June 2013 Part One (Breakfast of Champions)

When I decided to stop resisting (and to accept/luxuriate in/applaud..) lust during the last massage session, I planned on a one-time release of the building sexual tension before he gets married.  The best laid plans.

We continue with underwear workouts except for naked days.  We have dropped all pretense about our mutual desire to touch.  My hands roam freely while he demonstrates exercises that I have been doing for almost two years.  He returns the favor while I exercise.  I hate arms work but it is the best chance to feel the contours of his chest, mold the powerful muscles of his back, cup and massage his beautiful ass and, oh yes, play with his d–k.  Just stroke and feel it grow!  My (temporarily) own chia pet.  And what a squeezable ass.  His cheeks are so firm and sculpted – my hands are drawn every time.  I enjoy letting him walk down the stairs ahead of me so I can get my post-workout grope on…

Arms days are also an ideal time for him to touch me since I’m basically just standing there during sets.  He caresses my ass (it’s pretty nice too), plays with my breasts and lets his talented fingers explore all over.  All while standing so close behind me, I can feel his breath…and the changes in his body in response to our extracurricular activities.  I am generally at a disadvantage since it takes longer to do the exercise than it does to demonstrate it but submission feels quite nice. 🙂   Each set blows by (the only thing getting blown under these circumstances — saving the tasting and savoring for the fiancée we do not acknowledge) and the workouts are now so much more pleasurable even when we debate about silly things.

Initially touching and teasing during exercise feels like enough — but after about a week I decide that one more taste would be forgivable.  Just one more…

At the end of the next workout after we are dressed, I start to rub my hands along his thighs, letting my hands graze but never touch his d—k.  bK doesn’t move and we converse about random things while I slide my hands inside his sweats and boxer briefs, cup his balls and begin to massage them gently.  These chocolate caramel nuts don’t melt – they just distend with pleasure and fill my palms.  I want those nuts bouncing rhythmically against me ASAP.  Within minutes, bK’s boner is poking through his sweats and I suggest that I could put him for the team to work to lower my rent.  He asks what I’m going to do for the team.  Lulz. 

Have condom will travel is ready and raring to go and so am I.  In short order our clothes are off again (except for some reason his red tank – the only time he keeps something on besides his socks) and we are having sex on the side of my couch in front of my living room window.  I hope my neighbors have better things to do this morning.  If not, they might be watching bK massaging my clit gently with his left hand while clasping my rumpus with his right and entering me slowly but very fully from the back.  Coordination is so nice.  It’s not carnation but I’m loving it in an instant.  From the moans floating over me, the feeling is mutual.  I guess I’m serving frosted flakes because I brought out the tiger.  It’s gr-r-reat. 🙂  I arch back against him as he moves against me and we rock towards release.  A sweet breakfast treat that won’t give you diabetes.

Afterwards I commit to this being the last time and head to the office in a suspiciously good mood.

 

May 2013 (Crossing the Line)

bK and I get along surprisingly well during May. Some minor bickering but generally things are pleasant. It probably helps that we officially standardize what used to be an occasional dress code: boxer briefs (and socks) for him and bandana, sports bra (optional), thong, socks and sneakers for me. Just trying to do what we can for the environment – less clothing cuts down on laundry cycles and conserves water. Of course the new uniform is also helpful for more skin-on-skin contact. I like to provide “support” when he demonstrates certain exercises while he tends to take full advantage of the access provided by certain other exercises. Suddenly waking up to workout is a lot more fun…

A combination of family events leads to a short training month – but we do make time for a massage…

May’s massage falls on Malcolm X’s birthday which turns out to be a good omen…

As always, bK starts with my neck and then works down from my shoulders to my back. His hands are strong and the pressure is firm. So far nothing inappropriate, but my body recalls the last time his hands were on me and I’m already tingling with anticipation by the time his hands reach my lower back. What will today’s massage bring? bK takes his time moving further along…he skips over my ass and starts massaging my legs. My bum is bummed by the neglect. bK massages my left leg, my left foot, each – freaking – toe. It feels nice but at this point I want his touch much further above my knees. I have been trained to expect a different massage. I want a different massage. And yet he moves to my right leg and then my right foot. PLEASE MOVE ON [I scream silently]. After what seems like an eternity, his hands finally start to work on my inner thighs. Patience is a virtue. But the last thing I feel like being right now is virtuous. His fingers slow down and his touch softens as he works further along the inside of my left thigh. I might just be trembling a little bit but it’s because of the A/C not because I’m thirsty for his stroke. And finally bK eases two fingers inside me. Praise Jesus. I don’t have the strength to endure a tease session today. He caresses me softly, his fingers barely moving inside me. But then after a few moments – he suddenly stops. What? Why? What is this new level of torture? He slips his fingers out and I hear me step away from the table. I try to remain calm, maybe he just needs some more massage oil (though I think we are good on other lubrication). Then I hear the foil packet tear. It is sweet sweet music to my ears.

After what seems like ten minutes but was probably one, I feel bK’s hands on my waist as he swings my lower torso off the table and towards him. My right leg is wrapped around him while I am using my left leg for balance. He slides into me gently and starts to move his hips against me. Somehow my right arm has snaked around and I am clutching his right cheek like I might drown if our bodies are separated. The shaft of life. We have been holding back for so long that it is a passion free for all in those initial minutes. Some stranger has made her way into my apartment and is urging bK to go deeper, deeper. Wait – that’s me. He whispers “like this” with each long stroke. Hhmmm. I guess that’s also me whispering yes over and over. bK and takes a handful of each cheek and buries himself inside me. Cervix tickler and we can’t seem to get enough of each slow deep stroke. The meditative chanting from the massage playlist is now accompanied by our unrestrained moaning. His left hand moves from my ass to my left nipple (sorry right side) and then further down. Then he stops and I’m thinking no, no, no – too soon.

Thankfully, it’s just a position change. Phew. bK straightens up, takes the top sheet (finally being put to some use) and lays it on the carpet and asks me to lie down. Sure, let’s just reconnect stat. I lie down and he places each of my legs on one of his shoulders and thrusts deep. And we begin to move again. My hips are rising to meet him with each thrust. bK is ensconced so far inside me that his nuts (we are back on friendly terms) are nestled against me and providing their own caress with each stroke. The contact against my sensitive skin is delicious. Up and down, side to side, the motion continues. Is it wrong? Yes. Does it feel good? Absolutely. He is whispering something urgently but I don’t even know if it is English. I’m more interested in the language his body is speaking. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

When he climaxes he shouts aaah repeatedly like it is being ripped from the depths of his throat with each spurt. Since I’m writing this, I will say that I was in better control of my vocal chords in the moment. Afterwards we linger on the sheet catching our breath before the return to reality. Then I thank him for the massage and help him put away the massage table and he leaves. No brunch today but my appetite has already been satisfied.

Massage Rating: 10/10. The faint line we were straddling is crossed. The only negative is that afterwards, bK suggests that the given the end of this massage it should cover all remaining massages. I respectfully disagree.

We did not use the “lovers after all” playlist” we had something like this going in the background:

But more appropriate might have been something like this:

April/Blurred Lines

Our first workout after Easter is a mess.  As soon as I start warming up on the treadmill, he starts going in on what a farce Easter is, fake holiday blah blah blah.  I’m Catholic lite but the attack was so unwarranted that I am compelled to defend Easter.  Plus if I had done the same thing regarding anything to do with Islam, I know we would have been in silent workout mode with serious voice for exercise instructions.  The hypocrisy is galling.  The entire session turns into a stupid debate over priests (you can guess the go-to argument there) and all the fallacies of Catholicism.  Nothing on Islam though.  I am ready for the workout to be over.  It’s doubly tiring to argue/shout while on a treadmill.  Later in the day bK sends me a classic “if I offended you or your faith” apology that he immediately undercuts with his observations about the increased blood circulation between my thighs while I was doing ab work during our debate.  I mention but then drop the pervasive double standard in these conversations.  If I had a bigger vocabulary, I would use another word for dysfunction to avoid repetition – sorry. 

At some point, we take a break so that bK can travel for a family funeral.  While down south he texts me that he needs to extend his stay because his sister is dealing with pregnancy issues.  Funny enough when I ask how she is doing a few weeks later he acts like he doesn’t know what I’m talking about.  I don’t bother pushing, I know how this movie ends  – if I push he’ll get evasive or defensive and it will escalate into a fight.  Ain’t nobody got time for that!  At least not this time…  And so April continues in roller-coaster fashion and at the end of the month we negotiate a new rate at the end of the month at a deep discount (I deserve it 🙂).  bK mentions a new sunning location for 2013.

Massage: 

bK starts out with a normal massage as always – my neck, shoulders and back.  He uncovers my lower body and starts with my legs.  By the time he begins to work on left thigh, I am already tense with anticipation and a little wet.  bK’s hands start to massage my inner left thigh, his fingers grazing my lips with light teasing touches.  Forecast calls for high temperatures and a lot of precipitation.  After a few minutes I have had enough and I ask him to move further up and inside.  He is coy about it and asks for more specific direction – but we both know there is only one direction he can head.  His hands creep higher into my groin area and then two fingers finally slide into home.  Hmmmmm!  How do you spell (temporary) relief?  T-w-o-f-i-n-g-e-r-s-g-e-n-t-l-y-i-n-s-e-r-t-e-d-m-o-v-i-n-g-i-n-c-o-n-c-e-r-t.  He strokes slowly, at first barely inside, but then gradually he explores deeper, fingers firm and lingering along my vaginal muscles and plunging deeper still.  Aaah, lady nani is happy at last to be a guest at the massage party and as luck would have it she is the guest of honor.  This is not a happy ending as much as an homage to my p—y.  I’m trying to keep the moans to a minimum and take it all in stride (some of this is still about control).  Soon it becomes obvious that every part of my body did not get the internal memo and before I am fully aware of it, my treacherous ass is bucking off the table, drawn by the sweet siren song of his magic digits.  Dammit.  But it feels so good.  Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know this is wrong, but I can’t stop and I have been so good for so long.  There should be some award for that. 

When he asks me to turn over so that he “can massage from the front”, I flip so quickly I almost rollover the table.  Having it my way this afternoon and now bK is showcasing his dexterity.  He softly massages my clit with two fingers, yet another two are pleasuring me from inside and yet another plays with my ass.  I am not typically into finger play but damn.  Somehow over the course of the massage he sprouted extra fingers and the sensual assault that he has unleashed is almost too much to bear.  My body is on fire.  bK has a look of intense focus and I appreciate the dedication to his craft!  An initial small orgasm but the ode to the V continues and with each touch the throbbing in my clit rebuilds.  I’m gaining momentum towards the release that all the previous massages hinted at.  Waves of pleasure roll over me with increasing intensity.  He is standing on my left side by my waist and I take advantage of his positioning to massage his right thigh with my left hand.  Gradually I work further up his thigh and into his boxer briefs and grasp his thickness.  bK hangs (and rises) to the left so even lying down from this angle I can stroke his stiff dick, kinda like grasping the clutch if you have ever driven stick in a foreign country.  I have. Well.  I let my fingers work up and down his dick slowly, intermittently stopping to show a little love to his increasingly moist tip.  He has a very sensitive tip.  I use his wetness as lube to further stroke him since I don’t have the benefit of massage oil to work with.  His fingers pick up steam as he gets more excited and soon I want more though I am trying not to break.  But pleasure is pleasure and I do break and ask about condoms so we can progress (safety first!).  He says none for him and finishes me off.  OK.  I guess the line is drawn at no intercourse.  For now anyway.  I thank him for the massage and get dressed while he uses the mix of almond oil and my juices on his hands to moisturize his body.  Watching him do so is a fresh turn on, but oh well.  For the first time in a while I go to brunch feeling nice and relaxed after a session.  And two and a half hours late.  I don’t look anyone in the eye when I blame my extreme tardiness on a late start to the day’s workout. 

Massage Rating:  9.9/10.  Self-control is overrated.  I played Lincoln and set our hands free.  I’m not sure I can go back to normal massages.  We get along well for the rest of the month after this massage.  🙂

In Like a Lion, Out Like a Lamb

At my birthday dinner we are all having a good time until we get into an argument after I feed a friend some food.  bK sees no irony in his reaction, but it’s my birthday so the party continues. 

At his birthday bowling party we are all having a good time until we get into an argument over one of the bills.  This one also blows over by the next day.

Training is still bipolar.  Some days it’s a good time and we have great conversations.  Other days, it is a tense and unhappy environment and we barely speak (other than serious voice for exercise instructions).  At some point, bK suggests that maybe I am perimenopausal.  Hilarious – and tempting fate since this is a guy who wants a child within the next year and is getting married to a woman two years older than me.  But, at my age, I guess that is a good go-to passive aggressive way to call me a bi-ch.  I counter with accusing him of suffering through prolonged PMS symptoms this winter.  None of it is very productive or mature, but at least we know where we stand.    Instead of two fat ladies in the kitchen and out and about the countryside, it is two bitchy teammates in the exercise room.  I’d like to think the resulting body is every bit as hot and tempting! 

Despite this unhealthy state of affairs, we continue with periodic naked training days and discuss investment opportunities in the village and other locations.  Honesty may not be his strong suit, but he is a good businessman with investments in a number of places, including a local lounge uptown that has some great classic drinks.  We typically discuss these opportunities with little follow through but maybe one day, plus it is a topic that doesn’t lead to fights.  At this point, things are tense enough that I consider ending the training sessions at the end of the first quarter.  Instead, we negotiate a set of make-up days and additional massages to make up for cancelled training days.  It doesn’t make sense to me either, but I did it.  

And then the massage:

By the time my next massage rolls around at the end of the month, we are close to complete silence, and definitely only serious voice, so I don’t know what to expect.  What I get is an excruciating, wonderful and openly salacious challenge to my continued attempt not to succumb to the carnal pleasure on offer…As usual, he starts out with more traditional massage of my neck, back, legs and other non-obviously erogenous areas.  And then he gets to my thighs and it all changes:  The pressure turns lighter, his fingers linger more with each motion and he massages my ass and thighs for long enough that he could probably mold them out of clay in the dark – and I damn sure want him to continue.  I know it’s not going to get better when I turn around, and by the time I do I’m dripping and the wet spot on the sheet isn’t small.  As soon as I flip over, the siege continues – his hands start at my lower thighs and slowly trace upwards in a “V” towards my sweet spot.  With each stroke his fingers get closer and closer together until his fingertips are touching and just barely tracing my inner lips.  Those treacherous lips are trembling (a first from a massage) and begging me to give in, “say uncle” and get to the main event.  But pride is a mutha.  I concentrate on keeping my mouth shut and breathing slowly.  The massage oil on his fingers is now heavily mixed with me, but he keeps going and switches up this stroke with a massage of my pubic bone that places just enough indirect pressure that my cl-t is getting some, but not enough, attention.  Help! We both know what the reasonable next step would be, but neither one of us wants to be the one to make the next move.  Can women get blue balls?  This goes on for at least 30 minutes when I think the timer goes off.  Saved by the bell!  I say thank you and hop off the table.

In a familiar state of relaxation combined with tension, I start getting dressed.  (You know I have brunch plans.)  Then we get into an argument because bK accuses me of taking advantage of him with our deal on massages.  Sigh.  Bye bye good vibes.  Our exchange continues on the subway and then by text when I have to get off (at least I get to do that when it comes to the metro;) 

As it turns out the vodka spiked mimos at brunch (new experience, tough Monday) give me enough liquid courage at some point in our text exchange (3 deep) that I finally let him know I’m pissed he didn’t think it was worth mentioning his engagement to me.  Too bad this portion the exchange was by text since it facilitated mutual cowardice.  He rationalizes that he figured I’d find out from our mutual friends and anyway it’s not appropriate for us to discuss it under the circumstances because it would completely change the context of our interaction. (Shouldn’t it change??)  I don’t view acknowledging something and discussing it as the same thing and I tell him as much, especially using code names for something we are both aware of.  bK says he understands that but stands by his main point.  It’s the 2013 No Apology tour.  

Massage Rating:  9.9/10; I second guessed my resistance well into brunch.  My resolve is fading, but the mood was soured by the post-massage argument.  The massage/argument combo does thaw the frost between us.