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.

 

In Like a Lion, Out Like a Lamb

At my birthday dinner we are all having a good time until we get into an argument after I feed a friend some food.  bK sees no irony in his reaction, but it’s my birthday so the party continues. 

At his birthday bowling party we are all having a good time until we get into an argument over one of the bills.  This one also blows over by the next day.

Training is still bipolar.  Some days it’s a good time and we have great conversations.  Other days, it is a tense and unhappy environment and we barely speak (other than serious voice for exercise instructions).  At some point, bK suggests that maybe I am perimenopausal.  Hilarious – and tempting fate since this is a guy who wants a child within the next year and is getting married to a woman two years older than me.  But, at my age, I guess that is a good go-to passive aggressive way to call me a bi-ch.  I counter with accusing him of suffering through prolonged PMS symptoms this winter.  None of it is very productive or mature, but at least we know where we stand.    Instead of two fat ladies in the kitchen and out and about the countryside, it is two bitchy teammates in the exercise room.  I’d like to think the resulting body is every bit as hot and tempting! 

Despite this unhealthy state of affairs, we continue with periodic naked training days and discuss investment opportunities in the village and other locations.  Honesty may not be his strong suit, but he is a good businessman with investments in a number of places, including a local lounge uptown that has some great classic drinks.  We typically discuss these opportunities with little follow through but maybe one day, plus it is a topic that doesn’t lead to fights.  At this point, things are tense enough that I consider ending the training sessions at the end of the first quarter.  Instead, we negotiate a set of make-up days and additional massages to make up for cancelled training days.  It doesn’t make sense to me either, but I did it.  

And then the massage:

By the time my next massage rolls around at the end of the month, we are close to complete silence, and definitely only serious voice, so I don’t know what to expect.  What I get is an excruciating, wonderful and openly salacious challenge to my continued attempt not to succumb to the carnal pleasure on offer…As usual, he starts out with more traditional massage of my neck, back, legs and other non-obviously erogenous areas.  And then he gets to my thighs and it all changes:  The pressure turns lighter, his fingers linger more with each motion and he massages my ass and thighs for long enough that he could probably mold them out of clay in the dark – and I damn sure want him to continue.  I know it’s not going to get better when I turn around, and by the time I do I’m dripping and the wet spot on the sheet isn’t small.  As soon as I flip over, the siege continues – his hands start at my lower thighs and slowly trace upwards in a “V” towards my sweet spot.  With each stroke his fingers get closer and closer together until his fingertips are touching and just barely tracing my inner lips.  Those treacherous lips are trembling (a first from a massage) and begging me to give in, “say uncle” and get to the main event.  But pride is a mutha.  I concentrate on keeping my mouth shut and breathing slowly.  The massage oil on his fingers is now heavily mixed with me, but he keeps going and switches up this stroke with a massage of my pubic bone that places just enough indirect pressure that my cl-t is getting some, but not enough, attention.  Help! We both know what the reasonable next step would be, but neither one of us wants to be the one to make the next move.  Can women get blue balls?  This goes on for at least 30 minutes when I think the timer goes off.  Saved by the bell!  I say thank you and hop off the table.

In a familiar state of relaxation combined with tension, I start getting dressed.  (You know I have brunch plans.)  Then we get into an argument because bK accuses me of taking advantage of him with our deal on massages.  Sigh.  Bye bye good vibes.  Our exchange continues on the subway and then by text when I have to get off (at least I get to do that when it comes to the metro;) 

As it turns out the vodka spiked mimos at brunch (new experience, tough Monday) give me enough liquid courage at some point in our text exchange (3 deep) that I finally let him know I’m pissed he didn’t think it was worth mentioning his engagement to me.  Too bad this portion the exchange was by text since it facilitated mutual cowardice.  He rationalizes that he figured I’d find out from our mutual friends and anyway it’s not appropriate for us to discuss it under the circumstances because it would completely change the context of our interaction. (Shouldn’t it change??)  I don’t view acknowledging something and discussing it as the same thing and I tell him as much, especially using code names for something we are both aware of.  bK says he understands that but stands by his main point.  It’s the 2013 No Apology tour.  

Massage Rating:  9.9/10; I second guessed my resistance well into brunch.  My resolve is fading, but the mood was soured by the post-massage argument.  The massage/argument combo does thaw the frost between us.

 

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. 😦