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 (http://softcup.com/about/product-info) 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:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H6syUR_34dw

But more of this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tQzGhEkjNJY

 And a forever favorite to round out 2014:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IoP1M3vwnoU

Fall 2013 – Is this the End?

We don’t talk about it, but clearly these sessions must end at some point before he leaves.  We are taking more frequent intimate breaks as the end approaches.

Our first session after the start of fall is the last agreed naked training session, which seems as natural a stopping point as any.  We have been getting along well since the last massage 🙂 so hopefully we will transition to a more suitable relationship on a positive (and high) note.  bK comes in, strips and lays his folded clothes on the arm of the couch as usual.  I also strip and lay my (unfolded) clothes on the coffee table before I head to the treadmill. The routine that we have been following for almost a year feels different on this last day.  Each action is tinted with tacit acknowledgement that our dalliance is coming to an end (as we knew it would).

We move back into the living room after I warm-up.  I get through the first two exercises before we seamlessly progress, mid-conversation, to touching one another.  We are having a good conversation, but I don’t know what about.  My mind has already wandered to what we will be doing afterwards.  When I am not thinking about that, I am reflecting on the feel of his skin as I caress his body while he demonstrates proper form, the contours of his chest as my hands splay out across it while he shows me the next exercise.  I have trouble focusing on the workout with bK playing with my nipples and taking advantage of my exposed frame arched over the exercise ball. Crunches are tough to do with his hands drifting further and further south.  The pressure starts to build inside me, together with the familiar strains of an internal battle about to be lost.

Soon bK is massaging the mound of my p-ssy, occasionally letting one or two fingers slip in, a glance here, an exploratory squeeze there, teasing of what’s to come.  Conversation slows.  We delay moving to the next exercise — neither of us is ready to break the physical connection.  When we do finally switch to the next part of the workout, I make him repeatedly demonstrate it so I have time to trace along his back, measure his broad shoulders, sweep down his stomach and finally let my hands come to rest on his balls.  Those tender orbs.  Such simple pleasure to hold those tender orbs in my hand and let my fingers roll slowly over his tender skin.  Even more enjoyable to watch and feel bK’s response to it.  He can’t control it which makes me even hotter.  Given the trauma that I caused his nuts in the past, it feels nice to give them a little TLC one last time…

It’s a pleasant struggle to work out while so aroused and with bK at full attention besides me, but I manage and finally get through the last exercise.  As usual, somehow by the end of that set he has put a condom on (French letter ninja).  We sink down to the beach towel.  On his knees, bK nestles between thighs already dotted with goose bumps that display an anticipation I’m too proud to voice.  He pauses as he lifts my legs to his shoulders and we make eye contact: “last time” he says; “last time”, I agree.  I close my eyes as he slips inside me.  I plan to savor each stroke, touch and sound that marks the end of this surreal journey.  bK leans forward and I wrap my arms around him, running my hands up and down his back as we begin to move together. Our bodies are sealed together and we start with a leisurely grind, letting the intensity build with each rotation.

After a few minutes the relaxed grinding is not enough to slake our hunger.  I need him further inside me asap and bK complies with deep forays that have the head of his dick perfectly stroking my cervix.  Mmmmm.  Even our moans, of encouragement, of pleasure, are in sync as we move in rhythm towards climax.  My hands slide down to settle where they usually do – cupping his solid ass and urging bK along each thrust.  He stops supporting himself and lets his chest fall on me as we increase the pace and scale the heights.  He doesn’t feel heavy in the midst of this frantic haze of carnal delight; his body is a comfortable weight as we reach a fiery release that radiates down to my toes.  A suitable ending.

But then my first thought as we lay there afterwards with him still inside me — what harm is a couple more weeks?  How to say let’s continue activities we don’t discuss until closer to an event we barely acknowledge…

Squats

As many personal trainers and fitness experts etc. will tell you, and as I’ve cribbed from http://www.fitday.com/fitness-articles/fitness/exercises/the-benefits-of-squat-exercises.html:  squat exercises are great for a total lower body workout as they exercise most of the major muscle groups of the butt, hips and thighs. They are also versatile and can be done anywhere with or without equipment. When I think about the best variation of squats, my mind wanders to these:

After the usual in-workout touching, squeezing and caressing that enhances our naked training days, bK and I are both worked up and pretending to wait patiently for the end of the last abs set that I am working on. He is standing by my feet and my line of vision each time I rise hits his swollen dick cheering me on. The sooner I finish this exercise, the sooner we can be reunited. When my eyes bother to travel past my turgid, expecting friend, I rarely make eye contact with bK anyway – by this point his eyes are laser focused between my legs.  We are mainly talking about the workout, but even louder is the unspoken urging to finish each exercise quickly so that we can f—k stet. The last few reps of the last exercise always takes ten times as long as all of the other exercises.

I finish the last set and in the minute or so that it takes me to get a drink of water and freshen up, the French Letter Ninja strikes again. I don’t even hear the condom wrapper. As bK pulls me against him I lean back into his chest and revel in the feel of his throbbing d—k drumming a little song of what is to come against my cheeks.

And then the squats.

As he pulls me against him, he dips into a squat position and so do I. For balance (and because he has one of the most solid asses I have come across), I cup his left cheek with my left hand and hang on to the back of his head with my right. The fingers of his left hand are firmly rounding my cl-t with just the right amount of pressure, while his right hand plays with my breasts. As I squat, he thrusts up hitting the right spots on its way to the sweetest one. “Reunited ’cause we understood. There’s one perfect fit…” He never withdraws, another benefit of this exercise/position.  He keeps whispering “give it to me” each time I dip. We go 20 or so squats but I don’t feel any burn in my thighs, just the pleasure radiating from the various parts of my body that we are connected. I could squat for days like this. Ok maybe 20-25 minutes.  Who says the benefits of exercise are not immediate?

Our legs are only so strong and eventually we drop to the towel and rock out to climax. Too bad I let that green, yellow and black anklet stand in the way for so many months.

https://pbs.twimg.com/media/BgK2MeFCEAAze2j.jpg

Do you even squat? Instead of squatting with weights or other equipment, squat with your partner. It feels better. Team squats for the world.

 

August 2013 – Breaking the Fast

bK and I are getting along fairly well by the time Ramadan ends after the first week of August. Working out dressed and suppressing the urge to act on our mutual attraction has become semi-normal.  It helps that even with religious obstacles removed, I’m not supposed to have sex for a couple of weeks after my egg retrieval procedure.  Maybe the confluence of Ramadan and this limited biological insurance is a sign that I should stop boning my engaged trainer/friend and move on, but six wasted weeks with the b-day rapidly approaching is hard to take.

We get through the first week after Ramadan with appropriate sessions – clothes, conversation, no body appreciation or celebration. The next week temptation is eliminated since bK is out of the country on a security consulting assignment.  My mind is more or less ready to cut the cord, but my flesh is not, but an unpleasant exchange before he leaves for his trip helps tip the balance further in favor of reason.

By the first workout after his trip we still have not cleared the air.  I let him in with minimal conversation and as soon as we get upstairs, I head to the other room to warm-up in silence.  It takes bK a few minutes to head in from the living room, and when he appears I see why… He is buck naked (and nicely lotioned up). Hhhmm. No matter the inner contents, the packaging is beautiful. Principle or pleasure? He still owes a couple of days of training nude so if I choose this can just be a workout with a view. Pleasure or principle? While I consider whether I will join him in the buff or keep my clothes on, we discuss it as though talking about the weather (me – I didn’t do anything to be in the buff, him – I thought we were a team). Principle or pleasure? I take a few more steps as our short and friendly debate ends without resolution. In the end pleasure carelessly crushes principle. I pause the treadmill and strip.

And just like that, we work out in the nude as though the six year week drought never happened. I make him repeatedly show me how to do exercises that I did three weeks ago without speaking to him so I can re-familiarize myself with his body, squeeze those tight buns, feel his balls tighten in my palm as I massage them and generally do whatever I feel like doing with is body in the moment. He returns the favor during each exercise that permits it.

By the second set of exercises I could use his stiff cock as a dumbbell and I am drenched and not with sweat. Just in case, I freshen up[1] when I head to my bedroom before the last set to get my vest for the treadmill. I return and finish the last set with difficulty, trying to ignore what bK is doing to my exposed body while I stretch. The six-week break is back, silent and mocking in the air, stripping us of any pretense of patience with the time it is taking to complete the last set.

I finish the exercise with bK at full attention and raring to go. All conversation, other than our bodies exhorting us to get to it, stops. My vagina’s monologue is on repeat: “f—k now” (in Danny’s redrum voice from the Shining). His rigid dick, with its pronounced veins throbbing to the same furious beat, seems to be calling for the same. If those veins were near his other head, I’d be worried he was about to have an aneurysm. Luckily we are headed for rapture and not rupture this morning.

I want to class it up on the couch today so I put my hand on his chest to pause and we shuffle, bodies pressed against each other, around the coffee table to the couch. I half lay, half crouch on the couch as bK does the same on top of me and, with his chest weighing lightly against my back, he finally slips his c-ck inside me. My body treacherously welcomes his with a tight, hot embrace and we begin to move in sync to a familiar beat. He reaches forward to stroke my clit while I reach back and down to play with his balls, allowing my fingers stray a little further. The catch in his breath and his muted groans get me every time and I’m even more aroused. Aaah, this deep, slow stroke is the right way to start the day.  We put my sofa to the test as we unleash weeks of repressed lust.  If I could, I would have spent the morning with his dick inside me.

I feel energized and ready to take on the day after I come. By contrast, bK seems dazed and worn out after he comes. 🙂 After a few minutes of relaxing in post-coital serenity, I pop up, give bK a light slap on the face to snap him back to reality and head to the treadmill. I realize too late that we did not shut the curtains before landing on the couch. Hopefully my neighbors were too occupied to notice.

Common sense returns later in the morning and I recommit to flushing this out of my system by the end of the month.  Despite that re-commitment, we slip without further discussion back into a routine of training in the buff at least once a week with a mid-workout intimate interlude. No romance, just interesting discussions, exercise and decadent copulation, peppered with the occasional idyllic Sunday afternoon in the park.

No Massage in August. The one day we tentatively scheduled was canceled due to time constraints. We still found time to “connect” on a more primal level and then spend a quiet afternoon in Central Park discussing fidelity and the surname he will give his child(ren). It was nice. But I wanted the massage.

 

 

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.

Foundations of the “Scandalous Workout”/Third Massage

New training rules: If bK reschedules within a 24-hour window or loses certain bets, he trains me naked; and if I reschedule within a 24-hour window or lose certain bets, I workout in “essential gear” of socks, sneakers, bandana, sports bra and a thong.  The scandalous workout is born. Level One – look but mostly don’t touch.  I know better, but (Clay Davis voice) shiiiiiiiit.  Who amongst us is not naked under their clothes?

On his nude days, bK uses my treadmill warm-up time to rub lotion all over his body.  I have to fight the urge to offer to help him reach the small of his back.  After all my focus is on improving my physical fitness. 

One memorable occasion, I signed a deal and then negotiated a nude day for him the next morning in celebration.  The next morning, I am doing v-sits while he stands naked by the table watching…quietly counting the reps whenever I think I am almost done.  Over the course of the sets his cock swells until it is thick and engorged – alert and also watching and sporadically twitching.  It is a naked day for him so there is nothing to conceal his arousal.  Not that I can talk, I’m the one doing v-sits with only a thin and increasingly damp film of lace shielding my excitement.  Less than three feet and a centimeter of flimsy fabric separate us from taking the next step we obviously want to.  But with our unspoken competition to maintain composure we may as well on opposite sides of the Mediterranean with only a skiff to cross the sea (and in some ways, just as dangerous).  So we continue to exercise and talk about everything but the fog of restrained lust blanketing the room.  Nothing is acknowledged until the end of the workout when bK tells me I would have gotten a better show if I had opted for a naked massage – and of course, later a text message to remind me that increased “circulation” between my legs was not unnoticed.  Just another workout day…   

Massage Rating:  Set It Off level except no candles, beads or happy ending. 😦  9.95/10.  A combination of massage/ode to my p-ssy/tribute to my ass.  100% a test of how much I can take before I ask for it.  The sheet is drenched by the end and it is impossible to cross my legs comfortably for almost an hour afterwards.  Mind (telling me no) over body (screaming at me yes).  We all have our crosses to bear.

Personal Training Begins

At the end of 2010, I received a text message out of the blue from my friend “bK”. We haven’t spoken in almost two years so a text asking about my exercise habits is random. My habits are sporadic use of an elliptical whenever I feel like I’m getting too flabby – no regular exercise routine.  While random, the text is right on time and after some back and forth, we negotiate an arrangement for bK to train me.  He is a high end personal trainer and I normally would not splurge on his rates, but I’m able to negotiate a sweet rate.

We start in the spring.  The start of each workout day is scented with Brut 33. bK is pretty liberal with it and it hits me as soon as I open the door and then trails behind him as he walks up the stairs.  That scent still makes me feel like I should go jump on a treadmill.

At the end of the year, bK mentions that he is getting licensed as a massage therapist to expand business which I think is a great idea. We joke about the opportunities available to a private masseur…A few weeks later as part of a settlement of old bets and to help bK meet his licensing requirements (I am magnanimous like that), we agree that he will give me some  free massages.  That’s what friends are for – any anyway, who in their right mind would decline free massages from a trained massage therapist? 🙂

We make it through the year peacefully and in December I sign up for another year.  And then it got interesting.