We masturbate with the light on.

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The outfit of ill repute.

I pressed myself against his bare back and reached my arm around to find his stiff cock resting on the mattress.  We’d been cuddling for a while and our new configuration had interrupted my stroking.  I sighed into his back and kissed his shoulder, squeezed the hot thing in my hand.  He picked up his stream of consciousness and I closed my eyes with a smile as I breathed him in and indulged completely my joy of curling around him while sunk deeply into my mattress.

My hand, wrapped around his hotness, lazily moved the length of him and I felt a familiar draw between my legs.  I was surprised; I thought for sure the pounding headache I’d endured all day had surely killed any kind of libido, but no… she was purring just below the surface.  I decided to test it and thought out loud to us both.

“How long has it been since you masturbated?”

“Since Saturday or Sunday whenever I sent you that pic.”

“Mmm,” I replied remembering the glorious cock shot I’d received, all resplendent dark pink skin arched like a dolphin above the surface of his belly.  “I remember now.  Thanks for that.”  I squeezed my hand again and pulled his shoulder toward me to reposition him on his back.

“I want to watch you cum tonight,” I said softly, firmly.  The room was filled with light and an evening stillness, waiting.

He politely declined, but I persisted, perceiving the game.  “It’s so hot when your hand is a blur, to watch you tense your big thighs,” I whispered.

I traced my hand over his meaty quadricep.  “And to watch you shake a little.  To see your arm flex, your biceps harden.  Your little grunts and then you curl.”

“I curl?” he asked.

“Yes, you curl, just a little, like this at the end,” and I demonstrated the little crunch he does during climax.

He moaned a little and took over.  A slight smacking sound from the head of his cock joined the lilt of my story as his hand moved quickly and expertly over his own body.  “Mmm, how could I have forgotten about that sound?” I wondered.

“I want you to cum with me,” he said.  Then added, “Please, ma’am.”

I rolled over and retrieved the Hitachi resting on a nest of tangled cords and put the head over my polkadot shorts.  I lifted my white see-through t-shirt and lay in the bright light, his eyes locked on mine for a moment before we both shifted to each other’s bodies.

The wand seared through me as I watched the blurry arc of his hand.  Words tumbled out of me as quickly as my orgasm tumbled toward its cliff of release.  “I love your cock,” I gasped, “It’s so fucking big.  Look at you: so beautiful, so sexy.”

His body was doing all the things I’d already described.  His legs were rigid slabs of muscle, his chest was taut with exertion, his breath coming fast and in little jerks.

“I can’t believe you put that giant thing in me,” I managed to say and then my orgasm pushed through me like a wave crashing on the beach.  It came so swiftly the second I was done I wanted more.  He was still beating himself with a steady, sexy rhythm.

“You’re going again, right?” he asked, hopeful.

“Definitely,” I confirmed.  “Talking — hearing my own voice say those things — made me cum faster,” I said a little incredulously.  “But it’s hard.  I’m so shy.”  He said he felt the same way when he tried to talk and I felt less silly.

I put the Hitachi back on me and kept talking.  Again, it pounded through me in seconds and I arched and moaned and called out.  He closed his eyes and moved to his own music, his own needs.  His hand moved impossibly fast and his breathing shortened.  I pressed my hand gently on his thigh, close to the magic and waited.

And then he curled a little and spurts of his seed came spilling out to rest on the brambles of his hairy abdomen.  He giggled a little and relaxed.  “See?” I said kissing his shoulder.  “You curled!”  He giggled again and sighed, wiped the cum off his belly with his bare hand.

I took it and licked some off and smacked my lips, rolled back onto my back and quickly had a third orgasm with the taste of his cum on my lips and his mouth latched onto my breast.

“Let’s talk about our feelings,” he joked.  I snuggled down into my nook and kissed his chest.  His arm squeezed me to him and he nuzzled me for a kiss on the lips.

“Ok,” I said.  “I love you.”  He smiled and I got lost in his icy blue eyes, the whiskers he was growing back for me.

“I love you, too,” he replied and I quietly wrapped myself in the evening’s joy as I looked out into the quiet stillness of my brightly lit room, his chest a pillow beneath my smiling cheek.

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What he saw.

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.”

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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.

He masturbated while I watched.

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This is what you get the morning after you jizz on your own chest in front of me.

I was open with him.  “I don’t mean to make you feel badly or self-conscious, but I would very much like it if I knew you were getting as much pleasure as me, if you had the occasional orgasm in my presence — I feel guilty, greedy.  It’s always about me and my pleasure, never yours.”  I paused, thinking about what to say next as he looked at me softly with his icy blue eyes.

“And you’re not getting the pleasure of giving,” he finished for me.

“Yes,” I breathed with relief.  He got it.

His “apathy,” as he calls it, is what he struggles with the most.  He appears to be completely unflappable when it comes to social intricacies, connecting, receiving, and giving.  He has built himself an iron island and no one may ever let him down.  It’s emotionally impossible after 29 years of fortitude.

He doesn’t care about things.   What those things are, I couldn’t say, I haven’t poked around too much for fear of hearing I am one of them, but he is working on cracking open enough to the vulnerability that is inherent in caring about something, maybe someone.

Almost as if on cue, I began to feel unwell the days following that conversation.  Sex was off the table.  So we cuddled and talked and let our words probe each other rather than our body parts, but aching/hungry/ass belly aside, I was still set to drooling last night when my absentminded cock-stroking awoke the beast.

We giggled as it rose stiffly against the elastic of his shorts and I gripped it happily and squeezed.

“I’ve thought about what you said the other day,” he said huskily, close to my ear, “And I’m not going to jerk off until Saturday night.”

“Really??” I asked incredulously.

“Yes, really.  When you come to La Maison du Voisin, then I’ll cum all over your face, in your mouth, and maybe in your pussy.”

“That’s a lot of cumming!” I said impressed.

I was touched by this grand gesture.  La Maison du Voisin night marks the very first time he’s offered to cook for me, hang with me, and tuck me in next door.

It’s not as romantic as you think, however.  It was originally a gesture of contrition and remorse.  Saturday he let a drunk girl pass out face down in his lap and, panicked and drunk, he stroked her arm and shoulder in a creepy, intimate way while our knees bounced against each other in the back of a bouncing pick up truck.  My warning looks served only to heighten his discomfort and feelings of helplessness and rendered me anxiety-ridden and miserable.

That night, he offered me La Maison du Voisin.

The next day he woke me up to say he feels bad that he continues to cross boundaries with other women he considers in distress.  It was at that moment I realized he’d tossed me bones: Wanna come over to my house Saturday??  Would you like for me to make you dinner?  You can stay the night, too.

“Did you offer all that La Maison du Vosin stuff because you felt bad about the drunk girl?”

He admitted it was true, but that he still really wanted me to come over and do those things for me.  So, ok.  I’m gonna take it however it may come.

I squeezed the cock hot and thick in my hand and it pulsed a little.  I told him I wished I was up for fucking.  He hugged me and said it was ok.  I wasn’t sure if I should try, but I decided to grab my Hitachi.  His eyes lit up.

I put the buzzing head on top of my plaid, pink pj shorts and rode the vibrations to a quick and powerful crescendo.  I panted, whimpered, and arched my back, and through fluttering lashes I watched his hand move to his cock and begin to blur.

His hand was fast and fapping and I watched his massive thighs flex and relax again and again.

“Do it again,” he said.

My stomach felt ok, so I decided to oblige him.

Again I flipped the switch and rose swift and high, like a rocket, and his hand continued to be a blur as I watched entranced, his muscles flexing and releasing like a wild animal on the run.

I came hard for a second time and lay limply beside him, his hand idling on his stiff cock.  “Could you have cum?” I asked, assuming we were done.

“I’m trying to cum!” he said with a smile.

“But I thought you weren’t cumming till Saturday…” I said confused.

“Yes, but I figured jerking off next to you was totally allowed.”  He smiled broadly at me.  I agreed it was absolutely allowed.  “Cum a third time,” he whispered.  I knew he was telling me he needed to watch me for a little longer, that he was close.

I flicked the switch back on and gasped the second it hit my clit.  The rise was fast, but I was spent.  I knew this was for him.  I turned my head to the side, let the little row-boat of my orgasm bump against the dock, and watched his hand become an arc of Caucasian skin.

His eyes were tightly closed, his chest knots of muscles.  He grunted and gasped and began to buck into his hand even as it slammed down into his lap.  His stomach clenched and he crunched up a little, his hand slowed and spurts of milky white choked out of the abused head.  A little glob landed on the silky nest of his chest hair.

He laid back down with a sigh and squeezed out more semen, slowly milking himself.

“Fuck, that was hot,” I said, the vibrator forgotten and turned off.

He leaned over and kissed me and I kept my eyes on the glistening tip of his cock.

He rose then and walked around to the other side of the bed, my side, and his still rock hard cock bobbed by my face.  He leaned towards my face and I opened my mouth and gently drew him in.  He tasted salty and clean.

Then he pulled away and smiled.  “I just wanted you to taste it.”

“Thanks,” I said.  “It tastes delicious.”

He came back around and we cuddled some more until my lids were heavy and my smile left an imprint in his chest hair.  He rolled out from under me and pulled up my covers, leaned over and kissed me goodnight with soft, long strokes.

I’m looking forward to Saturday and lots more of this cum-flavored contrition.

Sometimes I hate my body.

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Tick tock.  His heavy hand accidentally marked me.

“You ready?” He stood in my apartment, his gym bag over his shoulder.  I was dressed in my work clothes still.

“Yeah, gimme a sec.”

He followed me back to my room and flopped down on the bed.  Faisal jumped up to purr and meow and twist himself about The Neighbor.  I peeled off my barely opaque white v-neck and my breasts bounced.

“Mmmm,” I heard from the bed.  I flexed my abdomen and tried to push my insecurities away, focus on this man’s approval.  I bent over to roll my skirt down over my hips and sucked in my stomach hoping the swell didn’t pooch out too much.

“That’s right baby, show me those tits.”  He watched me beyond the end of the bed as if I were on stage; I clenched every core muscle I owned and stood up straight and smiled as I reached behind me to unhook my bra, trying to look nonchalant and confident.  His eyes followed my every move as I tried to morph my body into that of a lithe dancer’s: arch my back, pull my shoulders back, face the audience, be lean and beautiful.

I gathered my workout clothes and scrunched up again to thread my legs into my leggings and cringed at how much I must seem the Michelin Man from the side.  I imagined shaking it off, these thoughts invasive and cruel.  Where was this coming from??

TN had stretched out on the bed and begun to absent-mindedly stroke his bulge.  I tucked my breasts into the little shelf of a sports bra and said, “You know, I was about to jerk off when you knocked a minute ago.” I walked around to the side of the bed. ” There’s still time before class starts.”

The ugly voice inside my head was shouting at me, relentless.  I felt awkward in my skin, undeserving, foolish for all of it.  Orgasms can be my reprieve from such thoughts.  TN didn’t spark them when he dropped by, he’d only walked into a snarling ant pit of self-loathing.

“Well, then let’s get going on that,” he replied as he watched me reach for my Hitachi.

I rested my knee on the mattress and planted my foot on the floor, my left arm straight and strong as I pressed the vibrating head to my crotch.  Instantly I was on the magic carpet ride up, up, and up.  TN had a front row seat to my cleavage cradled in white, an expanse of belly which I allowed to be whatever it was going to be — though I hoped it looked flat and muscular — and the swell of my hips encased in transparent Lululemon-like yoga pants.

He moaned a little and kept rubbing.  I kept my eyes latched onto his hand, then I felt his free hand sweetly trace my breasts.  “Is this ok?” he asked.

“Mmmhmm.”

But it lasted only seconds.

Instead he pulled his shorts down and flopped out his erection, big and juicy before me.  His hand began to whir and the sound of fap fap fap deliciously filled my ears.  My ride was spiraling its way to the clouds, my lashes fluttered, I could see him staring at me as if I were a unicorn passing outside his window.

The orgasm shook me and just before it stole my breath I managed to whisper, “I’m gonna cum!” knowing it turned him on more than anything.

He quickly and neatly replaced his cock beneath his layers of clothes and pulled me into his arms.  I hung on to his middle and laughed, waited a minute then pulled my shit together for the gym.

We worked out side by side, muscles bulged, faces red.  I stared at myself in the mirror hating every goddamned music-pumping second of it.  The orgasm relief had been fleeting — as I knew it would be — I was again beating myself down.

Other women in the class were athletic specimens, all narrow hips and beautifully wide shoulders, firm buttocks and roundly muscled arms.  I was…. not.

I caught TN’s icy blue gaze on my cleavage in the mirror more than once, an appreciative gleam in his eyes, but it wasn’t enough to protect me from myself.  Yes, I thought, I have nice tits, but what about the rest of me??  I resigned myself to the Pig-Pen-cloud of low self-esteem and smiled wanly to the other class members as we put our weights away.  I really just wanted to go home and lie down.  Maybe die a little, hide under a rock, whatever.

When I get like this, seized by self-doubt and hate, I undoubtedly make a decision that will support this belief.  That night, it was making Mac n’ Cheese out of a box for dinner — something I rarely eat, but will always make me feel at once comforted and like a complete failure.  I ate 2/3 of the box in bed while watching The Taste, took a shower, and texted TN for our nightly cuddle.  I wanted to skip it altogether, but he’d asked me to text him and so I did.

I lay there anxiously, tired, a pain pill shivering through my veins.  I heard him snap his fingers through my darkened apartment and appear in my doorway.  He removed the kitten, shut the door, turned out the overhead lights and flipped on the closet light for ambiance.

“What’s going on?” I asked, nervous, irritable, feeling like utter and complete shit.

“I’m going to fuck the shit out of you, that’s what.”  He came around the side of the bed and dropped his shorts.  I reached out for his erection and it bobbed hot, thick, and clean in my palm.  I chuckled half-heartedly and rolled away from him, my whiteness stark against the aubergine bedding.

“What are you doing?” he wondered aloud.

“Making you work for it,” I answered.  He growled and pounced on me, wedged my knees apart and slid deep inside my body with one easy stroke.  His clean strawberry dusted body thrust into my own vanilla scented one and we made a warm body dessert out of two naked people.

I clung to his hindquarters with my legs and wrapped my arms around his broad, fuzzy back; he grunted and kissed my neck and collar-bone.  When he sat up to hitch my ankles on his shoulders I refused.  My irritation and discomfort with my body had grown — my belly felt rounder — and suddenly, the fucking routine that went missionary-to-folded-in-half-to-orgasms seemed tired and only stoked my irritation.

I slipped my left leg between his knees and turned on my side.  He held my right leg with his hand and nailed me to the headboard.  I cringed when thoughts of Troy crowded my sad, addled brain — this had been a favorite position of ours.  I quickly rotated again to my belly and I heard the soft smacking of our bodies on my bottom and Troy thankfully exited stage left.

From his new vantage point TN brought his free, lead hand down on my flank.  Three excrutiating times.  I cried out and went rigid, the sting down to my bone, and then I was granted a reprieve when he got a charlie horse and was forced to stop.  We laughed at his misfortune and pulled apart.

I lay next to him and rubbed his massive hamstring chatting easily.  I was waging a stupid little war with myself and decided to let him in on the secret; I felt shy and worried about opening up to him about my self-loathing and odd flash of low self-esteem.

“I feel really bad, TN.  Like out of control.  I don’t like the way I look all of a sudden.  I hate feeling like this.  I feel so stupid and dumb.”

He crooned to me and pulled me into his arms and tried to rationalize my irrational behavior.  “Maybe you think you’re fatter than you are because your tits are so big,” he suggested not unhelpfully.

“Maybe…” I murmured.

“Hy, you’re very sexy and I think you’re extremely beautiful: your tits, your ass, especially your face.”  I flushed at the compliments and with shame for needing to hear the words.

I thanked him and took a deep breath to embolden me to open up more.  “So, there’s something else.”  I heard him hold his breath a little.  “When I’m in this kind of mood — feeling down on myself — what I really want is for you to throw me around.  But,” and his low timbre joined mine perfectly, “I/you don’t know how to let you/me know that’s what I/you want.”

“Right,” I nodded into his chest.

“Well,” he said sitting up quickly.  “Telling me to work for it is kind of perfect.”

He grabbed my wrists and I said quietly, “Work for it,” and held his gaze.

He repositioned himself between my legs and I tried to wriggle away, but he had me pinned.  I was tired, yet thrilled at this little game before he had to leave and before I passed the fuck out under that rock I’d been pining after earlier.

He slammed into me, stroked me from the inside and nuzzled my neck, gripped my wrists like he was hanging over a cliff and I came once then twice with big, round blooms of pleasure.  It was fast and fierce.  Perfect.

He pulled out abruptly and I lay there bathed in light from the closet, my thighs rested on the tops of his as he sat on his heels.  He ran his hands up from my hip bones to my ribcage and across the soft, mostly-flat plane of my belly.  He groaned approval and apologized that he had to go.  I nodded assent and assured him I was ready for him to leave.

He came around the side of the bed and wrapped his hand around my throat, tilted my head back as if to give me mouth-to-mouth and gently suckled my lips, his tongue soft and pliant while his hand gently squeezed — a kiss so unlike his usual hard, punishing, immobilizing goodbyes.  I melted away into those lips of his surrounded by a little sea of scruff.

And just like that, for that magical moment, the cloud lifted and I felt a bright, shiny love on me, my idiocy be damned.  “G’night, Hy,” he said as he left.  “I’ll lock the door behind me.”

“Good night!” I called out after him and then whispered smiling, I love you, as I have begun to do nightly.

The terrible feelings about my body and my looks were there when I awoke the next day and I am still waiting for them to subside.  I have committed to health, not looks, and I refuse to fall victim to the old bully of self-loathing.  I love my body and what it can do; I love my tits, my hips, my little pot belly.  I don’t know where this sucker punch has come from and I don’t know how long it will stay, but I’m going to do my goddamned damnedest to get rid of it.  Fuck it to hell.

I’m hoping lots of cuddles and fucking are just what the PhD ordered.