J is gone. It is done and over with.
He returned from a working trip and when we spoke it came out that he doesn't think about any sort of future with me. I'm tired of being with people who don't want to be with me. Or who make no effort or room in their life for me to be. I won't be the one who always bends. I am resolute.
The night that I ended it I sobbed like a child. I've been more ok about it than I really expected, but waves of grief was over me a few times today, and I feel myself on the edge again.
This morning, as T and I were making gentle Saturday morning in the sun love, I was near to climax when I realised I was supposed to be with Cambridge with J, and I almost wept right then and there. Not fair for T, I know, but I don't consciously seek these thoughts out, they just hit me.
I am so sad.
Showing posts with label Saturday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Saturday. Show all posts
Saturday, 20 April 2013
Wednesday, 31 October 2012
The Weekend of You: Evening
We made it inside. J pushed me up against a wall, the one with no pictures on. Kissed me hard. Kept kissing me while I fumbled with his belt buckle, then his shirt. He began to unbutton my dress, but I pushed him away, and pulled the flimsy blue fabric over my head. He smiled, surprised at my lingerie, and pushed me into the lounge.
I lay back on his voluptuous sofa and J peeled off my tight jeans. More surprised smiling and my plan of impressing him through matching black lace lingerie seemed to have worked. He took it off, and threw it carelessly on the floor. J nudged my thighs apart and as I sat up briefly in mock protest he exclaimed at the soft roundness of my belly. He ran his hand over it pinchingly, and told me that he thought it was incredibly sexy. We kissed more, urgently, and my protests turned to encouranging sighs and moans. He pressed himself at my entrace and I snaked my moistened hand between him to make myself wet and ease the first heavenly thrust. He pushed inside my warmth, I felt my brow knit and the first sigh escape my lips.
You like it rough, don't you. I am now on the floor, on hands and knees, showing myself to him. He was quick to enter again, thrusting deeply into me. I arch my back and I hear him groan before he runs his hands down my back, tracing me from widened hips to slender waist, up, up my back and neck before taking hold, fingers clasped through locks of hair. Deeper and harder now, yes. Rocking my hips back to meet him I feel myself surrounding him deliciously, no room to spare. I'm pushed roughly up against the sofa, and his force surprises me. I'm hit with the realisation that he is a lot bigger than me, and could hurt me if he wanted to. He doesn't, not really, no more than I want him to. He's the first lover to discover this side of me for himself. I didn't even need to tell him. His thrusts are hard and fast now, slamming my face into the cushions. I like it, I think he comes, but can't quite tell, and soon he stops. He leads me upstairs to his white room with the colourful covers.
I find out later that when he comes, he slams himself into me and growls into my ear. A loud, unapologetic growl that is satisfying to my ears. I get to know that growl much better over the evening.
We lay in bed next to each other, slightly shocked at how much we're enjoying ourselves. Satisfaction breeds intimacy and our conversation become frank, candid. My hands can't keep away from his beautiful whiskered face. He looks back and I see the shy, delighted, naughty, interested boy in him, creeping out excitedly. Oh I do like him.
The next few hours are spent chatting, fucking, giggling. He leaves the room and I sneak his shirt on, a vast tunic on me. It doesn't smell of him. He seems to have no scent, but rather I can taste him when he kisses me. It's familiar. He likes me in his shirt and takes great pleasure in peeling it off my soft warm body several times over the course of the evening.
We try to watch a film, but in reality sit on each other, chatting and drinking champagne. I play him some music, and he plays me his favourite Beethoven symphony. I'm wrapped up in him, and gently drift off, hoping he wont notice. He does, and takes me softly back to his white room with the colourful covers and puts me to bed. He joins me soon after, and as we lay side by side I press myself into his warmth, and his arms snakes around me before holding me at the roundness of my belly.
1am. I'm awake, having not quite shaken off the stresses of the working week. My eyes hurt, sticking together from unremoved (but by this point certainly smudged) makeup. I creep out of bed, remove it and brush my teeth. Laying back next to him, I wonder distractedly if he will smell my face cream, whether he'll like it. He mutters I must pour you some more champagne in his sleep, and I giggle. He's dreaming about me, I like to believe. Sleep reluctantly comes again.
4:30am. The bed is empty next to me. My haziness thinks he's working, but I can't make out which room next to me he is in. I don't like being without him, and feel bereft. Tossing over whether to leave him alone or to join him, a few minutes later I rise, reaching for the door handle and seeing him at his computer. He smiles to see me, and apologises - he's still on Pacific time after a working trip away. He tenderly cuddles me, warming me and sweetly laughing at my blinkingness in the light. He makes tea, and joins me back in bed.We talk til sunrise.
I lay back on his voluptuous sofa and J peeled off my tight jeans. More surprised smiling and my plan of impressing him through matching black lace lingerie seemed to have worked. He took it off, and threw it carelessly on the floor. J nudged my thighs apart and as I sat up briefly in mock protest he exclaimed at the soft roundness of my belly. He ran his hand over it pinchingly, and told me that he thought it was incredibly sexy. We kissed more, urgently, and my protests turned to encouranging sighs and moans. He pressed himself at my entrace and I snaked my moistened hand between him to make myself wet and ease the first heavenly thrust. He pushed inside my warmth, I felt my brow knit and the first sigh escape my lips.
You like it rough, don't you. I am now on the floor, on hands and knees, showing myself to him. He was quick to enter again, thrusting deeply into me. I arch my back and I hear him groan before he runs his hands down my back, tracing me from widened hips to slender waist, up, up my back and neck before taking hold, fingers clasped through locks of hair. Deeper and harder now, yes. Rocking my hips back to meet him I feel myself surrounding him deliciously, no room to spare. I'm pushed roughly up against the sofa, and his force surprises me. I'm hit with the realisation that he is a lot bigger than me, and could hurt me if he wanted to. He doesn't, not really, no more than I want him to. He's the first lover to discover this side of me for himself. I didn't even need to tell him. His thrusts are hard and fast now, slamming my face into the cushions. I like it, I think he comes, but can't quite tell, and soon he stops. He leads me upstairs to his white room with the colourful covers.
I find out later that when he comes, he slams himself into me and growls into my ear. A loud, unapologetic growl that is satisfying to my ears. I get to know that growl much better over the evening.
We lay in bed next to each other, slightly shocked at how much we're enjoying ourselves. Satisfaction breeds intimacy and our conversation become frank, candid. My hands can't keep away from his beautiful whiskered face. He looks back and I see the shy, delighted, naughty, interested boy in him, creeping out excitedly. Oh I do like him.
The next few hours are spent chatting, fucking, giggling. He leaves the room and I sneak his shirt on, a vast tunic on me. It doesn't smell of him. He seems to have no scent, but rather I can taste him when he kisses me. It's familiar. He likes me in his shirt and takes great pleasure in peeling it off my soft warm body several times over the course of the evening.
We try to watch a film, but in reality sit on each other, chatting and drinking champagne. I play him some music, and he plays me his favourite Beethoven symphony. I'm wrapped up in him, and gently drift off, hoping he wont notice. He does, and takes me softly back to his white room with the colourful covers and puts me to bed. He joins me soon after, and as we lay side by side I press myself into his warmth, and his arms snakes around me before holding me at the roundness of my belly.
1am. I'm awake, having not quite shaken off the stresses of the working week. My eyes hurt, sticking together from unremoved (but by this point certainly smudged) makeup. I creep out of bed, remove it and brush my teeth. Laying back next to him, I wonder distractedly if he will smell my face cream, whether he'll like it. He mutters I must pour you some more champagne in his sleep, and I giggle. He's dreaming about me, I like to believe. Sleep reluctantly comes again.
4:30am. The bed is empty next to me. My haziness thinks he's working, but I can't make out which room next to me he is in. I don't like being without him, and feel bereft. Tossing over whether to leave him alone or to join him, a few minutes later I rise, reaching for the door handle and seeing him at his computer. He smiles to see me, and apologises - he's still on Pacific time after a working trip away. He tenderly cuddles me, warming me and sweetly laughing at my blinkingness in the light. He makes tea, and joins me back in bed.We talk til sunrise.
Tuesday, 30 October 2012
The Weekend of You: Saturday
We arrived at J's house, a former worker's cottage of a nearby estate, and he led me through the garden to the back door of the house. We went inside, I de-coated and de-scarved, and perched on a chair whilst J made tea. The taxi ride to the house had been pleasant, but tentative, and I'm sure the taxi driver thought we were both completely nuts, sitting there and grinning like loons and teasing each other.
J has been calling me The White Witch of Narnia, because after speaking about it together, Cambridge had their first frost of the season. In the car he'd handed me a package, which I opened at his table. Turkish Delight.
We chatted, and grinned some more, before we re-coated and re-scarved and after thrusting a particularly unattractive hat on my head, he led me out of the house and we wandered into Cambridge city. He gave me the full tour experience, chatting confidently about writers who had lived in the villages near him, the history of the place and the reason that so many academics still revolved around this historic place.
He took me inside Cambridge, we saw King's College and Trinity. What heaven, and how marvellous to have studied there. There is a studious air there, and J is right, King's Student Bar was the only Student Bar I've ever been to where everyone is sitting around and talking about their subjects. We repaired to the cafe for a hot chocolate, and I think it was there that the first chipping away at the strangeness of my being there happened. I had to speak to T, and J called out to say hello. I liked it, it was new and a bit scary but I liked it. We confronted the nature of our meeting head on. We're both polyamorous. I'm in a 4 year relationship with T. I didn't really want to go to Cambridge to forget about that, but having said that I didn't want it to loom inauspiciously over the whole weekend. It was ok, J seemed to say. This is ok.
We then started to wander somewhat awkwardly holding hands or walking arm-in-arm. The next day I realised he was nervous and wasn't sure how much I wanted to do that, and at the time I felt the same way. He didn't seem to overly want me to hold his hand, but maybe he was just better and seeming cool and calm than I was. So I just touched him when I wanted to. It seemed to work just fine. Outside Trinity College he kissed me, and I felt my knees buckle with the arousal that come from finally being taken the way you crave.
From then on, I was hazy with desire and my only real wish was to go back to his warm cottage and have him inside me. But there was a whole lunch to get through! We shared a bottle of wine and some pasta at a well known Italian Restaurant in the city centre. We talked and talked and talked. And kissed. He told me who he was and then so did I. We talked about polyamory, and that T might go to see J's other lover. J liked that. He liked the synergy, and that we'd all come full circle. We had the kind of conversation that makes you not want to leave the table, as you know that as soon as the spell is broken it wont be the same when you come back. He told me I had the softest lips he'd ever kissed. I told him that I was so turned on I could hardly stand it. He paid, we left, I got his coat whilst he settled and he was delighted that I knew which one it was.
Back at the cottage he tried to unlock the door, but suddenly it was too much and we stood kissing on his stoop and undressing each other. His warm, wet kisses enveloping my face, his hands touching my breasts whilst I unbuttoned his coat. I stole my lips away from him to whisper open the door. We went inside.
J has been calling me The White Witch of Narnia, because after speaking about it together, Cambridge had their first frost of the season. In the car he'd handed me a package, which I opened at his table. Turkish Delight.
We chatted, and grinned some more, before we re-coated and re-scarved and after thrusting a particularly unattractive hat on my head, he led me out of the house and we wandered into Cambridge city. He gave me the full tour experience, chatting confidently about writers who had lived in the villages near him, the history of the place and the reason that so many academics still revolved around this historic place.
He took me inside Cambridge, we saw King's College and Trinity. What heaven, and how marvellous to have studied there. There is a studious air there, and J is right, King's Student Bar was the only Student Bar I've ever been to where everyone is sitting around and talking about their subjects. We repaired to the cafe for a hot chocolate, and I think it was there that the first chipping away at the strangeness of my being there happened. I had to speak to T, and J called out to say hello. I liked it, it was new and a bit scary but I liked it. We confronted the nature of our meeting head on. We're both polyamorous. I'm in a 4 year relationship with T. I didn't really want to go to Cambridge to forget about that, but having said that I didn't want it to loom inauspiciously over the whole weekend. It was ok, J seemed to say. This is ok.
We then started to wander somewhat awkwardly holding hands or walking arm-in-arm. The next day I realised he was nervous and wasn't sure how much I wanted to do that, and at the time I felt the same way. He didn't seem to overly want me to hold his hand, but maybe he was just better and seeming cool and calm than I was. So I just touched him when I wanted to. It seemed to work just fine. Outside Trinity College he kissed me, and I felt my knees buckle with the arousal that come from finally being taken the way you crave.
From then on, I was hazy with desire and my only real wish was to go back to his warm cottage and have him inside me. But there was a whole lunch to get through! We shared a bottle of wine and some pasta at a well known Italian Restaurant in the city centre. We talked and talked and talked. And kissed. He told me who he was and then so did I. We talked about polyamory, and that T might go to see J's other lover. J liked that. He liked the synergy, and that we'd all come full circle. We had the kind of conversation that makes you not want to leave the table, as you know that as soon as the spell is broken it wont be the same when you come back. He told me I had the softest lips he'd ever kissed. I told him that I was so turned on I could hardly stand it. He paid, we left, I got his coat whilst he settled and he was delighted that I knew which one it was.
Back at the cottage he tried to unlock the door, but suddenly it was too much and we stood kissing on his stoop and undressing each other. His warm, wet kisses enveloping my face, his hands touching my breasts whilst I unbuttoned his coat. I stole my lips away from him to whisper open the door. We went inside.
Sunday, 28 October 2012
Towards You
I'm now home after one of the most incredible weekends of my life. I don't know that I can explain what happened, but I feel different to the person that I was before, and yet exactly the same.
The train trip up to Cambridge was nothing spectacular, I found myself willing the time away. I made it to King's Cross earlier than anticipated and it gave me time for a quick snap of platform 4 and 3/4 before jumping on the train. A quick call to J to say I made the earlier train brought nerves wooshing into my stomach. To hear his voice again reminded me that he was still very much a stranger, and the last two weeks of crazy pining had been all on my own, and the intimacy I'd imagined was going to have to be created between us all over again. His voice you see, was so incredibly his, that I couldn't quite believe that after all the time I'd thought about seeing him, in 45 minutes I was really going to.
The train to Cambridge was worse. I tried to read, I tried to pay attention to the countryside and failed at both. I ended up just sitting there getting excited for about 25 minutes. For the last twenty, a particularly charming 2 year old played peekaboo with me - I don't think he realised he was actually helping me out more that I was him. We arrived, then the slow interminable walk from the platform to the entrance. Should I carry my bag on my shoulder or in my hand? I don't want him to think it's heavy, and that I've packed to many things, so it should be hand. But it is heavy. Ok so shoulder to the doors, and then you can suffer it in your hand from there. I arrived at the doors, and couldn't see him. Chill. Get your ticket out, and get through the gates. There he is. Don't panic.
We said hello, then hugged and I leaned in for a kiss. I got it, but it was definitely a little awkward. I'd imagined that it might be, but I had steeled myself to do it regardless as I wanted to be unambiguous as to my feelings. I'd come to Cambridge to be J's lover, something that terrified and thrilled me. He took me to a taxi and we drove to his cottage. The weekend of J had begun!
The train trip up to Cambridge was nothing spectacular, I found myself willing the time away. I made it to King's Cross earlier than anticipated and it gave me time for a quick snap of platform 4 and 3/4 before jumping on the train. A quick call to J to say I made the earlier train brought nerves wooshing into my stomach. To hear his voice again reminded me that he was still very much a stranger, and the last two weeks of crazy pining had been all on my own, and the intimacy I'd imagined was going to have to be created between us all over again. His voice you see, was so incredibly his, that I couldn't quite believe that after all the time I'd thought about seeing him, in 45 minutes I was really going to.
The train to Cambridge was worse. I tried to read, I tried to pay attention to the countryside and failed at both. I ended up just sitting there getting excited for about 25 minutes. For the last twenty, a particularly charming 2 year old played peekaboo with me - I don't think he realised he was actually helping me out more that I was him. We arrived, then the slow interminable walk from the platform to the entrance. Should I carry my bag on my shoulder or in my hand? I don't want him to think it's heavy, and that I've packed to many things, so it should be hand. But it is heavy. Ok so shoulder to the doors, and then you can suffer it in your hand from there. I arrived at the doors, and couldn't see him. Chill. Get your ticket out, and get through the gates. There he is. Don't panic.
We said hello, then hugged and I leaned in for a kiss. I got it, but it was definitely a little awkward. I'd imagined that it might be, but I had steeled myself to do it regardless as I wanted to be unambiguous as to my feelings. I'd come to Cambridge to be J's lover, something that terrified and thrilled me. He took me to a taxi and we drove to his cottage. The weekend of J had begun!
Wednesday, 14 March 2012
Saturday, 2pm
Saturday 11am I get a text from M saying ‘Good Morning’. I’m in a meeting at my favourite cafe discussing an upcoming event and I’m trying to secretly reply to him whilst maintaining a look of supreme and uninterrupted interest in what we’re discussing.
I thought I was the scaredy puss one, but it turns out it was M. We’d drunkenly agreed to meet in the afternoon - M had wanted to kidnap me - but I wasn’t sure if it would go ahead. Turns out M wasn't sure either. But fuck it, what am I here for if not to be honest and get something I am looking for? Something I want? It sounds so horribly selfish to put that in words but it’s the truth. I wanted a lover, I wanted someone in addition to T and I wanted to fuck them. M showed up and I liked him, so why should I bother beating around the proverbial bush?
I replied enthusiastically in the affirmative, and we discussed where and what time to meet. I knew vaguely of the place where he lived but hadn’t actually been there. My sense of direction in interpretive at best. We agreed and I pretended I knew where he was talking about and then dashed home for a quick and hopefully accurate de-hairing and effortless make-up applying session.
Choosing clothes to meet your first non-monogamous lover in is surprisingly difficult. I’d mentioned M to T that morning, and he’d okay’d the afternoon meet up, so I was free to race home alone and make the necessary preparations. I thought I would chance it and so wore a bra but no knickers. Then I left to meet him. I got lost on the route even though I’d walked that way a thousand times before and when I saw M and his lovely grey hoodie walk towards me my heart gave a subtle leap into my mouth and I suddenly realised how damn fucking excited I was! We kissed straight away, and although my mind registered that I should be careful who saw me, I didn’t actually care because I knew I wasn’t doing anything wrong. That is quite the best thing.
We made it to his room before ripping each others’ clothes off. The quantity of alcohol consumed the night before had meant that last night’s performance hadn’t been the best for either of us but today was different. I could feel his stubble take the skin off my face, but I didn’t care, I loved it. I loved the roughness of him, the thickness of him where T was thin and his lovely Northern humour that was so different yet familiar to my own. He fucking lavished me with attention and spent most of the afternoon between my legs. When he tasted me he looked like he enjoyed it and for the first time in a really long time I wasn’t afraid of my taste. Or my smell or how he found me. I’ve been so scared of cunnilingus - god knows why when I have a very enthusiastic and kind partner at home - but today it was ok. Although having said that I’m really sensitive there and if I am being painfully honest, the gasps that he thought were of pleasure were sometimes a bit of ‘holy fuck too fucking sensitive!!!’
He seemed to love it though, which relaxed me. He made me revel in my own womanliness and although I can’t think of a single thing M said to make me feel so at ease, they are the exact words I would use to describe how I felt that afternoon. Even awkward putting-on-condom moments seemed fine, and funny and normal and not scary with him. Maybe it’s an age thing, I get the impression that being somewhat older than me (the best part of a decade) and in his particular job role, M has had quite a bit more experience than me. There were some tricky moments though, like when he couldn’t stop his body from freaking out about using a condom and he couldn’t get it up. That sort of sucked but I’m sure not nearly as much for me as it did for him. It must be totally shit to be trying to impress someone with your sexing skills only to lose your hard on. His deftness in the licking-out department hinted that this wasn’t the first time it had happened but who cares. I liked being naked with him and I liked being licked out so it was really him that was suffering.
We worked out a pattern of getting all hot and bothered - kissing and grinding each other and just about getting out shit together, and then taking a break. Getting to know each other in the most obvious way - by asking direct questions. I found myself looking at his face and stroking it with the palm of my hand. ‘So sweet’ I remember thinking. So very sweet.
I left at six, and had walked around the corner when I realised I’d left my glasses in M's room, so had to come back. His grey hoodie walked towards me again and that reassuring feeling of excitement came back as we kissed goodbye again.
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