Unpacking

I wish there was an etiquette structure around feeling ones way, post act, to that yeah, whatever: I really like your take on things and I want to keep that piece, even if the boobs are too small and the body too flabby...

I've tried to unpack that night: from the get go, from before he walked into the lobby, even. The jacket was a plaid with a blue stripe to match his eyes and the shirt he wore. The hair was short (just cut, as I'm later to discover); the casual 'I should have asked you to take up my bag, too--it really was heavy with that bottle of olive oil in it.' You were so cool, calm and collected. I had so much fun at dinner; I enjoy hearing your voice. It's been almost a year since I've seen you and you look as beautiful as ever.

One thing, speaking about unpacking, was that he/you had done so: the clothes were in the drawers, not in the locked case. The toiletries laid out neatly. Only for me to come in and mess up everything. Not on purpose. I just wish I was more...composed. You never lose that cool--very Mad Men, actually.

I really want to write about the vignette--the hour or so after dinner. I can't find the words to make it sexy, or exciting though. Unpacking the steps might help but, I just...can't. I've heard it's a process. I need to do some more reading, clearly.

Unpacking; like asking you to take off your undershirt. I asked about it at dinner. "I can take it off for you, if you'd like." "I would like that, actually."

Back at the room, I looked up at you and you kissed me. It was so nice and so tingly and that feeling of having a current running through me . And your tongue, different and curious ('curious'?). It all seemed really natural.

And then you unpacked you. I watched your hands on the shirt buttons and then the shirt was gone and the white cotton was pulled off like a gift...yummmm. Fuzzy and thick and, sigh....that's where I lose my words. And when things roll together into a jumble of gentle words from you and nonesense from me; your body is so lovely to touch. When you rolled on me and found your way inside I was so full of you; it felt so different and soo good.

And if 'things' hadn't happenend with me, I would have ridden you again; but instead I took your long cock in my mouth and played until you came again. So fun.

For the record, I did and still do have a condom in my bag...because you are right: you never know.

Why is the First Time Always the Worst Time

It's been a long time and there's news: that benchmarking project is underway...ish. There were some setbacks. First, there was email: I sent the Side of the Road link to the dead email...but not so dead.
Perhaps that's why he suggested we meet up when he was in town for a visit. So nice. We met up at his hotel and dined (lightly) at the Queen Mum; then back to the hotel and...then a pouncing and too fast...and there we were. Done. And to top it all off my hateful body pulled a 'let's bleed all over the hotel linens' for...what turns out, two days later, to be no apparent reason. I think there was some sort of 'piston-like' effect; maybe more like a syringe plunger...either way. Wah! Hardly the impression one wants to make. And of course I was overcompensating for being increadibly insecure and shy by being pushy and bossy-girl. Why does anyone sleep with me?
And then he was also 'new' and 'fast' and, in between all those good things that I've been dreaming of for two years, exhausted from the wine and the travel...The best bit was the chance to nuzzle that chest and suck his cock and feel him respond to me.

So, yes: he has a chest that is wonderfully furry and soft and nuzzle worthy to an exponential degree. Lean and muscular and well endowed (piston) and beautiful and surprisingly gentle and patient. And he came quickly and I felt so flattered because I made him that horny (too).

And now, will we ever Ever get a chance to see how good we could be together? Clearly, there is a lot of good experience between the two of us. I'm just frustrated that things were so brief and silly that he won't want to ever go there again. I hope this isn't the case.

One thing I'd love to do is to actually start that erotic novel; the images aren't imaginary anymore but now they aren't...can I actually do it? Not in the short term: too much work, and then there's a reno on the horizon...I will share the link, though.
Not yet, but I do want you to read this someday.

The post event communication has been very limited; 'nice' night was mentioned. Apologies were offered. (Nice? for a word-guy, I was hoping for something a bit less generic)
"No strings" sex for sure; but not 'meaningless'. I'm very interested in what it means to have something (because it isn't Quite the man himself) special, just for me only.

I am also concerned that he's not actually so cool with it all as he seemed; I want him again and I want to show him what I can do, and give him an opportunity to show me what he could do for me...but: My breasts are small (I think a strike, but hardly news) and, of course, the tummy (sigh: working on it).

They are off to Colombia in 2 months for 3 weeks. I'll try to call (yes, the phone) just to hear his voice before he goes...in case that is it forever. I know that this can't go on, really. A trip to Ed. might be possible; I could make it up then. I could at least choose the time.