Cooking For My Baby

In the months since I started this blog, and with the demise of my interaction with PHG/Sweet Thing/ImFuckingFedUp, I long wanted to write some juicy stuff and put in here, so I could be like syciano and make people hard and wet at work and keep them hanging on the words that result from every adventure.

Except, for the longest time, I had nothing but spiritual, socio-political interests and my fairly mundane life to write about. Now I have a lover and there is a part of me that wants to tell you everything, and another part of me that wants to jealously keep our moments for me.

It’s so weird, a few months ago I wrote a blog entry about how I felt as though I was writing these boring posts, and that syciano , even dragonbear and some others were posting up the steamy stuff, and all I could do was appeal to your hearts with posts that dug beneath the surface of my spirituality and such. I was jealous, and wanted to post stuff to get the blood to boil, and make dicks hard, and such.

Now, the Young Mr K has come along. With him there is a definite creative sexual thing, but there’s also intellectual and emotional connections being made as well. I want to tell you about the mischief we get into together, except it’s still so delicious, I don’t know how much of it I can share before my selfish-self kicks in and I want to keep those moments just between us.

Also, things are in a state of flux between us. We are beginning to feel more than just sex between us. The sweetness between us, our interaction, it’s all tender and soft. We verbally tangle constantly, almost always in a conversation about things, duelling, trying to out think each other sometimes, but even that is done with laughter and giggles, disagreements currently being settled by mutual agreement to disagree or tickles or outright pantsing (lol.)

There is the powerful physical attraction between us, yet on an emotional level, we’re both feeling things we cannot name, cannot quite put a finger on. What;’s more, it’s like we both are trying to hold on to reasonability, pragmatism in the face of my leaving, and the reality of his girlfriend.

We come to odds often enough for me to know that this is not paradise. He has some ideas about the world that I disagree with, and he really is very naughty. You hear me saying that, and may think I am thinking in a purely, on-on-one sexual way, but believe me when I say it. He is naughty not just in that way alone, but in so many other ways.

Ask me how I know! I force him to be completely honest. From the get go I told him, “Tell me the truth, no matter how bad you think it is, because I can handle the truth rationally, but lies make me into a crazy person.” So far, he seems to be telling the truth.

It’s bad. Real bad. I can’t tell you all of it, but he’s been very much sowing his oats on a sexual level. He’s been with his girlfriend for two years, but he services a few other FWBs. The stories he tells me! I mean, my jaw dropped open when he told me about a threesome he’s been involved in; two women I happen to know.

I guess, part of me admits I like my boys bad. I can’t help it. I’ve tried the nice predictable, easy ones and have always been bored to death.

He is a typical Leo. Did I forget to mention that? Maybe I did mention it before. Yes chile, he is as Leonine as they come. The freaky thing is, we’re so easy and comfortable with each other, so forgiving, open and warm with each other, that it lets me know, this is as close to paradise I’m going to get under our current circumstances.

He and I are in a trine position astrologically. We balance each other out and I think that’s where the comfort level comes from. Yet, there’s a part of me that keeps whispering, “Don’t fall in love. Pay attention, you know you, you fall in love so fast. You need to just remember, don’t fall in love.”

He tells me, in a ‘teeth pulling’ session where I was extracting some more truth and honesty from him, that he’s feeling more than he should. He said he’s breaking rules with me. He tells me he is afraid of our relationship being reduced to sex, so he’s rationing out the totie (Trini for dick/cock/penis—pick your own euphemism;) he says he doesn’t want to lose what we have.

He tells me he want’s to buy my bed from me, because he wants to sleep in it when I’m gone, and remember all the things we’ve done it. He says he wants to buy as much of my stuff as possible, because he wants to feel close to me, even though I won’t be here. He’s says he’s afraid to grieve for me when I’m gone. (Like I’m going to die.) He says he doesn’t want me going to England to be the end of ‘us.’ He says, because I asked so nicely, he won’t ‘brush’ anyone else besides his girlfriend (and well me) as long as I am still here.

That brings me to his girlfriend. He’s so concerned for her, and respects her so much, that I don’t know whether to admire him for his deference or slap him for it. Why? There is a part of me that just wants him for myself and for no one else, but that’s a typical Arian female response, so I’m trying to hold it down. I don’t want to be 1) jealous of an 18 year-old-girl who doesn’t have any idea, 2) don’t want to want him too much.

He’s begun to ask me hypothetical questions, “If you weren’t going to England, and I didn’t have a girlfriend, and we were a couple….”

So I’ve had to adopt and maintain the stance that I’m not changing my mind about leaving, I’m not going to allow myself the luxury of feeling too much. So I’ve been asking to just enjoy what’s between myself and the Young Mr K, without the pressure of worrying about a relationship beyond July. I don’t know if it always works.

He said to me once, “Do you think our relationship could survive beyond your leaving? What do you think it would take for you and me to work? “

I’m never quite sure how to interpret some of these comments and hypotheticals, because as much as he reveals he hides, and what he’s hiding tells me more than what he shows. I’m afraid he’s going to fall in love with me. If he does that, it’s going to be too hard for me to resist, and I know I’ll never completely tame that bad boy. I don’t even bloody know if I want to try.

He makes it hard to pierce his emotional shielding, but I pierce right through all I can get away with, and before he knows it he’s told me everything he can. I try not to take too much at once, I don’t think he can handle it. I don’t think I want to tame him at all, I like him just the way he is, because he keeps me real, and my heart clear, my mind free from too much emotional bullshit.

So we continue to just talk, hang out, cuddle, kiss, make out and such, we’re just both struggling to get a firm grip on what is happening, what we really want to happen.

That is, ultimately, what is up in the air.

When he asked about what could happen between us after I leave, I said “I dunno. I think if you want to impress me, you’d have to follow me to England,” I replied. “I think then I would have to say, ‘this could be serious.'”

—–
I am in a mood to cook. I’ve been like this since Blanchisseuse.

“I want to cook for you.” I said to him in a matter-of-fact tone, our legs draped artlessly over one another, sprawled across my bed, channel surfing a few nights ago.

He and I fit together. He’s one of the most comfortable men I’ve ever slept with. We seem to fade into each other, and he wraps himself around me in his sleep.

“You don’t have to do that, baby.” he said, stroking my arm.

“I want to,” I insisted. “I want you to come over one night, and let me feed you.”

“Why?” he asked.

“I just have this idea in my head that I want to feed you.” I replied.

Later in the conversation he says, “I have a confession to make. From the first time I saw you, I had ulterior motives where you are concerned.”

“I knew that. You say it like it’s a discovery of some sort.” I replied, flippant.

“Yeah, but is that why you didn’t take me on? Because you thought I was going to make some kind of advance?” he asked.

“No. I think in my mind I had decided you had a girlfriend, you were so much younger than me, but from the moment I saw you, I thought you were cute and very fuckable.” I said.

“So why didn’t you let me sit on your bed? Why you keep me at arms length for so long?” He asked. “We wasted so much time.”

“Well I needed to see who you were and what you were about first.” I replied. “The part about being younger than me is one thing, but I wanted to see you up close and such so I could decide what I really wanted to do.

“So I kept you there, sitting on the floor by my bed and just watched you out of the corner of my eye for a few months.”

He twisted his mouth, wistfully, but said nothing more.

“I told my brother in March that I wanted to ‘rest something’ on you.” I said, “He thought I was crazy.”

“So I’ll come to eat.” he did say eventually.

“What would you like to eat?” I asked.

“Pussy and honey,” he said with a wicked grin.

—–

Friday night, although I planned to make dinner for him, I was too tired. Instead, we laid in my bed and talked shit and kissed, kissed, kissed for hours. He told me he wasn’t going to fuck me until 11pm.

Minutes to midnight, I stood with one leg on the bathroom sink, standing in my shower stall while I let him shave my pussy. I must say, it’s quite erotic to feel the razor’s edge so gently manoeuvred by this bad, bad boy, who did it with focus and concentration, thumb pressed against my clit to protect it.

After, I masturbated in the shower while he watched me, and then he fucked me standing up in the shower. We were wet from the water and I was wet from his manipulations. Later in my bed, we sexed again, the water mixing with our sweat and running onto the towels and the sheet.

—–
Sunday

Today, I made Sunday lunch for him; baked chicken with carrots and sweet pepper with a a veggie rice mix. He wanted to know how I got the vegetables to taste so sweet.

So we spent most of today lazing around in my bed.

We watched Matrix Revolutions on DVD, and laughed and talked shit as usual.

We ‘brushed’ this afternoon after lunch, more evidence of the deal we made in Three Pools sticking. Today it was heated and intense. He went and got the bottle of honey again, and he dribbled it on my nipples, my neck and licked it off. Dribbled it across my stomach and thighs and licked that off. Then he ran some into my pussy, and put his exceptional tongue and knowledge of the female clitoris, (okay, my clitoris,) to work. Our sexing went on a long time this afternoon, my orgasms blending one into the other.

He tells me that when he cums with me, I pull something out of his body, makes him roar and call out. He says he is notoriously quiet, and he doesn’t know how it is I can pull that response out of him. Me, I know the power of the P.

Since that first night, he’s been teasing me, trying to get me to let him read what I write I in my blog.

I would refuse, telling him I wasn’t sure I wanted him to.

Last night, I let him read Drowning in Honey.

As he was reading, he said, “You quoted me word for word!”

When he was done he said, “You make it read like a novel.”

I was pleased.
—–
Today
I find myself guarding my heart around him.

Liked it? Take a second to join The Backroom Collective!
Just $1 a month can help us create safe spaces for women.

Comments

thegoddessroom

The Vault

sungoddess

mermaid, dayo's mama, water priestess, writer, web developer, omo yemoja, dos aguas, obsessive reader, sci-fi fan, trini-bajan, combermerian, second life, music, music, music!