I Am Such A Bad Bitch

I ran away from work today. Just took off in the middle of the day, telling no one where I was going.

I had called YMK earlier, and you know he said it again, “I miss you poonkie,” in this sweet, dulcet, moue inducing little way, you know it’s hard not to melt in a puddle.

It’s getting quite sickening with the mutual longing thing we’re doing. Our conversations, although they do run the pragmatic course about certain points of interest or discussion, do have these little emotional bombshell moments, where he reveals his head or his game and I just rock back mentally and just have to process the detonation. I know I do the same thing to him.

I remember, weeks and weeks back, he had told me, “You’re just planning to rip open my head scoop out all the shit and pour it full of knowledge before you leave, aren’t you?”

“Is that what you perceive me as doing?” I asked.

“Yes, I do. But go ahead anyway.”

Today, I went up San Juan at the invitation of YMK, and we had sex for a number of hours.

It started with the “I miss yous” and when he said, “You want to come up here and hang out with me?”

“Okay!” I didn’t need to be asked twice.

I quickly finished my few tasks and bounced out of there. The whole way up to San Juan, I felt wild and free. I really feel as though I’ve turned a corner in my life.

I’m trying not to let euphoria take me, but there is a very real sense of having barely escaped something. I know I’m not out of the woods yet, I know, hence the caution with the euphoric inclinations, but I really feel as though I’ve left some weight behind me.

Once I got there, I installed ISS server on his PC, and set up for .asp rendering, so he could begin to experiment on his computer with more advanced principles than shitey ass Frontpage can offer, and we watched the end of Pirates of the Caribbean (I am yet to watch that whole film).

Afterwards, we went outside and we talked for more than an hour sitting on a hard bench under the shade of a mango tree in the compound where he lives. Our conversation was a kind of rambling dissection of the issues I brought up during my pseudo-tantrum of Sunday last.

We dealt with some things and left somethings up the air, things we didn’t want to let down from their floating status, and somethings we squashed and buried.

We confessed, we held back, it’s the tug and pull of our interaction. To be so powerfully attracted and open to someone, yet so powerfully reserved emotionally. I must admit, our facades do crack from time to time, and there are no games, no hiding just the two of us being ourselves with each other and just taking each other as we come. I suppose this is why I cannot ignore him or relegate him to less than himself, less than who and what we are in this moment.

Later, in his bedroom, on my iron bed that’s now set up in his room, we did our sexual thing. I don’t know what to call it, because none of those neat conventional phrases fit anymore.

It was only the second time I’ve been in his room, and the first time we’ve brushed in his territory. I wonder if being surrounded by his bubbling fish tank with his cannibalistic, permanently ravenous fish hovering and the low pounding of Tool on his stereo, and the sight of ten yellow beads I wore for Osun last year above me, permanently tied onto one of the curly wrought iron fronds; or maybe the real sense that it’s only two and a half weeks left, it all made my orgasms stronger. I dunno, but being there with the windows open, and the breeze blowing over us, and sunshine spilling across the wall in his narrow little room, made it seem so much more poignant, yet it wasn’t a sweet experience.

He gave me what I came there for. His company, his conversation and then the pleasure of his sexual skills. His hands cradled the back of my neck and as his dick plunged into me, his tongue plunged into my mouth and I really screamed more than once. I am still not understanding how it is our thing keeps getting better. It scares the shit out of me sometimes, other times I meet it with calm and lucidity. That in itself is weird and scary.

Today, It wasn’t the gentle touching and petting that he does when I specially request it, nor was it like when he’s in the mood for specifically that; softness, melting sweetness, nothing rough and tumble. It wasn’t particularly pornographic or overly emotional, but what it was was heated, raw, animalistic and in the end, very considerate because the second round ended up being all about me.

Afterward, we bathed in his huge shower and I observed his mother’s personality all around the house, and I slipped back into my clothes.

I returned to work with a worked out pussy and a smile on my face, and big ‘Fuck you,’ for my mostly anally retentive boss. Damn, a weekend of starvation has made me ravenous. My baby is so worth it, and I just can’t wait to stop coming into this office.

Two and half weeks to go and then that’s it, I’ll be free of this place.

BTW: We talked out many of the issues that came up during my Sunday afternoon tantrum. I don’t know how much of it is resolved exactly, there were definite directives coming out it, but still some stuff up in the air. It’s the stuff that we aren’t ready to let down yet.

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!