Bottles of champagne, Veuve Cliquot!, a hot, drunk young man confused about who to pay attention to, me or my friend with a long term boyfriend who’d been shamelessly flirting with him.
I watched half amused most of the night until at the second bar she began to exclude me where I had made sure to include her. I excused the two of us from the table.
“Tina, I’m not judging what you’re doing here, but why?? I’m single, he’s single, you’re not and you love your boyfriend. Do you really want to do this? I’m not going to compete for his attention with you.”
And then the night ended with him in my bed and his mouth all over me and his fingers lodged in my asshole as he pounded me to fucking oblivion and I came all over us and my poor pink bed like a goddamned vomiting waterfall.
He tried to get me to come home with him in the morning, but I demurred; I needed more rest and time to be alone with my thoughts. The sex was intense and when I closed my eyes and thought of it my pussy would pulse and twinge.
I may have accidentally gained a new pair of RayBans. “Nice,” he said when I told him I’d found his glasses in my purse. “When are you gonna come over and drop them off? We can soak my bed too.”
Another night set loose by bubbles and held by nothing but whimsy, my memory and manners spotty. Who knows if I’ll ever hear from him again. I hope I made his sad day brighter. He certainly brightened mine.
I’ve spent my entire Sunday washing the entirety of my bed linens and wondering when I’ll stop having drunken, loneliness-driven nights like last night.
I’m afraid of jinxing it, but I am bursting with words. I have been hiding from the blog for fear that if I lay letters down here my men will whittle away with each click. I don’t want them to disappear. Not yet. I’m not finished with any of them — there are possibly more lurking that I will continue to keep close to my breast. I don’t want to lose any of them.
My thighs cradled him as he pumped deeply into me, his kisses deep and fervent. Somehow he managed to hold himself up and reach around my bottom, shift my flesh and slip a strong finger into my asshole. I cried out and ground down hard on him, clutched at every sinewy, flexing muscle I could. He growled in my ear.
His room was dark, no nerdy light show this time, and my body fell into a black abyss of sensation which centered on me, like an undulating chocolate fountain, never ending.
His finger remained lodged in me, his cock a hard, fleshy piston, my body a reactive live wire. I came hard and melted beneath him.
He freed his hand and slammed into me but with a strange cadence. “No,” I pleaded, “Don’t stop there. More. All the way.” He plunged in deeply now again and again. Then stopped short again, seemingly oblivious. “NOOOOO,” I said again. “All the way. Please.”
Again he buried himself in me and I rewarded us both with a clawing, mewling climax. “Thank you,” I breathed into his mouth.
I caught my breath and rolled over onto all fours. “Fuck me in my ass,” I said. I arched my back and wagged my behind. I imagined they looked like two pale moons in the dim light.
He pet my sopping pussy and dragged its wetness to my other hole and pushed his meat in. Slowly, naughtily. Good girls don’t get fucked in the ass. Or is it God girls?
He moved gingerly at first until it felt too good to hold back. He gripped my hips like he meant it this time, nothing soft about his touch. I didn’t cringe now like I did when he first touched me. I can’t do light touch. It makes me want to vomit and run and hide. I didn’t want to hide now.
I came from just the thought of how filthy we were, how dirty. Two otherwise upstanding citizens doing this disgusting thing. I loved it. And I loved hearing him unravel behind me. He came for a second time.
Earlier in the night we’d met for dinner near his house. It’s our 4th date this go around, the first go around having happened in 2015 followed by a two year gap. We have a little script we follow now. First drinks, then dinner, back to his place for a little more imbibing, then up to his room where our limbs entwine and he drives into my body.
I enjoy his company immensely: he’s smart, liberal, ridiculously complimentary, generous. He takes me to the nicest restaurants and buys me stupid-fancy hipster cocktails. He also plays with my asshole. I dig him.
Hands bound above his head, blindfolded, he lay on his side. The belt cracked on the bright pink X I had drawn on his right cheek. “Thank you, Ma’am,” he gritted out.
I’d opened the door to this tall blond man wearing leather and a blast of cold air. “Ignore the dog,” I said. It came out throaty, bossy.
He stepped inside and the door slammed behind him. I raised up on my toes and put my arms around his neck and kissed his cold face. He tasted faintly of tobacco.
I drew him with me as I fell against the wall behind the door and wrapped his hair in my fingers. I pulled him off my lips and pushed him down to my breasts. He dropped to his knees and peeled off my clothes, a cardigan, black velvet boy shorts and a black camisole. I silently laughed how my thoughtful choice of clothing was not noticed.
He hunkered lower and latched on to my pussy, now eye-level. I held on to the wall for support, and his chin-length hair. I let my big lover worship me from his knees for a minute, two, before I pulled him up and undressed him, and led him into my room cast in a cool afternoon light.
I would tie him up, light a candle, draw on him, slip his tiny dark pink nipples between the tines of golden bobby pins, and straddle him as I rode him. I’d push a pale pink butt plug into his tight little hole, then later my finger, and I’d slurp him up until he’d say, “I’m at a 7, Ma’am,” breathless and with some apprehension. He was not allowed to cum and did not want to displease me.
Writhing on top of him like a wicked little girl on her wicked little pony I flicked his nipples and held on as he bucked his hips. What a deliciously good boy he was. As I drew closer to orgasm I flicked faster imagining the tip of his cock somewhere near my sternum; I was riding a bronco, not a pony. My hands went numb and my scalp tingled. It was time to burst through the surface of the water.
I pressed the Hitachi against us both and told him to hold still, to only twitch inside of me. I felt the pressure swirl somewhere down low and begin to build, stars pressed against my eyes with each blink. “Ok,” I whispered. “You may cum now.”
He moved like a healed man on godly legs, wild and desperate. I stared at his blindfolded face and the jagged grimace that told me he was completely in his body, in me, in us. He told me he was going to cum peppered with random Ma’am’s and I told him I was cumming, too. And then we cried out together and I gulped big gulps of air, desperate, dying, living. He keened his pleasure then lay still, vibrating a little.
I kissed his lips and resituated his blindfold, traced the starbursts I’d drawn around his nipples, now plump and dark rose with life. He hissed. “Those are very sensitive, Ma’am.”
“Good.” I flicked them both.
I came again, even bigger than the first, with him soft and spent in a little pile of flesh beneath me, still safely wrapped in the condom. He wasn’t sure if he’d ejaculated he said. I climbed off of him and investigated. The condom was full.
“Wow,” he chuckled. “It was an all-body orgasm; I couldn’t tell.” I wondered silently if it could be said he just had a “female orgasm.” I could hardly spell my name.
I remounted him, carefully, and removed the blindfold. I felt shy. This was the transition back to Hy and him. Not Ma’am and him. I talked him through my removal of the bobby pins and pressed firmly with my palm, told him to breathe. Men are such babies, I thought.
I slowly untied the black neck tie from one of my blouses from around his neck, ceremoniously, and lay down in his crook. We talked about what we’d just experienced like we were excited children after their first roller coaster ride.
I had to leave in 45 minutes to get my baby from school, he had to leave in 45 minutes to go to work. “Let’s go sit on my couch,” I said. I gathered my clothes from the pool of fabric by the front door and dressed. He plopped down next to me and I put my feet in his lap. “There’s lotion,” I motioned to the bottle I had ready on the table.
He massaged my feet until we had to go; we kissed and hugged at the door, told each other we looked forward to next time. I dig him.
Monday night was my first night in the new apartment and The Neighbor stayed over, all Lunesta butterflies — as he calls them — and all.
Naturally, I didn’t sleep. A light buzzed, I heard men on the stairs, a car starting, and I was terrified of disturbing TN since, after all, there’s nothing he dislikes more than sleeping with someone.
It was funny that once morning broke he woke up smiling, having slept like the dead. I remained bleary eyed and nervous, completely exhausted.
“Good morning, Hy,” he smiled. We kissed with our mouths closed and I got up to make myself some coffee.
When I came back I whimpered my need for him and I crawled back into my bed softly alight with morning rays and cuddled the fuck out of him until he gently parted my knees and pushed his way inside.
It was gentle, but enough. I wanted to give him just a vagina hug, nothing more. One little orgasm was all I could muster anyway.
I snapped some pics; he tossed a pillow on me as he recovered all his clothing; he continued to beam out love and happiness at me like a kid who just passed through the gates of Disneyland; and I stumbled through the rest of my day with boxes and boxes and boxes.
I’m finally home and happens to be right here with me.
Outside the wind whipped freezing weather through us all, the trees, our streets, our flimsy coats, but inside I was warm and toasty. A log glowed with its dying embers and my heater spewed warm air into the apartment like a never-ending breath. I sat at the computer, my desktop, searching for apartments or duplexes, anything that would fit me and Peyton when I heard a quick knock at my door and the handle turn.
The Neighbor wasn’t due to come over until 9, after the gym and after dinner. It was only 6.
I looked up and he filled the doorway with his black pea coat and rosy cheeks. “Fuck, it’s cold out there! And I don’t want to go to the gym.” He looked at me meaningfully.
“Are you saying you’d like to do a horizontal workout?” I was half joking, but hopeful.
“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean,” he answered with a smile.
I stood up and closed the gap between us and wrapped my arms around his cold exterior while giving him a soft kiss, dropping everything I’d been doing. “You’re so cold!” I exclaimed and then screamed when two ice cold hands wrapped around my breasts. “What the fuck!” and I yelled again laughing.
“You’re so hot!!” he laughed and squeezed his handfuls with gusto.
I stood there patiently while his hands warmed up and he wiggled his eyebrows at me. I stepped back and his hands dropped to the bulge in his jeans. A ridge larger than a banana had appeared where none had been only moments before. I hmmm’d my approval and rubbed it and sat back down at the computer. He walked around to lay by the dying fire and play with the cat.
I wondered at my accessibility, how open and willing I am to drop whatever it is I’m doing to play with him: is that real? Is that sustainable? I pushed the thoughts out of my head and went to kneel beside him.
I kissed his soft lips buried in whiskers and felt his cool hands reach for my breasts again. I lifted my shirt and shifted one into his mouth.
His warm, wet mouth pulled at me and I was reminded of all those months of nursing my baby. The tug, the pull, the stinging surge of milk as it came to a head and spilled out. I wished I could feel that again. I switched breasts and he continued to suckle. Eyes closed, hands stroking the backs of my jean-clad thighs and where they joined. I moaned a little and pulled away.
His bulge was even bigger.
He stood up and I raised up on my knees. “I’m wondering if I should leave without fucking you. I told myself I would,” he said, always the game player.
“Do whatever you want,” I replied looking up at him and undoing his belt. “You probably should leave.” I peeled away his jeans and pulled out the head of his giant cock, stiff and full of itself. He helped maneuver his underpants and his balls while I licked the big head and slowly, yet softly, drove it into my mouth.
His moans encouraged me and I pushed my gag reflex away as I took as much of him as I could, still 2 inches short of all of it. My saliva began a trail down my wrist as I sucked and pulled, completely lost on my knees. He was now stark naked.
“Fuck, that feels good,” he said. “I’ve missed that so much!” I felt a pang of guilt and quickly squashed it. I do what I can.
“Let’s go to your bed,” he said, hand out to me. I took it and got to my feet and quickly followed him into my room. He lit a candle and it danced for us in the winter dusk. His naked body gleamed as he came to me and took my face in his hands.
We kissed and kissed and he whipped my clothes off of me and pressed himself against me. I wanted to say “I love you,” but kept it to myself. He pushed me roughly onto the bed instead and climbed on top, growling.
His cock pushed its way beyond my folds and spread me wide open. I wriggled and grabbed at his flanks to pull him in closer. He kissed my ear and my neck. I wanted to say “I love you,” again, but kept silent.
When he began to move I mewled and thrust and ground back. He slammed into me 1000 times and I rocked back into the mattress like a ragdoll. I came again and again and he split my legs and ground on my clit with his abdomen. I went wild with painful pleasure and wondered if I would cum this way, like scissor sisters.
“I love your cock, I fucking love your cock,” I whispered over and over, though really I wanted to say only “I love you.”
Sweat began to slick between us and I was spurred to buck harder and faster. He. will. never. forget. me. I thought. I am more than everything. The pounding, the beating I took filled my head and my arms like sand and my eyes saw only stars. We were these humping, thumping animals rutting the fuck out of each other. And then we stopped, exhausted. I felt my heart battering against its cage and I put my hand on his and felt the same fluttering. I couldn’t move.
“I really do love your cock,” I said between heavy breaths. “And I love you,” I added bravely. “I love you, too.” We laughed at my silliness, but he didn’t reply. There was only silence.
I felt tears well up inside overwhelmed by his lack of response, by him being so TN, so android-like, like the code for /reciprocate “I love you” got broken.
Slowly he pulled out and lay beside me. “I hate it when you go,” I pouted.
“But I can’t lay next to you if I don’t; I’m too far away.” I closed my eyes and let the tears come. Disappointment and satisfaction nearly equal parts of each.
He stroked my hair a few times then seemed to remember that that’s too intimate and stopped. “You get a good enough workout in?” I asked, forcing my sadness away.
“Indeed I did! Thank you!” He leaned over and kissed me deeply. We lay together for a few more minutes before he got up to leave and I decided to join him for a store-run for dinner. When we got home we said we’d see each other later, but we wouldn’t.
At 9:15 he called to say he’d decided to go to bed while the mood was hot. He was worried I’d feel rejected. I didn’t, but it made me wonder again at my availability and openness. When he’d come over I was in the middle of doing work that was important to me, but I dropped it all instantly, not to mention I would never cancel a cuddle with him just because I was tired. But that’s on me — bad boundaries and everything. I never get full. Ever. I’m a bucket with holes.
At least I get fucked. There’s always that. And I love him. Even if he isn’t entirely comfortable with his love for me. Maybe this move will be for the best.
Stress about money has reached another fever pitch. The move, solvency in general — I feel so fucked. Add allergies, my exhusband, my fear of what my life will be like not living next door to The Neighbor anymore, and the stinging, always there guilt I feel about my secret sex blog and you get a raisin of a woman, not a plump and glistening grape.
I’m also tired. Tired and empty.
TN fucked me to tears on Friday. He was a fiend. I’d spent some time with a girlfriend and come home early. He was ready and waiting for me as I climbed the 40 steps up.
It was different this time, though, only the third coupling since our I LOVE YOUs. We didn’t mean to fuck, it just happened.
I pet his soft pile of flesh absentmindedly while we cuddled. It grew long, hot and hard, and suddenly a switch was flipped. He was going to have me.
And so I let him.
He kissed and nipped and I grabbed and moaned. Ankles on shoulders, one leg up, one down. Orgasms streamed through me and poured out of my face in the hot tears and sobs that burst forth.
No Hitachi made me cry like that. Just him.
We lay and cuddled and talked about our fears, going in circles. “If it sucks, then we’ll stop, because if it sucks, we’ll stop.” In my defense, I was barely coherent.
Can’t stop the world turning or sands through the hourglass and all that.
As for money, I need to find the old lady strip joint and grab a shift. Seriously. I’ve worked hard over the last year and made massive strides in getting my career going, but it’s like slogging through knee-high mud.
TN is always reminding me that a year ago I was making basically $0 and today I make a lot more than that, but it’s still not good enough. And I’m back to feeling like a raisin.
My emotions aren’t unstable, but they do run the gamut. One week, I feel solid, another I am shaky. I rehearse speeches to no one and I ferret out my feelings about my non-relationship relationship with single-minded determination. I want to make sure I am doing what I want to do for good and noble reasons, not out of desperation or habit.
The Neighbor lights me up. And despite the trauma of our early days I love him more now than ever. I fight to keep the darkness away, the fear of a life without him, but it’s an easier fight all the time. When this is done, I will be ok. I know it. And part of how I know that is because of what I feel today with him. I cannot regret one thing we’ve done because it has always been magic.
A few days ago, something happened that was new.
He kissed me softly and his new beard pricked my nose and lips like a little nibbling hedgehog. I moaned and opened my mouth against his and breathed in the perfume of cologne and soap and love.
A candle flung fleeting light against the walls and ceiling and he moved to cover me with his naked, pale body. His knee pushed my knees apart and he settled his weight above me and positioned his giant cock at my opening. Our mouths remained connected with soft laps and locked lips.
He pushed at me and I lifted my knees higher and wider and hooked my ankles together behind his buttocks. He pushed harder and I gave way. The universe shifted as we joined and pressed our bodies as close together as humanly possible.
“Don’t move,” I whispered against his mouth. “Stay.” And I pulled him in deeper until I felt him poke my heart.
I wriggled a little and twisted my hips until I screwed down tighter onto him. He growled into my ear and curled his hips into me slowly. We began to move like this, the slow motion dance of timeless lovers, on endless waves of lust and passion.
Again and again and again he curved his curved cock into my cunt. I clung to him with all my limbs and kissed his neck as he kissed mine, a connected yin and yang.
I whimpered as my heart began to feel tender and my pussy began to bloom. His tempo increased and I heard a squelch from where our bodies met and then another. He went faster and faster, the curl now a thrust, the dance now a beat.
He pressed up on his arms and I grabbed his hips to pull him in faster, harder. He hitched my ankles up to his shoulders and sat up, watching my face twist in ecstasy as I came and came in little bursts.
He didn’t cum this time, but he was smiling when he finally stopped and I fell loose into a the puddle below us. He opened his arms to me and I rolled heavily into them, catching my breath.
“Wow, that was really good,” he said, stroking my arm
“It really was,” I answered. “It was like you were curling into me.”
“Yeah, it really was. It felt amazing. You felt amazing.”
Then we chuckled at our self congratulations and fell silent. Later, with me on an elbow facing him and him on his we talked about our day, our week, everything, nothing, our navels. My hair was still in long, wet ropes from my shower and with one hand I pinned it as I talked.
He looked at me softly, strangely then. “You look really pretty right now,” he said shyly.
“Aw, thank you,” I said and leaned forward to kiss him, but he ducked away and latched onto my bare breast instead. “No,” I said pulling him up. “Kiss me here,” and I tapped my mouth with a finger tip. He gingerly touched his mouth to mine until I pressed in for more and as we kissed I said between them, “That is the sweetest thing you’ve said and thank you so very much. I’m so glad to know you.”
When our lips fell apart he ducked his head again, but this time into the pillows. “Aw, what’s the matter?” I asked, rubbing his shoulder.
“I had no idea that was all I had to do to make you feel that good,” was his muffled reply. “And now I might be feeling bashful.”
“Yep, fuck me hard and tell me I’m pretty! I’m easy like that,” I laughed, my heart smiling from its melted place.
He looked up at me and I read in his eyes a desire to reach out to me, to touch my face, but he held still and didn’t move. Then the look passed and we were both back in bed smiling at each other, but the moment had been there. It’d been there. He had surprised himself with his sentiment and I was lucky enough to witness it.
He may be too scared to admit it, but I know he’s curled up around my heart as much as I am around his. We are a tangled, dirty, mess of love and fear. Take us or leave us. I choose to take us.
Last Thursday night I ended up subbing for a friend’s softball team. The night was crisp the mosquitoes insatiable and then I got to sub for a second game. A double-header! I ran, I hit, I caught, I laughed, I sipped on an impossibly cold light beer.
I texted The Neighbor that I’d be subbing for a second game and he texted back his signature smiley face with a nose.
After the game and a cigarette with old teammates I walked smiling to my car. It felt like it’d been years since I had the kind of freedom to say Yes to something like subbing for a game, let alone a second, spur of the moment game.
I turned my radio on; NPR and Ira Glass’ twangy voice came on loud and clear. It was This American Life and they were 10 minutes into the first act about real life superheros.
Act 2 came on and was still going as I pulled into my parking lot. I set the car in park and sat listening and laughing, in awe of the talent and wonder I was listening to. As it finished I sighed and gathered my things and, still smiling, climbed my stairs. I couldn’t wait to ask TN if he’d rather be invisible or have the ability to fly.
As I climbed the final set of stairs my phone chimed. I knew it was him so didn’t look until I reached my door, passing a cloud of cologne as I did so. I thought of Vanilla Ice for a second then looked at my phone. “You home yet?” it read. I knocked on his door instead of answering. No answer. But the cologne lingered. Had he spritzed the air between our doors or just come home? Was he lingering just inside his door teasing me? I turned my key and disappeared into my apartment.
Faisal greeted me with meow in the dark and I tossed my keys with a clank into their metal bowl. I walked a few more silent feet in the dark until I reached the kitchen and switched on a light. I stopped at the bar and reviewed my schedule for the following day taking careful note to see when I needed to go to work.
I finally texted TN back, “I knocked. Where are you?”
The cat was sitting in front of my bedroom door expectantly. “What do you want, little stinky butt?” I said as I pushed the door open ready to start folding the mountain of clothes on my bed.
I gasped when the light went on.
There on my bed, naked as a jay bird, lay The Neighbor. All creamy white and pink with dark chest hair spread like fairy dust, his hands casually cradling his head.
We laughed at me as I realized I had clutched my pearls. I dropped my hands and jumped on the bed. “TN!” I exclaimed, “You bastard!” and I fell on him with my arms wrapped around his warm waist, sat up and kissed his stomach and trailed up to his mouth. “But what a lovely surprise!”
He chuckled at his stealth. He’d seen me sitting in my car and then get out and start the climb up.
I was overwhelmed. How many nights had I dreamed that he’d do something like this? Uncountable, really, and here he was.
I gripped his cock in my hand and squeezed. It was deliciously chubby and quickly getting harder. I kissed his jaw and moaned when he flipped me over and ripped off my workout capris. “Get these fucking things off of you,” he growled as he peeled off my socks, too.
Roughly he shoved my knees apart and as I looked at him his head was framed by the whirling fan. It looked like a giant spray of gold, a ridiculous, but fitting crowning glow my lover.
He licked his hand and swept it quickly over the head of his cock, now huge and bobbing. I scowled at him. He knew I hated it when he did that; I’m wet enough. Always. He chuckled and pressed himself into me, long and slow.
I made him stop as I tore off my t-shirt and bra then let him finish filling me up, that moment when the world stops ticking and there is nothing but this man between my legs and in my heart.
He pumped once and my eyes rolled back in my head. He pumped again and I clutched his shoulders. And then he increased the tempo. Slowly, surely, intently. He watched every twitch and shudder I had gauging my presence. A little faster and the words, “I’m cumming!” flew out of my mouth as I swelled and burst around him.
Then he made me tell him all about the game as he kept fucked me. I laughed and did my best, but he was getting more serious. I could feel it as he tensed.
I peeked up at him and he was ferocious looking. My breasts jiggled and I grabbed his flanks to pull him into me. I came again and my pussy squelched her pleasure just as he groaned. We’d noticed the wetness at the same moment.
Faster, harder, more, more, more. He drove me to the brink and pushed me over one more time then collapsed exhausted on top of me. He laid down beside me, still buried deep inside and curled up around me.
I pressed my bottom back into him and he pushed back. His cock felt like a lance, harder than before, more present. I rocked back again and he slid against me. It felt velveteen and abrasive, there.
Slowly, steadily we pushed, rocked, and slid. His free hand gripped my hip and his grunts grew more intense, his pushes deeper and then in a flurry of thrusts he came inside of me, his hot, sweet breath on my neck.
The bedroom lights were still on and the cat sat at the end of the bed blinking at us.
We talked for a few more minutes and then he tucked me in. I fell asleep with my cunt filled with cum and a smile on my face.
Best surprise ever and I never did get around to asking him which super power he’d choose.
I couldn’t help but laugh at the man wrapped in only a white towel glaring at me in my entryway. Apparently, Downstairs Neighbor, upon being rushed out of my apartment because I was about to get the shit fucked out of me, had hidden behind the corner and when The Neighbor had single-mindedly tried to span the 5 feet between our doors he’d leaped out and scared the shit out of him. A cat might also have run outside in all the commotion of TN’s glares and DN’s booming laughter.
“Oh, TN!” I laughed putting my hand on his stubbly cheek, the door tightly shut and locked behind us. “Don’t be mad!! He had no idea you’d be naked!!” He leveled a gaze at me that made me giggle some more as if I’d conspired with DN to humiliate him!
I laughed some more, just simply couldn’t help it, frankly.
I kissed his cheek and hugged his stiff body and to prove his “anger” he let the towel drop and his erection bobbed heavily between us. I grabbed it and whispered against his mouth, “I swear, DN had no idea you’d be in a towel! It was just a joke!”
He melted against me with a grin and took my hand, led me back to my candlelit room. “Ok,” he finally said still smiling and pulled me closer.
He bent his hand and slanted his mouth across mine, long, soft and sweet surrounded by sandpaper whiskers. I moaned a little as he removed my cardigan.
“You look so hot in this dress,” he said taking a breath. I swelled with pride. My yellow dress, theyellow dress. It always does me right.
He dipped his head back down to the top of my cleavage and I closed my eyes as his scruff left red blooms on my skin.
He returned to my lips and I breathed him in, lost in my love. Our fingers explored the dips and swells of our figures, my face nibbling on his.
He pushed the little straps off my shoulders and the top of my dress pooled around my waist. My breasts filled his hands and mouth and we laughed when I needed help pulling the dress back up and over my double Ds.
He grabbed my white cotton panties and tore them off. “Leave the boots on,” he said lustily and shoved me down on the bed.
I sighed as he entered me and pulled my bottom to the edge of the bed. My knee-high brown leather riding boots framed his face and he turned into one calf and kissed it. I could hear him smell the leather.
His cock was enormous and I was wet as fuck. He leaned down and kissed me and I stared boldly up at him then shut my eyes as he slowly stroked my body with his.
I thought of the strict orders he’d received from his physical therapist to not do any vigorous fucking for a while and groaned. “Don’t hurt yourself, TN,” I warned as I felt his tempo increase. “If you do, you’ll be in big trouble.” I panted the words in time with his thrusts. He only smiled mischievously at me and kept at it.
I tossed my head from side to side as it all began to feel more like torture. An exquisite, stupidly hot and wet, torture.
He seemed to sense my agony and lifted me up fully onto the bed and positioned himself between my legs. For a quick 30 seconds he pumped like horny stray dog into me and I came just as rapidly; little bursts strung together by moans, grabbed skin, and warm breath on my neck.
He stopped then, panting. “Damn you,” I admonished. “I’m all vibe-y. Are you ok?” I shook my hands like little helicopters.
“Yes, I’m ok,” he said. “And that reminds me…” he leaned over, still inside of me, and grabbed my Hitachi. “Here you go.” He flicked it on and lay beside me with my legs over his hips.
It took forever and a day for me to spill over, but with the struggle came the reward: his words, his mouth; he stroked my temple and told me what a good girl I was. And then we cuddled and loved and talked and I dozed stupidly for minutes on end.
Then he kissed me again and squeezed me, tucked me in, loved on Faisal who’s claimed him for his own, and left quietly.
The next morning I awoke naked and in a sunbeam, my body sore in all the right places. My boots lay in a heap on the floor next to my white panties, the vibrator lay like a bone a couple of feet away and my pretty yellow dress hung draped over the foot of my bed.
My wonderful, lucky, get-laid-every-time yellow dress. Thank you, Old Navy.
I dream about sharing my feelings with him and it’s a long, terrifying jump to crystal blue waters below, that feeling of my breath being stolen on the way down, the slap of wetness beneath my feet, the subsequent rush and rise to the top.
In true 7th grade fashion, I admitted to him that I like him “a whole lot.” You might be rolling your eyes at that, but it was a big deal to me.
And I invited him to spend Thanksgiving with my family on the wings of a prayer and when he said Yes I felt as though I’d won the lottery. I feel blessed, y’all.
But my lips remain sealed. I cannot say the words that boom in my heart. Those three silly little words.
I’m waiting for something. For the universe to tell me I can handle losing him. For that moment when he looks back into my tear-filled blue eyes and says, “But I don’t love you, Hy. This is just a ‘thing’ we’re doing. I’m not going to love you. You knew that.”
When I feel strong enough to weather that, my words will tumble.
But in the meantime, I float along among the clouds anchored by his mighty cock, his sweet gestures, his wise words. He roots me on every professional step I take and supports me as I navigate my tangled and painful relationship with my exhusband. He is my number one fan.
The rest of our lives is business as usual as I keep my secret. I send him a daily pic and sometimes a series if I’m feeling particularly inspired and have the freedom and privacy to do so. The weather is turning here and I recently wore jeans for the first time in months. They were a little loose, but I felt sexy and began to snap away.
Click, click, clickity-click.
I strip-teased my way down to unzipped pants and exposed breasts. He was happy to receive them.
A day or two later, I dug out my red panties with the peek-a-boo hole tied with a thick, shiny ribbon. I was curious as to what the view was like and twisted and craned my body this way and that to capture a from-behind view.
Click, click, click.
I was pleased and sent those off, too. Again, he was grateful.
Days changed into nights, cuddles turned into sweet talks, expectations morphed into reality. We tangled our parts less than our hearts. It was sweet, fairy dust; glittery longing with no release.
Finally, finally, we carved out some time to lay down inside one another. Peyton was passed out and The Neighbor was over within seconds of my “all clear” text standing in my candlelit room in black gym shorts. I wore a black spaghetti strap night dress with little sprigs of flowers dusted all over it.
We stood facing each other and he took my hand and pulled me closer, dipped his chin and captured my mouth in a long, sweet song of a kiss. I breathed him in, he inhaled me.
I ran my fingers through his hair and he clung to my bottom and pulled me towards the cradle of his hips. I felt his hardness through the thin cotton of my nightgown; my right strap slipped off my shoulder and I pulled my arm out and let my breast fall out.
We moaned into each other’s mouths and I melted into his warm skin. Every cell of my being sang of love, my pussy pulsed and my breath caught as I realized we were beginning to make love to each other.
He pulled back, breathing heavily, “We haven’t kissed like that in a long time,” he observed.
“No, we haven’t,” I agreed, though I’d argue it was closer to never.
I looked into his eyes shrouded in shadow and then his parted lips and reached forward with my own and sucked gently and slipped my soft tongue to meet his. He removed my remaining strap and I stood only in black, lace panties, then he groaned and bent to free himself from his shorts.
He pushed me down on the bed and dragged my bottom to the edge, licked his palm and rubbed it on the head of his giant erection. He positioned himself at my hole and pressed into me. Nothing happened.
Our eyes locked as we both smiled slyly knowing his first push was always the best, my favorite of favorites.
He pushed harder and I began to spread for him. I gasped a little and smiled more broadly. His mouth mirrored mine and then my eyes fluttered shut as the head entered my body completely and the rest of him eased in as if my body were a hungry constrictor.
He kissed me hungrily as his hips began to move, my body completely lubricated. “You’re not wet at all,” he joked huskily in my ear.
“Nope,” I whispered back with a chuckle, “not at all.”
He kissed my neck and my jaw and sat up and pumped into me, his hands braced on either side of me. Each punishing thrust made my breasts jiggle like bowl-shaped domes of Jell-O.
“Turn over,” he said suddenly. “Flip onto your belly.”
I did as instructed, my feet planted firmly on the ground and he slipped back into me.
“Tell me what you see,” I said thinking of my red-panty pics.
“I see my favorite thing: your beautiful body, your curves, this,” and he ran his hands from my waist to my hips. “It’s total perfection.”
I closed my eyes and let him plow into me and light me up from the inside. My heart sparkled in time with my G-spot, our skin slapped and our moans mingled.
We moved up onto the bed completely and he pinned my knees together as he rutted on top of me, grabbed my top-knot bun and growled into my ear and struck my flanks once, twice, three times.
I lost time, wanted to be somewhere else and nowhere else. Then we were spent.
“C’mere,” I heard him as if from far away.
He pulled me into his nook and I lay there feeling more satisfied than I had in days, recalibrated. My thoughts felt like warm honey, my bones willow branches.
“Let’s go out on the balcony,” I suggested. It was in the low 60s, a rarity in September here. We dressed in white robes, him in a long Egyptian-cotton shin-length thing with my name, “Hyacinth,” embroidered on the lapel (a bridal party gift of mine from years ago) and me in a little short white one.
And there, on a balcony chair cushion beneath my knees and the breeze caressing us both, I sucked and loved on his cock, his knees splayed wide and confidently in that way that men do.
It had been weeks since I’d spent any time on him and I was ashamed. I apologized and he told me it wasn’t necessary. I answered with more sucking and smiled around his girth.
Eventually, he called me off, said he’d gotten a little too sensitive. We walked back into my room and shed our robes and laid down beside one another, the ceiling fan puffed gently on us.
The night was still young so I rolled to my side and grabbed the vibrator, flicked it on and pressed it to my bare mound. TN kissed my neck and jaw, sucked on my lips and my nipple. I climbed the rise quickly and as his mouth returned to mine I began to splinter.
He caught my orgasm in his mouth as I whimpered and gasped into him.
I fell limp and he pulled me to him as he rolled onto his back. I surprised him when I grabbed his chubby cock with one hand and turned the vibrator back on while on my side.
It was a swift ride with my ear pressed to his chest as it rose and fell quickly; his cock grew in my hand as my orgasm approached, spilled out onto us and faded away.
In his arms I thanked him for saying all those nice things about me as he was fucking me. He said it was nothing, that he loved the pictures I sent him. “I think it’s especially sexy when there are things left to the imagination.”
“Really?” I said, dancing on the edge of a doze.
“Yeah, like that one in the series you sent me the other day where your pants were unzipped but your bra still on. That was damn sexy, by far my favorite of the bunch.”
I perked up a little at that, proud and pleased in equal measure.
“Well, I’m glad. I try to be sexy and not just raunchy.”
“You do a good job,” he affirmed.
I mumbled something into the warmth of his skin, wrapped in love and kisses and compliments and told him again how much I liked him. He squeezed me and said he had to go soon.
I don’t know if loving him more will make me braver or more afraid, but as I’ve been told recently I need to act like the grown up and share my feelings and I agree. Just a few more nights like this one and I might feel brave enough to try.
He played my body like an aged rock star, the strings of my body a part of his own, my notes his own voice and my reverberations deep in his bones.
I lay on my back and my lashes fluttered, the ceiling fan silently whirred. I briefly thought, “I need to dust,” and then was jerked back by his soft tongue lapping at my pussy. My newly shaved bare pussy.
I have resisted the trend to make myself look prepubescent for years. I’ve ranted and raved about it, been stubbornly against it, but The Neighbor’s birthday was a couple of weeks ago and I wanted to do something special for him. Something he’d never ask for and something I knew he quietly wanted.
“I’ve never been with anyone who’s entirely shaved,” he mentioned to me once. “I know you think it’s nasty, but I think it’s kinda hot. Forbidden.” I’d listened patiently, snug in his nook, and played with his chest hair.
And that was the moment I made my decision. I wanted to erase her from his memory banks and replace her with visions of my creamy, smooth cunt, shaved just for him.
I was surprised to realize that the decision felt good. There was no pressure to conform or to “look like that.” This was a gift for the man I love.
The night before his birthday I stood under scorching hot water and let the heat soak into my bones. I filled my hand with cream and spread it on my little patch of hair. My 5-blade razor made quick work on the top and I pulled and stretched the folds of my vulva to get all the little hairs hiding in the crevices.
Then, despite Dumb Dommes’ misgivings about shaving your own asshole, I bent forward, spread my cheeks, slathered on shaving cream, and carefully lay the razor in my crack and dragged outward until the blades came out hair-free. I was smooth as a petal now.
As I toweled off I peeked at my handiwork and quickly covered back up. It looked foreign, weird, exceptionally naughty. I blushed and got dressed for bed, excited to see him later. It was a good night, that first reveal.
But now his birthday had long since passed as I lay with my legs splayed as his wicked tongue stroked me. The bristles of his beard — which he was growing just for me — were soft and scruffy on my inner thighs and plump vulva. I was in motherfucking heaven.
He sneaked his right hand under my bottom and slipped a curved finger inside of me and my face sparkled with pleasure, my teeth chattered. I gasped and bucked and writhed, his face clung to my center like a cowboy wearing the biggest belt buckle around.
“I need a break!” I whispered suddenly. “Oh my God, I need a break!” I was overloaded, on the brink of total torture, not release. “Please, holy shit, you’re so good at that, I need a break,” I panted again as he stopped and slowly slipped his finger out.
His face was plastered with a grin and a sheen.
I closed my eyes and prepared to get a grip when I felt his finger slide back into me, only this time it was multiple fingers. “No,” I squeaked weakly, “I can’t handle it!” I felt both his hands on my knees spread me apart. I opened my eyes and saw him standing between my legs, looking down at me like a hungry cat, his cock buried in my pussy to the hilt. His dark pubic hair looked stark against my bare mound.
I imagined what he saw then: my bare body, white, with no interruptions, large breasts slightly flattened that jiggled with my giggles as I realized he’d done a switch on me.
“I thought that was your finger!” I laughed.
“I’m insulted!” he said as he thrust into me and smiled broadly.
“Multiple fingers!” I corrected myself.
He gripped my knees from underneath and hauled me closer to him. My bottom hung off the edge of the bed. He pushed deeply into me and the tingling from my face, which his talented mouth had begun, ebbed and traveled down to my center. I moaned and floated away on more blooming orgasms — pink and bright, soft, long, and cloudy — as he increased the tempo. I let go and bounced along like a leaf on a rapid.
I wrapped my legs around his hips and locked my ankles pulling him closer. He rammed into me and his giant cock slid up through my belly to my goddamned throat.
My hands twisted in the sheets and arched my back against him when he suddenly stopped and quietly stared at me. I was confused.
He stooped to pick something up and held up my Hitachi triumphantly.
I shook my head No. He nodded Yes then added, “You are going to cum with me inside of you.”
He flicked the wand on and handed it to me. Defeated I draped my crotch with a sheet for a small buffer and pressed the head against me. I jumped and began the climb and he started to move.
I lost myself then. I couldn’t tell where he ended and the vibrator began. He was my everything then. My pleasure, my pain, my torture, my release. He thrust again and again and I burst at the seams, light split me apart, my cells detached and I screamed and rolled my eyes like a wild mare as I was obliterated in darkness and light; his cock my anchor to Earth and to love and to life. I was split apart like Neo with the Matrix and I began to sob uncontrollably as it went on and on and on.
Finally, I fell back into my shell. It had released me.
He scooped me up and held me as tears spilled from my eyes. I felt so, so small. Eternally small.
I cried because I only ever felt this way with this man and it was always slipping away. I cried because I didn’t deserve the pleasure. I cried because I did.
He kissed and crooned to me and I buried my face in his chest and inhaled his sweet, clean scent. I rolled to my back and he stroked my naked mound. His fingers felt warm, honest. My silly shaved pussy was worth every blush and every moment of post-feminist guilt I’d been experiencing. A passport to 45 minutes of losing my mind will always be worth it.
He told me he would be leaving soon and I squeezed him tightly. Happy to have made him so happy. He loved it and I loved that he loved it.
And I felt motherfucking lucky.
It’s not every day I have someone for whom to shave my pussy bare. He’s one lucky motherfucker.