Making Love

Things had been difficult with T for a while. Let's be honest, things hadn't been perfect for over a year. I don't know that they're necessarily perfect now, but they're getting better. Everything is getting better.

I hadn't seen him for a few days, and so on Sunday morning he came over. I was still in bed, still kind of ill and feeling lazy. He undressed, and came in with me. I had missed him, much more than I was used to missing him and that manifested in desire. His touch on my body was so welcome, so tender and sweet. I wanted him, and I felt relieved when he wanted me too.

His kisses were warm on my neck, and his skin supple beneath my hands. He made me gasp as he entered me, fucking me slowly, familiarly, in the way that he knew I liked. That is such a relief at times - being so in tune with someone physically, that even when that spark of anticipation (fear) is gone, the sex is so fulfilling because it's a song you both know the harmonies to.

God I love this man.

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.

Glory Day

A much yearned for email from J today. SO utterly reassuring, and without trying to jinx it, I think he might be right beside me, in the feelings department. I don't know, how could I know?

But this was in the email "I would gladly read you some writing - i might be a bit shy at first - if you hand me a glass of wine one evening next weekend then you can have whatever you want." and it's made me go a little crazy, fantasising about sweet and terrible things that we might do to each other when we see each other next.

He has this incredible and intense way of writing, so much so that if I didn't trust him so much, I'd think he was trying to impress me. I daresay he is, but nevertheless I sense honesty in his words.

I keep replaying our lovely warm kisses over and over in my mind. I also remember the way he leaned in and kissed my neck - how did he KNOW? How did he know that it sends me wild? I could have turned into a puddle of lust right there if I hadn't had him to hold on to. Here's hoping for some repeat moves when I see him next. 

Christ, I can't stop! The thought of his lovely tall body and hands running up me. I can't wait to become lovers. I just want his hands all over me and want to feel what he's like inside me. Whether he's as lovely and as kind, and as intuitive to what I like as he is now.

Who knows? It's all terribly exciting!