I’m sent off in style.

It was late, 10 pm.  I was relaxed, buzzed from the martinis I’d had with an old high school friend passing through town, and dressed in little pajama pants and a white t-shirt.  My breasts hung heavy and loose beneath the filmy cotton as I bustled around the kitchen.  A pot steamed on the back burner filled with aromatic chicken stock and clam juice.  I tossed in the bright pink armor of six freshly shelled shrimp and stirred the risotto on the front burner.

I checked the cooking shrimp and removed them just as there was a knock at my door.  I didn’t even bother to look up as I heard the door open and shut.  The Neighbor walked in wearing only his shiny black basketball shorts.  “Hey, hey, hey,” he said smiling.  “It smells amazing.”

“Well, thank you,” I smiled back as I cleaned the scallops and put them in the hot pan the shrimp had just occupied.  He walked around the bar into the kitchen.  “Aren’t we dressed for dinner!” I laughed as I looked at the two of us.

The original plan had been for me to make him and his closest work friend dinner.  He has this idea that she and I should be best friends, so I offered to host dinner and a movie at my place.  Turns out she got shy and he had to work late, which suited me fine.  It’d given me a chance to see my old high school pal and peruse the grocery store at 9:30 at night along side lonely bachelors and single moms with their tired kids stuffed into grocery carts.

“What are we having?” he asked as he sidled up to me and cupped my breasts.  His chin rested on my shoulder and he peaked down to the stove top.

“Risotto with truffle oil, scallops and prawns and roasted asparagus,” I added,  “because I know you love that shit.  Simple and homey.  Will you set the table for us?”

He released my breasts and set to work telling me about his long and awful day at the office.  When he was finished with his chore he lay at the entrance of the kitchen and watched me with a smile on his face.  I brought him a glass of wine and he sipped appreciatively.  “I like this view,” he said and when I turned to look at him he was clearly staring at my bottom hanging out just an inch or so from my pj shorts.

“I’m glad you like it.  Like I said, we really dressed for dinner!”

He’d found some candles and dimmed the lights so when we sat down we were bathed in candlelight.  “This looks amazing, Hy,” he said.

“Well, here’s to hoping it doesn’t taste like shit!” I laughed as I said my usual little disclaimer before feeding someone.

We ate and talked like old friends, old lovers.  We mmm’d and awed over the perfectly cooked risotto (possibly one of my best efforts to date).  The heady, earthy truffle oil somehow made the meal more special, the moment more particular.  When not another morsel of food could be swallowed he stood up and held out his hand.

“Let’s go,” he said.

“Oh, TN, my belly!!  It’s so full!” I cried.

“It’s ok.  Let’s just go cuddle then.”

I took his hand and he led me to my room where a candle was already lit.  He gently pushed me down and climbed in next to me.  We threaded our legs together and he pulled me into his nook.  As we continued to talk he absent-mindedly fondled my breasts.  Then dropped his hand lower.

My belly still felt full, but my whole body was filling up.  With love, with lust, with the need to wrap myself around him.  I dropped my knees apart and granted him easier access.

His fingers pushed into me and swirled around the slippery skin.  He pressed against my clit and massaged it gently, expertly.  His expertise further titillated me.  “God,” I gasped, “You’re getting so fucking good at that.  It’s wonderful that I can trust you won’t hurt me.”  So many men manhandle me; I’m too sensitive.

“I’ve had a lot of practice,” he murmured into my neck.

“Yes.  Yes, you have,” I whispered into the space above us.

He kissed me then, then my face and my neck.  I let him seduce me, play my body like a cheap fucking fiddle.  He set the pace, when clothes came off and in what manner.  He massaged my thighs and my belly with his strong hands and dipped his mouth to my cunt.  His hot, flat tongue lapped at me like the good little boy he is.  Jesus fucking Christ, that kid is good.

He stopped with his mouth and sat up.  His erection bounced mightily between us.  He braced himself above me with one arm and guided his cock in with the other.  Slowly, he stretched into me.

“Oh my God, Hy.  You feel so good.  You’re so tight.”

I thrilled at the words so rarely spoken.  I often fear that I am not tight enough because he never says it and he has such a hard time cumming, but here he was exclaiming it with his own words.  A beam of sunshine burst inside of me as I arched up to meet him.

He pumped into me for minutes, hours, an eternity.  He growled and clung to me and flipped me around so I could grip the headboard.  He split my legs apart and put one on his shoulder, his penetration pinned me to the wall.  I felt him in my goddamned throat as my pussy sprung a leak and splattered us with her joy.

I cried and bucked beneath him as he stared down menacingly at me.  He switched my legs and continued to lash at my soul with his cock.  My tits jiggled with my belly as I was contorted into a sexual pretzel, immobilized with passion, his pussy. Always his pussy.

He stopped then and kissed me.  “I want to see you cum,” he said simply as he leaned over and grabbed my Hitachi.  I could only nod.

He pounded into me a few more times for good measure then took up his favorite spot of observing: his cock buried inside of me, my legs hooked over his hips, his head in his right hand, his left somewhere on my body.

The vibrations took me instantly and as his thrusts gently bumped into me like a boat in its dock the climax grew and grew.  My eyes closed and I imagined what we must look like: two naked, creamy bodies hinged together like mating dragonflies, breasts heavy, nipples pert, candlelight shadows flickered across us.

I cried out and panted and arched my back.  “That’s it, Hy,” he crooned.  “That’s it.”  His paws kneaded my breasts and I lay shaking beneath him.

“I want you to do it again,” he said.

I turned my head to look at him and his beautiful, boyish face was intent.  I nodded.  But before I could start he sat up between my legs and took me for a few thrusts, forever thrusts.  Thrusts that split my brain open and my stupid heart.  He was harder than ever and I silently marveled at his prowess… and my luck.

“I love,” I said as he worked himself inside of me, “fucking you,” I finished with a gasp.  “I am so lucky to have you.”

I nearly took it back — it was too much, too open — but it was also too late.  Wordlessly, he lay back on his side and flipped on the Magic Wand laying beside me.  “Another,” he said.

“Ok,” I nodded.

Each orgasm I have is different.  Each one has its own flavor, its own imagery.  This second one was swift, but low.  His thrusts continued with a methodical deviance that drove me wild.  My breath hitched and I began to quake.  His hand wrapped around my throat and squeezed; my orgasm lurched ahead.  So delicious, just. out. of. reach.  “Cum for me,” he suddenly said.  “Cum for me now, you fucking slut.  NOW.”

And then I did.

It spilled out of me like an avalanche and washed away all my cares, my hurts, and my worries.  With it came sobs and yowls, a wild animal was released from me.  “That’s right, baby,” he said between gritted teeth. “That’s my girl.”

I spiraled down from whatever planet I’d just touched with my celestial body and slammed back into myself with a cry.  The tears poured out of my eyes and my cries were loud and ugly.  If only I could find this much satisfaction in all of my life, all of my space, fill my loneliness with it and end my worry.

He slipped out of me then and pulled himself up behind me and held me as I continued to fall back down to reality.  “Shhhh, it’s ok. You’re ok,” he said as he pet my head and kissed my ear.  “It’s ok.”

Before I was fully myself again I pushed him onto his back.  His cock was still rock hard, bigger than imaginable.  “I want to suck it,” I said looking up at him from under my lashes.  “May I?”

He said yes, but assured me he wasn’t going to cum.  I promised him I wouldn’t try.

My arms felt weak from my orgasms as I gripped his shaft with my left hand and braced my upperbody with my right.  I stroked him gently, lovingly.  I flicked my tongue on his leaky aperture and sipped at his precum.  I swallowed him whole and tasted my own juices, light and heady.

He moaned and stretched beneath me, pulsed in my hand.  I closed my eyes and set a warm, steady rhythm with my soft mouth.  My arm trembled, but I ignored it.  My head worked like a piston, never slowing, never wavering.  Tirelessly I worked his cock.  I felt like I could do it forever — love on him in this way — but only a minute or two had passed.

I felt him stiffen beneath me, his thighs hardened like rock, his breath caught.  I didn’t change one thing.  I remained steady and sucked and lapped at him like my life depended on it.

He exploded into my mouth, thrust into my face as far as I could take him.  I felt his hot spurts on the back of my throat.  His wildly sexy grunts and pants proof that he, too, is human.  Just like me.

I pushed down on him for one last slurp and he began to giggle.  “Oh my God,” he exclaimed.  “Hy, you’re so good at that!”

“Well, thank you.  I try,” I smiled as I crawled up his chest and kissed him passionately.  He grabbed the back of my head and pressed me into him, tasting himself on me.

I flopped to his side then, completely exhausted.

We lay there looking at each other.  I pet his scruffy face and he pushed into my hand like a cat.  My cat.  “I really am going to miss you, you know,” he said then.

“Well, thank you,” was all I said in return.

Minutes or hours later, I didn’t really know (though I suspected the former) he got up and sought out his clothes.  He tucked me in and gave me a sweet, lingering goodbye kiss.  “Have a safe trip tomorrow,” he said as he walked out of my room.  “I’ll lock the front door.”

I was on a plane to San Francisco the next day.

I still love him.

photo
Spilling my guts in a coffee shop.

It’s happening again.

That lurch in my chest, that belly ache.  The wild sense of fear and loneliness has somehow returned in flashes here and there.  I can’t decipher if it’s because of the year I’ve had with him or because my life has primed me for fear of loss.

The funny thing is loss hasn’t killed me yet, so why would it now?  Fear is an infection on my life.  It steals the beauty of a bright blue day with sounds of twittering life on the breeze.  It robs the beauty of a moment between lips and thighs and puffs of breath.  It decimates the beauty of a feeling between beings, that raw, wondrous energy one human transfers to another.  Fear is death of all things beauty.

I’ve lost much in my life, like most — I’m no different from the hipsters sitting next to me.  Loss isn’t just a death of a being, it’s also the death of a thing, a feeling, an agreement.  Divorce is the death of a life planned and hoped for.  The death of love and trust, even faith.

And yet, I’m still kicking.  No loss has gotten the best of me.  I continue to grow, feel, love.  Why am I so afraid, then?

It confounds me that I fear losing TN so much.  What would happen to me? I wonder.  Well, I would hurt.  I would ache and flail and sob and shrivel up a little, but I wouldn’t die.  Perhaps I would find beauty in my pain.  I believe it exists there because pain is life and life is art.  Some put it on our bodies, others turn it out.  I put it into letters on pages and sometimes I put it into my pussy.

Pain is unavoidable and grand simultaneously.  It’s reassurance that we’re here.

And: I am falling in love with him all over again.  That’s why I fear.

I’ve been avoiding writing that sentence — even saying it to myself — for weeks now, but it’s unavoidably true.

I do.  I love him.  Perhaps I always will, I don’t know.

Switching to the top, becoming his Domme, has transformed me.  I feel as though it’s where I should have always been.  I feel frantic about it and stupidly calm.  He needs me to care, I need him to need me.  Why has it taken me this long in my life to surrender to this?  Would this have saved my marriage?  I’m certain my ex-husband would have plugged into this — wait, I should never speak in absolutes — I’m confident he would have liked it.  Maybe it would have salvaged our broken promises from the wreckage.

Feeling TN’s desire for me to care, to take charge, to reprimand him and tug him this way and that lights my insides like a Roman candle.  The trust between us is growing, my love expanding, and thus, my fear.  I am juggling two kittens and an ax.  One wrong toss and the kittens are ribbons and my hand gone.

We have spent night upon night together cuddling and/or inside each other — literally and figuratively.  Since last Monday, we haven’t played with our new roles much other than setting light boundaries.  The way he speaks to me, for example, is up for review.  He gets punished when he says things on the assumption that I am silly or that I am old.  It’s a brilliant way of communicating.

Me: I’m going to get an ice-cube for your bottom now.

Him: But the water will drip down!

Me (firm and holding up one finger): That’s 1, TN.

Him (thinking): It’s because I assumed you wouldn’t take care of the drips, right?

Me: Yes.  Good boy.  (SMACK!)

Me (as I’m cooking us dinner): Could you please put the dishes in the dishwasher away?

Him (smiling): Why?

Me (smiling back): Because of my bad back and because it’ll help me stay organized.

Him (with a face-splitting grin): It’s because you’re old, right?

Me (also still smiling): That’s 2.  You are not to make fun of my age any more.

Him: Yes Ma’am.

Touching him, his cock, his lips.  I feel as though they’re mine.  I require a kiss now before he leaves.  He always presents his bottom for a nice smack, but then I pull him back in to feel his 5 o’clock shadow on my face and under my fingertips, his pliant, warm lips on mine.  I take what I need and he obliges.

Sunday he donned another pair of my panties and vacuumed my apartment for me.  I languished on the couch in my yellow dress, breasts to my chin, and mused that I should probably invest in a nice vacuum cleaner, one that wouldn’t wrench my back each time I used it.  He stopped the rhythmic push and pull and stood up straight, and looked at me.

“I don’t think I like that idea.”

“Why not?”

“Because then you wouldn’t need me.”

And so the story goes.  He wants me to need him as much as I want him to need me, though we dance around labels and real commitment and loving each other as openly and proudly as we are able.

This week I felt myself unraveling.  That fear of loss has me stumbling and gasping.  He has pulled back infinitesimally and it I feel like it’s the Titanic to my iceberg.  It’s ridiculous: He didn’t want to cuddle with me Tuesday night.  It was the first night in weeks that we didn’t spend time with limbs entwined.  And last night, as we cuddled and he said firmly for me not to touch his beautiful cock with my mouth or pussy, he wasn’t forthcoming with details for his plans on Thursday.

“I don’t remember what they are,” he said, eyes closed, brow knit.

“You don’t remember?” I asked, clearly not believing him.

“Yeah, I don’t.  I’m all out of it tonight.”

And just like that, the seed was planted.  He has plans with a woman! I thought.  They’re probably just friends, but he doesn’t want to tell me. What does that mean?  How am I supposed to respond?? I’m like a dog with a bone.

When asked, he assured me that We were cool, that he was just in a bad mood and that it had nothing to do with me.  I emphasized that he was welcome to discuss any problems with me if he had them.  He accused me of being insecure.  I scoffed at that.  He had the wrong reaction to deduce that.  Yes, I am insecure, but guaranteeing open lines of communication is not the indicator.

When I see him, my heart skips, my eyes twinkle.  He loves on me, cuddles me, kisses my shoulder, strokes my hair.  He humps me.

When he was vacuuming my bedroom I jumped on the bed, lay on my stomach with ankles crossed.  His erection was mighty and straining at the cotton of my panties.  He turned the machine off and came around to my face.  I patted his meat and breathed on him.

“Lay down,” I told him and we switched spots.

I pulled my panties down over his hips and fell on him with my mouth.  I crawled up the length of him and he popped my breasts out of the top of my dress and sucked on them with exquisite perfection.  I slid down back between his knees and when I stood up we laughed because his cock was caught under my dress, popping a yellow plaid tent between us.

photo 1
Mine.

I reached down and grabbed his shaft.  “It looks like it’s mine,” I said.  He pulled up the fabric of my dress and I stood there with no panties on with a giant cock leaping out at him.  Again we laughed as I took a picture.  It really is mine.  We both know it, though never say it.

I rode him and he rode me, hearts pounded.  It was the old TN and Hy.  No D/s, just me losing my shit and him reveling in it.  “God, I love fucking you!” he said over and over.  I thrashed beneath him naked, my breasts round Jello domes of jiggle, my eyes fluttered to his unable to keep eye contact.  If only I could get him to remove one word.

Monday night shifted things inside of me.  For a few hours my fear was gone.  I know I have no control, I know that life will do as it wills, I know I am insignificant.  But for a few hours I was in charge of something important to me: Him and Us.

I scribbled words of devotion all over his body, though he didn’t know that’s how I meant them: “glorious cock,” “yummy chest,” “broad shoulders,” and, over his heart, “Good Boy”.  If he ever finds this blog I hope he sees the love seeping out of every word I’ve ever written about him, good, bad, or ugly.

He wrote on me.  It was his reward for behaving: “magnificent breasts,” “sexy, horny slut,” “hottest, wettest best pussy ever” with a little arrow to my shaved vulva.

photo 3
Reflection.

My fear of loss, my need for love.  They are constantly warring, constantly pulling me into a million little different directions.

I can’t say more.  I feel shy and protective of him now; I am incapable of sharing the details of the D/s encounters, my fingers will not move, but I feel beautifully vulnerable sharing the changes in me and the other wonderful sex and things between us.  I think I’m ok with the fear.

I think I’m happy.

photo 5
I shamefully admit: this is my love.

I have happy dreams.

I looked up into the bleachers and saw him there, sitting patiently in the cool autumn weather waiting for me to hit the stage.  I was terrified and nervous.  My fellow talent show participant had rubbed my shoulders moments before and asked me what I was so afraid of.  I’d told her, “Well, this is pretty much my worst nightmare: performing a song whose words I don’t and a dance routine whose steps I also don’t know.”  I shrugged it off as I looked at him smiling back at me.  He was there with me.

I stretched out under fluffy covers and turned my head.  My eyes blinked open and he laid there on his side facing me.  “I just had a nice dream about you,” I said quietly, testing to see if he was awake.  He didn’t move.

I fluffed my pillow and sunk my head back into it, wondered if it was the one he’d “dedicated” to me all those long months ago during that magically hopeful day, and drifted off back to sleep, a smile on my face.

I’d come over the night before at 2 am after a long, cold night with friends huddled around a bonfire and a mass of goddamned hipsters with the sole intent to cuddle.

I pulled my hat down around my ears and tied my coat as I trudged up the stairs in the blistering cold.  I unlocked my door, but turned to knock on his.  He opened it smiling and pulled me inside.

I shook with a chill and he took my purse and phone and keys and set them on the coffee table.  He peeled off my jacket and hat.  As he slipped off my cardigan I noticed the house was spotless, candlelit and filled with spicy incense.  “Come on, you,” he said as he took my hand and led me to his bedroom.

Gone were the piles of clothes and tissues I’d noticed earlier in the day, the random chair.  Warm light flooded the space and his bed was turned down.  He swept his arm out in invitation before pushing me down on the bed and removing my boots, socks, and tights.  Still in my dress, I crawled under the covers and he quickly disrobed and joined me.

Nestled in his arms we talked about our nights and he pet my hair as I splayed my fingers through the pelt on his chest.  I removed the rest of my clothes and pressed my swells against his side, he trapped my icy feet between his warm thighs.

As I dozed off he excused himself to go play on his computer, said he might go to a coffee shop.  he was wide awake.  I drowsily wondered if he’d want me to leave, but fell asleep before I could do anything about it.  Some time later I felt him return to me and snuggle close.

When I awoke again later in the morning, we were facing each other again.  I closed my eyes and felt his hand reach for mine and place it on his erection.  It was hot and stiff.  We giggled conspiratorially as he coached me on the perfect handjob.  Soon, I gave up and fell on hit with my face.  Fuck that shit; it takes too long.

I lapped and slobbered and gripped and sucked until a distant pounding at the back of my skull forced me to stop.  “I think I have a hangover, TN.  I have to stop.  I’m so sorry.”  I’ve never stopped a blowjob before.

“It’s ok.  I have a plan B,” he said as he sat up and pushed me down.  He reared up between my legs and slid deep inside of me in one long thrust.  He stared into my eyes as I groaned and I peeked back up through my lashes.  “You like that??” he asked.

“Uh huh,” I moaned back.

We bucked and slammed into each other until my pussy squelched and I cried out for fear of death by pleasure.  I gripped the headboard and pushed with all my might against him.  His flanks pounded into me as my hands ran up his chest and across his shoulders.

He leaned back and swung my legs up together in front of me.  He rode me hard and swung his heavy hand on the softer undersides of my thighs.  With each thwack I cringed and almost screamed.  Pound, pound, pound.  Slap, slap, slap.

I could see him gazing at me through the gaps in my legs, helpless to move, dependent on him completely for my release and my salvation.  Warm climaxes washed over me and I sobbed dryly as he collapsed exhausted on top of me.

“I’m sorry I had to stop blowing you,” I said again, knowing he wasn’t really disappointed.

“I don’t care.  I love fucking you,” he replied.

We lay tangled in each other’s arms with blankets and sheets awry for a while longer until he suggested breakfast.  I wearily gathered my things and only just barely covered my nudity before jumping across to my doormat and my unlocked door.  I’d had a feeling I wouldn’t want to be fumbling with keys when I finally left his apartment.  I’m glad I’d thought ahead.

His cock will be in me at midnight.

My malaise is somewhat percolating below the surface whenever we are apart; when we are together, it’s blown away like a cloud of gnats.

The Saturday before Christmas — after buying him a winter coat — The Neighbor gave me my first Christmas gift: a purple Rabbit.  Its cool, beaded  body sunk into me while his face latched onto my breasts.  It was overwhelming and my body rejected its ministrations.  It felt like a cold, little cucumber with hiccups.

So, his cock took over and he fucked me until I cried, pinned me on my back and stared deeply into my eyes as the daylight poured in through my bedroom windows.

He left me in a puddle and came back at 8, his handsome, boyish face plastered with a smile and his big paws holding one of those round fruitcake tins.  “It’s your second gift!” he said beaming.  I opened the lid and it was a gorgeous, 9 inch dildo.

“TN!!  It looks just like you!!”

We laughed and giggled at the likeness and he bent over my chair behind me and kissed my neck and nuzzled my cheek as I covered my face, overcome with emotion and bashfulness.

“Let’s watch a movie tonight,” he suggested.  I gathered up my cigarettes, a bottle of wine, popcorn, and of course the dildo, and marched next door.  I was quite literally vices on two legs.

I stuck the dildo on the coffee table and it stood guard as we snuggled down into each other to watch Tom Cruise do some impossible mission.  Half way through the movie, his cock distracted me and he tugged me back next door with his doppelgänger cock tucked under his arm.

“Why don’t we just fuck in your bed?” I wondered as I followed.

“The vibrator is here,” he replied simply.

Clothes flew off, a candle was lit, his mouth found its way between my legs.  His tongue hot, soft and pliant tucked inside of my folds and his five o’clock shadow scrubbed my soft inner thighs.  Cock in cunt, plundered.  Kisses, sighs, words of beauty.  Then two cocks inside of me.  I cried out as it burned and I stretched.

I relaxed and breathed around them both.  His eyes lit up as he began to move.  I drenched the man and the imposter and cried and shook as I sucked them both deep inside.

“Jesus Christ, that’s so tight,” he moaned.  I whimpered back and guided his hips to the smallest of thrusts.  Too much, too tight.  I felt womanly and proud.  A baby came through there.  I gave life and now I was giving pleasure, showing him something new and wondrous we could do with our  bodies.

My tears leaked down my face and he kissed them away and I pushed out and around and then he was alone inside of me.  He bucked into me hard and fast and I cried and I felt my ejaculate slip down the crack of my bottom and pool beneath me.

Vibrator and orgasm, hooked fingers, a wriggling, helpless fish I was.  I bawled and sobbed and couldn’t think, couldn’t see but for the stars.  He hushed me and pet me, made fun of me.  I managed to garble out a chastisement of my own, “If you’re going to make me lose my shit all the time, then you are not allowed to tease me.  You must only be kind to me.”

He chuckled and agreed and pulled me closer while I returned to my body.

Then, he left town the next dawn and with his absence the cloud of gnats returned.  I felt alone and adrift, heard little from him while he was gone, but, I know, more than anyone else got from him.

When he returned the day after Christmas I had Peyton and was slumped with sadness.  He’d been texting me from the airports, keeping me apprised of his whereabouts.  At approximately the time I’d guessed he’d be home I heard a thud of a neighbor’s door.  Five minutes later there was a knock on my door.

“Hi!” he said, coolly, handsome in his new pea coat.  “I have your last gift!”  I’d forgotten he’d told me there’d be three.  He brought his hand out from behind his back and handed me a small, white box.

“What is it??  I can’t open this if this is of an adult nature.  I have Peyton.”

“Ok, just look at the return address.”  It said something, something Hitachi.

My eyes flew open and I looked at him and squealed.  “Attachments?!”

He nodded and walked inside and covertly opened the box for me while Peyton told him all about the Christmas haul.  I hugged him and thanked him and welcomed him home.

He stole over later that night when sugar plums were dancing in the room next door and pounded me with his fat, glorious cock and held me and told me all about his awful holiday.  We spoke more about the sex party we were planning on going to the upcoming weekend and I continued to feel together, yet separate.  Happy and sad.  My life is sweet and savory.

Thursday night he visited again, and again I cried and l clung and sucked him dry.

The landscape, the season, the emotional canvas I have with him is not unlike how two magnets work.  They’re only drawn to one another when in proximity.  When I am separated from him I am filled with doubt about what it is I’m doing with him.  Can I handle this?  Am I tough enough?  Do I want to be?  My exhusband thinks I’m wasting time  — well, as does everyone else — but he doesn’t know what I get from this.  I’m still not sure, entirely.

No wait.  I guess I get a sex party.

I also get a sex party pre-party where he fucks me up one side and down the other in our hotel room; I get to hear how beautiful and sexy and awesome he thinks I am; I get to travel with him to distant cities; I get to share his unique sexiness with a wonderful friend and be ourselves; I get to suck on his glorious cock and be taken to physical heights I never knew existed; I get to blow him in a room filled with people where a pile of girls are making love behind me; I get to suck his cock and then let two other girls suck him off as I slobber on their men around a campfire; I get to take a couple back to our room and fuck him while she and I hold hands and our men stuff our pussies; I get to have him devour one breast while she laps the other — soft and sweet on the left, harsh and demanding on the right; and lastly, I get to hear him tell me that he will look back on our time together with nothing but fondness when it ends because, “Before you, I was nothing.  I was no where.  You made me somewhere and something.  I stabilized you, but you made me be something.”

And this afternoon I got to try out what I’m calling the Gonzo Hitachi attachment and when I was spent and my body done quaking I took a picture of it and sent it to him not knowing he was next door.  But soon his cock was shoved down my throat and Gonzo was buried back deep inside of me as he told me what a good girl I was.  His fingers hooked back inside of me after I came again and he brought me a warm g-spot climax and then left to return to the office.

I am alone for the next two hours until he comes back to me after visiting two of his friends’ parties.  I was not invited.  I wrestle with how that makes me feel, but then again, I get him for the rest of the night and our plan is to have him buried deep inside of me at midnight with champagne cascading down the swells of my breasts and the tips of my nipples little bubbly shooters to his open, eager mouth.  Shrooms will be laced in our tea and we will be on a different plane of being, full, vulnerable and determined to never forget each other for the next several hours.  And certainly the rest of our lives.

Happy New Year, Internet Boyfriend.  Be safe, love big, and I hope everyone gets their rocks off in glorious fashion tonight.

photo 1
Tits and bubbles.

 

 

 

I bruised my hand from spanking.

Wine glass in hand I lay on Tina’s bed.  She was touching up the paint on her toes and we were talking life, love, and threesomes.  My phone chimed.

“It’s The Neighbor, isn’t it?”

I picked it up.  “Yep,” I said smiling.  It was his cock.

He knew I was over there.  I’d asked him to send me a cock pic earlier and he’d asked for a minute or two to clean up from the gym.  I’d told him, “Good boy,” and sent him a picture of my cleavage with Tina’s cool hand in the cleft.

“Jesus Christ,” he’d texted.  “I appreciate you so much.  I’ll be home in a few minutes, unless I crash while looking at that picture in which case I will die smiling.”

TN has been body-snatched, y’all.

“I’ll be home soon,” I’d replied.  “Leave your door unlocked.  What a sweet boy.”

Fifteen minutes later he sent the perfect Bat Signal: the image of him buck-ass naked holding his giant erection.

My response was immediate to him.  “Wow. Got the pic.  Leaving this second.”  I turned to Tina.  “I gotta go,” I told her laughing.

“Yeah, you do. Damn, that guy has it bad for you.  What the hell did he say to you just now?”

Nothing,” I smirked.

He answered the door glowing white and naked and let me in.  I walked back to his bed and sat down, but he begged me to get up.  He still hasn’t been able to stabilize it since we broke it last week.  “Just go next door.  I’ll be right there.  I promise.”

I complied and no sooner had I hung up my purse and things than he walked through the door, sadly clothed.  We sat on the couch and found each other with our mouths.  My hands ran up his shorts and found his arousal.  I peeled off my sweater and glowed under his appraising eyes.  I have never felt more beautiful with this man than I have in the past 48 hours.

I sucked and kneaded and kissed and nibbled.  He sucked and kneaded and kissed and nibbled.  “Lets go in your room,” he said.

He unzipped my boots with his teeth and tossed them on the floor with a laugh.  I was in black lace panties and knee-high socks with white stripes at the top.  “Jesus Christ, you’re hot,” he moaned and fell on top of me, crushed me with his mouth and muscles and warm, creamy skin.

“I want to turn your lily-white ass red,” I moaned back.

He stopped short then kept kissing me, dipping into my mouth and looking into my eyes.  I stared back at him, bold and unafraid of my own passion.  “Yes.  Get on your belly.”

He rolled off of me and lay quietly below me.  I spread his knees and positioned myself between them and struck his right buttock.  Hard. “What do you want to tell me if you’ve had enough?” I asked him, too shy to say “safeword.”

“You mean a safeword??”

“Yes.  I’m going to hurt you, but I’m no sadist.  You have all the control here.  What’s your word?”

“Kiwi.”

“Good.  Thank you,” I said and cracked my hand down on his right flank.  I struck and wailed and rained my hand down upon him.  He writhed and tried to crawl away from me.  I wrapped my arm beneath his hips and pulled him back to me.  Asked him if I ever tried to get away from him?

I pressed my thighs into his and kissed his inflamed skin, crooned to him, told him he was a good boy.  I told him how hot he was.

He whimpered and tried to curl up with each blow, but it took no effort for me to pull him closer back to me, to my warmth and love.

I concentrated on one space of his canvas only occasionally breaking to the left.  My hand stung and my pussy dripped.  I felt time freeze and my heart swell outside of my body.  I could see every hair on his body and smell his pleasure and his fear and his contentment like fresh-baked cookies.

I paused as he laughed and cried into the mattress.  I felt a strange kind of remorse for what I’d done, but also a sick sense of pride.  I needed to care of him.  “I’ll be right back,” I told him.  “Don’t move, honey.”

I ran and grabbed an ice-cube and returned to the glowing ember of his ass.  He started when I put the cool rock on his skin, but relaxed as it slid beneath my palm.   As the water ran down his hips and between his buttocks I caressed the heat and pressed my lips to him.

“Is that better?” I whispered against his bottom and kissed it tenderly.

“Yes,” he answered and then my hand cracked down on the wet spot.

I fondled his soft cock and gently tugged on his balls as I brought the heat back to his backside, then slid my hand to his crack and pressed at the little starfish in the center.  He tried to retreat.  “I won’t hurt you.  It’s ok.”

“But what if I’m dirty?”  he worried.

“You’re not dirty.  Your ass is beautiful and I want it.  Come here,” and I pulled him back to me and spread his knees further.  “Arch your back,” I said softly.  He arched and I pressed just one slender finger inside of him.  He was so tight I felt my own center quicken.  Oh, how I wished I had a cock to slip deep inside of him, all the way to my hips, to feel him tight around me and writhing.   Men are so lucky.

I felt for the invisible scar on his lower back with my free hand and kissed its raised skin, wishing all the reasons it was there never existed.  My poor friend.  He never deserved any of that.  My breasts pressed into his soft ass.

I barely wiggled around inside of him, only one knuckle, and continued to spank him.  I was afraid of going too far with my fragile new toy; my finger one little thread holding the beautiful puppet before me.

“I want to leave a mark on you, like you do me.” I told him.

“Do it,” he agreed.  “Let’s see how you’re doing so far.”  I let him get up and he swung his bottom into the light of the bathroom.  There were broken capillaries, but no deep, blooming welts like he leaves on me.  With a quick hand I struck him again.  He winced, but remained still.

My hand stung and throbbed and I suddenly knew we were done.  I couldn’t think straight, my memory of minutes before was blurry.  I’m not even sure I have the lead up to this right.  I could be writing complete fiction.

I next remember laying with him and him asking me, “When did this happen, Hy?  I didn’t know you had this in you.”

I thought for a second.  “It’s always been there, but this trust you give me, it sets it free.  It’s so hot, so beautiful.  It turns me on so much. You have no idea.  Do you like it??”  Suddenly I was unsure, worried I’d hurt him, terrified him.

“Yes,” he answered.  Maybe he said he loved it or thought it was fucking hot.  Again, I can’t remember, my brain was scrambled and I still can’t sort it all out.

He stroked me, kissed me, touched me, dipped his fingers inside and exclaimed at my wetness.  He started to slam his hand inside of me and a climax came up and washed over me and right out my pulsing hole, a river of emotion and arousal bounding down a mountainside of flesh.

Then he pulled me into his arms and held me and kissed me tenderly.  “Do you ever have to think about it when you spank me?” I asked him.  “Does it come naturally to you?  You’re not just doing that for my sake, are you?”

“No, not at all.  I love it.  It just happens to me, too.”

He rolled into me and spooned me warmly, wrapped his arm around me and squeezed and kissed my neck.  I began to talk gibberish and found myself awakening in mid-sentence as I struggled to maintain consciousness.  He giggled at me and I flushed at my own vulnerability — the only thing worse would be to be caught drooling in my sleep.

He rose then and tucked me in.  I muttered something — incoherent, perhaps — and I’d like to think he kissed me somewhere before leaving saying he’d lock the door behind him, but I don’t remember.  I was already fast asleep, my hand scalded and bruised from abuse.

photo(4)
I will never shake hands cavalierly again.

 

 

I give my first spanking.

Yesterday was a long day of missed opportunities and the usual guilt that comes with an overly flexible schedule and not enough to do.  Coffee-pumped and butt-sore from writing all day I left the coffee shop to shop for dinner for Peyton and my ex.

The day was bright and beautiful, the weather strangely warm with a cool undertone, like one of those filtered Instagram pics everyone is so fond of using.  I bought some sole, celery root, and squash, a nice Spanish red and two bricks of butter.  My navy blue glasses perched on my head like the unused torture-devices they were; I squinted the entire time in the store and hoped no one I knew thought I was ignoring them if they saw me.

Earlier in the day, I’d texted The Neighbor about something and he’d said, “We’ll talk later [about me pulling away].”  I sent him a picture of my pussy from beneath my skirt with a winky face in return (I’m nothing if not subtle) and went about my strange, lazy, mostly unproductive day.

I considered warning him that my ex and Peyton were over in case he popped by, but decided against it; I’d rather see what happened in real-time rather than trying to strong-arm the situation into something “easy.”  I shouldn’t have worried; he didn’t show his face.

I accidentally insulted my ex, loved on my baby, made a fabulous celery root puree with papillon sole wrapped around thyme and nestled on a bed of matchstick squash and herbs, and almost had too much wine.  It was 7:30 when they left.

I stood in my apartment and felt lucky.  Lucky to be alive, to feel strong, to feel safe and stable.  I’ve made terrific new friends over the last year and I feel like my cup runneth over with love, attention, things to do and places to be.  Not having any plans made me feel free and open and not at all lonely like I might have felt in the past.

TN’s silence all day since our morning texts occurred to me occasionally, but didn’t linger.  I would let him come to me on his own time.  I would worry only about me and set the tone as I vowed to do a couple of days ago.

My back ached and the tub called out to me.  Himalayan bath salts spiked the warm air as I drew my bath, poured myself a third glass of wine and got my book.  TN flashed in my mind again.  Would he knock while I was in the bath?  Should I keep my phone close in case he did?  I deliberately left it out of reach.  I could be unreachable for an hour.  We’d both survive.

I lay in that water until it was lukewarm and my neck ached for straining to read.  Then, “brrrrrrring!”  The chime on my phone went off.  I stood up and wrapped myself in a towel.  I knew it was him.

“You awake?” my phone glowed.  It was 10 pm.

“Yeah.  What’s up?”

“I want to cum on your face.”

“Haha.  Give me 10 and I’ll text you when I’m out.”

“K.”

“Save that cum, Neighbor.”

I turned on the shower and shaved and lathered with sweet-smelling things never actually found in the wild – berries and vanilla and honey and love.  As I stepped out, steaming and slick, an idea hit me.  I picked up my phone again.

“Come in and lay on my couch.  No pants.  I’ll be out in a minute.”

Instinctively I knew he would comply.  I took my time finding sheer black panties and see-through white t-shirt and began to blow-dry my hair.  I knew he could hear it from the other room.  When my hair was dry enough to not be cold on his warm skin while I impaled my face on him, I quietly turned out the lights, grabbed my glass of wine and walked out into the living room.

He was there, under a blanket, stroking himself.  The Christmas tree lights glowed a soft pink on him.  I sauntered closer and said, “Well, isn’t this a wonderful sight to see.”  I bent over his face to place my glass on the table beside him.  I stood and peeled back the blanket.  His pants were gone.

“Mmm.  I like this,” and without another word I fell on his cock, warm and delicious and clean.  He swelled in my hand and mouth and he sucked in his breath.

“Oh my God, I’m so sensitive… softer, softer,” he begged.

I lightened my touch and he moaned and exclaimed again, this time for perfection.

I swung my bottom around so he could get a good view of it and he snaked his hands between my legs and began to pet my pulsing vulva.  I whimpered and gagged on his cock.  He lightly swatted my rear end.

I sat up and stretched long and lean in the light and pulled my shirt over my head and returned my breasts to his mouth.  He clutched at them both and sucked on both nipples at once.  He stared up at me from those white mounds and I remembered him saying, “You must have been so beautiful pregnant.  I would never have stopped sucking on your tits.”  I groaned and closed my eyes and clutched his head to me and began to slide my crotch along his erection, the skin caught on the lace of my panties.

“Help me take these off,” I breathed into his ear.

“No.  Keep them on,” he retorted.  My eyebrow lifted in interest as I pulled the fabric aside and leaned over, my  head resting on his shoulder.  My free hand found his cock and guided it in.  I was wet and ready.  I slowly bore down and sat up and a squeal escaped my lips.

I rocked hard on him and felt blossom after blossom bloom in my chest, but I stopped before I released on him and got off and turned around, my knees on the edge of the couch, my back arched, my ass silhouetted against the lights and returned my mouth to his tasty pole.

I could taste myself, slightly metallic from some very light spotting, clean and womanly all the same.  His hand stroked my flank gently, no spanking.  I pivoted around so I was between his knees with one shapely leg to the floor and began to work him.  It was swift and compulsive.  His semen shot down my throat, his hands forced my head down lower than I could take and I felt spurts at the back of my throat.

He tasted of ambrosia and his laughter filled the air like so many butterflies.

I quickly climbed back on him and put him inside of me.  I rocked a little, but not much.  He continued to laugh and convulse.  He’d lost it a little; a fine reminder that he likes to be subdued by me.

We talked like that for a while, him going soft inside of me.  I offered him a sip of my wine but he refused.  “I’m at exactly 1600 calories today and I don’t want to ruin it.”

“You know,” I began, looking down at him with his cock peacefully hugged inside my body, “I’m really proud of you for doing this.  I hope you enjoy it.”

“You know, I kinda do.  And just wait, you’re gonna be so happy when you get to be with this hot, buff dude one day.”

I smiled.  “I already think you’re hot, but ok!  And just wait, you must be so happy to be with me!  Big boobs, big ass –” He cut me off.

“Hy, no, I get to be with this voluptuous, gorgeous, sexy woman!”  I melted under the praise so rarely meted out, each word emphasized with a stroke of his hands on my curves.  “I want to see you cum.  Let’s go in your room.”

We walked naked back to the darkness of my room, the candle I’d lit during my bath sputtering like dappled light through trees.  He spanked me then, hard.  I leaned my bottom back into the cradle of his pelvis.  “Get on the bed, Hy.”

“No.  Hit me again.”  I bent over the bed and arched a little.  His hand rained down on me as I writhed then climbed up and lay down.  He hooked his fingers inside of me and began to stroke.  “No, please, be gentle,” I begged.  His stroking softened and he handed me my vibe.

“I came 4 times yesterday before you made me cum,” I said.  “I tried again this morning, but I was too sensitive.  I hope this works now.”  He chuckled and dipped his head to my breast as answer.

I turned on the vibrator and timidly placed it on my clit.  I jumped at the sensation and began the almost nauseating climb up.  He teased and coaxed me with his hand and fingers and the vibrator played dastardly collaborator to his stroking.  I twisted, panted, and moaned.

His free hand latched onto my throat and gently squeezed.  My arousal leapt to a new plateau; exquisite, painful, beautiful, blinding.  My cunt throbbed and I searched for release, but the tension was so intense I was lost.  I flipped the vibrator off and managed to whisper, “Edging… I’m edging.. too much… might die.”

His warm, deep chuckle filled my ears and I flicked the toy back on.  This time, I leapt to a level above the previous.  I quivered and shook, nearly felt sick.  His hand flew to my neck and he growled, “Fucking cum for me now, you fucking slut.  NOW.”

I yearned for it, sought and fought for it, but this new place had me spinning out of control.  I began to cry and I could only feel his breath on my face for my eyes were sealed shut. I broke it off for a handful of seconds, begging to rest, but he said, “No.  I’m taking this.  Now.”  And his hand slammed into me and my pussy cried its pleasure into his cupped palm and my body incinerated into flames of desire.

I went back to it with my toy, motioned for his hand to return to my neck, and swiftly and powerfully climaxed out of the planes of my body into somewhere out there.

A puddle of a woman I cried as he climbed back over me and tucked me into his arms.  He crooned and hushed me sweetly.  I barely knew how to talk.  He was happy with me.  I was happy with me.  This is how we communicate, the two of us.  These two idiots who can’t stay away, but can’t be together.

I told him I’d been obsessing about playing with his ass.  For weeks now, ever since I’d learned he had a butt plug collection from his Domme days I have tried — and failed — to bring it into our bedrooms.  “I want to play with your pretty ass, TN.  I really do.  I’m obsessed with it.”

He paused for a second and finally said.  “Ok.  Just give me a heads up of an hour.  When do you want to do it?”

Immediately I said, “Friday.  And Saturday.  And Sunday, too.”  We laughed and settled on Friday.

When I had cooled down more and felt righted he stood up and walked around to my side of the bed.  I sucked his chubby cock gently and answered more of his questions.  “What’s it like to suck cock?”  “What’s it like to swallow cum?”  “Is it fun?”  “Does it taste good?”

“It’s wonderful.  It’s a little scary sometimes because I have no control.  Its the best thing ever. You taste amazing.”

He pulled out and turned to the side.  “Spank me,” he said.

Surprised, I complied.  I missed and tried again.  Good, hard, stinging contact.  “Ow,” he cried.

“C’mere,” I purred and pulled his wrist down towards the bed and laid him prostrate across my lap.  I struck his round, white bottom with alacrity, a steady hand and thoughtful heart.  He jolted with each smack and I caressed his angry skin.  “Stand up,” I commanded.

I positioned him just like he’d had me minutes before.  His lily whiteness outlined by my dark aubergine sheets.  I could see a curve in his waist and it brought me up short.  I didn’t know men could look so soft from behind.

With some force I brought my hand down on his right flank.  I felt it in my own cheek.  Again and again and with each crack he arched his back and howled and twisted, and I would hold his hips tenderly and press my thighs into the backs of his, press my hand warmly on the sting, kiss it sweetly to make it better.

My excitement grew; the trust he handed me intoxicating like a fine whiskey.

“You’re a good boy,” I said.

He answered with an “Mmmm.”

I returned to my ministrations and could see it was hurting more with each blow.  I began to lighten my touch, but continued to focus on the same, hot, weeping spot.  Finally, I stopped and kissed his red skin one last time.  “Stand up.  Let’s see it in the light.”

He flipped on the light and we looked at his buns.  A nice, round cherry-red mark glowed before us.

“I want it darker,” he said and walked back to the edge of the bed and bent over.

I worried about hurting him, but thrilled at the idea of creating something with my hand on the canvas of his body.  I struck him several more times until I knew I couldn’t bear it anymore.  We checked the red in the light again and it was brighter still, like the shameful blush of a masturbating teenaged boy who’d been interrupted by his mother.

“That’s better,” he approved.  I took a picture and sent it to him.  His bubbly butt marred by my first spanking ever.

We returned to the couch to gather his things.  “I’m not going to cum again until Jack and Emma on Sunday,” he mentioned casually.

“No,” I countered, “You can cum, but only with me.” He looked pensive for a split second then agreed.  “Besides, your ass is mine Friday, remember??”

“Oh, right,” he smiled as he pulled his clothes back on.  Dressed and ready to leave now we unhesitatingly went to each other for a goodnight kiss.  It was deep, passionate and hard, sweetness proven with our roaming hands and our bodies pressed against each other from hip to shoulder.

It felt real to me, authentic.  We love each other.  He is my best friend.  I fuck him.  Finally, finally, I have figured out where to put this in my heart: I am fucking my best friend.

I need to be preferred.

My heart thudded in my ribcage, my breath caught in my throat.  It was dark in my room and only the sweet-smelling candle gave light.  What had happened?  Why was I awake?

My pulse loud in my ears I stood up and walked to the front door.  Though I hadn’t heard anything, it was the only explanation.  He had knocked.

I opened the door and a gust of wind blew by me.  I caught his heels running into the mouth of his cave.  My sleep-fogged mind scratched its head.  He quickly returned before I could even think to shut the door.

“Here,” he said and handed me a prescription bottle.  I was still confused and just looked at him standing there braless in a white v-neck and black lace panties.  “For your pain.  You asked me earlier?”

“Oh, right,” I mumbled.  “Come in.”

He followed me through the dark and winking apartment.  Christmas tree lights illuminating my questionable decisions as usual.  “Lay down,” I said simply and he went to his side of the bed and climbed in.

I flopped down beside him still disoriented, my heart still not back to its usual 60.  He patted me and rubbed me.  We haven’t seen each other like this in days.  I felt like I’d been missing him.  Maybe he felt similarly because his warm hands didn’t leave my body.

“Mmm.  See-through panties!” he exclaimed.  I rolled over and showed him my round bottom.  He spanked me and I rolled back on my belly and giggled sleepily.  His hand crept to the cleft of my legs and I lifted my hips.  His fingertips began a slow circle over my lace-trapped clit.

A small ball of heat appeared in my center and I gently lowered and lifted my hips.  My back pain completely forgotten amidst my purrs of contentment.

His hand left me and pushed on my hip.  I rolled onto my back and he returned to me.  My lashes fluttered and I could see him staring at me, his head held in one hand while his other pushed me into the brightness of arousal.  I looked at him as I could, but his gaze, so lustful, so him pushed me back below my eyelids.  I concentrated on the sensations between my legs and in my gut.

He stopped and I realized I was panting lightly.  “Did you like that?” he asked rhetorically.

“Yes.  Yes I did.”  My hand ran along his torso, his clothing suddenly an offense I couldn’t bear.  “Take off your clothes.”

He played coy for a second and I repeated myself.  He removed his shirt and ran my hand over his muscular abs covered in his light furry hair.  “I feel them.  I always feel them,” I crooned as I kissed each little pack.  “Now take these off,” and I tugged on his shorts.  “I said all of it.”

He peeled them down and I curled up on my knees, perpendicular to him and fell on his shaft with my mouth.  He was huge and hard.  His hand came down on my flank 1, 2, 6 times.  Each smack I winced and whimpered, but didn’t hurt his tender member gingerly captured in my mouth.

“Get on your back,” he ordered.

I didn’t move.  “No.  I’m going to suck you.”

Then he hit me on the lace.  I grinned around his glorious cock.  “I said, ‘Get on your back’!” he said more forcefully.

I sucked harder and I heard him moan and he leapt in my hand.  He was close.  I was thinking about his jizz drenching my mouth, lips and throat when I felt another sting.  “NOW, goddamnit,” he said through gritted teeth while pushing me off of him.  I went to dive back down and he grabbed me by the shoulders and pinned me down, spread my knees, and slid into me.

A tumble and a wrestle, a small battle of wills where I felt us slip into our rightful, comfortable places with the sounds of a sloppy wet pussy.  *click*

He drove into me slowly and bumped into my cervix.  I winced and curled my hands around the bars of my headboard, tilted just so so he could get past it.  He went slow, feeling my heat wrap around him with each long, unendurable thrust.

I began to whimper as my arousal spread across my chest and tendrils wrapped their way around my hips and pelvis.  My cervix lifted like a good girl and he began to slam into me; I no longer had to tilt.

His beautiful face looked down at me, a slight curve of a smile on his lips.  Everything I’d thought of the past few days were bubbles popping one by one overhead.  Yes, I love him.  Yes, this is complicated.  Yes, he cares about me.  Yes, it’d be nice to have more.  Yes, I’m ok with what this is.  Yes, I feel special.  Yes, I don’t give a fuck about any other woman.  Yes, I feel unendangered in his life.  Yes, he wants me.

I wrapped my legs around his pumping hips and locked my ankles and drew him in closer, harder, deeper.  My pussy’s squelching and the bed’s disgruntled squeaks joined my moans and helpless cries and The Neighbor’s pants.  A symphony of passion.

He sat up and rested on his haunches and I pushed my bottom up onto the tops of his thighs and wrapped my legs tighter around him, my arms overhead pushing me further down his rod.  He chuckled and then fell forward and wrapped his arms around me, kissed my neck and began to move again.

He sat back up and put my ankles together over my face.  I began to sob and cover my face.  The intensity of pleasure centered around my cunt more than I could bear.  I began to gush, my hot juices running down the crack of my bottom and pooling beneath me.  He slammed into me harder then gently left me.

“Stand up on and lean over the bed,” he said.  I pushed myself up on trembling arms and wiggled off the bed.  He handed me my vibe and entered me from behind.

I collapsed on the mattress and held the vibrating head to the bulkhead of my desire.  I began to shake and tremble.  He twisted this way and that inside of me.  It was too much for me to cum; I was overloaded.

He gently lifted me up on to the bed and hooked his fingers inside of me as I replaced the Hitachi on my mound.  He was gentle knowing that if he was too forceful I would gush and be done too soon.

Slow and rhythmic he pet me.  My mind’s eye saw him glowing in candlelight, looking down at me affectionately, attentively and the swirling, curling mass of pleasure released the waters of my sex and the pool beneath me spread like a dead man’s blood.  I came hard and deep and cried and bucked.  He gently hung onto me and when I was done he climbed over me and laid down.

I sobbed and laughed for ten minutes.  “What’s the square root of 49?” he asked me.  I couldn’t remember.

We laughed and slowly pet me as I curled up into his arms and waited to return to myself.  His penis was chubby, but done.  I was disappointed that I couldn’t get him to cum, but he was busy telling me how awesome that had been for me to worry about it all that much and I let it go as I would a leaf in the wind.

Monday night when I’d told him Jack and Emma were definitely coming over this weekend he was excited; his face lit up and he bounced in his seat a little.  “I won’t cum until they’re here, or with just you!” he’d promised.  I’d only smiled and beamed inside at his acceptance of this new and strange thing entering his life and at the prospect of lots of his cum.

Laying in his arms last night I decided to broach one of the things on my mind.  “So, I want to talk about this group sex stuff.  I’m going to need different things from you.  It’s just how I am.  I know what I need based on my experiences with Troy.”  He nodded and urged me to continue.  “Like, for example, I’m going to need to hold your hand at that party.  And I’m going to need to feel like you think I’m the most beautiful woman there.  That you prefer me.”

“I know, Hy,” he said gently.  “You’ve mentioned this before.” I cringed under my own absent-mindedness and continued to play with the languid meat between his legs.  “Don’t worry, I understand completely.”

I sunk deeper into the mattress and splayed my fingers through his chest hair.  “What are you worried about with all of this?  How are you feeling about Jack and Emma coming over?  Jack wants to do a ‘Sunday brunch with champagne, croissants, and lechery’.”

“I’m worried that I’m going to freak out and shut down.  Or that I won’t be able to get hard.  I’m pretty sure I’ll be ok, but I’m just not sure.”

“Well, what do you want to do with them?  I’m not even clear on what I want to do other than have them watch us.  Jack has Emma on a ‘no-refusal’ weekend as her Dom.  And don’t forget, if you start to freak out, I’m there with you.  You’re not alone.”  He nodded his understanding.

“Do you want to fuck Jack??”

“Not particularly.  I’ve never been attracted to him, but he’s a wonderful playmate and a sweet guy and he’s hung like a mule.  I trust him, but no, I’d never feel like I had to fuck him.  If you told me to fuck him while I sucked you, however… that’s hot and I’d do that.”

His face split into a huge grin and he stroked his chin like an evil genius.  “Hmm,” he said, “That would be hot.  What if we both fucked you together?  How would Emma feel?”

“Emma is his sub.  She’ll do anything he wants.  He absolutely adores her, cherishes her.  They have a wonderful bond and therefore she’s never jealous.”

We talked some more about the intricacies of group sex, how much I loved it and I could sense his exploration in his thoughtful questions.  He was poking places in his psyche he’s never bothered with before.

He got up to dress and had a hell of a time finding his clothes trapped in my twisted bedding.  I laughed and stretched out to turn on the light.  “Wow, Hy.  You look really beautiful right now,” he said suddenly as his eyes rested on my body.  “Your just-fucked hair, red cheeks, the spank marks.”

“Well, thanks, TN.”

He found his clothes and slipped them on and came around and captured a nipple in his mouth.  He stood and began to walk away.  “Wait.  Come kiss me.”  He drew closer and I pulled him down to me and he crushed my mouth with his.  He pulled away and I looked him in the eyes.  “I’m not some pussy-hole, you know.  You kiss me.  Sometimes I think you freak out when you think we’re getting too close.”

“I don’t ‘freak out,’ I just pull away.  We’ll talk later.”

He began to say something, then dropped it and returned his mouth to mine, deep and passionate.  I rose and walked him naked to the front door and said goodnight smiling sweet smiles.

He invited me to a potluck.

“You home?” he texted. “I just knocked and no one answered.”

“No,” I replied. “I was, but then I left to get baby-blocking pills. Home in 15.”

When I climbed the stairs with my new suitcase I fumbled with my keys and the kitchen mats under my arm my mother had bought me. His door opened. He looked handsome and sweet in his basketball shorts and shirtlessness.

“Hi!” I said beaming. He beamed back. “Were you waiting for me?? What are you doing?”

“Yes. I had my eye on the peephole for 20 minutes waiting for you!”

“Ok, come on in,” I said swinging the door open.

We walked in and I futzed around chattering about nothing as I put my things down. Arms free I opened them and walked towards him. I’d decided to hug him as I would any friend after a time apart. He walked into my hug and held me tight. “You did it!” I said squeezing him. I felt his arms tighten around me and his head bury into my neck.

“I did!” he mumbled into my skin.

I stepped back and rubbed his arms and walked away and went about tidying up my apartment.

“I want to lie down in your bed,” he announced.

“Go ahead. I’ll be right there.”

I joined him and flopped my suitcase on the bed. “Are you packing??” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Don’t. Come talk to me!”

I put my chore aside and cleared a space for me to lay next to him. He wanted to know all about my days away from him, every little thing I did. I went through each day, laughing as I set milestones around the pics I’d sent him. He touched my leg, my arm. I leaned between his.

“C’mere,” he beckoned. “Lie down.” I did.

His hands found my skin as we continued to talk. I reached back to adjust my panties and pulled a rip in the lace. “Goddamnit,” I complained, “I just tore my panties! I made a hole!”

“Lemme see,” he said leaning over me. “What about this hole?” he asked with a dirty smirk and a grab for my pussy. He made hard, circular motions on my clit over my panties.

“Well, there’s a hole in there, too,” I teased.

His hand worked magic. I had trouble finishing my weekend story. When I was done he pulled my panties down and pooled his shorts on the floor, spread my knees and positioned himself over me.

“Ok, tell me about your weekend,” I said as he dipped his fingers inside of me.

“When my parents met me at the airport,” he began, “the car was packed and my brother was in there.” He removed his hand from me and gripped his cock instead and aimed it at my wetness. “We went immediately to the cabin,” he said as he slid inside of me.

I struggled to concentrate as he slowly, gently fucked me. His words never wavered as he pumped against me. I gripped the metal swirls of my headboard and did my best to listen.

He spoke of history tours and museums, “That’s when I bought you your souvenir — I’ll have to bring that over later,” he said to himself as he continued to thrust. His face was placid, his hips were rabid. I was a laughing, titillated mess.

His story finally over we forgot to talk anymore. He pounded into me and my pussy squelched around us. I kissed his neck, grazed my teeth against his jaw and kissed his ear. He buried his face in my neck and hair and kissed me, sucked on my breast and pistoned away like a mechanical pony.

I tossed my head back and forth and watched him through my lashes. His eyes never left my face.

He stood up and pulled out, exhausted. “I need a break for a second,” he panted and offered me his cock. I took him in my mouth, my pussy a light, fragrant bouquet in my nostrils.

“Mmm, I taste good,” I mumbled around his meat. “You should try this for yourself some time.”

I continued to slurp and suck and grip until he gently pushed me back and told me to scoot over. He spread my knees and pulled me to the edge of the bed and kneeled down. His mouth descended on me with gentle pressure. I told him to use his fingers to stretch my hole and he obediently followed directions.

I panted and writhed under his ministrations. My hands tingled, I saw stars. I needed a break and begged him to stop. He lifted his head and climbed up on top of me. I pulled his face down to mine and kissed me off of him like a layer of frosting.

He fingered me, he fucked me, he sucked me, he loved me, he hit me, he watched me. I fucked him back, bucked on him, loved him, watched him back.

Standing on the floor, my bottom hanging off the edge, he parted my legs like the sea and watched my tits bounce and flounce to the rhythm of his cock. His face beautiful in the soft light of my room, his shoulders broad and arms flexed.

He reached behind him and handed me my vibrator. I came hard and loud around him. I quivered and cried as he told me I was hot and beautiful, how good it felt. He handed it to me again and another orgasm screamed through me.

He pulled out and pulled me with him as I sobbed alone. “Hy, it’s ok. Come here,” he crooned and opened his arms. I moved into the crook of his arms and cried into the fur of his chest. His fingers traced the lines of my back as I tried to gather myself.

“I’m sorry,” I squeaked.

“For what??”

“For making your erection go away.” He’d gone soft during my second orgasm.

“Aw, it’s ok. It’s tired, don’t worry.” I still felt bad. Then again, he is only human and an hour of vigorous, hard fucking can undo any man.

We lay tangled together for a while until I got antsy. This is when he usually leaves. I felt it. But I was wrong.

I got up and handed him his glass of wine. He made no move to leave. Instead we lay in bed and I asked more questions about his weekend. He was happy to be home, back where he belonged, he said. “That reminds me, lemme go get your gift.”

He slipped out and was back in a minute. “Have you heard back from Jack and Emma, yet?”

Last night I’d received an email on Adult Friend Finder inviting me to a sex party in another city in November and December. I’d mentioned it to The Neighbor and he was interested. I’d immediately texted my friend and ex-lover Jack to ask what he knew about it. TN wanted to know if Jack and Emma would be willing to help him feel comfortable being watched while having sex. “I’ve only ever been watched once, and that was with Marian. I’m nervous,” he’d told me.

“No, not yet. Lemme check.” I tick-tacked away on the laptop as he pulled out a slim white, rectangular package for me. I stopped typing and looked at it. It was a beautiful metal bookmark.

“Oh, TN. Thank you! It’s beautiful!” I felt awkward and flattered in equal measures, the hot laptop warmed my naked belly ignorant of my emotions. The price tag was still visible: $18.

This gesture, this nice, non-keyring-with-flashing-first-name gift, floored me. It was kind, it was sweet, it was thoughtful. It wasn’t him. But, I guess it was.

I opened it and read the inscription on the packaging as he told me more about the artist. “He wanted to incorporate nature into all his designs and felt that art and the world should coincide as one, not compete.”

I put it down and searched my email for any response from Jack and Emma. There was none.

“Are you really serious about this sex party?” I asked.

“I am. I’m really interested.”

We’d go the end of December. After our 5k in early December. After a night spent shrooming together with Downstairs Neighbor. After plans of spending Thanksgiving together.

“What are you doing next Saturday?” he started to ask me as I folded the computer shut. “Oh fuck, you’re in San Fran, aren’t you? Fuck. I was going to ask you to go to a potluck with me. Oh well, you can be there in spirit because I need you to tell me what to cook and how to do it. I need an Italian themed salad.”

I laughed lightly and gave him a recipe for something decidedly not a salad; a tomato, garlic and basil concoction that melts in your mouth and makes bread the vehicle to heaven.

Eventually, the clock, though still early, crowded in on me. I stood and dressed in a t-shirt and pj shorts and went to light some firewood. He followed. He nibbled on Peyton’s Halloween candy and we talked about my trip tomorrow — both my nerves and the pedantic what’s and whens — as I sat in front of the fire.

He intermittently sucked on my nipples and I seductively played with myself between my words of cooking wisdom for his potluck. It felt stupidly normal, stupidly awesome.

“I am so happy to be back he said,” lying on the floor and tossing a softball in the air. “Being back makes me realize all that I have here.” I looked up from my recipe notes and bounded over to him and playfully flung myself down on him, pinning him down.

My free-spirit burst at the seams as I playfully humped him and he wrapped his arms around me and giggled at my antics. I kissed his cheeks and hopped up off of him as quickly as I’d descended and returned to my spot on the couch to finish his cooking instructions. It was as honest a reflection of my feelings as I could possibly muster.

I studied my note and gathered myself back up.

“I’m getting antsy,” he gently warned. “I need to go home soon.”

“I know, I’m hurrying,” I answered with a smile.

I finished my recipe and handed it to him. He bent down and kissed each breast in turn and then me. I walked him to the door and I confirmed that he’d be up 6:10 am so we could leave by 6:20.

“G’night, Hy,” he smiled over his shoulder.

“G’night, TN,” I said back and shut the door. His words of wonder at what he would do for the next 7 days rang in my ears, his words of longing for my pussy, his words of praise. They all enclosed around me like a giant hug and have moved with me from room to room.

“I had to tell the sex party people that you’re my boyfriend. I hope that’s ok,” I’d said worried.

“No, it’s ok with me,” he’d answered.

Has something happened? Has something changed? Is there a happy ending to this??

Interlaced with these frilly sentiments are jack hammer reminders of old words, cruel and dirty. I haven’t forgotten a thing, but goddamn does it feel good to try to forget.

 

 

Even I can’t stop the seasons.

Love and interest are fickle friends.  For months I was moon-eyed over my young lover.  I noticed when his car was home, if his lights were on.  I held my breath when his door slammed shut — would my door rattle from his knuckles 2 seconds later??  Seeing his boyish face made my day, hearing his deep, news-broadcaster voice tickled me, and seeing his fit, hair-dusted body made me want to unwrap him like a Christmas present and pounce.

But something has changed.

It is the autumn of my affair with The Neighbor.  Spring brought passion and bursts of colors; highs were the only notes on the breeze.  Summer was long and arduous — I barely survived the heat of my own emotions, his refusal of me, and our irrefutable chemistry.  Today, it is fall.  The leaves of my love are turning and will soon waft to the ground like so many dizzying streaks of gold.  When winter comes, the blanket of cold will insulate me as I rejuvenate away from him and our strange, misshapen relationship.

I don’t know when or how it happened, but it did.  His glorious, meaty cock still haunts me and I admit to lusting after it, but my conquering of it is no longer tied to my heart.  If I get to wrap my fingers around hot pinkness, then so be it.  If not, oh well.  I will live without sex.  A piece of Hy dies as I write that.

Saturday night was a dazzling night in our hobbled relationship.  As asked, I woke him up in time to get ready.  It wasn’t my fault that calling his name and gently shaking him didn’t work and my only option was to slip my hand beneath his puffy white comforter and find his sleeping manhood with my hand.  What else should I have done?  Honestly.

I stroked him slowly while I watched his face, his eyes covered in the black mask that had come with his bondage kit.  His breathing was even and ignorant of my presence.  I increased the pressure of my hand and he jerked awake.

“What the hell??”

“Wake up, TN,” I said smiling.

He pulled the mask off and looked at me bleary-eyed.  He rolled onto his back so I could get full access to his erection.

“Can you wake me up like this every day?”

“You say that nearly every day.”

“Well, I mean it.”

I ignored him and continued my ministrations.

It wasn’t long before I swung a boot clad leg over his waist and slowly slid down on him, my skirt hiked up to my waist and my ridiculously tacky sequined wolf shirt sparkling in the candlelight.  His cock hit me in my throat and I flushed with warmth as I rocked on him.  He gripped my waist and I increased my tempo.  Tremors skittered across my skin as a climax snaked its way through me.

He reached for my breasts, but pulled his hands back with a laugh when he got nothing but sequins.  I laughed, too, and bent over and kissed him just as I released around us both.  “I guess I’ll have to take a shower now before the party,” he murmured into my mouth.

“I guess so.”

At the party he was attentive and hovering.  He encouraged me to eat off his appetizer plate, refilled my glass, and was sure to be shoulder to shoulder with me whenever another man came within my orbit.  I was amused and smiled to myself.  Silly Neighbor, I thought, tricks are for kids.

Our chemistry ultimately belied our ruse of easy, close friendship when an old friend of mine cornered him and asked if he and I had ever dated.  His “No comment,” clearly an admission of guilt, her smile of satisfaction an admission of her pride of sniffing us out.

Our dance continues, but the song is ending.  How many loving, connected conversations can we have?  How many tiffs easily repaired?  How many mind-blowing sexual encounters?  How many tears, hugs, kisses, games, and parries before we admit it will never be more than this?

He thinks we will be friends in 10 years.  He thinks we’ll be close friends in 10 years.  How do I tell him that it might not happen?  That I see no such future between us?  That things are winding down?

He came over last night because he was sad.  I rubbed his chest, made him laugh, and finally slipped my hand into his shorts to grip his pretty, pretty penis and rub it to a big, full handful.  He flipped me on my back and filled me to the brim.  The lights were on and I struggled under his steady, smirking gaze as I slowly, embarrassingly lost my shit beneath him.

I drenched my bed and us, climaxed and orgasmed around him, heaved and sobbed little dry sobs and then we talked some more.  He was back to being sad and anxious about an upcoming trip home.  I told him he’d do great, that he had this.  He’d be back before he knew it.  He lazily traced lines on my arm with the pads of his fingertips.  It was close to 2 am and my yawns came more frequently.

We joked about the sexy pics we’d exchanged lately.  The one of him with his fat cock hanging out of his jeans and poking up past his t-shirt-covered belly button and the one where I’m stretched out on my side pulling down my pj shorts.  I wanted him to make that his phone wallpaper and vice versa.  I’m going to stump for it.

Good morning.

“What do you do with the pics I’ve sent you?” I wondered.

“I keep them all.  They’re on my phone,” he paused for a beat then said, “And I appreciate every single one of them.  Very, very much.”

Words like those from him are like cool drafts of water on my parched throat.  “Well, I’m glad.”

More yawning.  More snuggling.  More laughing.

Then he realized the time and dressed.  I called him over to me before he left, “C’mere.  Let me give you a hug.”  I stood on my knees on the bed, letting the sheets drop, and held out my arms.  He walked into them awkwardly.  I kissed him on the cheek and squeezed anyway.  This is what friends do, after all: they support and love.  “You’re gonna do great.  I promise.  Good luck.”

He squeezed back and put his other hand gingerly on my hip before he pulled away.  “Thanks.”

He walked out of my room and I called out, “Safe travels!!” then, “And thanks for the fuck!”

I heard him laugh as he shut the front door behind him and I snuggled down into bed.  The towel covering the epic wet spot pleasantly rough on my bare bottom.

I remember the month of July as the month I couldn’t breathe and food tasted like packing popcorn.  I laid nearly comatose every spare second I had in bed watching Cheers in between fleeting hookups and interactions with him and going to work.  I knew then that it would pass.  I knew it.  I’ve been through worse and came out alive, after all, but fucking Christ was it unpleasant.

I had to let myself be a pathetic, sniveling shit for a few weeks in order to move to the next season.  I molted.  It wasn’t obvious then because I hadn’t fully emerged yet, but I’d like to think it’s more apparent now.  I forget about him most days and I check my libido at the door like a good, stoic German woman should.  She has better things to do than lead with her pussy all day.

I wonder what the future of this blog will be as I enter this strange limbo of autumn.  I am extremely busy — too busy to go hunting — but this is a blog about my dissolute life and I’m not feeling all that dissolute.  I’m beginning to feel like now Hyacinth is that best friend I made at summer camp, but I really, really don’t want to see her go.  Not just yet.

I still want to be dissolute.

When I walk away, he comes running.

I got bored this afternoon.

Thursday night The Neighbor and I had softball games at the same time.  For the first time in weeks I forgot he was even at the park with me.  His team’s red shirts little laser dots on the neighboring field, my green team’s bright, grass green jerseys like blades of grass on ours.  It was a splintered Christmas theme.

After we slaughtered our opponent, we regrouped on the bleachers and drank our leftover beers.  Peyton and my friend’s kid ran amok and swung like monkeys off of anything they could get their hands on.  We passed cigarettes around when the children weren’t looking and called each other names.  I idly noticed that TN’s team was also hanging out on their bleachers.  I couldn’t even muster the energy to shrug.

Tuesday night with TN was liking going to a restaurant.  “Yes, I’d like the salad to start, the fish of the day, and a good, hard fuck for dessert.  Thanks.”  My heart didn’t flutter once Wednesday and I was shocked to realize at the end of the day that neither of us had contacted the other.  In fact, I’d forgotten to completely.  A clear departure from the old Hy.

Old Hy would have concocted some reason to text, would have felt sad that he hadn’t texted her.  She would have danced with despondency, but not this new Hy.  New Hy has honey badger style: she don’t give a shit.

So as I stood enjoying myself with my teammates, friends, and child, full and tough as nails I watched TN run from his team to me.

“Hey, Hy!” he said smiling.  My friends who’ve known him this summer said, “Hey, TN!”  I waved and asked him how his team had done.

“We killed them!”

“Good for you!  We did, too!”  We high-fived each other as his team trickled past like slow moving blood cells down the sidewalk to their cars.

“So,” he said, “Do you want to come to Bob’s for a drink with my team?”  He looked at me expectantly.  I struggled to keep my jaw from dropping.  Oh, how I’d hoped for a moment like this all summer long and now here he was offering himself to me when I had all but forgotten about him.

I looked to my girlfriend with whom I carpool.  “I’m down if you are,” she said.

“Ok,” I turned back to TN.  “Looks like I’m in.”

“Great!”  He ran off to grab his backpack and bat and quickly returned and stayed with us until we bled out into the parking lot.  Tina caught him stroking his bat suggestively to while saying, “Hy, don’t you just love my bat?  Isn’t it just the perfect size and weight for you??”  Her eye roll could have launched a trebuchet.

At the pub the kids ran to the playground with peals of laughter, a fire roared in the stone pit and people hunched over their beers.  I ordered a beer and sat next to him with the rest of his team.  4 am girl wasn’t there.  She’d dropped out due to an injury.  TN lit up and would occasionally put his hand on my lower back.  He introduced me to everyone and I teased them that we’d kick their asses next week in our match-up.  Between buffalo wings, my cheap beer, TN’s attention, my friends, and looking after Peyton I felt like a one-woman band.  Boom-clang-ping-boom! and on and on.

TN’s team left and he remained behind with me and my teammate, Ashley.  We played cornhole and laughed until he decided he’d turned into a pumpkin.  Ashley and I didn’t even bother discussing him once he’d left.  She’s been on this ride as long as I have.  What’s the fucking point?  You might as well discuss the stripes on a zebra.  Goddamned pointless.

Thirty minutes after TN left, I followed.  I carried Peyton up to bed and did the sweetest routine known to man.  TN had forgotten his to-go salad so I texted him, “I have something you might want.”  During my readings to Peyton I heard the telltale ping-ping from the kitchen.  When the baby was asleep I padded out and checked my phone.

“Yay.  Where?  Naked in bed,” was his message.

I texted back, “Come and find out.”

I peeled off my clothes, grabbed the to-go box and put it under the covers with me.  As soon as I’d pulled the sheets up to my chin I heard a knock on my bedroom door.  TN pushed it open and came in, my candle sputtered spastically at us.

“What do you have?” he asked with raised eyebrows.

“Oh… you know,” I answered suggestively.

He walked closer and when he reached for me I threw back the covers and handed him his salad.

“Here you go.”

He stood there dazed.  “My salad??  That’s what you were talking about?”

“Yep!  What’d you think??  Aren’t I funny!”

“Yes.  Hysterical. Can I get in bed with you? I’m cold.”

“Sure.”

He climbed in next to me and we laughed at my awesomeness. I rolled on my side and he stroked my arm then reached down and began to rub me.  He hit my nub with startling precision.   Heat flooded to my face and I let out my breath.  “Wow… you’re actually really good at that.”

“Really??” I could hear the smile in his voice.

I looked at him and nodded.  He continued to rub and I continued to wade in the surf.  “I have to check on Peyton in a minute or two.  I promised I’d go back in.”

“Just as well, I should go.”

New Hy volleyed, “Ok, sounds good.”  He continued to slide over my silky panties and my wet cunt, neither of us totally willing to break the spell.  I sat up and pulled the covers down off of his waist.  His erection strained beneath his slippery shorts.  I pulled the waistband down and took the glistening aperture of his cock in my mouth, salty precum spread across my palette.  I pulled his shorts down further and gripped his cock.  The tape on my left ring finger gently abrading his shaft.   He moaned and I forced my face down to his pelvis.  He moaned louder.

“Goddamn, that feels good.”

“Mmm mmm,” I mumbled back.  Then, “Ok, I have to go check on my baby.”

“Ok, I better go anyway.”

“Alright,” I said as I pulled my tank top back on.  He followed me out into the hallway and grabbed my breasts.  I leaned in for a kiss and his tongue danced with mine.  “See you later, Neighbor.”

He let himself out and I returned to Peyton who was sleeping peacefully.  I returned to my bed and to Frasier, smiling.

I parried with TN from a position of balanced power, confidence and disinterest.  I am on the offensive no longer a whimpering heap of shit.

Tonight is my friend’s party; he stopped by earlier to see when we were leaving.  I answered the door pantsless wrapped in an afghan.  I blushed from head to toe, out of breath with guilt.  Immediately, he knew what I’d been up to.  My rush to the door was to prevent him walking in on me.  I saw the interest dancing in his eyes and my redness spread.  He grabbed my breasts and snuck the blanket out of my hands.  I stood before him pulling my see-through t-shirt down.  It was all pointless, my blushing, but blush I did nonetheless, ever the shy seductress.

Tonight is yet another day in the ongoing struggle for my independence from him and his beautiful, fat, pink cock.  I am stuck in the web of his friendship obviously, bu let me not continue to twist myself in the web of his desires.  I want so much more than just sexual release with him.  I used to want it all, today I feel like it’s a disservice to only want his sex.  It’s not fair to either us.

And so I remain light on my toes, my love for him fading like the best friend you made at summer camp. She never fits in with your real life back home, it’s like sitting too close to the ballet.  Or maybe in this case, like sitting too close to the sword fight.

En guarde, friends.  En guarde!

My injury won’t keep me from gripping hard.