Tonight, I had a tentatively scheduled date with BFD.  We have been apart for 11 days and he emailed me to ask me out yesterday, but I was not convinced it would happen.  I called him at 530 to confirm we were off, since I had not heard from him.  No news is bad news with how bad things have been.  I knew it was more about the idea of seeing each other than actually seeing each other.  When I called, he answered and was stressed and distracted, trying to solve a problem.  I asked him if I could help, whether fresh eyes would make it easier.  He thanked me, but declined, which is fine.  He said he’d call me later — nice, but gratuitous, since he rarely calls back.

Rather than meet my friends downtown, I remained on the sofa and worked, wondering when he would be off again and when we might next (try to) see each other.  I was also wondering if I would go an entire cycle without being with him.

Around 1030, I was winding down, in bed, still working, when BFD called, which shocked me.  He asked what I was doing . . . (nothing) . . . so he asked me to cab down for an hour and he would drive me back.

Yes, a booty call.

Or, as I really thought of: Yes!  A booty call!  I am so getting laid!  Finally!

I jumped in the shower, put on a little makeup, called a cab, grabbed my bag of tricks (as a surprise for him), and made it there within 30 minutes.  The 5 minutes it took the cabbie to swipe my car and run a print of it were excruciating . . . so close, and yet still in a fucking cab.

Speaking of the cab, I nearly took off my underwear in the cab.  It’s not like I wouldn’t be naked almost immediately, and I thought he’d get a kick out of it.  This is ridiculous, but I really only wear them for post sex, for sitting around in sexy lace boy-shorts or string bikini bottoms, although he likes those since they actually untie.

The door was unlocked, of course, so I walked in.  He was upstairs, so I slipped out of my shoes in the foyer and called up.

BFD came down in a towel.  Now, in addition to be in amazing shape, he is also sporting a great tan.  It’s so unfair.

I hugged and kissed him.  He asked, gratuitously, what I wanted to do. I ran up to use the bathroom while he got us something to drink (water) downstairs.  I came back down and we started kissing while standing up in the middle of the room and immediately got naked.  Of course.

The sex was incredibly hot, more porn-ish than usual (which is saying something), and very physical.  It was almost a getting reacquainted fuck.  He used new moves, of course, as did I, and we were both happy I brought my bag of tricks.

One of the unusual things about our sex life is that, though we’re both on the small side, he is incredibly strong.  That enables us to do things that mere mortals our age cannot.  Okay, it enables him to support both of our weights when my thighs are shaking without either of us bracing on anything, and he’s always good for picking me up and carrying me from place to place without breaking stride.  Yeah, it’s impressive.

At one point, I told him I wanted to watch a new position, so we moved toward the enormous expansive of windows at the end of the room.  It was pitch black outside (nearest neighbors are miles away) and I could see our reflection.  And now I can also say unequivocally, yes, he’s a little taller than I am.

Five location changes, a few orgasms for me, one for him during which he always grasps my hands, incredibly sweet, and we were done.

After, he said, okay, let’s go take a shower.  Um, okay.  As we went up, he told me that he had something sexual he wanted us to do.  It’s something I’ve done before, but I am not necessarily comfortable doing it with him.  Yet.  Still, he had mentioned it a couple of months ago to test our boundaries.  I asked questions and tried to unpack his motivation — is it certain type of fantasy or something he’s really comfortable with?  Unclear at this point.

(Continued . . . )

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