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

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.

 

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!

 

Second Massage

The second in-home massage is at the end of September. I appreciate that bK is willing to lug the table on the train.

The first half hour is like any normal massage – neck, back, legs, arms, etc. Then he gets to my inner thighs and the pressure of his touch changes. Danger on the horizon….His fingers are teasing and caressing, feather touches along my lips, stroking along my inner things and massaging my p—y from the outside slowly, very slowly. Mmmmmmm. This is unlike any spa massage that I’ve ever had. Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit. The cover sheet is gone – on the couch somewhere and I have nothing to hide the fact that I am soaked. All I have to do is shift towards those magic fingers or say the word for more. I want to….but MUST. HAVE. DISCIPLINE. I concentrate on the anklet like it is a wedding band and remain motionless and silent (maybe a stray moan or two, but I am only human).

Massage Rating: A 9.9/10. 90 minutes of pleasure/torture. Massages are supposed to relieve not heighten tension.

 

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.