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 These injections will never be as pleasant as those that have been so harshly withdrawn in the name of religion.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!
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.
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?).