fingertips from his chest to his balls.

“Tonight wasn’t fun at all.  It wasn’t a good date,” he began to explain.

“I’m sorry to hear it,” I say, and I meant it.

“She’s directionless and not interesting at all.  She’s pretty, but not interesting.  I’m sure there’s another better match for her out there.”

“We can all say there are better matches for us out there.”

He paused, surprised. “Even for you?”

“Yes,” I answer easily as I squeeze his mostly hard penis and run a flat hand up to his chest, splaying my fingers through the curls there, “even for me.”

He said he was glad he came over.  I told him it was a dick move to bail on me.  We moved on.  He helped me cum, kissed and stroked me to see me gasp and arch, then held me some more.  At 2:30 he announced he had to go to bed.  I was happy to see him go.  Between replacing his clothes he’d bend over to kiss me again, pressing his mouth down hard on mine, breathing me in.  Then another shorter one, then another.  I wondered what he was doing.

Then, he was gone and I felt 10 different things at once: satiated, nullified, smug, easy, happy, irritated, wanton, precious, weak, powerful — just to name a few.

This blog is supposed to be about my dissolute life, not my dating life.  They are distinct.  I don’t want to keep The Neighbor Drama going.  I am going to pare back on the emotional details for a while, I think.  It’s too much.  I come across as an idiot to some, pathetic to others, and as a superhero to yet more.  It’s hard enough dealing with it in real life, let alone inviting additional scrutiny.  Call me a fucking pussy if you like, I just need to do this.

I meant what I said the other day that you, my readers, have helped bring me here, but I still have to admit that “here” now means I’m going to pull back.  I’ll still share all the gritty details, but I hope to remove the element of weakness from my writing.  I like what I’m doing with this man.  It feels good enough.  I’m not capable of more, anyway, so I need to focus on the beauty of the situation and not the warts.

I appreciate all your intelligent words, your insights, everything.  It’s been such a relief to have friends to rely on, but I also don’t want to take advantage.  I don’t want to be a broken record.  So, hopefully, a little mystery as to what’s going on in my heart might help me feel better about asking you all for some support again in the future.

I dunno… I’ve never done this before.  I’ve never had a 6 month long “thing” with a guy I really like and with whom the sex is off the charts plus a secret sex blog where I get blow-by-blow support and advice because I’m brutally honest about who and what I am.  This shit is weird, y’all…   It’s just weird.  Forgive me.  I’m unraveling a little…

I wait with baited breath.

My heart is in my throat while I wait for The Neighbor to get home from a blind double date.

He’d forgotten he’d already promised his best friend to go out with this girl; he’d told me about it with an eye roll and an indifferent shrug of his shoulders.

I told him to come over afterwards, but no time was given.

The date started almost 4 hours ago and I’m about to go to bed lest my guts roil over or I gnaw off my own arm.

I feel like puking out my emotions; a long, hard run earlier did nothing to ease my anxiety. I think I’m supposed to surrender to it.

Fuck it.

And I expect a text from him that says, “Too tired. Another night,” because that’s how he rolls. Wish I did, too.

[UPDATE: I was right.]


I thank you all (plus a sexy tale).

Cock in hand, hard muscles beneath the pads of my fingertips, moans, sweat, my weeping cunt. We fucked nearly every chance we got for days. Bare cock, warm pussy, cries and sobs interlaced with sunshine, hot tubs, movies, and cock holding in darkened theaters and titty sucking in hot water.

Six am Sunday morning and his headboard shook, I cried out his name, and he flipped me and fucked me and told me how good my pussy felt. When we were done I was so hungry I felt sick. He offered to run to the store and get stuff to make me French toast, or pancakes if I preferred. I suggested we go to my favorite local diner instead. And so we did.

We sat at the counter and I sipped black coffee. He ordered an apple juice. No one goes to breakfast together at 9 in the morning unless they spent the night together. I felt oddly proud to be seen in public with him; filthy in the daylight after what he’d just done to me for hours.

I left him after breakfast to take my puppy to the Greenbelt. I stood in the cold creek water and breathed in the musty spring air particular to this part of the country. Creek bathers and dogs riddled the trails and pebbled shores. I felt centered, back to myself. I used to live next to this trail head years ago and I made daily excursions with my old dog. I was single then, too, only motherless and clueless as to my own true sexuality. But not now. I’ll never be that girl in the creek with her dog again, though, I am.

The last six months have been hard for me. I put the brakes on indiscriminate sex; tried to reconnect with myself and face the pain I’d been keeping at bay for months and years; keep the libertine in me engaged and happy; be present as a mother; and practice patience and lack of control. A tall order to be sure.

And then I met him, The Neighbor. A young, Midwestern man with boy-next-door good looks, and a cock that I literally dream about. He was sweet and unassuming and he surprised us both by smashing down my objections to becoming lovers with a neighbor. Meanwhile, I kept going with Jason, the original lover of the four, but to say we were misfiring is an understatement. I felt like I’d made a commitment to the snapshot and he was part of it despite being flaky and distant when we weren’t together and leaning heavily on me emotionally when we were. If I wasn’t listening to him retell the same stories about his crazy ex-girlfriend, I was listening to lengthy theories that could be applied to his PhD thesis. Or, I was being criticized for my dirty talk. And Phillip, well, the sex and cock were amazing, but that was it. He is kind and gentle, but I never felt that spark. I haven’t heard from him since I told him we had to use a condom next time. I’m more than a little relieved. Kevin and I were supposed to fuck again last week, but after a condomless night with TN I couldn’t bring myself to do it. It didn’t feel right. I begged off, but might keep him in my back pocket for when after TN and I are done. Lastly, Tuesday, my most recent man, was a flop in bed. Nothing to write home about. He was nervous, I was consumed with thoughts of another man. He said ignorant things that turned me off of him. I am done with him; no more.

Juggling the men, my grief, and my thawing heart has built me new emotional muscles. As my readers, you’ve seen the inner workings of my mind and the mess, but I sincerely hope that to outsiders I’ve looked more in control than I’ve felt. I open up here and say my heart’s honest truth whether it sounds sniveling, selfish, or stupid. It’s been humbling to get some feedback, heartwarming to get others, but one thing is for certain: I wouldn’t be where I am today without this outlet and without all of you.

I attribute my past week with my young lover to the growth I’ve experienced: I am relaxed, happy, at peace with having no control. I’m not entirely convinced I want to make him my boyfriend and that realization — that it’s not up to him — has set me the fuck free. I am regularly surprised and mildly confused by things he does. He says he wants to be alone, but knocks on my door in his swim trunks and asks if I’ll join him in the hot tub. He never commits to a tryst, but he’s disappointed when I don’t sneak over. He fucks me without a condom, though he told me it’d “never, ever happen“. He invites me to a matinée, offers to make me breakfast, but talks about when he will “date someone for real”.

I sometimes worry that I will run out of salacious stories for you all if I slow down too much with TN, but then I remember all the ones I never shared from my distant past and the ones from my old blog(s). Besides, so long as his beautiful rod seeks my pussy I will have something to share. And I will.

For instance, I sucked his cock in the hot tub Sunday night. He kept his eyes peeled for the rent-a-cop, I filled my face with his tumescence. He sat on the edge of the tub, his left leg wrapped in mine, his body shielded me from our downstairs neighbor’s eyes in case he went to his balcony to smoke. He giggled and delighted in my brazenness and told me again that the next girl he dates has to love sex and blowjobs. I assumed the other half of that unspoken sentence was, “just like you, Hy.” I offered him a bare breast, my green bikini top pulled to the side, his scruff abrasive on my tender skin. “You are wild. I like it,” he said. And then we climbed the three flights of stairs and went to our respective doors.

Things are clicking, and I feel that I owe you all a big Thank You for helping me get here. So, from the bottom of my dissolute heart, I thank you. Thankyouthankyouthankyou. I will do my best to continue to be honest, disgustingly erotic, and true to who I am: Hyacinth Jones, lover, mother, and woman. My deepest wish is that you all stick around while I make good on this promise.