It was Friday night and I was laying in bed playing on Instagram.
“Girl,” there was a warning in His tone.
“Yes, Daddy?” I didn’t look up, scrolling through more and more pictures of spanking and bondage and thigh highs.
As I mentioned on Sunday, this is the week of Daddy’s birthday, which means there are a little bit of extras when it comes to celebrating and indulgences. Last night was no different. It was movie night, and since I’d never seen it and HH and Lo seemed to find so much enjoyment in it, I opted for Magic Mike.
It was a long weekend. Family. Funeral. Friends.
Drugs and alcohol.
And M and I were up late last night, and didn’t end up fucking until after midnight.
And apparently I got off again on his hand randomly in the middle of the night.
I have three kids. And my youngest just started Pre-K yesterday. It was a rough start for both of us. But M made it better, took me to breakfast, then golfing. By the time we were done, it was time to get my boy from school.
After being gone for just two days (I know, I know, I made it seem like we were apart forever), I finally made my way home last night. A rushed dinner was followed by story time and bedtime kisses, then the kiddos were tucked into bed and encouraged to fall asleep.
I figured this year would be the only year I would get to make her day extra special. I therefore wanted to make 34 one she’d never forget. And with her birthday Saturday and M’s on Wednesday, it seemed like the perfect weekend to celebrate.
I received the first text early yesterday afternoon: “So I just wanted to say if things go down badly, you guys should come get drunk with me here.”
Just those simple words spiked my libido, especially after last weekend’s Brazilian waxing episode. But I doubted anything would come to fruition, after all, the hockey game wouldn’t be over until after 10, and I figured chances are by the time we got back to town, you’d be asleep.
It was supposed to be an all-night euchre tournament.
Instead, it was a pool tournament, a few hands of euchre, Cards Against Humanity, and a half a gallon of Captain Morgan.
By 2 a.m., we decided it was time to look for a bedroom, before the rest of the party took all the decent places to sleep.
A few weeks ago, M and I were moving my mother into a new house. While cleaning out her basement, I came across a giant white box wrapped in plastic. My wedding dress.
“Think it still fits?” I ask him, holding it up.
For years I wasn’t a fan of 69ing. The position exposed more of me than I was comfortable showing and at that point in time, I couldn’t imagine the close up of an ass to be attractive, especially my ass. It made me apprehensive, this discomfort, and therefore jittery and awkward, feeling weird in my own skin.
Very rarely can I call what happens between M and me making love. I don’t have anything against it, making love, but it has a connotation of gentleness and of being tender.
M and I, we don’t make love. We fuck.
I would never actually call myself an exhibitionist, but thinking back, I must be in denial.
I remember summer nights, two tents pitched in the backyard, children in one, M and me in the other. The kids all sleeping peacefully, while in our tent, I’m getting the shit fucked out of me doggy style. M would stop, ears perked, as a car drove by. I imagine them, who ever they are, their headlights shinning through the thin nylon of the tent walls, outlining our silhouettes, him kneeling, me on all-fours. And the thought of the people in the car seeing this would make me back into him, hard, make me want to cum so bad.
We were still only roommates then, sharing space and meals, occasional teases and flirts. Getting ready to go out for the night, I remember saying to Jess, “If it doesn’t work out tonight and I don’t fuck him, I’m done trying.”