A dream in two paragraphs.

I lay atop dark, tangled sheets soft and exhausted, slightly glowing.  He crawled over me all bronzed skin and bright smile, hair and eyes as black as coal.  In tongue-curled English he snarled at me, “I told you: no mascara.”

He reached out with both big hands and cupped my face like a basketball.  His thumbs gently swiped from beside my nose to my cheekbones and with them all of my tear-soaked mascara.


An InLinkz Link-up

My dreams fuck with me.

I woke up this morning with a vague sense of relief and satisfaction.  I’m not ashamed to consider the possibility that it was my new alarm music — Taylor Swift’s Shake It Off — but it’s more likely because The Neighbor railed me with his magic cock all night long.

Dream Hy and TN were intertwined like lovesick teenagers; we couldn’t get enough of each other.  His pale skin glowed in my mind’s eye as he buried himself to the hilt inside my warm, wet, and willing body.

I sighed.

It’s been weeks, if not months since I dreamed of what I used to have at my disposal.  I no longer pine for it, nor do I fear its absence thanks to a couple of lovers since who’ve assured me with their own cocks that cosmic sex is possible outside of just me and him.  But I do miss it.

And I just plain miss great cock.

The difference between great cock and good cock is great cock makes me do things I never knew possible.  It makes me mewl and cry, it makes me jerk and beg.  My body reacts like dry tinder to a flame when great cock touches it.  The Neighbor had great cock.

I admit — and I think I always admitted — that I was a slave to it.  It felt special.  It felt like a cold trough of water after a lifetime in the desert.  I didn’t want to leave it.  I often wonder how much his fantastic penis accounted for me staying with him.  It’s probably a lot higher than what I’d like to admit to, frankly.  I’d like to be more than just a primal drive to get some, but maybe I wasn’t.  Maybe I was just a cock-hungry animal.

My dreams taunt me in other ways.

The other day I dreamed of a man who ignored me when I took an effort to see him.  I huffed off.  He found me in a room filled with light and peeled off my clothes.  He shone rosy and pale against the all white linens.  I told him I was angry at his rebuff.  He apologized and as he was about to touch me a fire alarm sounded and we were forced to evacuate.  My breath left my body and I resigned myself to the missed connection.

It likely represents my adult romantic/sex life in general lately, a collection of missed connections and opportunities, feeling generally ignored by and unimportant to a consort.  Dreams aren’t about the actual characters, but what they represent to you, how you feel about things.  I certainly feel invisible most of the time and this one captured it perfectly.

My dreams fuck with me, but I welcome the watercolor world.  I like how they help me sort my shit out, realize things my waking brain refuses to accept.  And I really like how they keep me laid on the regular.



I won’t lie to you. Even when I want to.

I started this blog 7 months ago in an attempt to wrangle my life back into something resembling balance.  I didn’t have an idea of what that looked like, I just knew that having sex with up to 4 different men in a single week wasn’t it.  Would it look like having 3 steady mean in my life?  One?  Would it mean I was celibate, or, possibly that I rushed headlong into an alternate lifestyle altogether?

I didn’t know.

All I knew is that I was melting away under the friction of my life and something needed to change.  So I stopped adding men at the rate I was and for many months I concentrated on only the original 3: Jason, Phillip, and The Neighbor.  Sure, I went on the occasional date here and there, but my standards for accepting an invitation went up many fold.

Since I started this blog I’ve slept with 7 men, a considerable reduction to my previous numbers; the previous year had me at 25 lovers.  My experience with TN, my new relationship with my exhusband, my continued work in therapy, and this blog and my connections with you all have drastically affected how I view my self, my body, and my heart.

There are some things I know to be true about me that I’d like to put out there.  First, I am a good person — an exceptional person, really, if I’m to believe some — but I don’t believe it.  (Well, I believe it some of the time at least.)  It’s this disbelief in my own worth that plagues me like cancer.  It infiltrates my heart when I need to be the strongest and I am drawn to those on occasion whom aren’t the safest.

Second, I view my body as my own playground; I give it freely and often and with no regret.  I get great pleasure by giving pleasure and am able to distinguish between me and her, that woman whom everyone wants and finds desirable.  She is alluring, confident, and potent.  She is everything a man ever wants her to be.  While, me, I am sensitive, loving, and vulnerable.  My therapist believes she is hurting me.  I’m trying to cut her some slack.

Third, I need to reconcile these two parts of me, so incongruent and seemingly at odds: the soft, vulnerable, serious, loving side with this playful one.  Some of you believe I need to demand respect, others think I should be celibate.  You all have an idea of me and wish for me to move to this part of the video game landscape or to that one.  You see where this might be headed with TN or beefy, but nerdy, or maybe you just hope for the best.  I’m trying desperately to blend my natural drive to connect with people with the fear of also being wholly myself.  It’s not a matter of just doing X to achieve Y.  It’s more like some pages-long equation ending in F$*!.

My childhood taught me that to be myself meant certain rejection; love became equated with being who they wanted me to be.  So, that’s what I do today: I am whoever they need me to be and I feel loved.

I slept with TN again Wednesday night and again Thursday morning.  I’ve been afraid of writing about it not because I feel like it was wrong, but because I know many of my readers do.  I’m ok with it, frankly.

Tipsy from celebrating with my friends Wednesday night I came home around midnight because he’d promised to vacuum for me.  I was to knock when I got home.  I did, but there was no answer.  I tried the door and it was open.  We have a long-standing agreement that if the door is unlocked it’s code for, “come in.”  So I did.

And I found him asleep in his dark room buried under white peaks of down.  He invited me under the covers and we cuddled and I fell asleep in his arms.  I woke up later hot and peeled off my summer dress and tossed it on the floor, went back to sleep.  I woke up a couple of hours later to his hands sliding over my hip and thigh and dipping below my white eyelet panties.

I thought, “Oh, fuck.  I shouldn’t be doing this,” not because I truly felt that way, but because of what my readers would say and then I put it all out of my mind and let his fingers enter me and stroke me.  I watched him mount and enter me bare and beautiful and felt him slam away inside.  He lost all control in less than 5 minutes and exploded inside of me.

I couldn’t stop giggling. He was aghast and mortified.  “Hy, I’m so, so sorry.  That’s never happened to me before.  That felt like less than 2 minutes.  I usually go 35.”

“Well, well, well.  Looks like TN is a mortal man, after all,” I said into his chest.

“Hey, I’m an extraordinary man masquerading as an ordinary one,” he chuckled back.

“Sure, whatev.  Welcome to the real world.”

I played with his chest hair and made him take back his apology.  “If you could choose between cumming 5 times or me cumming in under 2 minutes, which would you choose,” he asked.

“The latter.  Hands down.”


“Yeah, totally.  Because it never happens.  You just lost control, completely.  Nothing hotter than that.”

We fell back asleep and moved to our sides of the king-sized bed.  I slept fitfully, my dreams laced with pinched, unrequited love and body pillows subbing as hugs.

I woke up to soft, morning light wrapped in fluffy covers with him sleeping soundly beside me.  I reached out and stroked his hip and reached around to his hanging sack and walked my fingers up his shaft.  He was hard.  As usual.  I gripped it and moved my hand.  He didn’t stir.  I sat up and bent over and took him in my mouth.  His breathing remained even, his mouth gently hanging open.

I pushed his left shoulder down, forcing him on his back and he smiled and stretched as I spread his legs and knelt between them.

“You’re the only man I know who sleeps through a blowjob.”

“Mmmm,” was all he said.

I took him in my mouth again and reveled in his taste.  He moaned and thrust up into my face.  Then I climbed up on him and leaned over him, letting a nipple drag across his lips as I positioned him at my entrance.  I bore down and sat up, proud of my body as he eyed me hungrily through heavy lids.

I rocked back and forth on him and felt him in my throat.  I started to cry out and whimper.  His hands were by his head as he let me set the pace and pleasure myself with him.  He had a delicious grin curve to his mouth.

I came and drenched us with my juices and leaned forward again and he took a breast in his mouth.  I gripped his headboard adding more of my handprints to the amber-colored wood.  I wondered if Downstairs Neighbor could hear the banging and if 4 am girl would notice the handprints next time she was on top in the daylight.

I climbed off and took him back in my mouth and worked him like putty.  He shot his load deep down in the back of my throat after a minute or two and I curled up into the nook of his arm.

I’ve decided to not talk about what it is we’re doing with each other.  One, it’s none of his business why I’m doing it.  I’m fucking him because I want to, not because I think it’s going to change anything; two, I don’t care if it goes away again.  I’ve already lost him; and three, it won’t make a difference.  It seems obvious we’re a pair of goddamned idiots who can’t keep our clothes on around one another.  It’ll end when one of us steels ourselves to the other.  I’m using him as much as he’s using me (if that’s even what’s happening).

He is a good man, but he’s fucked up.  Just like me.  I don’t seem to be able to extricate myself, but I also feel impervious to more damage.  I am a contradiction, I know.  It is a privilege to be with me and to know me, yes, but I also can do whatever I want with myself.  And right now, I feel like fucking this kid.

I also don’t feel like doing much else with anyone else.  Beefy, but nerdy has a shelf-life.  The other men I’ve met haven’t held my interest enough for a second date.  I am ok with this.  I understand that so long as I remain entangled with TN I am keeping myself from finding someone else, but I also feel safe from looking.  This is a holding pattern.  Not purgatory, but a rest-stop.  I’ll stop with TN when I’m fully ready.  Obviously, I’m not ready, yet.

I’m afraid that I will lose half my readers because I won’t do “the obvious.”  Well, the obvious on this side of the screen is much, much different from it is on yours.  I’m trying to lead a life that makes sense to me and sometimes that looks utterly backwards.  The journey to the destination is rarely a straight line, as they say.

TN subbed on my softball team last night, it was the playoffs.  We won our first game, lost the second.  He stayed late and hung out with me and my friends and then he vacuumed my apartment for me when we got home.  In my white panties, of course.

And as a reward, I spanked him and fondled him and he even gave me a few swats back.  I’ve never experienced a relationship like this before.  It’s confusing, unfulfilling, thrilling, complicated, sweet, tender, and wrong.  It has all the major components of what an intimate relationship should be according to my wiring.  I will be hurt only inasmuch as I want more and I no longer do.  Not from him.

Last night I dreamt that he was with me in a green playing field.  I had on a white tank top, no bra.  My sister was there and my relationship with him was a secret, but he pushed the limits and outed us.  He sprayed water on my shirt to expose my breasts in front of her, he held my hand as we walked up to a nearby brownstone, and pushed me against a wall and kissed me passionately.  I tried to roll out from under him — my sister would never approve — and I tried to understand his behaviors.  On the one hand, I was thrilled, on the other, I was mistrustful.  “I want to see you naked.  Tonight,” he’d said.  “I want to be with you.”  He might have even said he loved me.  But I couldn’t believe it.  His words and actions have never meant truth and I awkwardly walked away, the sun in my eyes and my heart pounding.

My life is dissolute.  I am a contradiction of feelings and needs and wants.  I don’t know who left these bruises on me because three men this week had their hungry mouths on me.


But I’m ok with that.  It’s not a reflection of how little I love me or respect me.  I’m different from most.  It’s a reflection of how I want to play right now, how I want to interact with my world.  I trust my instincts to know I’m leading myself somewhere, even if you really want me to go left and all I’ll do is go right. I know that I fluctuate between what I should and shouldn’t do.  No emotion is stable, ever.  Not love, not anger, not sadness, not even resignation or determination.  New things happen, new thoughts occur, new energies are found and so the direction changes much as a river bends around boulders.

This chapter of my life, all documented here in, as you all say, raw and gritty detail is that journey.  The journey of my dissolute life and my healing heart.  I’m glad you’re here with me and I’m even glad for The Neighbor.

I made love.

“I hope we didn’t just make a mistake,” he said as I laid in his embrace.

“Shh,” I answered.  “Don’t think about that right now.  I’m trying to enjoy the afterglow.” I smiled into his chest and squeezed him. He chuckled, but then was serious.

“But what if I just did something really shitty?” his voice was strained and I could see his profile lit by the burgeoning dawn in my bedroom window.

“Shh,” I crooned again.  “You didn’t.  This hasn’t changed anything.  We’re still best friends with incredible chemistry who happen to love each other as friends.”

“But morally –” he dropped the sentence.

“Morals don’t enter into this.”

“No, you’re right.”


Thursday after my double-header softball game and a day filled with rage and nuance he waved at me as my team meandered out of the park.  My ex-husband was there as was Peyton and my girlfriend and her son.  I gave him a sullen/shitty thumbs up in response.  On the way home my friend and I digested more of my relationship with The Neighbor, how ugly she thought 4 am girl was and how she paled in comparison to me; the usual things that girlfriends tell their heartbroken sisters.  I smiled at her efforts, but my heart was still heavy.

As I pulled into my apartment complex after I dropped her off I realized his car was pulling in in front of mine.  Great, I thought.  We parked on opposite ends of the lot and I dutifully unloaded my car with my stuff and made my way for the stairwell.

“Hy!” he called, “Wait up!”

I stood there with attitude.  I was not happy about this.  “Hey, can I come over and hang out for a bit?” he asked.

“If you want,” was my reply.

“That doesn’t sound very friendly.”

“What?  I said’ if you want’.  Come on over.”  I had three tallboys in me and shutting him out completely seemed completely foreign to me.

“Should I bring the left over Jell-O shots?”

“Sure.”  Fuck it.  Why not?

We sat on my balcony with my anger and tension a third party.  He remarked on it and I opened the floodgates and told him everything I’d thought of and put to words earlier that day.  I told him how angry I was at him, how hurt, how unfair it all was that he had her to distract him.  He nodded solemnly and said he understood, he looked crestfallen.

“Hy, this is equally as hard on me as it is on you.  I just manage it better.  I hide it better.”

This mollified me.  “I miss you so much.  I’ve lost my best friend.  We used to do everything together.”

His eyes filled with tears in the moonlight and his voice lowered to a whisper, “This has been awful.  I know.  I miss you, too.”

I shared my dream with him, that I’d called him that morning and a girl answered his phone.  “Is this The Neighbor?” she giggled into the phone.  I was heartbroken.  He said he hasn’t told anyone I’m his neighbor.

He also told me he hadn’t slept with her yet, they’d only been dating for a week, and that he hadn’t touched himself since we broke up.  He was punishing himself, he said.  I didn’t ask for this.  He offered the information. We went deeper, I told him I’d cut myself and why; I set parameters up, boundaries; I wanted nothing to do with her, ever.  His response was it’d be unlikely if they were together still in 6 months.

We tenderly tread through our feelings and gently touched emotionally.  Butterfly kisses of reassurance and resurrection.  We kissed each others’ cuts and bruises and space around us became just the two of us.  My additional passenger of anger slipped away through the bars of the balcony to mingle with the stars.   My heart  lifted.  His words were a balm, our laughter and friendship a warm embrace.

We spoke and laughed about our games and our performances that night.  My sports bra was soaking wet and my legs were caked in dirt.  I pulled my arms into my shirt and removed the bra and threw it in his face. We laughed hysterically as we pegged each other with it back and forth.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” he said suddenly.  He was back quickly and he threw what I thought was my wet bra back in my face.  But it was his underwear.  I laughed so hard I cried and gave him a high-five.  We were back on the rails as friends, our hurts placated, sex off the table.  I was in heaven.

“I want to be friends with you, I really do, but I’m having a really hard time getting over the sex part,” I said more seriously.  “I need some space, you can’t crowd me or rush me.  It’s different for you because you have someone else to be interested in.  I don’t.  I’m all alone in this.”

“I’m alone, too, Hy.”

“No, you’re not.”

“How many dates have you gone on since we broke up?”

I had to think.  “Three maybe?  But I’m just trying to stay busy.   They don’t count.  I’m just looking for someone to love me.  I just need more space from you.”  I told him of the time I slept with Tuesday and all I did was think, “TN doesn’t taste like this.  TN doesn’t sound like this.  TN is bigger, better, more of everything.”

“And I’ll be honest, I want you to think the same thing. I want you to be with her and think, ‘This isn’t Hy’s taste.  These aren’t Hy’s breasts.  She’s not crying like Hy.  She doesn’t suck my cock like Hy.  She doesn’t feel like Hy.  She’s not squirting like Hy.'”  He smiled and laughed.

“Yeah! Fuck any girl who doesn’t cry!”  He always loved that about me, the response in me he could invoke.  “I really want us to be friends.  I really do.  You can text me any time you like, you know.”

“No, I can’t.  You never respond to my texts. Ever.  And I can’t handle that.”

“I promise I’ll respond.”

“I’ve heard that before, too.”

When it was time for him to leave he opened his arms to me for a hug.  We have never been huggers.  Not ever.  It’s new ever since I asked for one that awful Sunday night.  I moved into his arms and his left hand deliberately brushed my breast.  I hit him on the back and he squeezed me tightly, groin to shoulder.  He inhaled my scent off my neck and I put my cheek on his shoulder and wrapped my arms around him.   It was a long hug.

And as he pulled away he caught my breast again.  “TN!” I scolded.

“What??  It’s how I hug!” he laughed and I walked him to the door and we hugged again, chastely.


Friday I woke up smiling and horny as fuck.  My dream had been vivid.  I decided to test the new texting/friendship waters.

I sent him this at 8:10 am:

My dream:  We’re at the fields, you wait for me for some reason.  She weaves in and out between us curious and nervous about our friendship.  I’m exhausted and you offer me a drink at your place.  I sink to the floor on some pillows and begin to drift off.  I’m awoken by your touch.  It’s gentle and kind at first, then more demanding.  Your mouth is on mine.  You taste delicious.  I’ve missed you so much.  Your mouth finds my nipples and I cry out, my pussy gushes.  I whimper and shake.  Your hands undress me.  My response to you is sudden and intense.  “What are you doing??” I ask looking into your eyes.  “Loving you,” you answer.  I don’t believe it.  You plunge your fingers in me and I can’t think or talk.  Your kisses are searing.  I cum again and again into your hand.  And then you climb up onto your couch and close your eyes.  I’m confused.  My heart is racing.  You look peaceful so I leave you alone, stand up.  I am naked.  You open an eye and I hope you like what you see.  I saunter wordlessly into the bathroom and turn on the shower, look for signs of her, see none and step under the water.  My hair is short and I smile, run my hands over my curves.  I’m bathed in light from a floating alarm clock you have.  The time flashes 6:08.  It’s time for me to leave.  Better than Thursday night’s dream, that’s for sure.

Less than an hour later he texted back:

A floating alarm clock?

I asked him jokingly what he thought it meant.  He said he wasn’t sure and asked if 6:08 had any significance to me.  I said only in as much that we always left each other; I’d had no plans of crawling back into his arms in my dream.  Then I told him that everything that happened in my dream happened to me in real life.  I had orgasmed in my sleep and I laughed and wondered if I was writhing around in my bed.

Immediately he replied:

If it makes you feel any better, I woke up humping my damn bed last night

I said it did make me feel better and I asked when he’d have time to talk to me again, I had something on my mind.  I wanted to share with him my idea that maybe we could be friends sooner than I’d thought.  We made tentative plans to talk late Friday night or Saturday afternoon.

At 4:05 pm I was awakened from a nap with another text from him — he really was keeping his word about texting me back.

Date tonight cancelled.  Wanna chat at 5’ish?

I say sure, no problem.

And it’s 6:08 off the eastern seaboard.

I didn’t respond, not knowing what to say to his unusual attention to detail, but fell back asleep with a smile on my face tangled in my comforter with my yellow dress (yes, that yellow dress) hiked up to my waist and my cheeks rosy from sleep.

Around 5 he knocked and I jumped out of bed. My hair tousled, my dress righted, my cheeks still rosy.  “Hey,” I said, “Wanna just come lie down with me?”

He followed me back into my room and kicked off his shoes and laid down on his side facing me.  We made small talk for a bit and laughed.  My heart soared at having my friend back and the irony of us laying in my bed wasn’t lost on either of us.  I offered him a drink and he declined.  I poured myself some disgusting bottled Sangria and made a face.  He laughed then burped.  I told him he was disgusting, but said I was a much better burper.  Sure enough, I proved it between peals of laughter.

“Ok, ok.  You’re crossing a line, Hy!”

“What line??  There is no line anymore!  I don’t have to impress you!”  I laughed at him.

And then I summoned my courage and told him how happy I was all day at having spent time with him again and that perhaps we could forge forward so long as I could reserve the right to back away when necessary.  He seemed excited at my idea.  “Yes, absolutely.  I totally understand.”

I laid back down and we were careful not to touch one another.  “So, I still have those two Dark Knight tickets.  If we left right now we could make it,” I said.  “I’ve asked three virtual strangers and every friend I know and no one can go with me.”

“I can’t.  I’m going tomorrow night at 10.” The unspoken part was with her.

“Oh, who cares!  Come on!” I pleaded, but he wouldn’t budge.

We talked and laughed and teased each other some more.  I was hyper-aware of my cleavage and careful not to let my breasts spill out, but I could do nothing about my thighs showing or my general shape.  His erection was obvious and huge through out.  He mentioned having run out of underwear and free-balling it.  I didn’t take the bait.

Then I said something that made him playfully slap my leg.  I squealed and he did it again.  And again.  It was too much. I jumped out of bed and with my hands held in the air I said, “You have to stop that.” I leveled a gaze at him.   “It turns me on.”  My chest rose and fell visibly.

He leapt out of his side of the bed and quickly put on his shoes and headed for my front door.  Once there he opened his arms to me and I fell into them, his scruffy cheek against mine.  He humped me then with me wrapped in his embrace and we laughed.  I quietly shut the door behind him and headed back into my room.  I had to cum.

I grabbed my vibrator and laid down on my wine-colored sheets.  I’d told him it was particularly difficult to not send him sexy pics anymore.  We both agreed I’d find a way, but I was turned on, vibrating like the wand in my hand.

I sent him this with the note, “Just me in a dress like you just saw me.”


His instant response:

fuck you.  Fuck you so much.

Goddamned vibrator in your hand

I told him that since I wasn’t going to fuck him I still wished I could and that I’d think of how much I loved it while I jerked off.  He could live vicariously through me.

Yeah thanks a lot.  That helps me keep my m ind off of sex

My orgasm was strong and swift and I thought of him over and in me just like I’d promised.  It rained down through me and I screamed openly as I quivered and shook.  I felt a bookend text was in order.  “And now… a cigarette :)”

He quickly replied:

Congrats.  Must feel nice to orgasm.

My happy sarcastic response? “A little. I was lonely.  Gotta get used to it.  But it was huge :D”

Fifteen minutes later, after I’d left for my date with a quiver in my belly he sent this:

Breaking the two-week streak. Life sucks!

My heart was bright, my pussy placated, my smile was genuine.  My date that night was charming and sexy and fun like I’d remembered him but it wasn’t him that was making me feel that way.  It was the knowledge that TN was struggling, that he clearly felt everything I was feeling, too that had lifted my spirits so high.

Later that night when my date was flaccid and small, I called him off of me and I lay in his horrible bed with his arm around me.  I lazily watched the lights twinkling from the beautiful view of downtown skyscrapers and cars whizzing by on the highway below.  I thought the misfire with him was worth only this snapshot and I slipped out of bed at 4 am and went home, fell into bed, and then a deep slumber.


I woke up Saturday hungover and laid in bed most of the day watching Cheers on my laptop.  Sam and Diane were on the verge of breaking up.  They were never any good for each other.  They had only contention to share, not true love.  They each wanted the other to be someone else.  My heart got heavy and I turned it off, showered, and called a dear friend.  I told her of my exploits from the night before, smoking a hot cigarette on my hot balcony when TN came out to flip his jeans over to dry.  He heard, “... and it ended in disaster.

He raised his eyebrows at me and I had to say, “I’m not talking about you!”  He smirked and disappeared back into his apartment.  I quickly followed suit happy to talk to my friend in some AC when I heard a knock.  It was him.

“Do you want a piece of pizza?” he asked.

With the phone still to my ear I nodded yes.

A minute later he came back over and I told my friend I’d call her back in 5 minutes.  He handed me a piece of pizza and sat on the couch with me while I nibbled on it.  I was confused.  What was he doing here??  We chatted about nothing, laughed, teased, talked.

I told him I had decided to be celibate for a couple of months.  His mouth literally dropped open.  He closed it with a finger and let it drop again.  But I was serious, I told him.  After Friday night’s disappointment I realized that I can’t go on like this.  All I do is compare every man to him.  He preened a little.

We started to play a ridiculous game that I love wherein we throw balls at each others’ chests.  You know, that spot right in the middle that makes a delicious thwack! sound?  That’s where we like to throw the ball.

While playing, we talked about our sexual exploits with one another for most of his visit.  It made me fidget uncomfortably for lack of release, but I’m always happy to oblige a man who wants to recount my sexual prowess, so I participated in the banter all the while confused.  He missed my mouth on him he confessed, but, he said, he was back to not touching himself again for at least another two weeks.  “Punishment,” he reminded me when I looked at him questioningly.  Why talk about all this sex stuff if he’s in a sexual purgatory? I wondered.

We continued to throw balls and then he started to misfire deliberately, aiming for my nipples and my crotch.  I felt like I was on the playground.  I wasn’t wearing a bra and my nipples would flare angrily after each swipe.  We played for what felt like forever giggling like children until finally I told him I had to go run errands.

Our hug was long and sweet again and I felt strong.  Like maybe this really could work out like a flirtatious friendship.  We talked about our sexual activities like old drinking buddies.  “Remember that time you squirted so much you soaked two towels?”  “What about that time you broke my cock?  You did that like 3 times you fucked me so hard!” And the physical stuff was just playing around.  I didn’t mind it.

I closed the door behind him and got my things together and left.  Later I texted that I wanted a thorough movie review.  He said, “Ok.”

That night I rented a couple of movies I wished I hadn’t.  Charlize Theron in Young Adult could be me every other week minus the narcissism and alcoholism: spending empty time with empty people because she didn’t believe she was loved.  And the protagonist couple in Friends With Kids spend a year as just friends sharing a child together until one slips up and develops feelings and, not surprisingly, the man doesn’t see her that way, though he loves everything about her.  A year later he comes to his senses and admits that he’d loved her all along, he’d just been a fucking idiot.

I dozed through both of them, but still felt battered by their messages.  At 10 pm I’d thought, “TN is at the movie now.”  At midnight when I went to bed I’d thought, “TN is likely done with the movie.”  I laid my phone down on my bedside table and forgot to turn it to silent.

At 3:40 am I get a text:

Still up?

I had woken up 10 minutes before from a nightmare.  “Yes,” I replied.

Haha u crazy

“No shit.  Had a bad dream.  What’s your excuse?”

And then knock, knock, knock.

I leapt out of bed.  My breasts jiggled under my white t-shirt that read “I <3 Dave,”  and my little pajama shorts hung daintily off my hips as I quickly closed the distance to my door.

He was standing there in a dress shirt and his nice jeans that I’d helped him pick out.  “Who’s Dave?” he asked and poked my breast as he pushed past me into my apartment.

“A friend of mine.  It doesn’t matter.  What are you doing here??”

“I wanted to tell you about the movie.  It was terrible.”  I took him to my couch.  “Can I lie down here?”

“Of course.”  I laid down with him and he started to recount all the plot holes and how much it sucked.

“Your couch is terrible.  Can we lie down somewhere else?”

“Of course,” I said again and took his hand to help him up.  He was drunk, not a usual thing for him.  And he was here all on his own.  Also not a usual thing for him.  As I lead him back by the hand to my room I thought, He should be with her! He came home!

He kicked off his shoes and climbed into bed and I fell back onto my pillows.  We touched this time, but innocently.  He rubbed my forearm, I had my arm on his belly.  He unbuttoned the top 3 buttons of his shirt then and I slipped my fingers through his chest hair.  I could feel his erection near the waistband of his jeans with my elbow.  He unbuttoned his shirt entirely and I splayed my fingers through his hair and let my hands follow the contour of his muscles as we talked for an hour and a half.

I asked him questions.  Random, innocent things like his most embarrassing moment, his biggest regret, what was one of the best days of his life, when was he most happy?  His answers?: when his brother pantsed him in front of 200 people, not calling Molly Lannister in college, when he was fucking me, and when he was with me.

Our legs entwined, we cuddled unabashedly.  His breathing began to slow instead of him departing.  I smiled as he squeezed my arm in his sleep and began to twitch.  I am encased in love for this man.  Not hope for the future, but just love.  He cannot resist me.  He cannot stay away.  I know without a doubt that he loves me and no matter what the future holds it is a gift.  I feel righteous.

I silently mouthed, “I love you,” into the dark and kissed his ribcage gently and settled down to sleep with a smile on my lips.  I drifted for a minute or two when he rolled towards me and pulled me into his arms.  His hand dropped to my waist and rubbed me.  My heart pounded as his hand moved to my waist.  He rolled back onto his back and took my hand and put it back on his chest.

I ran my hand up to his shoulder and down past his waist to his knee, my arm heavy on his ever-present erection.  My breath was hot on his side and I nuzzled his skin.  I looked up into his eyes and could only see darkness.  I made a decision then.  I was going to make love to him.

I was going to have him one last time and know it was the last.  I was going to put my heart and soul into touching him and loving him and not hide behind closed eyes and fluttering lashes.  I slipped my hand beneath his jeans and the helmet of his cock was sopping wet.  I circled the crown and he moaned.  I arched into him.  I began to love him.

I unbuttoned his pants and his cock filled my hand with a flourish and a pulse.  I felt like I was holding the holy grail.  I looked back up into his eyes and I could see them blazing with desire.  I moved between his legs and before I took his glorious cock in my mouth I dragged myself up to his sweet, beautiful face.  Our eyes locked with meaning, longing, and lust.

I bent down and took his mouth and it was everything I’d imagined.  Our passion ignited like in my dream and I whimpered as he devoured me.  I kissed him again and again then dove onto his shaft.  He arched his back and exclaimed lustily.  He was huge and ready.  I wondered if this was all I was going to get when he suddenly sat up and ripped my shirt off and quickly peeled off his pants.

I fell back down onto him and his hands guided my head.   He reached around and found my slit.  “Jesus Christ, Hy,” he whispered as his fingers found their way inside of me.   Little orgasmic waves rippled through me as his cock filled my mouth.  I could feel he was close when he gritted out, “Get on your back.  Now!” and roughly pushed me up and tore off his shirt and my remaining shorts.

He spread my knees and climbed between them, kissed me again and joked that I probably wasn’t wet enough.  Perched just outside of me he asked, “Have you been with anyone else since we broke up??” the urgency in his voice thick and heavy.

“No,” I whispered back.

“Good.” And he plunged deeply inside of me.  He railed into me, impaled me, kissed me long and hard, our lips locked as were our groins.  My pussy gripped and slobbered on him and I came again and again as I soaked the bedsheets beneath us.  His scent filled my head, his sounds my ears, his cock my soul.

He lifted up and hooked my ankles on his shoulders and I stared into his eyes.  His face mostly in shadow I hoped he could see that I was finally looking back up at him.  I cried out as another climax rolled through me and my hot ejaculate spilled down my cracks.  His tempo increased, his exertion a blissful friction between us and he pumped madly and spectacularly into me, his seed spilling into my emptiness.

He lowered my legs and I blew on him gently.  He kissed me again and started to move.  I whimpered and clung to him.  He flipped me over and pounded into me.  Spanked me hard and pulled my hair.  I trembled and floated above us as I surrendered completely.

He stopped slowly and kissed my dampened neck.  “Here, lay here,” he patted the side of the bed.  He quietly walked into my bathroom and returned with a towel and tucked it under my bottom.  He laid down facing me and rolled me onto my back, hooked me like a fish and began to slam against my cunt with his meaty hand.  I curled the towel around me to catch the spray of my juices as he made me flood into his hand.  “No, no, no,” I begged as I convulsed.

“Yes.  Yes, you are,” he countered in a growl.  “This is so fucking hot.  I love this about you.”  And he kept going until I was a little curvy puddle.  “Ok, you’ve had enough,” he deemed and handed me my vibrator.

I was limp.  Exhausted.  In love.  A little sad.  Saying goodbye.  All of it.

I meekly took the toy in my hand and spread my legs.  “Will you put your fingers in me, please?” I asked.

“Not yet.  Take this first.”  I looked to my left and his cock was in my face.  Turgid and bobbing.  Hungrily I sucked it down.  “That’s a good, little girl.”  I pulsed and my orgasm leapt ahead several notches.

“Look at you, you little slut.  A vibrator between your legs and a giant cock in your mouth.”  I squirmed and convulsed as my orgasm split me open.  I laid there and panted as he kissed me.

“Will you put your cock in me now?”

“Yes.”  He slipped inside of me and I shivered as he lay down next to me, my legs slung over his hips.  He pushed into me as I lay the buzzing head on my sex.

His hands were heavy and demanding on my breasts, his kisses light on my skin when he said, “I want you to fucking cum for me.  Cum for me now!”  He’d never demanded this before.  This was new.  I wanted to make him proud, do this for him.  I searched my body for my orgasm and hooked onto it.  “Do it now, you slut.  Be a good girl.”  I pushed against him and sucked on his shaft with my cunt like it was me gasping for air.

His hand moved to my throat and squeezed.  The storm grew in my core tenfold.  “Cum for me now or I fucking swear I’ll choke the shit out of you.”  He flexed his hand gently and I purred and mewled, my eyes shut tight.  The orgasm pounded into me as he whispered that was what he wanted.  He kissed my temple and my ear and my lips as I cried and shook.

We stayed linked together for minutes while I looked loving at him propped up on an elbow. I ran my fingers through his hair.  I didn’t care what he saw in my eyes.  I wanted him to see it all.  I was done hiding.  This was a farewell between this life between us and I wanted to finally be genuine.  It seemed he did too.

“You’re trembling,” he noticed and he stroked my face and my arm.

We disconnected and he rolled over.  I nuzzled into his nook.

“I hope we didn’t just make a mistake,” he said as I laid in his embrace.

“Shh,” I answered.  “Don’t think about that right now.  I’m trying to enjoy the afterglow.” I smiled into his chest and squeezed him. He chuckled, but then was serious.

“But what if I just did something really shitty?” his voice was strained and I could see his profile lit by the burgeoning dawn in my bedroom window.

“Shh,” I crooned again.  “You didn’t.  This hasn’t changed anything.  We’re still best friends with incredible chemistry who happen to love each other as friends.”

“But morally –” he dropped the sentence.

“Morals don’t enter into this.”

“No, you’re right.”

I finally asked him the question I’d wanted the answer to all night.  “Why did you come over here tonight?”

“I wanted to tell you about the movie.”

“That could have waited until tomorrow.”

“I wanted to see you.  And I was horny.”

I cringed because I didn’t believe it.  “Well, that’s flattering.  Did you think you were going to get laid?”

“No.  I really just wanted to see you.”

We dozed for a few more minutes before he said he had to go.  He kissed me tenderly and said he was walking next door naked.  I smiled at him and laughed and we wished each other a good day.

I get begged, I get ignored.

The candle on my bedside table gutters under the ceiling fan as I stretch out naked beneath my dark sheets.  I imagine my creamy whiteness and soft curves stand out like the flesh of an eggplant against its skin.

I hear you push through my front door, the puppy wriggle, and then see my bedroom door push open.  It’s “very late,” just like you said it’d be.

You come to me, closing the distance, and remove what little clothing you have.  Your meat hard and hot in your hand is by my face.  I lean over and suckle the glistening head and push my face down farther.

“I’ve missed you this week, Hy.  I’m so sorry I’ve been distant.  There’s no excuse for that.  You certainly don’t deserve it.  But I’m here now if you’ll let me.”

My answer is a harder suck…

Only, that’s not what happened.  At all.  Instead I woke up to a warmly lit room at 1:30 am alone and with no returned message.  My phone tells me the last of our correspondence went something like this:

A little after 11 pm, when I got home from a first date with a handsome 30-year-old, I asked, “You win??”  And when I awoke, restless and unnerved at close to 1:30 am I checked my phone.  Nothing.

I texted again, “Why do I keep waking up and you’re not here?? :(  And you haven’t said boo.  So not like you.”

It’s almost 9:30 am and I still haven’t heard from you.  I’m sure you’re headed to work.

This just isn’t the man I know.  All week I’ve struggled with this “no plans” thing.  It feels like a line out of He’s Just Not That Into You.  Just the week before you were laying plans with me and then I reneged on our “no feelings” policy and here I sit.  Angst ridden and feeling slighted. This is, I’m certain, all my fault.

Monday night you met the friends I’ve wanted you to meet.  We drank and laughed riotously and headed down to the hot tub.  Seven of us, you the only stranger, and you fit in and were charming and gracious as ever.  And as I let you out of the pool gate you whispered to me that maybe you’d come fuck me that night, but later said no.  Instead, you promised you’d fuck me the next night.

Tuesday night you cancelled on me with a genuine apology, but no promise to come over either.  I left the door unlocked hoping you’d come over anyway, but instead you called to say you wished you could get both 8 hours of sleep and fuck me, but that you were opting for the 8.

Wednesday you flat-out ignored a text of mine asking if you were busy and to come over, the door was unlocked.  The next day — after I inquired — you said you hadn’t seen my text till 1 am because you’d been busy.

Thursday, I put myself out there again and felt good about it.   You gave me hope with your filthy response only to detract it all with silence and absence and yet another feeble “maybe” in your language.

What is going on, dear Neighbor

Tonight, you need a favor from me and I must admit I’m ill inclined to come through for you.  This is bullshit.  No one else treats me this way and I plan on pointing this out to you.  I’ve been thinking long and hard about my feelings and I’m confident that I’m reasonably upset after this week.  And reason is always paramount for me.

I miss you, friend, and yet you are handling this poorly all of a sudden.  Where’s the man who was checking in with me nearly every day last week?  The man who cleaned my apartment, met my friends, silently got me a chair to sit on unasked before their watchful eyes?

Where did you go??

The date helped peg me back to earth as I cheekily declined a quick fuck with him.  I didn’t feel the chemistry. He was extremely handsome and charming, but lacking in some invisible way.  Perhaps it was how he told me he loved the idea of a 17-year-old lusting after him and that 18-year-old pussy was a delicious treat.  I’m certain the disgust on my face was more than a flash, the look in my eye more than disdain.

But he begged me to come back and to let him fuck me.  Begged.  I told him I didn’t need notches on my belt anymore and I felt proud of saying no, of doing what you’ve been coaching me to do for months.  “But I’ve never fucked someone I’ve only just met!” he pleaded.

“I have,” I replied, “And frankly, I might get fucked again later.  How many men am I going to fuck in one night?  If saying No to you tonight means I’ve wrecked my chances for a second date with you, I’m ok with that.  I don’t need this.”

His pleading was embarrassing.  He wouldn’t stop.  He was throwing out everything he could think of to turn me around, desperate.  I hung up on him and drove the rest of the way home hopeful of seeing you, my young friend who lives next door.

(Funny thing is that dude texted me at 12:30 to ask if the fuck I’d been looking forward to with you was worth passing up on his offer.  Oh, the irony.) 

I’ve run out of plays this week.  I’m not sure what my next move is.  I want to hide away and be left alone.  I fear you asking me to fulfill that favor in equal measures because I don’t want to and I want to.  I never say no, remember?  I’m bothered that I’m afraid of the word with you when you are so comfortable using it with me.  And that bothers me.

Actually, none of this sits well with me.  You are a wonderful guy and I hate that I have these sniveling little things to say.  I like being proud of the way you treat me and this week… well, I’m not so proud.  Not proud at all.

I hope we can talk today, but the ball’s in your court.  It will be up to me to have the strength to leave it there.

Fuck.  I hate that that this is what I have to say.  Hate it.

I have a sexual bucket list.

My sweet, sexy, sister from another mister, Love (or LSAM as most of you call her) of Love, Sex and Marriage had the brilliant idea of doing a little round up of our sexual bucket lists. I’ve seen a couple posted already and I’m impressed. Y’all are a bunch of fucking freaks!

I’d never given this kind of thing much thought, honestly, until recently. When I was married having sex at least once every 6 weeks was #1 on my list. So, I’m going to write this as I would have right after leaving my marriage: on wobbly new sex-legs and with a new sense of self. You might be surprised. Or maybe not. I shouldn’t really presume to know what you might think about me. I guess I should say that my list surprises me.

  1. Send sexy pic to lover
  2. Cum over Facetime
  3. Receive cock shot midday
  4. Receive cock shot from office
  5. Read a fantasy a man wrote about me Trip X took care of it in spades
  6. Open the door and get fucked with little to no talking before hand
  7. Have sex more than once in one day
  8. Be tied up and fucked until I beg for mercy done!
  9. Be spanked until I can’t sit and sob for it to stop
  10. Be fucked in my kitchen
  11. Fuck outside
  12. Fuck in someone else’s house/bed without their knowledge
  13. Suck a cock while getting fucked
  14. Be introduced to anal
  15. Be fucked with a dildo and a cock simultaneously in my pussy
  16. Be fucked with a buttplug in
  17. Fuck a man while he wears a buttplug
  18. Watch a man suck cock
  19. Watch a man get fucked by another man
  20. Eat pussy while getting fucked by a man
  21. Group sex; any combo
  22. Be blindfolded and watched
  23. Fuck a complete and total stranger
  24. Double vaginal penetration
  25. Double penetration – either a man in my arse or a dildo – I’m thinking dildo first
  26. Have welts left on my body from being struck during sex
  27. Swallow cum every time I have the chance
  28. Fuck more than one man in a single daygot up to only 2 in a day
  29. Fuck as many men in a single week as possibleso far, my record is 4 or 5 in one week
  30. *Mile-high club
  31. Have sex while being watched
  32. Fuck next to the railroad tracks near *******.
  33. Have a man do housework for me nude or in my panties.
  34. Cum with a cock in my mouth – one of many times
  35. Get finger fucked in public.
  36. Make love
  37. Be made love to
  38. Have a day or more dedicated to pleasure
  39. Wrestle as foreplay
  40. Dominate a man
  41. Have a man make me dinner while he’s naked
  42. Have sex while shrooming
  43. Go to a sex party
  44. Be given total submission
  45. Give road head – This has happened a shit ton, but is always extra fun with TN
  46. Word play
  47. Go in public with a buttplug in
  48. Have my Boy go in public wearing a buttplug
  49. Have my Boy send me a cock shot from the office

I plan on updating this after I read everyone else’s and see what I forgot.

*Posts after the * are updates

I have dreams involving sex and betrayal and feelings

Last night, New Year’s Eve, I spent it quietly in my home with my 4 year old kid.  We went to Red Lobster (because someone  wanted crab legs for the first time ever, but I won’t say who haha) and I marveled at the number of couples with slouched shoulders, 5 o’clock shadows, low, scrunchy-tied ponytails, and mid-sized pot bellies.  What they all had in common was their level of interaction with each other which was practically nothing.  Eyes were down on the food, I could see lips move every so often, but there was a cloud of stillness above each table I could see (I counted 3).

I couldn’t imagine that they had ended up there on purpose (Red Lobster or this place in their lives).  I figured that years of hard work and raising children had sneaked up on them.  I wondered if they had ever had a passionate love life; if the wives had ever called their men on a lunch break and said, “Darlin’ I’m gonna suck your cock like I’m mad at it the second you walk through the door tonight,” or if the husbands had ever spanked their women’s asses while pile driving into her so hard she had fingerprints for 2 days.

Yeah, and then I cracked some crab legs for my kid.

Seeing couples like that makes me sad and scared, despite my diehard belief that will never be me.  But then again, I don’t think they thought it’d be them either.

I came back home, hung with my kid until I was carrying a limp, footed-pajamaed body to bed, started a fire, opened a bottle of Pannier, and put June Christy on Pandora.  Jason was in Chicago for the holiday, Phillip on the west coast, and The Neighbor at a house party.  I’d had grownup plans sans men, but they’d fallen through and I decided ultimately to spend the turn of the year with the one person I’d lose my life over: my little one.  It was a lovely night.

However, as the night wore on and the bubbles began to affect my brain I began to get restless.  I really wanted to see The Neighbor.  He’d bought a fancy new car and we’d tried to have him come over for a champagne toast, but I was at the restaurant and he had to leave for his party.  We’d agreed that if there was any left when he got home we’d toast (truly, just a toast, but knowing us, we’d probably end up in bed).

Around 12:30 I texted him to let him  know there was, indeed, some left.  Unfortunately, he wasn’t sober enough to drive home and was crashing at his friend’s.  I dozed off on my couch under a soft blanket of candlelight and a crackling wood soundtrack.

At 2 I got up and crawled under my covers and instantly fell asleep, drifted away to my familiar dream world.  Troy made an appearance, his first in a while.  He had a rice pudding recipe that someone wanted and I was being pressured to get it from him.  At first I agreed to contact him for the recipe, then balked.  I didn’t want to have any kind of contact with him.  I put my foot down and said we’d just have to Google a recipe and be done with it.  While trying to work this out, a mysterious office-worker (mysterious to my conscious self, that is) pushed me down on my hands and knees, ripped my panties to the side and plunged a giant cock into my exposed, pink, pussy.  He rammed into me for what seemed like minutes as tears sprung to my eyes.  I was not worried about being caught.  But then suddenly, I was a mermaid in a clear river and Troy was there.  It was to be our goodbye.  I swam over and looked into his sherry-colored eyes.  I leaned in for a kiss and our lips met softly.  I knew he thought I had feelings for him, didn’t understand fully what I was doing. I pulled us under the water to solidify the gesture and make it clear: it was over.  The water moved gently over and past us.  Then I was in my bed checking texts.  One from The Neighbor said, “Not home yet.  I’m in #311 downstairs.”  My stomach clenched and dropped and flip-flopped.  I knew he’d fucked his host, or at least some other girl at the party.

And then I woke up.

My dream is significant.  I said goodbye to someone who hurt me deeply, who lied to me and went for my jugular deliberately; I came to this conclusion while being fucked by a random khaki-wearing cubicle warrior (I’m pretty certain this is the garb The Neighbor wears on a daily basis); I was jealous when I learned he’d slept with someone else, especially someone so close to home.

So much good and bad in this dream.

I really, really, really don’t want to have feelings for The Neighbor.  Please, God, don’t let this happen to me now.  This could only end badly for me.  He’s only 27, he wants to get married one day, have children of his own.  I’m 36, freshly divorced, limping along, too old for more children.  He’s the nicest man I’ve ever taken to my bed.  His kindnesses seem to be outnumbering my defenses.  I’m actually thankful he stayed away last night.  I couldn’t take it if he’d somehow made it back to me; without meaning to, it would have meant too much to me.

I don’t want to end up like those sad people in the restaurant which is why I left my husband, but clearly I’m yearning for a partnership, too.  Ugh.

Fuck.  Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck.