I’m not sloppy at all, but I like the phrase.
I’d been well fucked by two large gentlemen, but afterwards reached out to Tony to see what he was up to. We planned for him to come over early the next morning. I slept incredibly well which was not a surprise given what had happened to me physically and mentally.
Early is relative. I’d woken up, realized I wasn’t going to sleep in despite my attempts, and by the time I had made myself a latte and hopped back in bed to read the newspaper, Tony had arrived.
I’d washed some of my body parts the night before, but was definitely still covered in the sweat of my threesome. I hadn’t changed my sheets, either. It was a mild night and I’d slept with the window cracked, so the room at least smelled fresh.
I don’t think I’ve ever said I’m always proper when it comes to sex.
Tony let himself in (yes, he has a key – that’s for another post), and tucked himself under my sheets. I snuggled up against him, occasionally reaching back to grab my coffee. He is a complete coffee snob, so I didn’t offer a latte; I knew he would decline.
It didn’t take long before things got heated. He still marvels aloud how hard I get him, and how quickly.
While the sex the last few times with Tony was nice, or good, this morning was spectacular. We stayed in my bed for about three hours, and had sex five times. He came every single time. We would collapse together in a sweaty mess, then cuddle and talk, and shortly afterwards he’d be ready to go again.
There were no outfits, no sexy heels or boots, no toys. Just us. Over and over again.
Later, we both complained to each other how sore we were. He didn’t know, obviously, I was doubly sore from the night before.
As much as I’ve been lucky to have truly phenomenal sex from a technical perspective – and by that I mean with skilled partners, well-endowed, muscular men, multiple men, and the like – there’s really no comparison to great sex that fills me up emotionally as well.
Given everything that happened recently, a morning in bed having sex over and over – feeling safe and loved – was exactly what I needed. It was perfect.
We reluctantly left the bedroom to get coffees and pastry from his favorite coffee place nearby. I was meeting a close friend for lunch. When she found out he’d kissed me goodbye on the street, she asked why I didn’t bring him along. I would have been pleased for them to meet – they amazingly haven’t yet – but I needed the girl time more.
Anyway, despite him being around, he’s not my boyfriend. He’s not integrating into my life.
Tony and I aren’t “back together”. I haven’t asked for – or wanted – anything other than what we have (K Daddy, please take note!). I will write more about it soon, I promise.
I’ve had way too much in my head the last few weeks with the aftermath of dating that went horribly wrong, but I am finding the mental space now to write. It’s a relief – I’ve become used to getting my words and thoughts out and the catharsis it brings.