It’s not that far from the airport to my house, but we were driving in city rush hour traffic and it took twice as long. I was just so happy to have Johnny in my space and in my city that I babbled non-stop. Told him about the highway system, how the city is laid out, how to look for key landmarks, and other scintillating topics.
He tried to put his hand up my skirt but I told him there was no way I could handle that – I was in stop-and-go traffic and I knew I would crash. I get way too focused on the pleasure and become a terrible multi-tasker.
We got to my house, and the moment his bag hit the floor we resumed what we’d started in my car. Immediately kissing, we lasted not much more than a couple of minutes before I took him upstairs.
We made love like we were glued to one another. Like we were one unit. It was slow and sensual and passionate and just. kept. going. It lasted way longer than I expected. Johnny is a machine. The stuff he writes about his approach to sex and his partner’s pleasure is all real.
When we were finished, he asked me if it was okay for me, because he knows I like it more “rough and tumble”. It was great. I felt so connected to him. If I’m honest here (which I always am), I have to admit I was a bit worried about how the sex would be. Not that he gave me any real reason to be worried, but I knew that it could be different the second time around, and I hoped the passion wouldn’t be diminished.
I had nothing to worry about.
The second-best news? My post-surgery body didn’t hurt at all. Not inside or where my incisions were. I’m sure those natural sex painkillers did their trick. It was amazing. Other than the friction of our bodies occasionally bugging the one stitch I still had, and my somewhat diminished stamina (a result of the general anesthetic), I felt great.
After the sex, we rested. Had sex again. We luxuriated in just being together, again, after a three-month absence. It was so great to be with him, in my bedroom, in my bed…
…and frankly, a little bizarre to have him in my space. For such a long time we just talked about my world, through this blog and directly to him, and he knew it only through my words, my experiences, and the occasional photo. But now he was actually with me. Experiencing it all. The weird (butt plug door stop) and the mundane (where all my stuff is in my kitchen).
After hours in bed together, we realize we are famished. My brain is all mushy from the sex and although my fridge is full, I can’t think straight and we decide to go out to eat. I take him to the Italian restaurant at the end of my street. I’ve had a few dates there, but this one is the most important so far. It’s a tiny restaurant and they greet me with “buona sera bella” and it’s lovely. We ate, talked, stared at each other. Although we knew they needed the table, they left us alone with our wine, long after our plates were taken.
He took my hand, running his fingers gently along my hand, my wrist, and my forearm. I was putty.
I take him for a walk around my block. He’s not a big city guy so part of my motivation is to show him that this isn’t just all concrete and loud noises. There’s a big park behind my place so we walk by that, and make out until we can’t stand it and need to go home.
When we get there, I realize I’m exhausted. It was the most activity I’d had since my surgery, and I was beat. He offered to give me a massage. He’s really good with his hands. He lets me drift off to sleep.
We fell asleep in each others arms, which was incredible. I had missed it so much these last few months. We fit so well together. [Sidebar: later during his visit, he drove my car…which is when we really realized that although we are the same height, his torso is longer than mine, and in turn, my legs are longer than his…so I’m sure this helps with our fit.]
Falling asleep with him was amazing. However, we would wake each other up each time one of us shifted. Eventually we split apart from each other just so we could get a good nights sleep…
…since we knew there was a lot more activity to follow.