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:

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