Ramadan Part 2

          Improved mental clarity is a side effect of this forced and unwelcome carnal hiatus.  I say with minimal bias that bK and I interact best when freed from the meddlesome barriers of clothing.  Naked, every session, every exercise and even every debate is enhanced.  Perhaps because somewhere in the middle everyone (usually) comes, perhaps because clothing is to primal urge and peaceful co-existence what foil hats are to mind-control.  All that is certain is that clothes restrict us from greater achievement.  Attention all former students who should have been placed in advanced classes but instead languished bored and untested in gen pop – I understand. 

Or maybe I am just salty to be on a timeout while religious tenets are observed.  In any case, our return to dressed workouts during Ramadan is paired with a return to tense exercise sessions.  The former is now unnatural and foreign while the latter is all too familiar.  In fairness his mom is in the hospital part of this time, which is always stressful.  At least I am able to assure the nurse in the training session for the other big freeze that she doesn’t need to worry when she stresses the importance of birth control given the hyper fertility caused by hormone meds.  The mandatory march through abstention desert continues…

           Meanwhile, I am torn between annoyance and gratitude for the cancelled days.  These unplanned off days are a welcome break from rushing across town for blood work at 7 a.m. and then back home before bK arrives, but rescheduling may be more painful than learning how to inject myself with hormones and medications.  I was nervous about it but I’ve adapted to injecting myself with two different types of needles twice a day.  Unfortunately, my lower belly grows increasingly sore – I guess stomach fat is good for something.  These injections will never be as pleasant as those that have been so harshly withdrawn in the name of religion.

Despite these challenges, I miss our time chillaxing in Central Park so I mention to bK that we have not lounged out there in a while.  Blame it on hormone surge that was raging, raging.  Exactly how much am I supposed to sacrifice in the name of all that is holy?   

bK initially responds that during Ramadan he strives to forgo everything that gives him pleasure, but by the next weekend he has invited me out to our spot in the park.  From behind the reinforced windows of my glass house I cast judgment on this inconsistency, but I’m sure enough glad to be out there relaxing with him the next Sunday 😉  We are at ease and our conversations are good during afternoons in the park.  And bK wears nothing but swimming trunks while sunbathing.  Yay though I walk through the desert, I am tested by the proximity of forbidden fruit that I may not savor.  We talk, we relax, he gets his fill of vitamin D while I am deprived of vitamin S.  Injustice comes in many forms.  So as we lounge in the hot sun talking and bK gives himself a pretty professional looking mani/pedi, part of my mind is preoccupied with thoughts of an ice bath.

Countdown to the end of Ramadan.  With approximately two months to the big wedding day, time’s a-wastin’.

Massage rating? No G-D massage. No Sex.  It-is-a-FAST!

 

July 2013 (Ramadan)

Have you ever been on a really good vacation?  In a space in which you can cast aside your responsibilities and concerns about your day-to-day and just focus on doing what you feel like when you feel like it?  You can, and do, immerse yourself in the sights, sounds, thrills, smells and sensations of your environment.  But try as you might, the knowledge that this hedonistic period is finite lurks somewhere in recesses of your mind.  Unwanted though it is, that recognition magnifies the importance of enjoying every – single – day.   A steady flow of gratification of one variety or another is a requirement.  And so you do what you can to meet the surgeon general’s recommended dosage faithfully.

Imagine then, that during one such vacation, your days of contentment are harshly interrupted by illness or foul weather.  That’s you sitting in the window, sick, while the rest of the world seemingly enjoys your damn vacation.  You are stuck in a punishing time warp in which each day crawls along as you huddle under your self-pity blanket, brooding and morose over your holiday benching, while paradoxically those same days hurtle by as you watch your vacation days dwindle away into nothing.  Your mind becomes preoccupied with all the activities that you are missing, the opportunities foregone and when, when, for fuck’s sake (literally), will your time-out be over so that you can return to enjoying what’s left of your vacation?  And also, where is that second caipirinha you ordered with your lunch?

THAT is the onset of a thirty-day fasting period in July when you are f–king with someone with a hard stop set for August (the month I eventually set as my end date).

Our last workout before the beginning of the fast starts out like any other.  bK arrives and we strip down to underwear before I warm up on the treadmill.  We talk about how our respective weeks are going, current family and news events but nothing memorable.  As is now par for the course, we let our fingers do the walking as we explore each other’s bodies, touching and teasing here, there and everywhere, as I work through the exercises.  Somewhere along the second set of exercises, the conversation stops and the silence is broken only by our increasingly labored breathing and his occasional exercise counts.  By the last set of exercises his boxer briefs and my thong have somehow evaporated and we are naked.  He demonstrates a plank modification for the umpteenth time while I sit on his back and test his ability to maintain the position while I fondle and gently massage the tip of his di-k.  Just the tip today – he is so sensitive there that a few seconds is all takes for beads of moisture to start to collect on my fingers.  bK maintains the position for a while longer until he suddenly bounces up (save the eruptions for later) and it’s time for me to do the exercise.  You reap what you sow and as soon as I am in position he takes full advantage of his access to my body.  My arms and abs are not the only things on fire while I try to hold still for a full 45 seconds.  We continue like this for three sets.  By the last set my main thought is whether I am going to turn around and rest my legs on his shoulders or whether I’m going to take it easy on this one to save some energy for the treadmill.  It’s one of those choices where either way I’m f-cked 🙂

I hear and sense bK drop to the carpet as the count nears the last five seconds.  At zero, he leans forward so that he is lying on top of me without resting his full body weight on me, wraps my right leg around his thigh and places his hands on top of mine on either side of my head.  His mouth is on my ear as he slips inside me.  [His cock goes in with so much happiness, it should be sitting on a ritz©.]  For several moments we just stay that way, bodies joined, mute and still.  Taking stock as my body contours to, and envelops, his swollen and throbbing dick.

After the clit, the entrance to, and lower part of, the vagina contain the most concentration of nerve endings – today the emphasis is on every single one.  When we start moving, the main action is the base of his cock circling around and rubbing against my inner lips and just inside my aching pu–y.   Sensory overload as each and every nerve ending seems attuned to his dick rubbing gently against me.  Sweet glory in the morning…the sensations coursing through me as his rigid staff circles against my inner lips, slowly revolving against and around the entry to the ultimate sanctum of our pleasure — it feels so right, even though it’s so wrong…without sin how can one ever appreciate the beauty of forgiveness?  With each rotation, electric shots of pleasure radiate from my core throughout the rest of my body.  Even my toes are tingling.  An internal battle is raging in my body pu–y.   The first half does not want his cock to shift  further or otherwise change his motion but the second half is calling, urging him to plunge deeper inside.  It is a temporary conflict – peacefully resolved as we begin to gyrate, pressing and grinding against one another — his movements tempered as he plunges slowly but deeper and deeper inside me —  and both halves get what they are asking for.  It’s as though we have all the time in the world and in this moment the only goal is to maintain this silent line of communication until our hunger is completely fed.  He is barely thrusting, his dick never leaves the molten shelter provided and we continue our synchronized motion.  No “lovers after all” playlist, no music at all, just the sounds of our mutual delight. We are moving so slowly that with each shift I  feel each inch of his cock against my walls.  bK is now partially resting his weight on me but the only pressure computing is  between my legs.  He whispers something, that is hard to decipher but then again I have no idea what I am whispering in response either.  Our bodies have more urgent matters to address.  He moves further inside me and I arch up beneath him to accommodate the longer stroke.  Hhhhhmmm, each stroke is measured, deep and sensuous.  A nice morning drive up the mountains – slow and winding to the peak, and every bit as exhilarating.  No rush to the top and the destination is definitely worth it.

Afterwards, we rest in the same position we started for a couple of minutes.  I am already thinking about the feasibility wondering of an afternoon session, but schedules will not allow – he has afternoon bikram and mentoring and I have work.

The cool down mile on the treadmill is too much for my legs to complete and so I stop early. This leads to stone face, stern voice and the start of a squabble that continues via text.  And thus lust turns to dust.

And then the FAST.

Our first workout during Ramadan is fully clothed.  Rather than concede that we are returning to these cumbersome barriers because of the fasting period, bK tells me that naked training affects his concentration and hinders his effectiveness as a trainer.  Maybe.  But it certainly heightens other things.  Childish, but I am still salty about the way that he addresses it and so even though we “agree” to return to normal training with only occasional nude days, the next few days are chilly.

No massage: Cancelled in first week and then Ramadan. 😦

Have you ever been sidelined during a vacation?  What did you do with your time?  It seemed like a good opportunity to complete the process and so I froze eggs.

Fasting music:

June 2013 – Part Two (Planks for Pleasure)

I have an easier time getting up on training days now that bK and I have further spiced up the routine. On the wrong days, we are two people bickering over trivial things while exercising in undergarments. On the right days, each set is a combination of exercise and “body appreciation”. Either way it is never boring. If these brick walls could talk they would describe my personal trainer tweaking my nipples and playing with my body while I get these side bends out of the way. If they could laugh, they would chortle at the number of times I ask him to show me how to do simple exercises so I can squeeze his ass and play with other parts of his body. With each set, the struggle to ignore his touch or my body’s response to it increases. I generally don’t sweat below the waist (which will be helpful) but I’m all kinds of moist by the time I have to return to the treadmill at the end of each session.

Around the third week of June, planking becomes very challenging. Not only does the time period increase, but while I plank I have to keep retrieving my thong with one arm as bK repeatedly tries to remove it.  During the alternate exercise between planks we continue to touch and tease. We also ignore the growing bulge in his drawers and discuss current events.   On this day, when I wrap up the other exercise drop into the third plank I don’t bother to retrieve my thong when he slides it down.  When I look down and back, I note that his boxer briefs have joined my thong on the carpet by my feet. The next 30 seconds could not be moving any slower. What do you reward yourself with after a tough workout? Ice-cream? Chocolate? A kale omelet? I think I deserve something more today.

bK’s voice drifts as he reaches the last fifteen seconds of the count. I hear him move to his bag to get a condom. 10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1 Time! I collapse on the towel that now gets placed on the exercise mat as I feel bK drop to his knees behind me. I pretend like he is not there and start to get up, but he takes a commanding grip on my hips with both hands and suggests that we take a little break…Sure, but I’m going to be lazy with this one – I lean forward and offer up the goods. bK slides home and reaches forward to massage my tingling clit with his left hand. Mmmm – appropriate reward after so many planks. And it feels just right. He rests inside me while his left hand continues to move in a firm circular motion on and around my hot spot. As I heat up from the massage upfront, he begins to pump for gold. Long and measured, this deep slow stroke is the perfect stress buster. Surgeon general approved. I arch back and up to meet each foray and reach back to stroke his balls (we’ve come a long way since that punch and I love the way his body reacts to the touch). Twerking by the weights…

When his lingam and my yoni connect – time stands still and only pleasure matters or registers. I concentrate solely on his member moving inside me, his head massaging my cervix, the length of his swollen manhood brushing up and against my vaginal walls as our hips grind against each other…his movement further emphasizes what I already know about his prodigious dancing skills.  Slick but secure (kegels :-)), I match his rhythm, bouncing back and up to meet each thrust. We’re unwilling to tolerate even a brief break in this link-up prior to release – my hold on his ass is just as urgent as his on mine as we ride wave after wave of pleasure. Slow wind, deep grind, lost mind…While we bone this way, we transcend – floating above random conversation, forgiving (temporarily) slights real and perceived, casting aside silly disputes – for a time we even come upon the solution for peace in the middle east…so strong are the tides of lust rushing through and around us.  Non-verbal communication is best for us.

Just kidding.

We have a nice post-plank romp.   Afterwards we gather ourselves, return to reality and clean-up – then one of us has to continue with a cardio “cool down” on the treadmill.  I regret that I didn’t discover softcup® for another month or we wouldn’t have had to skip a week of these.

Two weeks to the start of Ramadan (and the end?).