I held him in my arms.

The other morning.

Since our discussion about my fears regarding Peyton The Neighbor and I have been running like a finely tuned machine.  We sparkle and tango and fuck and laugh and glitter until our lashes meet our cheeks.  Something feels better.

Last night he came over wearing only silky basketball shorts and suggested we go lay down in my room “Just to cuddle,” he said.  I rose wearily, my men’s pajama bottoms fluttered loosely about my legs as I marched behind him quietly happy.  I loved this ritual of ours.

We lay down beside each other, assuming the position of a hundred nights before.  Me on the right, him on the left.  My ear pressed against his warm chest, his fingers tracing lines on my arm, my hand absent-mindedly stroking his soft bulge.

Our conversation included our day and our upcoming week.  We were both in good spirits and we each laughed robustly at each other’s little jokes.  One of his favorites is when I ask him what he’s thinking and he says something like, “Ants,” or, “Mountain blasting mining practices.”  Last night’s was particularly entertaining.

“Hy,” he said smiling, “Ask me what I’m thinking!”  I laughed knowing it was going to be something ridiculous.

“Ok, what are you thinking, TN?”

“How to light a match in zero G!”

Oh, the giggles on that one.

And then he was pinning me down with wrists and thighs because I was trying to pinch his tiny, sensitive nipples.  In my most authoritative voice I told him to stop, but the truth was I was enjoying it immensely and let him have the upper hand.

“C’mere,” he growled and he gently turned my face to his and he kissed me.

And then his erection caught my eye.

He loosened his grip on me and I ordered him to put his hands down to his sides.  He was afraid of exposing his little pink nubs, but I was going to show him I was trustworthy if he trusted me first.

Slowly his arms dropped to his side.

“Good.  Now take off your clothes,” I said firmly, smiling broadly.   His cock sprung free and I told him how pretty it was.  I gripped it gently, like he’s shown me, and moved my hand along the bone.

“Wait,” he said repositioning my hand so my knuckles lined up with the top of the ridge.  “Ok, go.”

I began to stroke again and his face split into an enormous grin.  “Holy shit!!  That feels like me!”  His smile went on for miles as he played with the idea that another’s hand could feel somehow familiar.  But my arm began to tire and my bicep cramp.

We reassembled.  This time with me sitting up with him wedged between my legs.  The blue fabric a modest contrast to his pink nakedness.

I tucked my arm under his and reached around, a first-person point of view, and peeked over his shoulder.  The glistening aperture of his cock winked at me as I pulled its short little turtle neck up to its head.

TN leaned against me, his weight pinning me to the bars of my headboard.  He leaned his head back on my shoulder and I kissed his neck.  My free hand splayed through the carpet of his chest hair.

He wrapped his paw around the outside of my fist and moved me faster.  I felt my pussy clench and my breath catch.  The rough cotton of my tank top pressed against my breasts smashed against his back.

Then I let go and he took over.

I bit and nibbled his neck, let my breath spill out like fog on his skin.  I dragged my fingertips across his taut belly and broad chest and clung to him with my thighs.

Every muscle in his body was flexed and pulsing in time with a long, slow thrust, though his hand was a Caucasian blur of pumping.

His balls bounced and flounced along like cans tied to the back of a wedding get-away car.

I closed my eyes and wished for him to cum.  Not for me, but for him, for his heart.  I whispered hotly in his ear, “You are so hot,” and nipped the lobe gently.

His voice began to catch and he crushed me into the headboard.  His breath came out in choked bursts then as thick, milky semen spurted out onto his belly and lay like snow on a bush.

He panted and went limp as I kissed along his neck and shoulder and squeezed him from behind with my entire body.  My cunt pulsed with what she’d witnessed.

“Good boy,” I said.  “That was fucking hot.”

He smiled and said it was progress.  My heart lurched a little.

I spread his cum around in little circles and he laughed at my ministrations.  I told him how turned on I was.  He suggested perhaps it was my turn, but I told him I was good.  For once, this was just about him and not me.

We lay there with me holding him for a while before he said he had to leave.  He redressed and came around and gave me two sweet, long kisses goodnight.

I am so proud of him.  In the light of the night we are indeed making some kinds of progress.

I can feel feelings coming on.

Saturday I was in a tumult. The experience with the Dom from the night before had seeped into my cells. Memories flooded me. Old memories of never saying no, of being misused and looked through. Utterly disrespected.

I felt confusion about the entire night. I was proud of myself for getting the fuck out of there, but also kicking myself for not leaving after he’d snatched at my panties uninvited and suddenly. Jason came over at 8. I was showered and ready to leave the house except I was wrapped in a white robe. We were supposed to meet another lover of his – a woman – for a threesome later that night.

He hadn’t been over in weeks and we’d been misfiring since before Christmas. Unbeknownst to me, he’d angrily recoiled from me when I told him I was sleeping with The Neighbor. We hashed it out one Saturday afternoon over coffee. He claimed to like me too much and he knew his jealousy and anger were misdirected. The meeting was too brief and when we’d parted I ached in my belly. For a fuck, a hug, a kind word. I felt like so much was left unsaid.

Let me re-circle a bit — Jason has always been open about liking me, about feeling affectionate towards me, about his thoughts on my beauty, coolness, personhood. He’s the only one who’s never been afraid to treat me so kindly and I have been tentative in responding, but have felt it a terrific testing ground for my heart. It’s part of why I agreed to go bare with him and why I continue to see him despite his non-compliance to basic communicating etiquette.

That Saturday in the coffee shop I shared with him that there was no way I could have ever known he was mad at me (and therefore not talking to me) because he was so awful at correspondence. So, not only had I been accosted the night before, but Saturday was going to be our first date since our big hash-out. I needed him, his lovingness, his cock, his hugs.

I poured him some wine and led him to my bed where I retold my story. He apologized profusely for being out of commission the night before and missing my 12:30 am text while on my way home in the rain.

He listened with rapt attention. Apologized some more, then said, “Hy, if you want to be dominated, I will do that for you.”

I leaned into the crook of his arm and sighed. This was so much better; having someone to erase the previous night was cleansing. I unbuttoned his shirt and ran my fingers over his hair-dusted skin. My cat sat on his crotch and we laughed at his bad timing.

We kissed. Tenderly. His blond beard tickled my lips and face. He stood up and removed his shirt, pulled me up on my knees and his hands traced over me. He began to – lack of a better word – make love to me, though of course he doesn’t and we don’t. But it’s what it was.

He laid me out so he could see me – he loves looking at me – and he whispered what a good little slut I was in my ear as his naked cock pressed against my hole. I pushed against him as he slid so effortlessly inside of me. I thought of Phillip and their differences; Jason’s kindness added inexplicable flavor, his open appreciation of me even more. I can’t help but think of the others.

His gaze bore into mine. I couldn’t maintain eye contact and instead focused on his open mouth and his cock inside my sloshing pussy. This time, more than any other, I knew he had less control. It turned me on wildly and I continued to constrict around his girth when he pulled out and push against as he forced his way back inside of me. I whispered how badly I wanted him to fill me up with his cum.

He demonstrated skill in holding off. I kept squirting as he slowed his rhythm, then he groaned as he felt me spurt hotly on us. The kisses got deeper and more demanding and I could feel his muscles straining in his back under the pads of my fingers. He shook and cried out and I imagined being filled with hot, loving, moments strung together. A daisy chain of passion filling my channel to the brim.

The night ended with us eating dinner at 12:30 am sans our third wheel. She mysteriously bailed on us and Jason and I killed a pitcher of beer. I wanted very badly for Jason to stay the night; to sleep in the nook of his arm, but he only stayed for another 30 minutes then insisted on heading home. He had research to do early in the morning.

I texted him a “<3” after he left and heard nothing. Super Bowl Sunday I texted, “Thanks again for last night. I like liking you <3 :)” and also heard nothing. However, I texted him a sexy photo of my tits and my pussy (the actual cat, naturally) and he said, “Rover has big titties,” but the more affectionate of my texts were ignored.

I felt let down. After such an incredible, sweet, touching, sexy night together I felt ignored. I put very little pressure on the men I date: respond to my texts is about the only hard rule I have and I’m extremely flexible even in that. I ended up on the couch of The Neighbor. I was taken aback by what a sight for sore eyes he was. His hand was warm on my knee, he fondled a breast and lamented at how goddamned sick he’s been. It’s been weeks and weeks since we’ve lain together. I think of him much more than is probably good for me. He is not normally affectionate with me, therefore he certainly wasn’t Sunday night.

I’m tired.

I feel as though I’m on the cusp of something… what, I’m not sure. I want TN. I won’t lie. It’s him who I think of the most. And then, when I feel like I’m getting too attached I jolt back. It’s mildly exhausting.

Also, after this weekend, I’ve resolutely decided to not tell Jason that I also had unprotected sex with Phillip. I’m approaching this much as I would with an infidelity. It’s a one-off, so why hurt everyone involved? I’ll just not do that again with Phillip: problem fucking solved.

A good friend of mine is coming into town on Thursday. A man who once inspired me to write about my sexual exploits before they’d even begun. He took me to a nice dinner last summer, held my hand and made me cry, then stuffed my face with his hard heat. He has a girlfriend and is a lawyer and – of course – doesn’t normally do this sort of thing. He’s an upstanding member of his community, but after knowing me for 18 months, I guess things change.

So, yeah. I’m not telling Jason about Phillip. I’m not telling TN my feelings about him or what’s recently happened to me. And I’ll likely get fucked in a fancy hotel later this week. I wish things could be different between me and everyone else. I really do. I just can’t wrap my head around what that’ d look like. The idea of losing anyone makes me sad…

Goddammit. This post was horrible. It’s what I’m fighting. I came home and cried Sunday at Super Bowl halftime. I drank a small swig of red wine and texted TN hoping he’d finally be up to seeing me. He was and I was so relieved and scared at all the relief. I wondered if he felt the same way. He’s so different from Jason – he’s determined to keep me at arm’s length and not show too much affection, though I hope it’s hard for him. Seeing him was wonderful. Crying was even better because I never let myself. Sometimes I have to admit that I’m a mess and just let it flow – like this fucking post.

I refuse to decode anyone’s behavior but my own.