Chris and I lasted as long as we were meant to. The situation bears a remarkable resemblance to one that happened three years ago with another gentleman and another wife finding out and that gentleman's desire to do what he could to tend to his family. Yes, it's sad; there was a great foundation of friendship there. However, I certainly can't fault him - either of the "hims" - for making that choice, because I'd have made the same one. Come to think of it, I did myself one time.
The first situation - the one three years ago - led to tears and a reunion in just a couple of months. That was three years ago, and I just spoke to the gentleman last on Thursday. Chris and I are hoping that history will repeat itself with us, that things will settle down and he and I will be able to resume the friendship. As with Jeff, though, there's not really any telling when that will happen, but I sense it will. I cried the tears for my loss, but I also cried the ones that he couldn't shed. After all, big bad Naval officers aren't supposed to cry in uniform.
16 March 2009
10 March 2009
The Massage
His eyes pierced me, his green gaze gazing into my soul as he poured the massage oil into his hand, watching me hotly as he warmed the cool liquid before letting it slowly drip from his hands onto my skin. My lips parted on a moan and my eyes fluttered shut at the first sensual caress, the oil making his hands glide effortlessly over the dips and mounds of my waist before they moved up to cup and rub my full, aching breasts. He kneaded the pale globes, his fingers occasionally brushing the darkened aureolae, taunting the sensitive peaks with the touch they were craving.
Leaving my breasts, he slicked the oil down to my belly, softly caressing the firm mound where the baby grew. Responding to his touch, the baby kicked against his hand. With a soft chuckle, he continued to rub oil over the taut skin before moving his hand down to my bare woman's mound. Oil-slickened fingers parted my folds, finding the hard nubbin hidden in their depths, before venturing further down to my slit. The oil mixed with my juices as he teasingly slid just the tip of his finger into my hole.
He left my core to refresh the oil in his hands before slicking the oil down my legs, rubbing and caressing the muscular, curvy limbs. I rolled to my side on his request so he could work his magic on the back of my body. Fireworks went off as he rubbed the sensitive bottoms of my feet, his fingers slipping in between my toes. His hands kneaded my calves, then teased the hollows behind my knees, soliciting a groan of pleasure. Strong fingers lightly massaged the backs of my thighs, working up to the soft, firm globes of my ass. A single digit dipped in the valley, teasing the tight pucker.
Unable to bear the teasing any longer, I rolled over suddenly, taking advantage of his momentary surprise to grab the bottle of massage oil.
To Be Continued...
Leaving my breasts, he slicked the oil down to my belly, softly caressing the firm mound where the baby grew. Responding to his touch, the baby kicked against his hand. With a soft chuckle, he continued to rub oil over the taut skin before moving his hand down to my bare woman's mound. Oil-slickened fingers parted my folds, finding the hard nubbin hidden in their depths, before venturing further down to my slit. The oil mixed with my juices as he teasingly slid just the tip of his finger into my hole.
He left my core to refresh the oil in his hands before slicking the oil down my legs, rubbing and caressing the muscular, curvy limbs. I rolled to my side on his request so he could work his magic on the back of my body. Fireworks went off as he rubbed the sensitive bottoms of my feet, his fingers slipping in between my toes. His hands kneaded my calves, then teased the hollows behind my knees, soliciting a groan of pleasure. Strong fingers lightly massaged the backs of my thighs, working up to the soft, firm globes of my ass. A single digit dipped in the valley, teasing the tight pucker.
Unable to bear the teasing any longer, I rolled over suddenly, taking advantage of his momentary surprise to grab the bottle of massage oil.
To Be Continued...
24 February 2009
A Monday Morning Surprise
The frigid cold winter air snaked under my full-length black wool coat as I stood by the gas pump. My day’s to-do list ran through my head: Grind the meat as soon as I get home, cook it for the chili and get that going, load the dishwasher, shower and make soap. Music poured out of the speakers overhead, but I didn’t pay much attention to it. Cars drove in and out, just as normal. In fact, it was pretty much like any other stop at this particular gas station. I thought.
Soon after I started filling my tank, I noticed a taupe minivan pull up on the other side of the pump. Pretty unremarkable. Then I caught a flash of… blue camo? Considerably more remarkable, as I live at least three hours from the coast. Underneath this uniform was… Hmmmm… What’s this? A pretty attractive 40-something man. The morning just got a bit more interesting. Then I saw a patch over his chest that read “U.S. Navy,” even more remarkable, as we don’t have any Naval bases in our state. Something about him looked vaguely familiar, as did his minivan. I peered around the gas pump to check out his license plate. Oooooh! I’d seen this guy in his van a million times before. He’s got a personalized plate, and I used to always see him – at least 3 days a week, sometimes twice a day – on this one stretch of road I’d go down. From his profile at 40 mph, I’d decided he was rather nice-looking. And now… Now I was getting to see him at a stand-still, in person, only a gas pump island separating us.
Surreptitiously, I kept going up on tiptoes, hoping for a better look at him. All too soon, my pump clicked off, signaling the end of my fill-up. I was replacing my gas cap when I heard his click off, too. With a sigh, I turned to go around my car and head home. Then his voice stopped me. “Visitor, where?” I’d forgotten I still had my visitor’s pass on my coat from when I’d taken my daughter to school. I told him where she attends, and he asked me how we like it. From there, the conversation segued into a brief discussion of interests and work, eventually culminating in an introduction and the exchange of business cards, then the possibility of setting up a play date with our kids. We had to part company, him to go to work, me to home.
I laughed all the way home, marveling at how I’d ever been able to attract the attention of such an attractive man. I mean, I was one notch more presentable than “fresh-out-of-bed,” and that notch was simply the fact that I was dressed. I wore no makeup, I had a case of bedhead going on, topped off by morning breath laced with coffee. After all, in the daily drop-off, I don’t ever actually get close to anyone. Still, the memory of Chris stayed with me all day.
It’s been a whole week – a week of text messages, emails, phone calls and face-to-face moments. We’ve talked about a little of everything and we’ve grappled with new and growing feelings that seem to be taking both of us by surprise. Thanks goodness, we don’t agree on everything, but at least we can talk about it. One thing we can agree on, though, is, we don’t want this wonderful thing to end.
I'm glad you're a part of my life, my precious Gent, and I'm quite happy being your dear Lady.
Soon after I started filling my tank, I noticed a taupe minivan pull up on the other side of the pump. Pretty unremarkable. Then I caught a flash of… blue camo? Considerably more remarkable, as I live at least three hours from the coast. Underneath this uniform was… Hmmmm… What’s this? A pretty attractive 40-something man. The morning just got a bit more interesting. Then I saw a patch over his chest that read “U.S. Navy,” even more remarkable, as we don’t have any Naval bases in our state. Something about him looked vaguely familiar, as did his minivan. I peered around the gas pump to check out his license plate. Oooooh! I’d seen this guy in his van a million times before. He’s got a personalized plate, and I used to always see him – at least 3 days a week, sometimes twice a day – on this one stretch of road I’d go down. From his profile at 40 mph, I’d decided he was rather nice-looking. And now… Now I was getting to see him at a stand-still, in person, only a gas pump island separating us.
Surreptitiously, I kept going up on tiptoes, hoping for a better look at him. All too soon, my pump clicked off, signaling the end of my fill-up. I was replacing my gas cap when I heard his click off, too. With a sigh, I turned to go around my car and head home. Then his voice stopped me. “Visitor, where?” I’d forgotten I still had my visitor’s pass on my coat from when I’d taken my daughter to school. I told him where she attends, and he asked me how we like it. From there, the conversation segued into a brief discussion of interests and work, eventually culminating in an introduction and the exchange of business cards, then the possibility of setting up a play date with our kids. We had to part company, him to go to work, me to home.
I laughed all the way home, marveling at how I’d ever been able to attract the attention of such an attractive man. I mean, I was one notch more presentable than “fresh-out-of-bed,” and that notch was simply the fact that I was dressed. I wore no makeup, I had a case of bedhead going on, topped off by morning breath laced with coffee. After all, in the daily drop-off, I don’t ever actually get close to anyone. Still, the memory of Chris stayed with me all day.
It’s been a whole week – a week of text messages, emails, phone calls and face-to-face moments. We’ve talked about a little of everything and we’ve grappled with new and growing feelings that seem to be taking both of us by surprise. Thanks goodness, we don’t agree on everything, but at least we can talk about it. One thing we can agree on, though, is, we don’t want this wonderful thing to end.
I'm glad you're a part of my life, my precious Gent, and I'm quite happy being your dear Lady.
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