Last Training Session – Mid Oct 2013

The day before our last training session bK and I got into an argument ostensibly because I left the A/C on despite the fall weather and he thinks I did it maliciously. I guess it is possible that deep down inside I was hoping he would catch a cold before his wedding but really all I was concerned about was not getting sweaty before we consummate the session properly. At any rate his outburst led to a spat, which led to the team getting redressed and cancellation of the day’s “intimate interlude”. A terrible outcome given our limited remaining time. Shiiiiiit.

Later that evening we went through the same debate via text and ultimately resolved it – a/k/a I apologized for keeping the A/C on after he (allegedly) repeatedly said it was chilly. #sorrynotsorry 😉

On what would be our last training day, bK shows up with a swollen knee and he has trouble making it up the stairs. He does not have trouble taking his clothes off. I suspect it will be our last training day since his wedding is nine days away, but we don’t discuss that topic so I am not yet sure when exactly he will be leaving for the big day. I am sorry that bK’s knee is injured but it puts him at my mercy more than usual throughout the session. I may even have molested him as he limped up the stairs.

I can’t recall clearly what topics we discuss as we engage in a combination of exercise and foreplay. I explore and play with his body without restraint, and he with mine. Sparks of anticipation shoot down my spine as he moves up close, “explaining” some exercise or another while caressing me. The burgeoning lips and increasing dampness between my legs border on uncomfortable as I feel his nipples harden under my grazing fingertips and watch and feel his dick swell, harden and damn near double in size in my grasp. The wetness glistening shortly thereafter at his tip punctuate our impatience with the routine that must be completed before we can let the growing need consume us and ravish each other. Usually at this time of the month, I would skip our sensual forays but today I’m relying on SoftCup ( and I hope it will be able to take it. SoftCup is the truth for active and clean comfort during exercise etc. and it has held up through squats, lunges and power walking. But today, I need will be asking for much more.

I am brazen in the freedom with which I touch and navigate the contours of bK’s body, lingering everywhere I please. Exercise is less of a priority today. The other drawback is SoftCup, which has me for the first time ill at ease with the boldness of his stroke. bK senses this and after a while incorrectly interprets it as a sign that I am not interested in sex this morning, sighs and gets dressed. What?! No, no, no!! I continue through the last two exercises naked while he watches, dressed and seated on the couch. It feels something like I’d imagine it does to be on stage trying to earn cash for those last couple of credits. Except that there are no bills being showered upon me, just a constant and palpable gaze in a silence that is occasionally broken with an exercise countdown.

As I finish the last exercise I am reflecting on what appears to be a bootleg ending to our experience and I decide to skip the treadmill. bK is amenable to the abbreviated session and he starts to get up from the couch to gather his bags. Without saying anything, I walk over and slide my hands under his shirts and begin to caress his velvety skin, reveling in the steely form of the well-defined muscles sheathed beneath the velvet. I push him back slightly and with his gimpy knee he lands right back on the couch. I straddle him and continue massaging lightly southward along his granite thighs, avoiding for now, the growing bulge increasingly protruding from his sweats. He doesn’t move or say anything other than that his knee won’t be able to support me. I glide my hands further along his thighs, allowing my knuckles to graze his thickness from time to time but no more than that. bK is trying to playing it as cool despite his body’s obvious reaction because he thinks I spurned his touch earlier. Pride. Still his ragged breathing, his nipples threatening to burst through the layers of his shirts and the rigid pole tenting up his sweats to his left tell it all. Watching his body win the battle over his mind turns me on even more. Plus I understand the conflict.

A couple of minutes pass before bK finally grabs me by the hips to place me aside before standing up and quickly stripping. By the time he leans back to me I am already up on the couch urging him on wordlessly. He pulls me toward him and starts to give me something I can feel when we notice a critical item missing – the one time the French ninja letter forgot the gold packet. We pause while he slips a condom on and then he is back, rubbing his tumescence against my cheeks. I can feel the beat of his pulsing cock against my ass. Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum against the smooth chocolate skin of my African drums. That’s the sound of the team naked and frothing to connect on a sensual level immediately. He rests against me to support some of his weight as I reach back and wrap fingers around his throbbing dick and guide him inside me. He circles his right hand around one of my breasts and thrusts slowly as deeply as he can.

And the tip of his dick bangs right up on the fucking SoftCup.

We could have paused and I could have explained what it was. But neither of us has time for that. bK uses his hardness to nudge it aside and our slow, deep ride to ecstasy begins. He plays with breasts with one hands and fondles my clit with the other while he pumps with deep and slow precision. My senses are under assault on multiple fronts and it is delicious. I arch back and into him – the source of pleasure curled over and around me, popping back against his groin to the rhythm of his thrusts. Off in the background I hear some idiot sounding like she is trying to recreate those old herbal essences commercials. Wait – that’s me. I wish I would shut up but I can’t stop. The lust is loose and we are in the groove. It would be cruel and unjust for our motion to stop just yet. I reach back with my right hand to caress his balls, rolling one and then the other gently within his soft sac. Gentle globes deserving of my tender touch. bK groans his approval. I slip a little further along the sensitive area underneath as bK continues to deliver stroke after delightful stroke.  With thoughts of nothing but the sensations of our entwined bodies in motion, we take our time, lost in and scaling the heights of passion.

It was a little messy given the displaced SoftCup, but that is fitting.

About a week later he got married and moved and I stopped working out with a personal trainer anymore. Some experiences cannot be duplicated.:)

A little bit of this:

But more of this:

 And a forever favorite to round out 2014:

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!


Lincoln Debate

New month, plus ça change plus c’est la même chose.  bK comes to my apartment in the morning, we exchange a curt greeting, depending on the day, strip, and then work out.  All the while the elephant keeps watch brooding in the corner.  I’m still pissed off and quiet.  He’s still pissed that I’m detached and “moody”.  We address none of it.  Amazingly, all the anger amplifies rather than alleviates the sexual tension.  A rational person might end all naked training days, but maybe sex would break the ice and provide some healing…

The only break in this routine occurs on the days that something happens (e.g., his friend’s passing) to remind us that normal friendships are not supposed to function this way.  At those times we manage to have good/meaningful conversations – close to what we used to have before the tension, lies and resentment tainted everything.

And then the Lincoln debate…After the long weekend of romance and patriotism that is Valentine’s Day/Presidents’ Day 2013, bK tells me about a random encounter that he and his “friend of Caribbean descent” (February’s code for fiancée) recently had in a hotel elevator with a Caucasian lady.  Apparently, this woman stepped into the elevator and, on finding herself solo with two Negroes in a confined space, took a moment, gathered herself and did what any reasonable person in that position would do:  declared her approval of the president’s emancipation of the slaves at the end of Lincoln.  Her comment really upset bK.  (I partially suspect he was predisposed to be distressed because they had been discussing a friend’s battle with cancer, but I’m not a therapist.)  The whole thing sounds to me like a misguided attempt at solidarity.  Stupid, but more amusing than offensive.  My reaction further upsets bK and we get into a heated discussion about slavery, the Emancipation Proclamation and Lincoln – a movie that neither one of us has seen.  I’m not sure what is the most ridiculous: (1) that a stranger thought the way to connect with the two black people in her company was to express support for the ending of a movie (loosely based on history though it may be); (2) that bK was so deeply affected by something so foolish; or (3) that we got into a three-day debate over it because I had a different reaction.      

Things just get worse as we get into back-to-back arguments about Prozac, cancelled training or massage days and just about every other topic we discuss.  Each fight is short and stupid, but they are collectively draining. 

NO massage this month. 😦


2012 Sunset/2013 Sunrise

The internet is a wonderful but scary place.  Within days of hearing that my friend/personal trainer/masseur is engaged, I confirm it with a five-second google search.  I’m pissed, amused, confused – why not mention something so momentous? 

And yet… we move into a distorted version of “don’t ask, don’t tell” in which his engagement is not acknowledged or discussed and we continue with occasional naked or underwear only training days as usual.  If anything, I am more comfortable with the nudity – his engagement serves as a safety net that things won’t degenerate too far (a few stray squeezes never hurt anybody).  BUT there are definitely some routines that make me acutely aware that I have no clothes on – naked ab work with an exercise ball is not for the faint of heart.

At the same time, I am brooding that I had to hear from someone else that the dude who is half naked in my crib on a regular basis is engaged.  We alternate between pleasant workout sessions with good conversations on the days that I don’t focus on it and tense “serious voice” days in which we barely speak on the days that I can’t get past it.  On the latter days there is hardly any space for us to workout – the elephant in the room sucks up all the air and obliterates any chance at positive energy.  Couples go to therapy, family members go to therapy, friends go to therapy…has anyone ever gone to therapy with their personal trainer?  Because right about now it feels necessary.

October 2012

Matters of Health: bK introduces an instant ginger drink into my life and it is absolutely delicious. I basically drink at least one cup daily. I haven’t tried to use it to make a poor tippler’s gold rush yet but that’s imminent. If you enjoy the taste of ginger definitely pick up these crystals — you will not regret it (although I don’t guarantee that). So tasty and I think they are good for digestion. On the mental health tip, he suggests that I read “Black Pain” by Terrie Williams. Supposedly I’ve been moody and maybe my eyes are silently broadcasting my inner pain. This is what happens when I get pissed off about anything – serious voice plus insinuations about my mental health. The book is LONG so I’m obviously not going to buy it, but the Amazon reviews are decent so I might just read it one day.

Mystery Trips: We take a week off from training because bK is traveling. To maintain the peace, I don’t bother asking why he is being so secretive about a trip to see his friend when we have been talking about this stuff for months. The things I do for discounted personal training (and to avoid serious voice). Then it pisses me off that I miss him while he is gone. When he gets back he announces that he is getting off Facebook because it is a waste of time.

Descent into Bucket Nekkidness (sic): bK suggests that I answer the door naked if I lose a bet. I win the bet but make a mental note that nudity is now acceptable betting currency. 😉

Ramadan/Fall 2012

Fasting has bK back to his modeling weight. Lovely view when he strips down to lounge in central park. My new favorite Sunday afternoon activity whenever possible – second to brunch. If I may say so, I’m also in great shape and despite all of the background issues the workouts continue to be great. Having to let your personal trainer in at 7:30 am is a good way to make sure you workout early in the morning.

Kinder and gentler times during this season…until I am late with the September check. The calm waters never last. At the end of September bK floats the idea of a new workout routine called Scandalous that is a “companion workout for 50 Shades”, and introduces the concept of being the “slave” to my “master”.  Tempting, tempting, tempting. I keep it light but tell him that if I was his master I would have him doing all kinds of things. Seems like a good time to schedule a second massage…