Dodging bullets and finding solace.

Last Friday I was sad about Elliot.  Sad for what could have been, sad that we’d never be special, sad that it had to end.

I texted him my heaviness.

“Today I’m feeling a little sad that the timing of things was bad for us. I really liked what we were doing: all the talking, the hanging out, etc. It was a sweet and fun 4 weeks in the beginning, a real treat. How you doin?”

His response?

“Sorry you’re bummed. I’m OK, doing the back to school thing, getting ready to go out of town for work next week. Making a concerted effort to be in touch with my parents.”

The ol’ “I’m sorry you feel that way” line.  It plunged me a little deeper into my sadness, but then something odd happened: I popped back up like a buoy.  I had dodged a bullet.

During our ill-fated and brief affair he told me repeatedly that he was an “asshole” and that sex wasn’t that important to him.  I couldn’t believe him, outright refused to really, but in the end I had to believe and take action.  I can’t be with someone who is so mired in depression and introversion and finds himself incapable of giving even the littlest glimmer of something.  And I definitely can’t be with someone who considers himself disinterested in sex.  I ignored my exhusband’s claims and that bought me a one-way ticket to sexual misery.

In that same text exchange I clarified our relationship and we agreed we wanted to continue with a friendship and professional association (we have complimentary careers).  Relief washed over me, I saw the lighthouse.

I didn’t think about him again until he texted me Monday morning asking for some advice.  We chatted, got him sorted out, made jokes.  I put my phone down and forgot about him all over again.

Until that night when he texted me again from a remote work destination.

“I’m at a place called Busty Bob’s that has 25¢ oysters. Probably not gonna try those.”  It was a reference to our first date where the oysters gave me food poisoning and I had to cut our date short and it was then he decided he wanted me in his life.

We chatted some, he made more jokes, I replied and then it stopped.

Today he’s crossed my mind and I’ve gone to text him several times, but have stayed my itchy fingers.  Our friendship will unfold however it should, but in the mean time I’m going to turn towards sunshine, not rain.  Like Peter.

Sweet Peter whose aversion to condoms never stopped him from wanting to have a good makeout sesh and make me cum a few times.  We met 3 years ago shortly after things ended with The Neighbor.  He never apologized or felt bad for not being able to fuck me with his dick, he just switched gears and ate at the apex of my thighs like the whistle had blown and finger fucked me to oblivion while making love to my face with his soft, supple mouth.

We liked to hang out in my hot tub or go for a swim.  He bought a pair of swim trunks that have permanent residence on my bathroom hook for whenever he comes over.  “Other friends can wear them, too,” he told me knowing I was a busy woman.  He was always a pleasure to be around.

He’s tall, 6’6″, 10 years younger than me, has dark hair and green almond-shaped eyes.  His body is lithe and pale, his mind quick, and he’s got a hall pass from a begrudging girlfriend who’s my age.

It wasn’t until things with Elliot began to unravel that I threw caution to the wind and on one of our afternoon trysts let him fuck me bareback.   I don’t know why I did that – it just felt right – and the results were miraculous.  He was rock hard and delicious.  He strained to control himself and slowly stroked us both with long pauses and pull outs.

“I don’t want this to end too quickly,” he kept saying.

We rolled around entwined, laughing and kissing during his pauses.  He’d say the kindest things and I would squeeze him and nibble his neck careful not to leave any marks.

He filled me up twice that afternoon and we lay in each other’s arms and I told him all my woes with Elliot.  My heart was breaking over one man and yet I found solace in the arms of another, so tender and kind.

We’ve met nearly every week since that fateful condom-free week.  As the tears fell in my alone time, he filled me up when we were together.  The loss of Elliot made all the more bearable for the tender kisses I got from Peter.

Heartbreak is better spent together.

 

 

 

I have permission to fuck other men. I think.

photo(1)
Obama would approve, I’m certain.

I was at my kitchen table doing my secret sex blog stuff last night when I heard a faint knock at my door and saw The Neighbor’s head peek through.  The rest of him, clad in a towel, followed.  I knew he’d been in his tub and I’d told him I wished I was sitting on his toilet with a glass of wine shooting the shit, but he’d asked for a “TN night” and so I was content to do my own thing.

But, here he was.

He complimented me on my new dress and I complimented him on his giant, flaccid penis outlined by the white terry cloth.  “I’m not here to fuck.  I just wanted to hear about your interesting day.”  He carefully repositioned the towel exposing his flanks.  “C’mon, let’s go lay down.”

“Ok,” I agreed standing to follow him, “but I only said it was mildly interesting.”

I lit a candle and he crawled under the covers, losing the towel.  I sat demurely on top of the duvet, an arm’s reach away.  “Come in here,” he said and patted the spot beside him.  “Ok, so, your day.  What happened?”

“I had coffee with Jason.”

“Was that the guy who wanted to suck my dick?”

“He was one of them, yeah.  We struck up a chat a few weeks ago on Facebook and decided to catch up.  It was weird, but cool.  He was also the guy who gave me a C for dirty talk.”

“What a fucking asshole!”

“Yeah, well, anyway, it was ok.”

I lay in his arms and played with his chest hair idly, the two margaritas and two glasses of wine in me emboldened me to parlay this into a deeper conversation.  “How do you feel about me meeting him?”

He as quiet for a bit then said he didn’t mind.  “What if I’d fucked him?”

“Then I’d be disappointed.”  He paused here and thought.  “I think I’d want to approve of any old or new lover you hooked up with and I’d want you to tell me so we would start using condoms again.”

“So I have permission to fuck other people?”

“I’m not sure… I don’t have permission to fuck other people, though, do I?”

I sat up and looked at him, nuzzled his face and his chest with my lips.  “No, you don’t.  You said you didn’t want to back in January.  It doesn’t work that way. Have you changed your mind?”

Again, he was thoughtful.  “No.  No, I haven’t.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

He grabbed my breasts and squeezed and I got up and kneeled between his knees, spread them slightly with my own.  His massive thighs bright white against the dark aubergine sheet.

“Suck my cock now,” he growled.  I grabbed his chubby cock and looked at him.

“No.  What do you say?” I asked him with a soft smile.

“Fucking suck it now, you dirty fucking slut!” he tried again.  My heart quickened and my smile grew.

But again, I said, “No.  More.”

And in a sweet, soft voice he asked, “Will you please suck my cock, Ma’am?” and without delay I fell on the cock that had become as rigid as a soldier.

My dress pooled around my legs and my tits fell out of the top and my tender nipples dragged on his flexed thighs.  I sucked and slurped and gripped and took little breaks to let his tension build.

When his erection was mighty, I didn’t want it in my mouth anymore and pulled my panties down.  He pushed me to my back and lifted up my skirts and drove into me, my ankles hiked over his shoulders like a knapsack.

He lit into me like a man possessed, I managed to stare at his shadow-cast face, so beautiful and masculine, staring down at me for several moments before the pounding knocked my eyes shut.  My pussy gushed and I squirted down my the crack of my bottom and moaned and gripped and clawed at him.  He didn’t want things to change, was all I could think.

He slammed into me a few more times then held still.  “I think I hurt my balls,” he winced.  I laughed and hugged him.

“Oh, honey, that’s awful!” I crooned and kissed his neck, his head hung down dejectedly.  He rolled off of me and disconnected.  I was still happy about sneaking in “honey” as I gently fondled his sack.  “We should put a pillow there or something next time!”

He chuckled.  “I have a fluffy sports headband I could use!”

As we chatted in each other’s arms I continued to stroke his erection, never letting it waiver.  “Do you think I could suck your cock?”

He nodded and I repositioned myself between his legs.  I sucked and paused, sucked and waited, stroked and moaned.  I told him how gorgeous his cock was, how much I loved sucking it.  He teased me that I had seduced him, that he hadn’t planned on fucking me at all and I pointed out he was the one who had demanded I suck his cock in the first place.  He giggled and I fell back down on him.

He burst into my mouth seconds later, his sweet laughter filled the darkened room.  He shook his hands like little meaty helicopters.

I laid in his arms again for a little while then massaged his back with the Hitachi and brought myself to a little standing orgasm in between causing him to yell, “Kelly Clarkson!” from the intense vibrations on his sore spots.

We laid together finally then and talked some more and I teased him about our next break up which is due in April if we are to keep our 90-day Hy-freaks-out schedule.  “Are we gonna break up and then get back together?” he asked, “or are we gonna break up break up?”

“What do you want to do?”

“I want to get back together.”

“Ok, then that’s what we’ll do.”  He got up to go and I felt silly and a little guilty for everything, the double standards, my emotional demands.  “Our relationship is an unconventional one, maybe we need unconventional maintenance, too,” I suggested.  He nodded agreement and I walked him to the door while slipping on my favorite Obama shirt and a pair of white panties.

He crossed the 4 feet to his door, looked around, and let the towel drop.  We smiled at each other and he walked into his apartment.

I need to say more, I think, let him know that I still love him.  Or maybe that’s a silly idea and I should keep my mouth shut and be happy with his continued interest and fidelity.

Fuck.

Love is not always the answer and anyone who tells you so is full of shit.  Love, sometimes, is the problem.

Hy and Obama
Just your average Tuesday morning photo shoot.