I write a letter to The Neighbor.

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The morning after.

Dearest TN,

Last night was what I needed though I didn’t want it.  Not at first.

All I wanted was your company on the cold balcony while I dragged on my sad little cigarette and drank out of my fishbowl wine glass.  My heart hurt and I was bereft that my ex is making poor decisions, fast decisions, but you sat with me and listened.

And when I cried because I was a raw nerve you held my hand and told me you were sorry and you stuck up for me like the Polish bulldog you are, your Irish heart pure and bold.

I was mush, but you turned me into putty.

You led me to my bed and you lay with me, stroked me and giggled with me.  I felt heavy and then I felt light.  Your flaccid cock came alive in my hand, large and stiff, and when you loomed over me in the candlelight I was skeptical that I was even there with you, it was another woman, someone else.

But then you punctured me, huge and taut, and began to move.

I’ve never felt you quite like that before and my body only just accommodated you. And then it became slippery, but I was still only barely letting you fit.  Every thrust, every move I felt our skin touch and my heart began to beat with our movements.  I was stretched apart by you.

You kissed me then and I kissed you back.  I arched my back and gripped the bars of my bed for purchase, for mercy.  You gave me none and bore into me and glared into my weeping face, sad and lovely, at home and so alone.  But you were there.  Big.

I clung to you, your wildly pumping buttocks, and you dumped yourself into me.  I was sobbing at this point, my heart broken into so many pieces then shattered into infinitely more by you, your love, your resistance, your everything.

You kept at me, ignoring my sobs, turned on by them, I suspect.  I felt exposed and vulnerable, unworthy and like a fraud.  Happy.  I was out of control.

“I’m going to cum again,” you said through gritted teeth, but I couldn’t take another stroke.  I had died so many times.  La petite mort and all that.

But you started up inside me again and I melted and wheezed my love into your ear, silently and coded.  Your powerful thighs flexed between my soft and gripping ones and I rolled my eyes into the back of my head to see my heart slip out behind.

Mercy came then when you chose to roll off of me.  It wasn’t going to happen for you that way.  I squirmed and writhed and tears streamed down my face as I gulped in ugly breaths of air and turned my cheek to you and watched your hand become an arc on your hard cock.

Fap fap fap fap fap fap fap, said your hand.

Unnnnhhhh, ahhhhhhh, ooooooh, said your mouth.

And then you jerked and flexed and creamy bright globs spurted out on your furry abdomen.  I stared slack-jawed and drooling for a moment, dipped my head and licked the tip of your cock as if it were fairy dust.  It was my way of punctuating your beautiful, dirty solo act.  Yum, yum.

The magic your body bears on mine is unequivocal in my universe.  I’ve never known such beauty before with another human.  It is a symphony of luck and love.

You are a balm on my aching heart and my racing mind.  You heal me in places no one else can possibly reach because your cock happens to be a magic fucking wand and not everyone runs around with one of those between their legs.  Who knew that when I decided to shove my hand down your pants in a drunken pass almost exactly 2 years ago?

But of course you’re so much more than just the sex we share.  You are terrifyingly smart and weird and loyal; you don’t like any of the foods I love so much, but yet we still manage to make eating a sinful delight between us; you don’t like anyone, but you like me… a lot; you demand alone time, but give me none preferring to a cuddle to solitude every time; you are thirsty for wisdom and I can see your impatience with “catching up” to me, yet you have your own special 29 year old knowledge I could never have; you like to fuck with your socks on and have an amazing non-relationship with clothing in general; you are generous and kind, witty and utterly likeable.

How lucky are we that we both landed in this apartment complex, in this city, in this state, and all next door to one another??

I don’t know what the future holds for us when I move out in March, but what I do know is that I will always have memories like that of last night to keep me warm when we are apart.

All this to say: I’m hoping I’ll muster the courage to tell you I love you this weekend.  We both deserve to hear it, though, I am petrified.

And please, god, don’t let it be a mistake to finally lift the veil of denial from us. Please…

We’ll see what Monday brings.

xx
Hy

He surprised me.

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The morning after.

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.

My yellow dress always gets me laid.

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Proof of a good night.

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, the yellow 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.

 

“It’s total perfection.”

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It started out like this.

I’ve become high on love.

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.

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Striptease.

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.

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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.”

photo 1

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.

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His favorite.

Don’t envy me.

It’s boring to keep saying I have an amazing sex life.

But, I do.

I can’t help it.

I live next door to a young man who has grown exponentially in the almost two years we’ve been dancing inside of each other. He knows the switches to flip, the dials to turn, the words to seethe between gritted teeth.

He’s mastered contrition and acquiescence with a look and a softening of his bones and he’s become fluent in my language of sensitivity and large need.

I was asleep before he came along, walking through a dream. Now I am awake, the breeze slick on my eyeballs, the birds in my ears, the flowers tangled upon my face.

I cannot go back to less than this. I will die. Like I was dead before him.  A hull of a woman.

It scares me, this new Technicolor life I have with him. I don’t want it to go away.  And that in turn terrifies twice over.

Does this mean I make compromises I shouldn’t? That I roll when I should dig?

Should Love be a part of my vocabulary, fill the space around me with its sound and feel? I believe I feel it, but I never hear it.

Does my fear of loss keep me from asking for what I really want?

::

I cried to him the other night while faced with the terrible thought: him or my baby? Of course, there is no question, no hesitation, my baby would win. My child needs me to fight and advocate, to protect. The Neighbor has permission to be a part of our lives only, but he’s not in it. Not yet.

“You need to understand that Peyton is innocent, TN, and I do not appreciate the way you’ve been behaving around my baby the past couple of days.” The tears leaked down my cheeks as I said the sad words. “You will not be welcome here if you can’t be better. That child is everything, my number one priority, and it’s my job to keep it that way. Do you understand me?”

He looked at me silently over the chess board he’d set up for us, shocked.

“Anyone in my life would feel honored to read a bedtime story, but not you. You roll your eyes and run out of the house on an errand and an excuse.” I paused and put my head in my hands again, then lifted my tear-streaked face to his waiting one. “Please, please, tell me I have this all wrong and that you do care for Peyton, that you care for the little heart that’s in that body and that you don’t just ‘endure’ the child.”

As the words left my mouth he jumped to respond.

“God, no! No, not at all!! Hy, I’m so, so sorry if I’ve made you feel that way. I just didn’t want to be around anybody tonight. No one! I didn’t mean to roll my eyes when Peyton was talking to me. Please, you’ve got to understand I’m just in a really terrible mood!”  He sounded sincere.

“Then don’t come over here. Don’t do me any favors. If you’re in that bad of a mood to not see the perfection and love that’s in that little person, then stay away. You’re not welcome.” I said it gently, but with a mother’s righteousness.

He nodded that he understood and I cried some more as I remembered my own stepfather, the eye rolls, the impatience, his lies and deceit. And how little I felt, how useless and empty.

“Or maybe,” TN suggested quickly, “You’re dealing with someone with absolutely zero experience with kids.” He let that hang in the space between us.

“Is that the case?” I sniffled, hopeful. “Really??”

“Yes,” he said earnestly, almost panicked that I might not believe him. Then he seemed to have a sudden idea, that maybe this was going in the wrong direction.

“I like being around Peyton, Hy, but I don’t come over here to play with your kid, I come here to be with you. You know that, right? There’s a difference. ” As if to say, Don’t make this more than it is, Hy. We’re still just “having a good time together.” “But, I do enjoy Peyton’s company. It’s just hard for me sometimes.”

I nodded sadly, but I felt better  I get it.  Little kids are nose-picking, million-question-asking, innocent angels.  It’s a tough combination for the uninitiated. “I’ve never dated anyone while I had a kid before, TN. This is new to me. And you and I have,” I searched for the right words to convey “idiotic”, “an unconventional, non-traditional type of relationship. We’ve never discussed Peyton before in relation to our relationship before. We needed to talk about this.”

He agreed.

“I don’t know what Peyton see’s at my ex’s and with his girlfriend. Am I modeling the wrong kind of relationship by not having certain things??” Namely, the unspoken Love and commitment that TN and I never discuss. “Does it matter? Does our loving, positive, sweet relationship make up for what it’s not??” I let the questions hang and TN said he didn’t know either.

Then he said he was a little hurt that I didn’t seem to see any of his sweetness with my baby. He reminded me about how wonderful he has been over the last year he’s been in our lives. The long talks, the patient playing, the sweet hellos and goodbyes. And it’s all true. He’s always been good to my baby and Peyton loves TN like any little person can.  He’d only been noticeably cranky with my sweet one for two days.

I don’t know what kind of impact he’s having on Peyton in the bigger picture.  Peyton would surely notice an absence if we separated — like when the neighborhood stray cat finally disappears: Where’d Kitty go?  Hmm.  Ooh!  Look at that bug!  La dee da — but my baby would be ok.  It’s my job to ensure that people’s’ departures don’t cause the house to crumble, after all.

We smiled sweetly at each other from our chairs and I giggled my relief, happy we had survived this small tempest.  I felt closer to him.  And then I nearly beat him at chess, my first game ever.

::

Are moments like this a bigger deal than I make them out to be because I don’t want to know that TN, my sweet lover and love, really isn’t a good fit for my life with my baby? Do I make excuses for him?

My amazing sex life — and my easy heart — have me confused.

So, yes, I have a lot of great sex, but I also have a half-cocked heart and a muddled relationship. It’s not all roses for Hyacinth.

When you read about my hot encounters remember I never hear, “I love you, Hy.”  I don’t see love in his eyes, I don’t plan for our future together.  I don’t hold his hand and I don’t even know if I should invite him to my baby’s upcoming birthday party.

::

In the days that followed, it seemed that he made special efforts to connect with Peyton and with me.  My shaky worrying about the state of our affair abated.  Just a little.  I felt lighter, back floating on a little cloud of denial.  Or maybe it’s real happiness.  I honestly can’t tell.

Big, juicy cock, fingers in a cunt, eyes locked in lust, tears slipping into the shells of my ears, blooms of orgasms that opened my soul.  Just the usual bullshit in these parts.

“I’m happy to know you,” I said one night, curled in his nook, tears wet on my face, as my body fell back into place. It was my “I love you.”

He sighed into my hair, maybe he kissed my temple. “I’m happy to know you, too.”

Perhaps it was his “I love you, too.”  I don’t know, but the sex was good.

It’s always good.