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:

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