I just realized when I first started this blog, it was supposed to be about retail experiences, and it's somehow become a life of Shiny kind of thing. And that's ok. I've learned so much about myself in the past two years, and I've also changed, so so very much as well. I've decided that this guy shall no longer be referred to as Lab Rat or Sith Lord, but nor am I ready to call him by his actual name on here. Not yet. Henceforth, I shall use the same code name as I do amongst my trusted colleagues, Dixie and Strawberry, who have my back and give me advice and are able to keep shooshed about it unless it's the three of us. We call him Leonard.
It's all so shameful, so horrible. Or it should be. I am simply still amazed that I don't feel guilt or shame about what I've done, and it's delicious. Yet again I recall the church mouse that I used to be, and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt she would never have done these things, would have been uncomfortable beyond belief to be in the same bed as a man she wasn't married to. She definitely would have stopped the hand going down her pants, and not just because mother nature was visiting and she wanted to spare both herself and the guy horrible embarrassment. If that wasn't enough, she sure as hell would have run away, horrified, and driven straight home the minute his pants came unzipped and he put her hand on him.
And she would not have gone back again.
Thursday night, it was late, I was in the checkout line with Dix, she'd finished her Christmas shopping and I grabbed a few things. The line was long, I was bored. So like most brain-dead folks nowadays, out came the smartphone and I started bugging people. Well, one person in particular. And he wanted me to come over because "I need it right now." Just like I had hoped he would. Again, it was late. And I had to be back at work by nine in the morning, and he wouldn't be far behind me. I knew if I went over there, it would be a most ungodly hour before I left, and then that wonderful moment of realization hit me . . . "Frankly I don't give a shit. My life. I want him and I'm going." Being paranoid, I was worried that I hadn't showered in a few hours, so when I pulled up to the complex, I found myself frantically digging in the console for napkins and wiping my face, shiny after a day of waiting on the masses. Got one half done and turned the other cheek to hear a loud tap and find him standing with his face right in my window with bug eyes and his signature grin. Given this enthusiastic and slightly creepy welcome, along with the horny messages, I had fully expected to be chivied up the stairs and pounced on. Imagine my pleasant surprise and confusion when instead, he just pulled me close against him with his arms around me, our fingers laced together and his head nestled on mine, and said "I wish you were staying all night." And then proceeded to talk about his day. THAT is a first, do you have any idea how hard it is to get this guy to talk about himself? And without being asked? Physical things are nice, but this was really nice. That's not to say the other thing was forgotten. Hardly. And that is where I'm both shocked at and proud of myself. For as much as I've fantasized and pined about clothes strewn all over the bedroom floor, I never actually thought I'd TAKE them off for anyone. Yet I hardly gave it a second thought and off they came, and sadly I was still surprised when he didn't throw me off in disgust and call it a night. But I don't say anything like that to him anymore, because it only kills the mood and frustrates both of us, him moreso, and I've forced myself to accept that I'm not disgusting and that he really does want . . . this. Enough to where, well, that thing he's been wanting to do with his tongue for all these months? That. Reciprocating gave me a slight case of stage fright, which he found amusing, and it was a little awkward, but not at all horrible, he didn't squeal in pain, and wanted seconds, so I must have done something right. Although originally he wanted the full shebang instead of 'seconds', but damn . . . I'm just terrified of the condom breaking, even if can openly admit I want it all, too. Honestly besides the obvious (pregnancy), the only thing that scares me now is the possibility I'll bleed everywhere.
But this whole dirty little secret, well, while I'd rather it not be a secret, is just what I've been needing and wanting for so long now. Someone to touch, to hold, to do shamelessly filthy things to. And when he actually does open that pretty mouth of his and speak, well, we have a lot in common. We laugh a lot. And the silence is not uncomfortable. Lying there with limbs entangled . . . it just feels like something I've done a million times before, and I always hate to leave. When I do, he walks me out and kisses me goodnight a time or three. I could be setting myself up for more heartbreak and disaster, but I don't care, I want to live, to take chances, because otherwise I'll never know or learn from my mistakes. But I've seen him. I've seen the way he used to walk past the pharmacy, we'd catch each other's eyes and he'd keep on walking, but with a grin for miles. Now we just stare right at each other and the 'teehee' feeling has been replaced with 'I know what you're thinking about me.' The way he just lies there and stares into my eyes forever before leaning over to nuzzle my face or kiss my head.
. . . this isn't normal behavior for FWB/fuck buddies, right? He's also getting friendlier at work, using coherent, complete sentences and everything, although it's probably not obvious to anyone what we've done to each other behind closed doors. We're both off work Thursday.
I sincerely hope and pray that one or both of us exhibits a little control over ourselves, or that the condom doesn't break . . .