I finally said NO.

I struggle with a very little word:  NO.

Its power, its simplicity, its implied worth of the owner all conspire to tangle me up, but last night I managed a very polite, No Thank You to The Neighbor.

This week has been an odd one for the two of us.  After the weekend he disappeared Monday, but kept popping up throughout the week.  He stopped by Tuesday night, popped out on the balcony twice Wednesday, and stopped by again Thursday.  Each time I had my hand on the doorknob I chanted to myself, “Sorry, now isn’t a good time,” and each time I found my hand twisting the metal and swinging the door open wide.

On the balcony, I just felt violated.  He knows I’m out there a lot; just leave me alone already.

I was tested — and failed — at every turn this week.  He was home alone all week.

And as I struggled to keep my hands off my body yesterday I found connections to my other struggles and a way to regain some power.  TN had been bursting into my space, so I was going to burst into his.

I buried myself in our nearly year-long text thread and dug up glorious cock pic after cock pic, found my favorite one of his giant erection glistening with pre-cum and sent it to him.  We bantered and laughed.  I told him why I was abstaining.

It’ll be good for me.  I’m gonna do a week at a time.  Never done this before. Want to test myself  Also, I made a pact with a fiend of mine in the UK.  He needs support to not wank 10x a day so he can finally cum in his wife :).  I offered support.

His response was, “Awww I feel for him.”

I said, “I know you do.  Made me think of you.”

Later, I asked him if he wanted to come over to play Scrabble some time after 9:30.  He said he’d likely pass because he was tired, crabby, and needed to recharge.  I told him if he changed his mind to just let me know.

I felt guilty for instigating contact on the one hand, blithely apathetic on the other.  Fuck it.  Fuck me.  Fuck him.

The rest of the afternoon was spent with a girlfriend in my pool drinking cheap white wine.  At 5, we got our kids from school and made plans to meet up for dinner at a local family joint.  Peyton and I got there early and I stood close to the jungle gym while I waited for our table.  Misters over the diners made the air thick and wet and children’s laughter and screaming mixed with the folk-singers on the makeshift stage.  The cacophony of vibrant sounds and colors poured through me.

I breathed deeply and felt anchored.  Happy.  Nothing else mattered in that moment except me and Peyton.

My friend and her kid soon arrived under twinkling stars and beaming smiles.  We laughed and talked and ate heartily for two hours before I began to sag with fatigue.  I begged off around 9 and Peyton and I made bedtime negotiations in the car on the way home.  As I wearily climbed the three flights of stairs with a little hand clenched in mine I noticed my bag of trash was gone.  I asked Peyton if it’d been there when we’d left. “Yes,” was the reply.

And then this happened:

My answer was, “Nope.”

One of the things I’d noticed by revisiting our old text thread was that in the beginning of our tryst I was very unavailable.  I was either too tired or busy, and somewhere along the line that changed.  I’d given all my power of NO away.   I didn’t want to pass up a single chance to see him and so exhausted, cranky, whatever, I would let him spend time with me whenever he wanted to.  In the end, he was calling all the shots.

Last night, I finally did something I could be proud of.  I said, NO.  I listened to my body and my heart for a change, my body and heart, not Hy’s.  Hyacinth would have bent over backwards to accommodate this man.  She ignores the fact I’m run down and heart-weary, but I don’t.  I’m going to look out for the both of us.  And my reward was a long night’s rest, a minor power shift, and a little peace of mind.

The only drawback to this whole thing was falling asleep at 10 pm meant I woke up at 6 am horny as hell.   Not a bad trade off, really.

I still haven’t touched myself.

Though I want to. Badly.

I had a Guinness or two last night and The Neighbor stopped by, drunk from drinking after softball. He wanted me to try some of his jello shots.

As he walked in, I could smell the baseball diamond on him, dusty and sweaty. I imagined licking him clean and splitting my face on his pretty cock.

But then I remembered my promise.

I dutifully ate my jello shots while he explained his new recipe. I laughed as I swirled my tongue around the plastic soufflé cup at his direction. “That’s right. Now suck. Like this,” and I watched him fill his mouth with the grass colored gelatin.

Our eyes twinkled as I followed suit, my mouth stuffed to capacity. I struggled to move my tongue without parting my lips; it was a mouthful, to be sure.

I sat cross-legged on my couch, my white men’s Hanes tank top stretched across my breasts. He stayed a safe distance away. He never took off his cleats.

When he left to shower and pass out at 10:30 I told him he was welcome to return and watch Cheers with me. He thanked me, but declined. My hope to be strong and turn him down foiled.

I returned to the couch and laughed as Sam and Rebecca were caught fucking in the office. Naturally it’d be an episode of sordid details.

I fell asleep in the living room eventually. At 2, an aching back woke me up. I dragged my sorry, horny ass to my bed, spied my Hitachi resting unmolested in my bedside basket and groaned.

I didn’t realize until that moment how much I rely on a good orgasm to straighten me out.

This week is going to be interesting, indeed. Fuuuuuuck.

20120824-090918.jpg
Wouldn’t these be pretty with some pearl-colored jizz on them?

[Update: I still haven’t gotten any cockshots. If you’re shy, check out my tutorial for tips!]

I promise not to orgasm or fuck for a week.

You read that shit right.

My wet lips, my moist panties, the tightening in my cunt as I walk, sit, feel my short cotton skirt stretch across my thighs all must be ignored and beaten out of my mind.

A small exercise in control; a muscle flexed to prove a point; running in knee-deep water at sunset with a cocktail in my hand.

It’s possible, though unenjoyable. I’ve joined the other team, it seems. I’m part of the Peanut Gallery to pulse-thumping fucking and a compatriot to self-restraint.

I’m no longer the main event in these parts.

And I’m ok with that.

This is a new Hy, I suppose. For a week. It will steel my resolve for every time The Neighbor stops by for no reason for 3 minutes or pops his head over his balcony bars on a muggy morning while my baby and I are eating breakfast high above the palm trees.

I have made a promise to a friend — sweet, pervy AM — to not release myself. I can keep a promise to him. Not myself.

Sad, yes, but true.

So today, Wednesday, marks the first day of one whole week of abstaining from both orgasm and sex. A week from today I will post pics of me writhing and cumming with glee. Hopefully. Cross your fingers my partner in this gets laid because then I can at least touch myself.

The deal is, I won’t fuck anyone and AM won’t wank. And since we both find it unlikely he’ll have sex in the next week, I’ve decided to be a sister in arms and give up jerking off, too.  It’s only fair.

I will be a pulsing, whinnying mare in heat in seven days, guaranteed. I might also shit epiphanies and giggle rainbows. Regardless, whatever you do, don’t send me cock pics, ok?? (hyacinth.jones@hotmail.com).

20120822-225440.jpg
Kiss me I’m drunk or Irish or whatever.

And PS:  Holy fuck! The ubiquitous Rincewind featured me today! I’m so honored and humbled!  Wowza!

I am dangerous.

Knock, knock.

What you can’t see is my long hair in braids and wrapped up over the crown of my head like Heidi. Yeah, I know.

The Neighbor came over to ask for an envelope. I told him it’d cost him a fondle. He grabbed my left breast in the darkened entryway.

I got him the envelope, gave him a good show as I bent over, and walked him back to the door.

He reached for that flimsy barrier between our two lives — the front door — and grabbed my breast again. I pushed him against the wall, not caring the world could see in.

“Mmm, God, that feels good. I need-” and I searched for words while my head got light.

“Tell me what you need, Hy,” he whispered against my ear as he spun me around and shut the open door, pushed me against it.

“I need your hand on my tit,” I answered.

“Check.”

“And your hand down my pants.” His right hand reached around and crept to my closely trimmed mound.

“Got that covered, too,” his breath was hot on my neck, his five o’clock shadow scraping behind his nipping teeth and lips.

“And your hard cock pressed into my ass.”

“Done.”

And then I turned around in his arms and he kissed me deeply, my heart fluttered like a caged bird.

“Ok, I gotta go. I can’t stay. Five minutes here ends up being two hours before I realize what’s happened.”

He separated from me and opened the door again.

Shamelessly I told him he should just stay anyway. “No,” he asserted, “it’s dangerous. We weren’t supposed to do what we did the other night. But I can’t seem to help myself with you. You’re dangerous.”

He smiled, took the two steps to his private universe, and went inside.

Who knew a woman in braids and underpants could be such a threat to a man’s control?

Oh, who am I kidding? I absolutely took my pajama bottoms off earlier in the night because I had a hunch he’d have an excuse to stop over for something.

Who do you think you’re dealing with here? An amateur?

20120603-235712.jpg