Holiday Celebrations

Creative problem solving is important in all aspects of life.  Since we cannot acknowlege that we want to continue our intimate interludes until bK leaves NYC in a couple of weeks, I propose that we celebrate holidays by working out/training naked. Almost every day is a holiday somewhere.

Unfortunately, Guinea-Bissau Independence Day, the first holiday following my suggestion, is celebrated fully clothed and peppered with passive aggressive commentary. I expect better on Dominion (New Zealand) and Revolution (Yemen) Days later in the week but bK tells me that he doesn’t “do anyone’s independence day” though he will be happy to observe me observe them.  I invoke the magic words – I thought we were a “team” and he replies that he will “see how the team shows up to the door”. I show up to the door with nothing on except a silk kimono and socks on the next workout day.

Lock picked.

After that, Dominion Day, World Vegetarian Day, Nigerian Independence Day and World Heart Health Day, among others, become important “holidays” that we must properly commemorate. I start consulting Wikipedia once or twice a week for the right “holiday” that falls on a scheduled workout day and then let bK know what we will be “celebrating”.  Our agreement that the last time was “THE last time” is thrown out the window. This carnal ship is having trouble going silently into the night.

My favorite of these “holidays” is World Heart Health Day.  What better way to observe a day dedicated to cardiovascular health than a good cardio warm-up followed by an exercise session laced with stolen caresses that get our hearts racing? I use the breaks in between sets to trace my hands along the muscled contours of bK’s shoulders, chest and stomach before sweeping down to his thighs. I skip past his dick (for now) — he should get a taste of how torturous those early massages could be. Eventually I’m drawn back to his wonderful ass, cupping a cheek in each hand – squeezing those taut muscles could be an exercise in itself.

Treating bK’s body as my playground and teasing him does not come without a price. bK starts roving as soon as I am occupied with the next exercise.  Squeezing, probing and stroking every exposed inch. We continue our own experiment – how much lust and sensual exploration can one mix with exercise before combustion?  We are keeping it casual so despite the building desire we try to sound level and unaffected as our conversation flows from one topic to another.

Supposed to be casual. I can’t conceal the tropical storm brewing between my thighs from his touch.  bK has even less of a shot of hiding his thick c—k throbbing against his left side.  At least not until he buries it inside me.  Even without the physiological evidence, our increased heart rates contradict the veneer of the tranquility as we continue talking.  Conversation becomes sporadic and as we get closer to that magic moment when I reach the last set of the final exercise we are barely speaking.  We have more important things to focus on.  bK is ready even as I finish the last arm lift. After all this time I am still amused by the speed with which he gets a condom on.  It is almost seamless and with the briefest of breaks in contact we are ready to soar. He could teach a class.

bK places my still sneaker-clad legs on his shoulders, leans forward and slips his c—k deep inside me. I envelope his torso with my thighs and squeeze. We begin to move to the rhythm beating along silently in our heads. No background music, heavy breathing, sighs of enjoyment, whispers of encouragement, pleas to continue and the steady clap of our bodies in motion provide the only soundtrack needed.

Hips swiveling and pushing against each other as bK pumps further inside me. I feel every inch of the length and breadth of his d—k with each rotation and I rise to meet each thrust. Everyone would exercise if it felt this good. I wrap my arms around him taking care not to scratch his back. No need to leave evidence. We continue this beautiful motion as the pressure intensifies and the heat builds. Eventually we pick up the tempo, turning into a mindless unit team focused on nothing but rocking together to unbridled release. We both climax with an intensity that leaves us temporarily drained.  We remain joined for some time then continue to relax in quiet recovery on the towel for even longer. I skipped the post-coitus treadmill cool-down.


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.