I will make sure he never forgets me, Part 1: Wherein I burn images into his brain

Time machine.

We had played catch for an hour in the park, his admiration at my arm and accuracy making me swell with pride.  “Any team would be lucky to have you!” he shouted from across the green expanse.  We took water breaks under a nearby tree and he’d press the canteen’s cold exterior against my braless breast and tweak the nipple before we’d head back out under the blistering sun.  I was barefoot and felt 13 again.

When I got too hot he made me stand in the shade and throw from there while he stood in the sun.

Then it was time to pack it in and head to our movie.  Snow White and the Huntsman.  We sat in the cool, dark theater and I did my level best to not talk.  We laughed about it afterwards because when those faeries were riding the bunny rabbits I nearly lost my shit entirely.  Not to mention the discovery that hot-ass Thor was the huntsman nearly made me clap.

I told him I wanted to go swimming when we got home.  He said sure.  I was still stinging from his decline to me making us dinner that night or the next because, as he put it, on Sunday he had a softball game and if there was an opportunity for him to drink with his friends (4 am girl included) that’s what he was going to do.  But, a stiff upper lip is the name of this game.  He isn’t my boyfriend.  He is a man with whom I love to spend time with; the tiny sliver of him that I know, I love; I date and fuck and kiss other men.  I knew going in this would be complicated.  I just never knew how complicated.

At the pool, there were the resident crispy brown, pot-bellied 40-70 year old men who befriend everyone who enters their water space.  They have music, a cooler filled with liquor and a lifetime of bad jokes to share.  We played catch in the pool, our balls whizzing by a football and splashing near playing children.  He’d swim over to me and clutch my pussy from behind, in plain sight, but hidden from everyone and make me climax.  His erection huge and off-limits, he would struggle for minutes to calm it down.

The old men extended an invitation to us to go to their apartment and continue to drink and smoke, though I declined the latter.  I don’t do drugs anymore and The Neighbor never has.  TN, though, whispered in my ear he really had no interest.  “What do you want to do instead?” I asked, my breasts bobbing on the surface of the water.

“Oh, we’ll figure something out.  Let’s go take a break for dinner; do our own things, then reconvene.”

“You sure you don’t want me to make dinner?”

“Yes.  And I know whatever you make will be far better than what I can make for myself, but I need a little TN time, that’s all.”

His introverted nature demands periodic breaks from constant socializing.  Though an extrovert to the core myself, I understood and was glad that he put it plainly.

“OK.  Then let’s meet back at my place in an hour.”

Front doors shut, showers were switched on.  I washed my hair and blew it dry, put on sweet-smelling lotion.  My herb-crusted lamb chops with braised kale were no less tasty eaten alone on my balcony than they would have been with company.  At the time we were supposed to meet he called me.  “Hey, I’m gonna be another thirty minutes.  I ran to the store to get you a treat.”

With my extra time I picked up my place and lit some candles.  Suddenly an orgasm was all I could think of.  I tidied my room, set out candles and decided tonight I would tie him up again.  I tucked two ties under the covers at the foot of the bed and three more at the head.  I laid down and grabbed my vibe, Interpol playing from the other room.  It was less than 3 minutes until he was due to come over and he is strangely punctual.

I stripped off my clothes and threw back my covers exposing the expanse of wine-colored sheets.  My whiteness would make a striking scene.  I put the vibe on me and began the easy climb up; eyes closed, breath caught.  I realized suddenly that this had never happened to him before.  I wanted to take it even more memorable.

I slipped my hand under my pillow and tied a silken sash across my eyes, returned the vibrator to my pussy and waited and listened.

When I heard the knock, my heart skittered.  When I didn’t answer he pushed the door open.  The puppy whined and wriggled her greeting from her crate.  I heard him croon to her and then nothing.  I held my breath.  Still total silence.

When his mouth came crushing down on my breast I arched up into him.  The rustle of his falling pants were next and then he was beside me offering me his giant cock as I continued to pleasure myself.

I was wild with desire, but didn’t want to cum yet.  I tossed the toy aside and grabbed his meat with both hands and slaved over it like a good little slut.  That lasted only seconds before he switched positions, nestled himself at my entrance and bore down into me.  I moaned and grabbed his ass, holding him as far in as I could get him.  His thrusts started out slow, then increased in tempo.  My pussy was already dripping wet, the silk on my eyes a delicate reminder of my goal tonight: to make him never forget me, to make me his gold standard for life.

He railed into me, I began to cry out.  Our bodies moved in motion, together, but against, searching for that fight between our cock and pussy that results in victory.  The blindfold was beginning to distract me.  I wanted to see him.  I released a hand from the bars of my headboard and slipped it off.  He was staring at me.  Our eyes locked in the candlelight and I didn’t want to look away first, but had to as his cock too me to a different place.

His kisses were hot, his muscles flexed under my hands.  I shook my head in helpless desire.  I couldn’t feel my hands.  We still hadn’t said one word to each other.  And then he stopped and swung to the side, still inside of me, and handed back the vibrator.  This one was going to kill me, I knew, and it did.  I sobbed for 5 minutes after it crashed down through me.  “C’mere, sweetie,” he whispered and pulled me into his arms as my whole body shook and tears streamed down to pool behind my ears.

[Part 2]

I have a story to tell about love and lust.

In November of 2010 I was about to move out of my marital house into my own apartment.  Every cell in my body was screaming and crying, yet my veneer was like a mountain lake.  I was icy, detached.  Lost and lonely.

At the time all I wanted was cock.  Lots and lots of cock.  I opened an online dating account at OKC in late August and slept with my first man in October.

Guy #3 had washboard abs and looked a little like John Cusack.  I’d invite him over for tea (and bourbon) while my kid napped and we’d kiss a little before he’d leave.  Our first official date was an out-of-town affair at a sausage festival.  “Should I book one bed or two?” he’d asked when making our hotel reservations.

“Surprise me,” was my loaded response.

That night we drank two pitchers of beer and I poured whiskey on my tits as I rode him on the squeaky hotel bed.  It was one of the hottest nights I’d had in years, but little did I know my life was about to change forever the next afternoon:  I had my first date with Troy.

Guy #3 drove me home where I changed quickly and tied my hair back in a messy ponytail.  I clearly had sex-hair, but I didn’t care.  I was turned on by the thought of going from one man’s bed to another’s arms for a date.  Guy #3 thought it was pretty great, too.

I texted Troy that I’d be a little late.  He’d said no problem.  I arrived at the local haunt to find him reposing on the flower beds, all 6’6″ of him.  He stooped to hug me as I tilted my head back to return the embrace.  He was cuter in person, I’d thought.

Lunch was uneventful until he grabbed my wrist and asked after my tattoo.  “What does this mean?” he wanted to know and for emphasis stroked the ink with a long finger.  My pulse quickened and I looked at him with new eyes.  This guy knew what he was doing.

After lunch we went back to his place, a cavernous two bedroom loft-like apartment a few blocks away.  There was a ladder under the dining room table in lieu of a place to sit.  “So I would stop nearly decapitating myself,” was his answer to my silent question.

“Ha!” I snorted, “Us little people don’t have to worry about things like that,” and I demonstrated by passing under the offensive lamp with a twirl.  He poured me a glass of wine and we sat on the couch.  I loved his reach and sheer size.  I’m not a petite woman; I like to be made to feel diminutive, and my personality is huge: hobble me, please.

We made out some that afternoon and I had to pull back from following him upstairs.  The birds were singing too loudly.  I wanted to play hard to get, not roll out the pussy-carpet.  His lips were soft and pliant, his weight pinned me to the couch.  We made plans to see each other the very next day, Sunday.  I left his place not feeling my feet hit the ground and his soapy, masculine scent in my nostrils.

I was a little nervous as I drove to his house after dark 24 hours later.  His physical presence, while obviously anatomically looming, also filled my emotional space and this was a disconcerting thought.  I hadn’t felt this way in my life.

He opened the door in jeans and a t-shirt. I walked up the steep wooden stairs ahead of him knowing he was probably checking me out in my tights and boots.  My hips swung harder.  He offered me some wine, I obliged.  I teased him about his freakish height.  We laughed.

Conversation was easy and flowed as we sat on the couch together.  He was on the cushion next to mine.   The conversation turned to sex.

I told him about how my first orgasm was on the back of a horse; about how I once won a blue ribbon in a college equitation competition after I had orgasmed for what felt like minutes in the arena with five judges’ eyes on me; about my first cock experiences (big, tiny, big, etc.).  Then I told him about my wild night with a friend in September.

My story was stilted, but I did my best to remember some of the finer moments: I was soaking wet, he fucked my face, I swallowed his cum, I was vibrating.

He took a deep breath then and told me he had “big cock” fantasies.  About touching one, sucking one, seeing one live and in person.  “Holy shit,” I stammered, “That’s my fantasy, too!  Being with two men…”

His sherry colored eyes bore into mine, the pause was heavy and humming.  Two beats more and he closed the gap between us and his mouth was on mine, passionately.  He laid on top of me and gyrated his hips into mine.  He kept kissing me and kissing me and kissing me.  His hands roamed all over my body, my mind raced.  All logic left my head and I abruptly panted between kisses, “Let’s just go fuck. C’mon,” and I took his hand and he jumped up after me.

On my way up the stairs I unzipped my skirt, inside the doorway it was on the floor, by the time I got to the bed my shirt was off.  I spun around and lay back on the bed to watch him undress.

He was huge, broad-shouldered and had a smattering of soft, downy chest hair.  His cock took my breath away, dark and throbbing between the creamy white of his thighs.  The next several hours were a blur of huge cock in a soaking wet pussy.  I had never been fucked like that in my life.  Never.

He was on top of me, piling into me, so large over my smaller form.  His headboard cracked with disapproval under my grip and I pushed against the wall instead, impaling myself on him.  His grunts and cries compelled me to thrust down harder on him; his cock hard on my g-spot I lost all sense of myself and could do nothing but buck wildly down on him.  He turned me on my left side, swung my right leg over, but kept my bottom leg between his and found a new way to stroke my screaming cunt from the inside.  He pumped into me a few more times, cried out deeply and fell on top of me, kissed my ear.

We laughed, panting, and sweating.  He was overjoyed at going balls-deep with me, said he could feel my cervix.  Said he could rarely do that with women.  I’m unbelievably wet.  Like gushing wet.  My body had become a fucking faucet.  He kept laughing and saying how amazing it was, shaking his head.

I asked him for his social security number and $20.

I let him rest unassaulted until I couldn’t stay away a moment longer. I fell down on his suddenly rigid cock with my eager face.  I was feeling something for a change.  Really feeling something.  The ice had receded and I was warm, then hot.  I felt alive for the first time in months, maybe even years. I wasn’t going to stop.

Fat on the bottom, slightly tapered at the top, his balls pliant in my hands.  I could taste a little of the condom, and a lot of me.  I sucked harder, alternated my grip strength and my exploration of his perineum.   He shot a delicious load down my throat and I swallowed it with gusto, kissed him on the mouth and lay on his big chest smiling and proud of myself.  He was in shock.

I asked  him what his orgasm-in-a-single-night record was and he said, “Three.”

I glibly replied, “We’re gonna break it tonight.”

On top, straddling his hips, I rode him like I was galloping with gunmen at my back.  My arms felt hot and heavy, my face flushed; I relished his big paws on my hips pushing and pulling me on top of him.  My pussy released herself all over the cradle of his hips.  I didn’t know what was happening to me, I felt like a bear in a trap: confused and riled up, seething with something.  I saw stars, had a sense of elation unlike anything else, I kept fucking him, crying out again and again.  He came again.  Number 3.

This time I offered him my social security number and $20.  He smiled and said, “I’m at your cervix.”

On the bottom, I heard more cracking of the headboard, more deep-voiced cries, my entire body was my moaning cunt, pulsing, pouring juices, ejaculating all over us; every thrust is a ripple of pleasure to my very fingertips, except they’re coming at breakneck speed, falling and crashing down on top of one another.

I started to cry and laugh.  It felt so good I couldn’t help myself.  I was completely overwhelmed.  I have left the motherfucking building.  He flipped me over on my stomach and drove into me with violent, hammering thrusts.  I envisioned splitting in two, cried and laughed into his sweet-smelling sheets.  Got impaled.  By a giant.  He came a fourth time like I’d promised he would.

“I know how your hair got to look the way it did yesterday,” he said grinning holding me in his arms.  He gave my long locks a little tug, “From fucking.  Am I right?”  I answered with a shy smile and curt nod.  “Mmm, I love it,” he murmured into my neck.

Something had just happened to me.  This is what I had been craving my entire life.  This out-of-body pleasure, this total consummation of my physical being, my sexual soul exposed and devoured, freedom to be who and what I wanted to be and to shout it to the rafters.  Fuck that whole notion that great sex can’t happen out of the gate, I say.  Either it’s there, or it isn’t, and when your heart isn’t involved that’s all there should be, clearly.

I spent the next 8 months having mind-blowing sex with Troy at the expense of my own emotional welfare.  He was cruel and insensitive on two legs, a wondrous magician of a lover off of them.  He helped me learn my own body in ways I never even knew existed and to this day use with my current lovers.  No woman had ever sucked him off before and my techniques with him have proven tried and true with others of his ilk.  His cock pounding on my cervix and g-spot taught me how to teach others where to find it.  And his rabidly unjust personality taught me to fight for my rights and to walk away with my chin held high.

My life with The Neighbor is 100x better than it was with Troy.  I trust TN, I love him, and the sex is even better than what I had with Troy and I never felt that was possible — and it was phenomenal right away with him, too — but they also share something else and that’s their belief that I fall outside of what they want in a partner.  They’ve each taken different paths to express it, but the end result is the same.  Just like with my exhusband, I am a misfit for their lives, and — more importantly — they don’t fit in mine.

My heart clenches at the thought of leaving TN, I love him so, but I simply cannot have a man in my heart who doesn’t want both me and my child in his.  There are no exceptions to this rule.  I’m dragging my feet to D-Day simply because I will miss him and I know it will hurt.  A friend thinks I should drop the hammer now, but I’m waiting.  I feel as though the right time will reveal itself.  I know it’s soon.

And if my experience with Troy has taught me anything, just because something is the best you’ve ever experienced thus far, it certainly doesn’t guarantee that it will never happen again.  TN proves that rule.  He came around and blew my mind, healed my wounds, and opened my eyes to a different kind of life.

God, I’m scared.

My face gets stuffed with cock.

The helmet of his cock is cradled in my mouth as I pulled back on a long stroke.

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Introducing TN, the photog.

He lavished me with attention and love. Canoodled with me, stroked my hair and face; complimented me like I was his. My face, my body, my tits.

Wherever I went, there he was within arm’s reach. Last night was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.

He paused Die Hard 3, Samuel L. Jackson in mid- hilarious rant and led me to my room.

He shoved me
Loved me
Sunk into me

He hit me
Bit me
Enflamed me

He kissed me
Enlisted me
Destroyed me

His cock
It fucking split me

I bawled, both my face and my cunt. His fucking was so deliberate, all for me. His words, every syllable: mine.

On my back, connected only by his hand, he made me drench two towels. I begged and pleaded with him to stop, but he refused. The sheer amounts of ejaculate were nerve racking. He crooned to me, swore it was the hottest thing ever, assured me he loved it. I clung to him in hope and embarrassment.

The flat side of a hair brush lit my flanks; I submitted, gave it up, relished in his care and pain.

My orgasm tore threw me, his mouth captured my cries.

And then we returned to Samuel and Bruce; curled together on the couch, champagne never wasted, tits and cocks dipped and sipped.

I fell asleep to flickering lights, awoke to a shake and a chuckle, kisses.

Something has happened. I’m sure of it.

Some kind of balance can be achieved. And I get the bejeezus fucked outta me.

Yesterday I lounged on my therapist’s large brown couch, a foot tucked under my bottom.  I’ve worked with this man for 9 years.  Nine.  And only after the 8 and a half was I brave enough to share a little bit about who I am sexually.

“So, I’m doing ok,” I start, “last week was pretty good.  Things are going well with The Neighbor.  I feel balanced.” As I sit and talk, my eyes roam about the room, skitter across book titles like Pathology, The Neurotic Child and Adolescent, Inner Torment.  I feel like I’m in good company.   My face cracks into a smile as I finish my thought, “But I don’t know how I’m going to recreate that feeling.  I mean, I had, 8, maybe 10 interactions with men, a great week at work and with my friends.  It was magical, but even I know it’s a lot.”

My therapist, a man of about 60 with a salt and pepper goatee and floppy hair, put his hand to his chin and quietly looked at me, said nothing.

“I feel more — ‘stable’ isn’t the right word, nor is ‘secure’ — I feel, calmer.  More in control.  Ever since TN said the “6 Strikes” thing I feel better about losing him, less on the receiving end.  More empowered.”  I pause and look at more books: Jung, Freud, Rogers, my friends and mentors.  “And I’m certain now that TN is in love with me.  He may never tell me, he may not even admit it to himself, but I know he does.  There’s no way he can’t.  And knowing it for myself makes me feel amazing.  I have the love of this young, Midwestern boy next door and I still get to go out on dates and fuck whoever I want.”

Finally, he decides to speak.  “It’s interesting to me that you don’t seem interested at all in developing that part of you that is ok being alone with yourself.  You describe a life that sounds chaotic to me, but you don’t think so.  You are in control, in your element.”  I quietly listen and give a small nod.

And he’s right.  The thing I’ve worked so hard on the past year and a half is balance and acceptance.  My entire life has been comprised of fighting my core urges, and to what end?  The demise of a marriage, strained relationships with my parents and sister, heartbreaking disappointments.  And all because I was working harder than everyone else in the room just to be accepted.  Well, fuck that and fuck everyone else.

“I’m tired of subscribing to this American ideal that you are only enlightened if and when you love being by yourself all the time.  I want to run head first into being me and see where that leads me.  I don’t not like being alone, I just struggle with it when I don’t want to be alone.  I get tired, I need time outs, I need to be left alone.  But on those nights when I want contact and I can’t get it, I’m frantic.  It’s true.  That’s the only thing I’m trying to work on changing.”

“But all these dates,” he counters, “you put yourself out there and, I can’t help but admit again, it just all sounds so chaotic.”

“No.  I love it.  I love people, I love the energy.  And what’s so different from having three dates on Monday from having three friend commitments on Sunday??  It’s still a lot and I can handle it.  Driving from one to the next I feel more alive, like I have a purpose, like I’m really me.”

Comfortable silence hung in the air and the red digital numbers on the clock ticked by; that indoor ivy plant everyone has languished in a beam of sunlight to my right.

I sometimes wonder if I should tell him everything about my sex life and if I’m doing myself a disservice by keeping my proclivities a secret.  I’ve opened up to him about Troy, but not the group sex or MMFs; he knows that TN and I have an active sex life, but no clue to what deeply penetrating degree.  But it’s not the acts that are relevant, it’s the feelings behind them.  And I’m completely open about those.

So, I feel strangely balanced after a week filled with dates, sex, blowjobs, desire, wanting, emails, laughs, friends, activities, accolades at work, drinks with friends, and tons of quality time with TN.  We talked for hours, flirted, kissed, petted and played.  He surprised me multiple times with sweet words and kind gestures, a desire to stay with me longer than even I wanted.  And all without sex. All without me wanting it.

I’m happy to feel this empowered calm, but I’m fighting a knot of nervousness that it will melt under the bright sun of my exposed week without my child by my side.  My life is cyclical: non-custodial weeks find me frantic and scrabbling for things to fill me and my time, custodial weeks I am soft and centered.  Having an awesome non-custodial week, while exciting, is also generally a fluke.  And I’m a little worried, though I wish desperately I wasn’t.  But again, it’s me, so I’m going to walk right into it and see what happens.

Last night after I’d read Little Critter and Spider Man books and tucked in my sleeping babe I went back out to my couch.  I text some friends, catch myself giggling and realize I was in that place within me: I wanted company.  So, instead of fighting it, I texted TN this with a note that said, “They’re lonely.”:

Well, hello there.

I hit send and then realize I was actually goddamned exhausted.   Hmm.  Fancy that.  But, I’m going with this shit, so I get up, put the leash on the puppy to take her out one last time before I went to bed and literally ran into TN on my way out the door.

“What are you doing here?”

“You said your tits were lonely.”  The puppy wraps her leash around his legs and wriggles against his shins.

Bent over untangling him I look up at him, “They are still lonely.  Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

We lay on the couch and he curls into me, a yang to my yin.  He discovers I’m insanely ticklish and makes me squeal and plead.  How could it be that after 7 months he doesn’t know this about me?  It’s telling.  Then he pulls down my tank top and suckles on my breast.  Heat floods to my core.  I haven’t been touched, really touched in days.   I stroke his hair, we chit-chat between his suckles, he rubs my legs, my mound over my little pajama shorts.  But I didn’t touch him.

I’d made a bet with him on Friday on our date that I wouldn’t touch his cock until he asked me to.  His bump-condition-thingy (and no, it’s not an STD, just an unfortunate rash for those of you who have been wondering) was torturing the both of us, causing him anxiety and me frustration, so the bet was to alleviate both for us.  Of course I lost the bet two hours after I made it because he caught me completely absent-mindedly massaging it as he stood behind me.  Talk about fucking stupid.  It had taken the both of us a few seconds to even realize what I was doing!  Oh well.  But I had reinstated the bet and last night I was sticking to it.  I wanted the control.  He had other ideas, however.

And because my rule is to do whatever it is I feel like doing in an attempt to appeal to whatever thing it is inside of me that drives me, I let him lead me into my room and pull the sticky door shut with a squeak and lock the handle.

He peels off his clothes and his erection springs out and down like a falling tree, bobbing and swinging under its own weight.  I snuggle up beside him and pull my covers closer to me.  I don’t know what to do.  He tells me to hold it.

I feel shy, but do as he says.  In my hand it’s thick and hot, a beautiful dusky pink.  I slide the skin up and over the head and back down again.  He rolls onto his back and I climb up on top, spread his knees with my own and watch him tug on his meet, his balls bouncing as if on a blacktop.

I lean over and breathe hotly on the head, let spit slip out of my mouth onto the head.  I look at him and his light blue eyes are boring into my own darker ones.  “Ok.  Just the tip,” I say.  “Don’t worry, you’ll still be a virgin when I’m done.”  He laughs, but cuts it short as I take him into my mouth.  His hand rests on the back of my head and I never get “just the tip,” as he eases his cock as far as I can take into my face.  My pussy pulses.  He just took control.

I lave his cock with my velvet tongue and grip the shaft with my left hand, bracing my weight with my right.  His thighs tense and relax in rhythm to my ministrations.  He is close.  And fast.   He grabs me and hauls me up his chest.  I’m still clothed, but he’s buck naked, his chest hair springy against the cotton of my tank top.  He kisses me hard, I beg him to let me finish, but he instead he orders me to roll over onto my back.  “But, why?  I don’t understand.”

“I don’t want to cum, yet.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“Do you understand now?” he asks as he shifts my shorts to the side and presses the head of his cock into my hole.

“Yes.  Yes, I understand,” I moan as he slowly pushes all the way inside of me.  My pussy weeps with joy, my chest swells.  I feel one with the primordial loam, all woman-kind, the sun and moon and stars.  There is nothing more pure, more me than this moment of being filled with the perfect partner.

I am overwhelmed with a sense of balance I can’t create by myself.  The sounds of sex, of his breathing, his taste in my mouth and the stretching of my center by him.  I cry into my hand, my arm, anything to stifle the noise from my slumbering child in the next room.  I grip the wire head-board and push back with all my might.  He mewls his own passion, losing control.

He flips me over, pulls my pants off.  “Mmm.  I haven’t seen you from this angle in too long, Hy.”  I can’t speak.  I only raise my bottom higher for him.  He slides back in and roughly pushes my shoulders down, grabs both my arms and yanks them back.  Both my wrists are held tightly, painfully, in one of his.  With his other he grabs my hair and pulls my face up out of the mattress.  His cock rams into me.  Tears run down my face, gasps are all that escape me.  I rock my hips back on him.

“You love that, don’t you, you dirty little slut.  You fucking slut.”

“Mmmhmm,” I manage to reply.  “Yes.”

“Yes, you do, you slut.”  He roughly shoves my head down and pins my arms down by side and slams into me.  I’m sobbing dryly into my white sheets.  My center is blooming.  This is the first time it’s more than I can handle.

“Roll over again, Hy.  I want you on your back.”

“TN, you’re killing me.  I want to die,” I say as I comply.

“You’re not going to die.  You’re going to do as I say.”

What little protest I had in me was lost into his crushing mouth and his hand buried in my cunt.  He began to stroke.  I whimper and grasp at shoulders, hang on for dear life.  The climax swells up and over me in a thunderous crash.   My ejaculate spills into his cupped hand and splatters all over us.  My center is now flaming so brightly it’s painful.

I grab his wrist panting and pull it away from me.  “No, really.  Please,” I look into his eyes, hold contact.  “We have to stop.  I’m going to fucking die.  I’m going to die from sex.  Truly.  My belly hurts.”

He chuckles and kisses me softly.  “Ok, sweetie.  I’m sorry for breaking you.”

“It’s ok.  I think it’s my cervix.  And I have to pee.”  I stagger into the toilet and relieve myself.  When I return to the dimly lit room he’s mostly clothed, he’s trying to figure out how to stuff his giant cock into his jeans.

I feel embarrassed that I had to cry uncle and I feel supremely stupid, like Sex Stupid, which happens frequently with him.  I can’t remember my name.  “What’s the capital of Peru?” he asks.

“Lima.”

“No it isn’t.”

“Yes it is!”

“What’s the capital of Honduras?”

“Dude, no one knows that shit even on a good day!  What’s the capital of Canada?”

“Canada City??” he says wryly.  We laugh and I walk him to the front door.

“Fuck, that was awesome.  Thanks.  It’d been way too long,” I say with a shy grin.

“Yes, it had.”

“I’m sorry I had to stop.  Maybe my body forgot how to fuck you.”

“It’s ok, I had fun.  We’ll practice some more.” he replies as he pulls me close for a long, slow kiss.  And then he leaves and I shuffle off to bed.  Feeling balanced, feeling nervous, feeling sore, but mostly, feeling happy.

I dress him up, I dress him down.

I deftly dropped to my knees and took the head of his stiff penis in my mouth. His hand silently squeezed my shoulder as I pinched my eyes shut and also struggled not to moan. I dared only to push my face down so far for fear of losing myself; no slurping aloud. My eyes fluttered open and the image of my flushed face penetrated like the eye of a needle by his cock looked back at me.

I couldn’t help myself: “Mmmm.”

We both cringed at the noise. I kept watching the woman and man in the mirror for a few moments more, then reluctantly released his rod, stood up. He grabbed a breast and hefted it out of my bra and dress in order to sink his face onto it. His lips and tongue a biting heat on my nipple.

His free hand began to gather up the hem of my dress and then it was at the joint of my legs. His fingers dipped in between the wet folds, slid into my hole, and began to curl.

“No!” I exclaimed and broke the embrace all together. “You can’t. I’ll make a mess!” I’m pained, but I refuse to create a puddle here. We looked around the dressing room with the scattered clothes and shopping bags and can hear the din of voices on the other side of the door. He smirked agreement.

The day started with The Neighbor asking me if I liked the mall. “Really?? I love the mall!” was my demure reply. I might have even hopped a little. I only had a hunch as to what he wanted to do there. Over the course of the last six months TN has reshaped his body and decided his look should be next. His clothes, typically too big now, are what you’d see the average software engineer wear: sneakers, baggy jeans, a nondescript polo shirt. Bleh. He recognizes that I know fashion, design, and food and frequently relies on my expertise for guidance for design and food, but he’d yet to tackle fashion until Sunday.

You know those stupid movie montages where a couple goes hand in hand on the boardwalk and he wins her a stuffed animal at the ring toss and she later loses a balloon as he kisses her at the end of the pier? Well, yeah, minus that stupid shit, that’s how the day went for us.

We tried on sunglasses at Nordstrom and surreptitiously fondled each other when the blue-eye-shadowed lady behind the counter wasn’t looking. “You should buy her a pair for helping you,” she suggested at one point. TN, clad in classic Ray Bans and looking like he should jump into a 1963 Chevy leveled a look at her and told her not to “help.” I laughed and made sure more of my cleavage was showing.

Double-wire Ray-Bans in hand we headed out for shoes next. I had a very specific idea. He had none whatsoever. “Black with a thick white bottom,” I explained, “can be dressed up or down. You can wear them on a date or to the lake.” If he’d had a pen and paper I’m pretty sure he’d have taken notes.

For the shoes we ended up in a space-ship-like storefront where I plucked 4 different shoes off the wall. The salesman only brought back the left shoes of all of them. Since when did you have to specify both shoes when trying on a pair?? Each time I found a new pair and had to say, “Both, please; the left and right,” my sides hurt with laughter and The Neighbor giggled as he hopped around on one shoe-clad foot for added effect.

Now armed with glasses and shoes we headed out for jeans. J. Crew caught my eye. “Let’s just go in and you can tell me what you like and don’t like and we can go from there,” I said as I steered us inside. A blue plaid short-sleeved button-down was quickly snatched up. I ran back and forth bringing him jeans and other shirts. The salespeople smiled at us, the cute “couple.” — Oh, the irony.

Eventually, I found my way inside the dressing room while he was pulling on a new pair of jeans. The sleeping bulge in his crotch hard to hide. I reached around and grabbed its roundness. “How the hell do you hide this thing??” I wondered aloud.

“I’ve never noticed it before now.”

“How could you not! Jesus Christ, it’s all you can see!”

Such is the burden of a well-endowed man, I suppose.

We left the store with him wearing his new sneakers, a new pair of jeans and that blue shirt that matched his own pale blue eyes. The spring in his step was noticeable.

He’s not the first man I’ve ever made over. My ex-husband benefited from me overhauling his look, as well, as did another ex-boyfriend. Women yearn for smaller sizes and often stuff themselves in ill-fitting clothes just to have that little number on her tag, but men are the exact opposite. They want to be XLs and Ls. Is that somehow more manly? TN left with smalls and mediums and a lesson in where the shoulder seam should hit his form. He looked fucking fantastic.

We left the mall and he took me to lunch and a movie and then to a couple more stores where I needed to go. I was exhausted and my back was killing me, but sexy banter and boob-grabs can take me pretty far, apparently.

Exhausted, we headed home. The idea of fucking was heavy on my mind, but I was also thinking I could do without, so great was my back pain and so great had the day been I didn’t want to push it. We decided to part ways for a little while so we could both recoup on either side of the plaster. Around 7:45 I remembered Game of Thrones was coming on. I mentioned it to him and we agreed I’d come over to watch.

An hour, a bowl of popcorn, and a hydrocodone later I was ready to go home. I got up to leave. We hadn’t touched each other during the show. I didn’t have it in me. “Well, thanks, TN. I had an awesome day.”

“Me, too. It really was a lot of fun.”

I headed toward the door and he seemed surprised. I don’t blame him. I mean, I’m the one who scratches at his door like a lab rat waiting for that pellet — operant conditioning and all that.

“Wait,” he said and reached out to grab my arm.

“No, really. I have to go home.”

“Ok, but do this: text me when you go to sleep and I’ll be there in an hour.”

“Wha-?”

“Text me when you go to sleep and I’ll come over an hour later,” he said more firmly.

Maybe it was the drugs, but I still wasn’t sure I was hearing him right. I must have looked confused because he came to me and kissed me and pulled out a breast and held its ripeness gingerly as he suckled. Ok, I get it now.

I tried to leave again, but he stopped me. Again. There may have been “5 seconds” worth of cocksucking before I managed to make it back to my place still clothed.

After working on a canvas for about an hour, and a glass of wine, I headed to bed. It was 11:26 when I texted him, “Bedtime.”

I slipped into a druggy haze of cottonball clouds and warm water sliding over my naked body. I was a heather boom blown in the wind, fragrant and fuzzy. No cares touched my grey matter; heavy and rich as it was. Suddenly, my heart pounded and my body was poised for flight. I heard a noise, felt a warm presence behind me.

A hand pulled back the down laying lightly on my side and it rested on my hip, slid down to my buttocks, dipped into my exposed folds. I moaned and stretched as I rolled over onto my back. The Neighbor was naked above me. “Do you always sleep with a candle lit?” he asked.

“Sometimes,” I replied as I guided his massive erection into my mouth. I’d barely opened my eyes.

He moaned and I grabbed his ass and pulled him deeper into my throat; his hands skated across the hills of my body. We fucked old-fashioned style — him on top — and he reached new depths inside of me. He was enormous this night. I bit and nipped his neck, he kissed mine. I dug my heels into his flanks to drew him deeper and my pussy did its best to roll out the wettest of welcomes.

He raised back and drilled into me. I felt an orgasm at the end of a long hall, dimly back-lit. I began to cry and The Neighbor lost it all together and violently poured himself into me. I lay beneath him shaking my head, shocked that I’d felt an orgasm bud.

He stroked me a few more times then grabbed my vibe. I lay on my back, still interlocked with him and he positioned himself to my left, beneath my legs. Seconds later his thrusts tumbled me over into a haystack of glitter.

I cried, my arm flung over my eyes. I coukdn’t bear to let him see my tears. I couldn’t stand the emotion, the sadness, the happiness. It was all too much.

He crooned to me and I crawled over to his nook. We said almost nothing until his warm deep voice broke the candlelit silence, “This was all just a dream, Hy. You were dreaming.” He rolled over, got dressed, kissed me one last time and left wearing the new Gap underwear I’d picked out for him earlier that day.

My ejaculate landed on the walls.

Another from the catacombs of my past.  This was my one-on-one encounter with Ryan.  Before the threesome, after an MMF.  Enjoy.

Ryan and I went on a date last Thursday.  We hung out at a dive bar near his apartment, chatted up all the locals and generally had a great time.  He wasn’t affectionate or touchy-feely and I had a moment of panic that maybe he’d decided he didn’t like the way I looked upon setting eyes on me again.  I shouldn’t have worried.

We fucked like maniacs all night long.  I rode his mocha-colored body while we were both bathed in the blue light from his TV.  He lapped at my pink folds and delved his fingers deep inside of me.  He turned me around and bent me over and pounded me so hard from behind we moved the couch a foot.  We finally decided to move to the bed once the rug was soaked from my streaming cunt.

I’m pretty sure some of my ejaculate is on the walls of his bedroom.  He would take his huge cock and  slap it on my clit with quickfire movements and I’d squirt uncontrollably.  I had to hold my hand over my mound to stop the splatter from dusting my own face.  Then he’d slide deep into me, exclaim at my wetness, and how I’d clench down on him.  An hour or more and he never came; he’d stop, yell out at how good it felt and then laugh at what torture it was for him to fuck me.  He wanted so badly to cum, but also didn’t want it to end.

Eventually, he fucked the shit right out of the both of us, sans orgasm for either, and we passed out in the mighty wet spots on his mattress.

I slept fitfully, if at all, and finally decided to go home at 5.  But, I told him, not before he came.

He smiled and rolled over on his back and I nipped his neck, his shoulders with my lips and teeth.  Trailed my hair down his muscled chest and found his turgid shaft ready for me.  I sucked for a few minutes, learning what he liked and what worked best, and when I sensed he was finally ready I sucked harder, though still slow, steady and silky.  He came in a rush, his cum mild and pleasant in my hot little mouth.

“I see why Troy says you’re the best!” he chuckled.

“I want to fuck you again.  Soon. Wanna come over before my date Saturday afternoon?” I boldly ask.

“Fuck, yeah,” he agreed.

I have a houseboy.

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

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

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

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

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

Naturally, I acquiesced.

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

“Mmm, I like that,” he murmured.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ready for business.

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

Control feels good. And so do clean carpets.

I have a fantasy about a married man, Part 2.

I’m all about follow-up posts apparently this week.  Part 1 is here.  And who knew this would be more than a 2-parter?  Not me, certainly.  Enjoy!

He pushes the door open and I walk through, making sure to brush my breasts against him as I pass.  The room has two beds and a clean, modern look. I casually toss my purse on a chair and pull the curtains open.  The city sparkles below, the river curls lazily on its back as if inviting me to do the same.

He has kept pace with me and as I stand gazing out the window and kick my shoes off a beat later he is pressed behind me with his hands cupping both breasts.  I throw my head back and expose my throat to his mouth.  He nibbles my ear and traces his teeth along the chords of my neck, kneading my breasts, puffing deep-throated grunts along my skin.

I feel the bulge of his erection on my bottom and I press back more.  He bites me and I moan.  His hands slip beneath the thin cotton and free each heavy breast.  I moan louder.

He presses us both closer to the window until I must catch myself on the glass.  I hear him fumble with his britches and then his rod is caught in the folds of my dress between my legs.  I spread my feet just a little.

He falls forward on me and I brace myself under his weight.  He hikes up my skirt and finds my hot flesh, inflamed for him, dripping.  His fingers gently part the folds and dip inside, his cock is still safely tangled in fabric.

“Jesus Christ, you’re wet, Hy.  I thought you made this shit up.”

“No.  I never make it up.  It’s real.  And it’s for you,” I manage to answer.  His fingers begin a brutal rhythm and I start to shake a little.  His cupped hand is filled with my ejaculate and my dress suddenly feels like burlap, my hand prints have become sweaty smears on the glass.

Apollo seems to feel similarly about my dress and pulls it up and over my head in one motion.  He’s still fully clothed.  When he enters my pulsing slash, we haven’t yet kissed.

He pushes in slowly and an inch more when his pelvis reaches my buttocks.  I pant gently letting that filled-up feeling wash over me and tingle up over my shoulders and down to my fingertips.  He begins to move, his hands tight on my waist.

“Apollo – ” I start to say.

“Hy, don’t speak.  Not a word.”

I shut my mouth and begin to whimper as his pace increases and I hear his breathing become labored.  I wish we were on a lower level so a passerby might see me pressed against the cool glass wall, but find my view of his reflection a pleasant consolation prize.  He’s gazing down at me, his face transfixed with pleasure.  I rock back and pivot my hips just a little.  I feel him swell inside.

His balls swing and smack my vulva with each pump and I reach back and gently pull on them.  I have one shoulder pressed against the glass and the awkward position heightens my arousal.  I can’t move.

He pulls out and pulls me up to my full height.  He begins to dip down to take my mouth with his, but kisses my jaw instead.  My hand is wrapped around his wet cock.  He runs his hands up my body, pinching my nipples hard as he passes them, to rest his hands on my shoulders.  He gives a warm squeeze, then I feel pressure.

I lower to my knees and his bobbing meat glistens in the sun streaming through the window behind me.  I lick the head and taste my cunt.  I grab the base and impale my face on him, begin to move, do my thing.  He involuntarily pushes his hips forward and groans.  I lap and slurp and stroke like my life depends on it.  Like sucking his cock will turn back time, fill my bank accounts with money, solve world hunger.

He is lost to my ministrations.  My pussy cries happily, my juices running down my thighs as I taste precum and feel him grown then recede and grow again beneath my tongue and lips.  I press my finger to his perineum, slide it back to his anus.  It constricts and he thrusts almost angrily at my face with his hips.  I push a little further, just the tip and his thighs are like brick walls on either side of my face.  He begins to tremble.

He’s close, I know it.  I want so badly to taste his seed, to feel his beautiful, thick cock spurt into the back of my throat.  To look at him with his cum glistening on my lips, my face flushed with exertion.  I want this so badly.  I dive down harder and concentrate.  This is going to happen. My pussy pulses, little mews escape my throat, tears begin to run down my face and then he roughly breaks us apart, grabs me by the arms and throws me roughly down on the bed and undresses as he climbs up over me.

I tie up my lover.

[My Tuesday night.]

He knocks at about 7:32. Nothing could have prepared me for what was going to come.

We decide to play poker. He is patient and sweet, reminding me of the goings on each deal. He feels like shit, he says. Maybe it’s food poisoning, but he’s here, so I don’t dwell on it too much. He asks if I mind that he deals each time. I say, “Not at all, why?”

“Well, some people might think I was sending a message that they weren’t any good at doing it themselves.”

“Yeah, maybe fucking insecure assholes. No, I’m happy to let you be in charge.”

And when I feel sufficiently comfortable with the rhythm of the game I ask to take over. At this point he seems to be feeling much better. I occasionally heft out a breast while I deal, he pulls out his magnificent cock, we put it all away. I pull out just one another time and he comes over and dares me to deal while he suckles on me, his whiskers lost in the pillow of my white flesh.

I tell him why I feel men are so beautiful and he leaps up and removes his shirt. “You mean you like this?” and he points at his broad shoulders and his narrow waist. I laugh and answer, yes. Pretend to be exasperated.

“Put your clothes back on for Christ’s sake. We have a game to play! By the way, I found something in my closet this weekend when I was cleaning it out. I think you’ll really like it.”

“What is it?”

“I’m not going to tell you. You’re not well and I’d rather demonstrate.”

He begs for a minute or two, but I remain firm.

My pile of chips grows as we discuss strategy. Generally, much as in life, I throw caution to the wind and play nearly any hand dealt me. It usually reaps rewards, but tonight he occasionally bluffs and I lose a significant amount. I remind myself to be cautious. How fitting.

Earlier in the night I told him that sex was not expected of him. We had a good laugh over that, but really, he wasn’t feeling well and I was happy to just hang out with him, but his mood and energy levels seemed to be improving by the hand. I am cautiously optimistic this night may not end with us clothed.

I put two cold chips on my nipples then two on his ball sack. I think I’m pretty hilarious.

And then, like a clock at midnight, it wasn’t the same anymore. Something shifted. And against his miniscule protestations he was standing before me and I was rubbing his cock, then on my knees. When I heft out his cock from his underwear I sigh and grip it lovingly, gratefully, in my hands. Memories from the night before with a smaller cock that was all wrong for me vanish.

I suck and stroke and gag myself on his erection. “Goddamn, I love your cock.”

“What do you think when you first see it?”

I search for the words. “Tonight I thought, ‘Finally.’ What do you think when I first pull it out?”

Finally.”

Living in the moment like I’ve decided to do to, to the fullest extent I’m possible, I’m not concerned with what’s about to happen. I am only a mouth, a body, a pair of eyes filled with cock. Pleasuring him is enough, but I am also going to follow his lead.

“You know, I could fuck you if you’re not feeling up to it. But, you said we aren’t going to have sex tonight, so I have to respect that.” I slowly stand up and go back to my seat, pick up the deck and begin to shuffle.

He stands there baffled. He’s used to me being a slave to his cock, unable to resist. He puts himself back together and sits again. We play a few more rounds and then once more his cock is in my mouth and he’s removed all of his clothes. He walks back towards my room.

“Where are you going?” I ask after him.

“Oh… just going to lie down for a little bit.” I obediently follow.

He switches on my closet light, cracks the door and lays down. His cock full and proud rests heavily on his belly. I can’t see his bellybutton.

I kneel next to his legs and begin to circle my nipples over my dress, run my hand down my belly to my crotch and lightly rub. “I’m sick,” he reminds me.

“Don’t worry, I won’t fuck you. Close your eyes if you can’t handle it.” And the second that he does I rub my hungry pubis over my dress so loudly there’s no doubt about what I’m doing.

“I can hear you.”

“Oh really?? That’s just too bad.”

He opens his eyes and watches me. I pull my dress up and move my panties to the side. I am sopping wet. He can hear the squelch on my fingers. I moan.

And then he gives the green light and says I can fuck him. This is what I was waiting for, hoping for. I rip open a golden wrapper and lay it beside him, climb on top of his legs and worship his cock with my mouth. Still in my dress I remove my panties and straddle him. The second his cock impales me my pelvis tingles and heat swiftly rises up my torso and tingles crawl up my scalp, my arms burn with heaviness.

I ride him sitting tall, leaning over and then like a jockey, my feet at his hips. I start to cry. I can’t keep going, it’s too much. I lean down and kiss his lips, his jaw, his ear and rise up off of him.

“What did you find in your closet? Tell me.”

“NO. You aren’t well enough for that and I’m not going to tell you, I want to show you.”

“Ok, then you can’t suck my cock unless you show me.” My hand, which had been fondling his mostly still erect penis, freezes.

“Oh really? Well, let me suck it while I deliberate.” And, despite what he’d have me think about being a slave to his cock, he’s as much a slave to my mouth. His hands fall to his sides and he lets me fill my mouth with him. I am trying to get him to forget about my treat, but he is tenacious.

“Now. I want to know now. Are you done deliberating?” I decide I am.

Without a word I get up and kneel at the wicker basket beside my bed and start pulling out silk scarves. One, 2, 3, 4 — where is? — ah, yes, 5.

“What are those?” he asks from the bed.

“I don’t recall you getting to ask me any questions.” I don’t know if I’ve turned into the pumpkin or Cinderella, but I’m going with it.

I secure his arms spread wide to my headboard and his feet neatly together to the footboard. As I trail the 5th bright red scarf along his body I ask him what I should do with it. He stammers a little, but comes up with some suggestions. I drag it across his face and it catches on his stubble. I growl my appreciation and let it lay over the top half of his face, nip his ears, jaw, and throat.

It suddenly occurs to me how much power I have and I bite his nipple. He exclaims and bucks up. I continue to nip down his torso to his left hip. His cock is pressed against my left cheek. I fondle and suck and grip and lick his meat. I dip down and lap his perineum. He groans and stiffens.

“You like this, TN? You like not being able to move?”

“Yes, yes. I think you can fuck me again now.”

I crawl back up to his ear and whisper, “I think I can do anything I want to you now.” I straddle his bare cock making sure it’s pressed against my belly, not my cunt.

“Yes, you could,” he answers.

“I could fuck you just like this,” and I grab his cock emphasizing the lack of protection between us. He’d told me once we’d never, ever have unprotected sex.

“Yes, that’s right.” His compliance to what I am half jokingly inferring makes my chest swell.

I begin to rub my lips on his shaft. I wait to see what his reaction will be. He moans and thrusts. I slide along more of his length reveling in the feel. I’ve never felt him this way before. I can tell he’s trying to enter me. I keep him at bay for a moment longer then guide him in.

I slowly sit back in awe. His skin against mine, inside of me, is otherworldly. We both are at a loss for words. I begin to move again. Filled with emotion and love and pride and glory. My pussy weeps on his belly and my clit sings. Down a dark corridor I can sense an orgasm waving at me. I increase my tempo but my g-spot fights for dominance and the gushing and the tingling and the heat overwhelms me and I have to stop.

I have clawed and gripped at his chest for purchase throughout this ride and so when he suggests I free his hands I do so quickly, then we free his feet. CLICK. Shit changes again and he roughly grabs my shoulders and slams me down on my back and plunges into me.

He fucks me till Tuesday and until I can barely feel him for I am so wet. I cry out every filthy word I can think of, scream his name, beg him to cum inside of me. Even his balls feel better slapping against my ass without a condom.

He flips me over onto my belly and continues to rail me. I am drenched in sweat and tears. He won’t stop. The slamming, the slapping, the sucking noises, the grunts, moans, and whimpers. My headboard creaks immodestly, occasionally my hand makes pounding noises on the wall. I don’t care about anything anymore.

He stops for a minute and asks if I could cum with him inside of me if I lay on my vibrator. I tell him I’d give it a shot. The vibrations pressed against me with the rhythm of his thrusts kick me high, so high I beg him to let me raise up on my knees. He obliges.

And with my shoulders driven into the mattress and his cock in me from behind I press the vibrator against me. I climb and climb and climb some more, that ever elusive orgasm always down that dark corridor. He knows I’m close and so stops and replaces his cock with his fingers. I respond immediately. My orgasm is closer, the hall not so dark.

I am unabashadly splayed open to him. My asshole winking at him, my cunt dripping and hot under his hand. I feel free.

I flip back onto my back and his fingers curl up inside of me. I begin to tremble violently and then the universe splits and I yell out an orgasm so big, so blinding that afterwards my teeth chatter.

He pulls me into his arms and pets my wet temple. I pant and whimper some more. And through my euphoria I am heartbroken he didn’t cum. He assures me he couldn’t care less, that it was because he wasn’t feeling well.

He kisses me and gets up, starts to put his clothes back on. I am a helpless 1000lbs on top of tangled sheets. My left knee up, my right leg down. He makes a “picture” motion with his fingers and clicks his tongue.

“Could you fall asleep right now?” he asks me.

“Um, yes. Oh my god. I can’t – I mean – um, yeah…”

I follow his lead and pull my dress back down over my head. When I stand up I am dizzy and must sit back down then I stumble drunkenly after him to the living room. I am expecting him to leave immediately but he doesn’t. He stays for a strangely long time.

As I struggle to think coherently he opens up to me. He says I’m a very genuine person. I swell at the compliment. His whole demeanor is different than ever before as we talk. He seems reluctant to leave, which is not him at all. He’s usually all too eager to take off. I sit patiently and wait.

“I don’t think you’d notice if I faded to black,” he tells me. “If you did, I’d notice, but I don’t think you’d notice at all.”

“What are you talking about?? Of course I’d notice!” I feel like I have accidentally found a treasure box of sorts. Is he saying he thinks I don’t care about him? Is this what all of this is about?? “I would definitely notice, TN. First of all, I’m trained to notice people and their behaviors, secondly, I am always reaching out to you. I would know if you were pulling away.”

“No, I don’t think so. It’d be more obvious with you. You talk a lot more,” and there is a twinkle in his eye. I’m actually flabbergasted. We’ve spent hours and hours talking and certainly not just me.

A laugh bursts out of me as I lay example after example at his talkativeness. I exclaim, “Look at you with all my friends! You’re all jibberjibberjibber!” I make a yapping hand signal and he stands up and mockingly yells at me “I’m a recluse, goddamnit! A recluse! I don’t talk!! I don’t like people!” as I shout, “You’re fucking gregarious, outgoing, charming, and a great conversationalist!” The puppy bites his ankle and our debate ends in giggles.

Finally, he’s ready to go home. I am mostly back together, but still reeling from the night. He stands expectantly in the middle of the floor and I walk over to him. I put my arms around his neck and kiss him deeply, thank him for coming over. He kisses me back and holds me close. I walk him to the door and we say goodnight.

We never discuss what just happened to us.

I don’t require sex, but I get fucked anyway.

I worried that he was trying to cancel on me when I got this text:

So fucking exhausted :-(

So I assured him that fucking tonight was not a requirement.  I thought, “Hmm, it’ll be nice just to make him dinner and chill, watch A Game of Thrones maybe…”

Butter-poached sea bass, braised kale with bacon and onion, and a roasted cauliflower with caramelized yellow onions and goat’s milk puree were on the menu.  He’d mentioned before how impressed he is at my cooking skills and I wanted to really knock his socks off.

While chopping crispy bacon bits he walked up behind me and hefted my braless breasts into his hands.  I arched my back and pushed my bottom into the warm curve of his groin and fed him a piece of bacon.  He squeezed my breasts.  I fed him another piece.  He pinched my nipples.  “Nothing better than breasts and bacon, no?” I stated.

I turned around and took his scruffy face in my hands.  “I love your 5 o’clock shadow,” I purred before I dipped my mouth to his.  It was salty, like mine.  Bacon-y.  He took a hand off his face and put it on his bulging shorts. He was huge and hot.

I took another piece of bacon, “SIT,” I commanded.  He grinned and complied.  I straddled his legs and pressed my pubis into his face.  He opened his mouth and breathed hot breath through the cotton of my dress.

I came back to reality then and finished dinner.  We ate, laughed, watched a couple of A Game of Thrones like I’d hoped.  When the second episode began he came to sit next to me on the couch, our thighs pressed along the length of each other, his arm over my shoulder.  I absent-mindedly stroked his erection; he casually held my right breast.

When the second show was over he teased me for trying to have sex after all.  I assured him it wasn’t on my mind.  Then I pushed him back on the couch and cooed to him about being so tired; how awful it must be.  I breathed on his shaft through his basketball shorts and I pulled the tip of his cock out from under the waistband and I licked.

My hair tumbled down around us, slick and cool on our hot skin.  I pulled off his shorts and my breasts strained against the flimsy top of my dress as I dragged them on either side of his erection and pink, wrinkly ball sack.  He groaned and said how good that felt.  I licked him from stern to stem and gently rolled his testes around in my mouth, spit slid under his sack.  Then I started to move on the shaft with my hand gripped tight around its girth, my mouth dancing on the head.  I drank in his salty precum and groaned with delight.  God I love to suck cock.

Somehow, we ended up in my room.  Maybe he brought the candle, I don’t know, but he was gloriously naked and I was not.  He shoved me roughly down on the bed and crawled up my length.  “I’m not going to fuck you,” he said with a grin.

“Good.  I don’t want you to,” I boldly replied.

He peeled off my panties and pulled my dress up over my head.  I stretched out under his gaze: rounded valleys of warm, cream-colored skin against stark white bedding.  I felt myself melt into the down comforter beneath me.  This is where I wanted to be.

He made to mount me and I dodged his naked shaft.  He slid it in the fold between my plump upper-thigh and my swollen vulva.  I got wetter and kept wiggling my hips away.  He left me for a minute and proudly revealed a string of golden condoms he’d smuggled into my apartment and dropped them next to my head.

“But we’re not fucking,” I reminded him.

“Nope,” he answered as he rolled one on.

He fell back over me and butted the head of his cock against my hole.  I scooted up the bed a few inches and continued to kiss him back, passionately, with every fiber of my being.  I feel for you, I screamed through my kisses.

His mocking thrusts were becoming more insistent.  I moved away again, closer to my metal headboard.  I was losing ground.

His hands ran all over me; I squeezed his buttock’s flesh in my hands, lightly scraped my fingers on his tender skin and spanked him.  He chuckled as he moved closer and I ran out of room to run all together.

“You have no where else to go,” he growled in my ear.  And then his cock was peeling me open and he was sliding in.  I felt his pressure deep inside of me, practically in my throat.  He went slow — oh, so slow — and I grasped at him with my cunt, sucked on him like my eager mouth did, and as I did I slowly and sweetly drenched us and I began to cry.

I felt exposed and raw.  This was too slow, too obvious.  I felt like he could plainly see on my forehead a marquee of my feelings for him.  I’d turned down sex on my second date with the man from Tuesday night the night before because I simply couldn’t imagine it being any better than what it was with him.  “I am so fucked,” I thought as he watched me in wonder lose my shit beneath him.

All I could think to say was “Ohfuckohfuckohfuck,” or “Ohshitohshitohshit,” interspersed with “Neighbor, I fucking love your cock.”  I felt helpless and devoured as my g-spot sang and my arms and legs became lead.  I pulled his head down to my breast and let him suck while he rocked into my core; taken at nearly every angle a single man can.

He hooked my ankles up on his shoulders and began to press into me with gusto.  My pussy smacked and squelched with my passionate releases, his tempo increased further.  I tried hard not to keep covering my face and instead focused on his mouth.  That sweet, bow mouth with the dusting of faintly red shadow.

I pivoted back on him and pushed against my wall with all my might as he pegged me to the bed.  I could sense his cock swell inside of me, could hear him lose his breath along with the manly moans that began to escape him.  And then he was riveting into me and crying out and I couldn’t help but expel my own shouts and moans of  pleasure with him.

A minute later, as he is wont to do, he began to move inside of me again.  I had given up all hope of any sense of control and let him do whatever he wanted.  He spanked me and pinched me and I just kept crying helplessly, happily.

Finally, he was through with me and he rolled onto his side and pulled me into his big spoon, a heavy arm draped over my waist, his hand nestled between my breasts.

We talked for a while, about what I couldn’t tell you if my life depended on it.  All I know is that his cock, still mostly hard, found its way into my eager mouth.  He came close to cumming again a couple of times, but wasn’t able.  It’s usually his custom to not cum at all during sex.  Or so he’s said.  Certainly, there have been several encounters of ours where he hasn”t.  I do my best to not feel as though I am unskilled; I, of all people, know that you don’t have to orgasm to truly and deeply enjoy sex.

I felt gorgeous and relaxed with him right then.  More so than before and so I grabbed my Hitachi and stood on the floor with my knee hitched up on the bed, the candle flickering to my left, my lovely neighbor splayed out before me.  I turned it on and pressed it against my mound.  He slid closer, under me, and reached his fingers inside.

Immediately, I bucked against his hand.  He stroked his finger against my channel’s padding and I strained not to loose myself so soon on him.  I told him to hold still and I would move against him and the blinding light, the intensity of pleasure that cracked through my cells caused me to shiver for minutes and minutes more when I was cradled in his arms.  His chuckles puffed onto my neck as he held me.

I’ve never been split in two like that before.  I reveled in it, the hormonal surges reminded me of when after I pushed out my baby I lay on the hospital bed, teeth chattering, and comparing it to all the times I’d ever done Ecstasy.  It was like that last night.  I couldn’t think.  I wanted to tell him how I felt about him.  I wanted to lock all my windows and doors and never let him leave.

However, I didn’t, but I also didn’t escape totally unscathed.  I jokingly told him my social security number and a deplorable fantasy I had the other day about a client. ” I am not allowed to think of clients in a sexual manner,” I told him, “I feel horrible.”  He assured me it was ok if I did.  I told him he should leave his friend’s birthday party early tonight to come and fuck me and “do absolutely whatever” he wants to me knowing full well he’ll never do that.  He’s taking the-girl-who-won’t-touch-him and I think he always has hope that might change.

The point is, I didn’t give a fuck how obvious I sounded.  It was a Herculean effort on my part to say only those simpleton things.  Logically, I knew it was the oxytocin, so I was saved from irreparably damaging this magic thing I have going on with a babble of stupid words, but I still said stupid shit.  — ARGH, I’m sure I could fill an entire blog with the stupid shit we say after a bone-jarring orgasm.  But still, he praised me, wondered at me, and kissed me, and then he began to spank me.  So hard I felt his hand prints like a sunburn on my bottom and flanks.  I begged him to ice it and he obliged. The water cooled my bulging, raw pussy lips and wrapped around my waist to end in a tepid puddle under my belly.

He suggested we watch another episode of A Game of Thrones after that and I ended up falling asleep I was so spent.  Granted, it was late, but I had nothing left to give.  Even to the fucking TV at that point.  He woke me up with a laugh and I sat upright for the last 7 minutes, embarrassed and longing for my bed.  He stood up, noted the time (1:15 am) and said it was bedtime.  I agreed, kissed him, gave him a smack on the ass and said goodnight.  I didn’t even care I was going to sleep alone.