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.”

Innocent.

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 went spelunking and found nothing.

I’m going to wear this dress all week long.

I have a new policy: I will not fuck anyone whose cock I do not want.

That may sound obvious to some of you, but in the past I fucked in order to discover whether or not I liked the penis.  I would bring a man into my room, peel off his pants with my breath held and hope for the best.  I don’t know why it never occurred to me before that I could just put my hand down his pants and leave it at that.  Well, consider me enlightened.

Monday I met Alex at a local bar with the flush of an orgasm on my cheeks.  It’s how I like to pump myself up for dates.  It’s better than a close shave, perfume, or perfectly coiffed hair.  Sometimes I even dip my fingers into my tender pussy and dab a little of my scent behind my ears.  I know it’s there and like Dumbo with his feather I am now invincibly sexy.  Alex got the benefit of this little trick.

I sauntered in wearing my yellow and white dress, breasts crushed pleasantly against the cotton, and spotted him eating french fries at the bar.  We hugged and so began a long evening of banter and flirting.  I literally have no interest in him as a person other than I find him reasonably bearable; when he talks I don’t mind listening.

He kissed me boldly once or twice and we laughed and teased each other.  I hiked up my skirt to show him my firm, shapely thigh (“You like?” I’d asked)  and I scolded him for wearing jeans with a hole in the crotch.  As the night wore on and the drinks filled my belly I leaned over and kissed him, my hand cupping his warm bulge.  I couldn’t feel anything.  I shook it off and decided it didn’t mean anything.

Outside smoking he did his damnedest to get me to share, but he’d just quit and I refused.  He tugged my hair back and loomed over me and crushed my mouth with his inhaling the tobacco lingering on my breath.  Drunker and more turned on I slipped my hand down his pants and righted his south-facing cock.  He moaned a little and my exploring hand hoped that there was more to come.  He felt only average.

Eventually, hunger distracted me from everything else.  I asked him what I should order.  He said, “Whatever you want to pay for.”  We’d been playfully arguing about the economics of dating all night and I wasn’t impressed with his attitude.  “Women are CEOs now!  Women’s rights!”  he proclaimed as a defense.

“There are, like, 6 fucking female CEOs and I still make $0.75 to your $1, don’t give me that bullshit.  And I wore a low-cut dress,” I added to cut the tension. But the mood was gone and he had a small dick and I didn’t care anymore.  It was time to go home.

He led me out of the building, but instead of heading to my car we walked to a darkened residential street behind a movie theater.  We stopped between two parked cars, a white hybrid hatchback pressed against my back as he kissed me passionately.  The cicadas chirped and buzzed overhead as we were bathed in yellow from a street light.

He pulled my straps down and my breasts spilled out.  He sucked on my nipples and I moaned, he sucked harder and I clasped him to me.  I unbuckled his pants determined to get the best out of him, but he was half mast at best.  To his credit he made no excuses, he only fell to his knees, lifted my dress and looked at me with a question on his face, his hot breath on my sex.

I nodded.

He pulled my white eyelet panties down and lapped at my pussy.  I pushed my hips into his face and moaned again.  This wasn’t so bad after all, cheap skate or not.  His fingers delved into me and I pulsed around his mouth, constricted my channel and pushed out again.  I squirted into his mouth and shuddered a little.

He took a ragged breath and stood up and put his fingers in my mouth.  I tasted tart and hungry.  I took his hand and returned it to my cunt, his mouth returned to my breasts and I grabbed his cock again as a woman casually walked by. I looked her in the eye with glazed desire.  She passed 3 feet away and never made a sound.

I pulled him up to kiss me again and pushed him away.  I thought of the condoms in my purse, but remembered my new policy.  His cock, simply and cruelly put, was not up to snuff.

He held me for a minute and then reached around behind me and cupped my sex and massaged my clitoris.  Involuntarily I gushed through my panties and ejaculate ran down my legs to my ankles.  He was speechless as I stood shivering with my legs wide apart seeking balance.

“Ok, let’s go,” I said.  He took my hand as I wobbled next to him slightly cum dumb.  We kissed at my car and I said goodbye knowing it would likely be our last meeting.  He said he’d be at my beck and call, but he’s not what I want.

I drove home smiling and went on my balcony to smoke.  Downstairs Neighbor was on his balcony smoking, too and I invited him up.  We drank all night long laughing at our ridiculous stories (he’d just lost his buttsex virginity – he topped) and I felt free and open.  The Neighbor came out on his balcony to say Hi.  I drunkenly invited him over, but he sagely declined.  I wondered why he keeps coming out to see me.  I wish he’d just stop and leave me alone.  He’s the only one I want and thinking of him with 4 am girl makes me want to scream.

I was supposed to see Kevin yesterday for a good hard fuck, but he couldn’t get away, and I was dubious about getting what I needed anyway.  I had another date lined up for last night, as well, but his work schedule also got in the way.  I’m hopefully meeting a new man tonight for a quick drink while I’m out with friends and still plan on seeing Josh on Friday.

The truth is, I am hurting, confused, lost, lonely, and above all else exhausted.  If TN wasn’t TN then I wouldn’t know when he was out all night or gone for the evening or when he had 4 am girl over and I would likely not be in this predicament.  When I think back on other breakups I could just hole up at home and nurse my heart uninhibitedly.  But I feel like I have an audience, like I’m in a goddamned fishbowl.

I imagine this is so much easier on him because he has someone else to think about, lust after, fuck, kiss, talk to, spend time with, whereas me, I’m just me.  All alone and desperately wishing otherwise.

I can’t wait to be in the next phase of this.  This fucking sucks.

I have a new perspective.

I broke my promise to myself to not initiate contact because it’s who I am: I reach out, I make connections; it’s wired deep into my bones.  He replied warmly, “Sure!  Any ideas of what to do?”

I insisted we go out in public because I was getting my hair done earlier in the day and didn’t want to waste it on my only him and my dog.  He laughed and agreed it was a good idea.  We settled on dinner and bowling — because bowlers love some fine looking hair, naturally.

He’d stopped by a number of times this past week — after being oddly, and infuriatingly, unreachable earlier in the week — without invitation or provocation.  I was pleased to feel ambivalence and pleasure at each little visit.  After our talk on Sunday I was left feeling at first pummeled and then empowered.  My anger served to brighten my path through this: I knew what I had to do and it was to say goodbye, right??  Things weren’t just happening to me anymore.  I had found my voice.

His visits, though often very brief, were still sexually charged.  He’d touch my breasts or let his gaze linger on my figure, the dip in my waist.  He’d look at me and say with surprise in his voice, “You look really pretty.”  I’d show the puppy that we don’t bite The Neighbor when he comes over, but we “stroke him like this, ” and I’d rub his giant flaccid penis through his slippery gym shorts and feel it grow.

We were slowly repaving our connection.

Thursday night his knock woke me up and after yet another distantly flirty exchange I walked him to the door where I was simply going to let him out, but instead he grabbed and kissed me passionately.

The thing that’s most important to me about this week is that I recalibrated.  I became Hyacinth again: the fully grown woman in charge of her feelings once more, unashamed of her sexuality, her motherhood, her body, her vices, or her needs.  I told him he’d pissed me off with his distance.  He apologized and said he’d make it a priority to change it.  Telling someone they are displeasing me is tantamount to pulling out my fingernails, but I survived.  And he responded in spades, promptly returning texts from there on out.

At dinner last night we talked about those metaphysical things people do when they’re still getting to know each other: our navels, the universe between our ears, our days.  The lighting overhead outlined my nipples as I gestured and jiggled with my enthusiastic tales.  His distracted stares and breast- and sex-related non sequiturs were flattering.

No one’s ever looked at me like that before.

After dinner the sultry night and cool breeze begged to be enjoyed.  “I feel like walking around,” he said as he guided me to his car, “you up for that instead of bowling?”

“Definitely.  Have you ever been to Jester’s Bridge?”

“No.”

“Then that’s where we’re going.”  I pointed at my high heel wedges as he closed the car door behind me, “But I have to go home and change out of these first.”

I felt strangely at ease with him as we planned the rest of our night.  It was all so relationship-y, but now I knew I didn’t want to be with him and the comfort and companionship felt all the more enveloping for it.  Letting go of some nebulous idea of a future with him freed me to fully enjoy the moment with him instead.  Every laugh, every touch, every innuendo sunk deeper into my cells; I was no longer hindered by unrequited love because, I realized, there might possibly be no such thing.  To love is love itself.  I love this kid and that’s it.  The act itself is restorative and fulfilling and, therefore: love.

While he let the dog out, I threw a blanket, my leftover wine, and a flashlight into a backpack and changed into flip-flops.  He came back up panting and laughing, leash in hand.  I suddenly didn’t feel so alone.

“‘K, let’s go,” I smiled.

We drove with the windows down and the sunroof open, his shiny, black, fancy-pants car hugged the curves of the dark road.  Headlights wove patterns across us and cliffs cropped up like cast-iron shadows.  We talked about dildos and DVP and he wanted to know more about what it felt like to be double-stuffed in my pussy.  He took my hand and put it on his bulge, warm and firm in his shorts, as I bared my sexual soul a little more.  I was happy.

We parked just north of the bridge at the base of the limestone cliff and started the short, steep hike up.  The breeze had picked up and my sundress swirled around my knees and up my bare legs.  At the top there was a clearing of rock with a petrified tree on its edge and below it the dark river meandered under the rust-colored bridge.  To the east the city skyline glowed like Lite-Brites.

“Wow,” I heard him say as a burst of wind swished us around.

“I know.  I haven’t been up here in 10 years.”

We walked to the edge near the tree and looked out.  Headlights from boats occasionally floated by and my stomach flipped a little as I looked out over the ledge hundreds of feet down.

A group of drunken teenage boys reached the little summit right about then laughing loudly and declaring their drunkenness.  “Come on, there’s more over here,” I said and grabbed his hand and lead him to a narrow trail into the brush.  He trustingly followed behind me and the little flashlight.

Twenty-five feet down the trail I saw an outcropping on my left, secluded from view from others, but with a clear window to the river, bridge and city below.  I walked out onto it and the wind whipped at my hair and dress.  “God, you’re so beautiful right now, too bad you aren’t naked,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.

I looked at him and simply pulled my dress up over my head for a few seconds.  His breath caught as he took me in, bathed in moonlight, hair streaming, breasts and belly and thighs bared.  And then I brought it back down with a wink.  “Here, let’s sit.”

And something happened up on that little rock high above the river.  We were symbiotic.  He held me and kissed me as we passed the wine bottle back and forth and silently watched the world pass by.  He took my nipples into his mouth and buried his face in one breast as my other was caressed by the breeze.  We ignored the rustle of passersby on the trail above and the background soundtrack of rowdy, drunken boys.

When we looked up, fireworks lit up the sky below the city skyline.  Reds, pinks, oranges, yellows, again and again and again.  As if to say, we’re sealing the deal, Hy.  You two enjoy each other for all that it’s worth.  It’s beautiful, but it’s fleeting.

I ached to take him in my mouth, but the doctor had given strict orders: no sex of any kind allowed.  I scraped my teeth on the outline of his erection and breathed my hot breath on him.  “Hy, why don’t you lay down in my lap?  I promise you’ll feel better,” he suggested as I whimpered plaintively at the cock ban.

With my head in his lap, the star-dimpled sky above me and the rolling hills pinned between my knees I relaxed.  His right hand blazed a heated trail down my breast, over the plain of my belly and slowly hiked up my skirt.  His fingers walked under my boy-shorts and slid down my slit.  I was sopping wet.  He brought his dripping finger to his mouth and sucked.  “You taste goddamned delicious.”

He returned his hand to my mound and his fingers entered me. I shuddered.  And when his hand began to move I shrunk down to the basics: the cool, hard limestone beneath my bottom, the wind lapping at my exposed lips, his hot fingers, soft, warm thighs, and the sight of the midnight sky overhead.  I felt the climax coming and wrapped my right arm around his waist, buried my face into his stomach to keep from crying out.  I spilled over into his hand and felt my juices run down my crack.  He bent down and kissed me deeply and I panted and shivered.

He remained my pillow while he fondled my breasts, rubbing my own elixir around my nipples.  It was rich and musky.  “I don’t know what I like better, breasts or ass,” he suddenly said. “Hmm, I think ass.  But I can’t get enough of feeling these,” and he squeezed hard on a big handful of flesh.

I offered him a thigh, but he declined with a chuckle, “Thanks, but I love the difference. I can grab my own thigh and it’ll feel almost the same as yours, but not tits.”

“I know what you mean.  It’s why I love hairy chests and broad shoulders, narrow hips.  Totally opposite of me.”

“Like being logical!” he laughed.

“Hey!  I’m not illogical!  I’m just not logical!”

“That’s logical!” We giggled at our own witticism.

I offered to let him lay in my lap next and I ran my fingers through his hair and slipped a breast into his mouth.  I remembered breastfeeding my baby in a similar position and I felt a tug on my insides.  It was wholly different, but sensual to see him suckling on me so tenderly, eyes closed and held entirely by me.

Then it was time to go and I realized I had a knot in my belly.  I wanted to talk about “6 strikes” and I wanted to tell him that my heart was molecularly different now than it was a few days ago, but I was afraid.   We hiked back down the hill as more drunken high schoolers struck out for the peak and I attempted a pep talk as I cracked jokes.  I rubbed his cock nearly the entire way home.  My security cock.

If I want my life to be different, then I have to be different.  It’s not going to magically happen to me.  And so I invited him to stay a little longer while I smoked a cigarette.  He agreed and we sat down, spa-goers oblivious to us up above.  I took a deep breath and plunged in.  He listened intently as I told him how hurt I’d been that he’d named Peyton and what an awful thing to say that was; I told him to stop talking about the kind of woman he wants to date that I can never be; and I told him that I hoped he never did either to another woman ever again.

I don’t blame him for being a little defensive at first.  He said he’d only said those things because I had really freaked him out with what I’d shared.  When I’d said to him, “If you told me tomorrow that you had feelings for me I don’t know what I’d do. I’m so hurt, so broken from my marriage I’m terrified of commitment. I don’t know if I could do it, but I’d likely tell you I’d give it a shot,” what he heard was, “I want you to tell me you want a commitment.”

We gently and sensitively worked out the miscommunication, my foot resting on his knee.  He had to listen to how he’d hurt me and how he’d fucked up and he rose to the occasion.  I was proud of him.  I assured him that I had gotten my feelings back under control and that I felt better than ever about us.  “I wish I’d said it differently,” he shared, dipping his chin a little with chagrin.  “I should have said, ‘Hy, I wish it were different for us, but it can’t be.'”  I nodded quietly and smiled.

“I would have liked hearing that.  That’s all I want to know.  That you feel something for me and wish it could be different.”

“I do.”

“Then I’m ok with that.  Truly.”

That quick little cigarette chat lasted an hour.  We agreed that we were good for each other and that this was good practice.  We were both getting to feel what it was like to have a caring, kind relationship that was capable of making us both feel pretty fucking good.

“I call you my girlfriend to my friends, you know.”

“You do??”

“Yes,” he simply replied.  He paused for a beat or two and asked, “How do you know when you want to marry someone?  Is it after the first date?  The 5th?  The 20th??”

I thought for a minute.  “The best thing I could say is if you can work through conflict well, and everything else is wonderful, then it might be a good match.  You don’t want to make that kind of decision when the relationship has never been tested.”

“I like how you and I work through things, Hy.”

“I know, me, too.”

When he finally left he embraced me at the door, tightly.  His lips burned on mine and his hands massaged my buttocks.  He kissed me again lightly before passing through the doorway and walking the two steps home.

I’ve been looking at this whole thing the wrong way.  I underestimated my own ability to feel and love and then I didn’t know what to do with myself with a man — who I’m mostly convinced now — loves me back, but considers our differences insurmountable.  It’s a scenario I’d never considered.  And like those fireworks I watched over TN’s head at my breast, high on the cliff, this thing I have with him is a bright and burning show not meant to last, but to teach me something instead.

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 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 meet friends in swanky hotel lobbies

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Who knows what the next few hours are going to hold?

[Update: So, nothing happened.  I mean, lots happened, but basically, it was nothing.  This is an old, dear friend with whom I have a deep connection, but I wasn’t up for it; didn’t want to be at the vortex of his guilt.]

God, I miss The Neighbor.  I keep having nightmares that he’s fucking our other neighbor or that he’s on a date with his soul mate and I’ll hear, “Hy… we have to talk…”  I’ll try really hard not to roll up into the fetal position when that happens.

In the mean time, I feel pretty awesome right now.  My kid’s in bed, I have a snack and a vodka-pom waiting for me.  I’ll smoke a cig later and hope TN feels up for a game of Scrabble later, though I won’t hold my breath because he’s still dead to the world.

God, I’m so fucked.]