We converted his bedroom into our love nest. I spend 80 percent of my time naked under 400-thread count Egyptian cotton sheets.
I enjoy foreplay. He dives under the sheets like a beast in heat. Each suck tickles. He emerges with a smile, takes a sip of his Screwdriver that’s sitting next to him. He kisses me again. I’m not grossed out from tasting my dick on his lips. It’s actually quite hot.
I straddle him. He surrounds us in covers like a safe haven. He licks my nipples, motor boating them like breasts.
I roll on my back in missionary while he’s on top. He fucks me deep. The sounds of farting and moaning punctuate the Mariah Carey music playing in the background. Despite the soft undertones of the “Elusive Chanteuse,” he’s getting more aggressive with me. He pounds me harder and harder until he cums. It oozes out like liquid white hand soap.
I try to cum with him.
I wiggled my toes in the air nearly scraping the ceiling. I came all over my stomach. It slides in all directions kind of like a spider’s web. He falls back beside me panting, heart racing and sweat seeping from our bodies.
Whenever we are apart I go through withdraws. Too many days to think about him. I can’t wait to see him, just to kiss him. Drink wine, exchange ideas and have another fuck fest.
I used to crave the kind of romance you see on TV. You know the fantasy candle light dinner scenes on Sex and the City. Shopping together and making out in the fitting rooms in the Banana Republic like on Will and Grace.
Is my relationship drug masquerading as romance? Am I just getting high and feeling low?
We meet at his house, eat dinner, drink wine, watch movies and have sex. When did this clandestine courtship become my new normal?
“When are you planning to introduce your man to your friends?”
I don’t know. I never considered the question. Was there a reason we had to meet?
I don’t know if I’m interested in sharing my man. I don’t want to be exposed to their judgments. But why does it matter? And does having my relationship private make it less real?
I tried the whole promoting my relationship bit. While in New York City, I dated a promoter, who was quite popular on the scene.
We spent our nights drinking at restaurants, bars, and clubs. We were always surrounded by people. I never felt more alone in a relationship until I met Johnny. I wrote about that experience in “Where Is the Sex in My Retro Relationship?”
But double dates were fun in tamer circumstances. Although that dinner party from hell which had us nearly in a Brooklyn brawl at an apartment in Coney Island.
I had no passion for going back to that. Tit for tat, flirting with strangers, put our relationship in danger. And I didn’t trust him. He always took numbers from people to “promote his businesses.”
So excuse me if I choose a modicum of privacy. That’s my one and only. My ultimate drug is all mine. But it does raise one concern, why don’t we have more date nights?
Although, going to the movies never moved me but do you go for the movie?
There is no need to watch all movies at home.
Summer is upon us as a season ubiquitous for the sunshine and the sweating. Maybe I need to take my relationship in moderation.