The Irresistible Force

It’s been about five hours since the Terminator started torturing my sweet spot. We lie in a tangle of limbs, cum-stained sheets, and stray condom wrappers. Violet twilight floats in through the window, enveloping us.In the semi-darkness, we look like bodies at a crime scene; splayed haphazardly and totally depleted. The little strength we have left is used to take sips of   much-needed water and for an occasional caress. I’m face down on the bed and don’t have the strength to turn over. Idly, I wonder if I can walk, then I doze off.

When I wake up, the bedside lamp is on and he is lying next to me watching me, playing with my belly button. Apparently, I managed to turn on my side in my sleep. I stretch, look at him and smile.

“Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,” I say.
He laughs like I’ve never seen — full and loud, completely unguarded. His face looks wonderful when he laughs. I reach out to touch his cheek and takes my hand, kisses my palm and slides close to me.

“How are you?” He asks. Did I hurt you? I — you make me crazy. I lost it at the end there, I’m sorry.”

I feel battered but fantastic. As I’ve said before, when Terminator fucks me, he renews me on a cellular level. I can feel it like a fire rushing through my bloodstream.

I move closer to him and he holds me close (my brain is like, bad pattern, bad pattern, bad, bad BAD pattern)

“I’m fine,” I say.  “At least I think I am. I won’t be sure until I stand up, which I don’t know if I can do, you beast,” I laugh.

He holds me tight and whispers into my shoulder — “I didn’t even play with the restraints because when I saw you tied down, I had to be inside you, and I love that you can take it when I fuck you hard, that you can take me — that you don’t stop me — and it makes me…”

“I thought we were going to die, but I loved every second, and I’m fine.” I look into his face to reassure him. He is truly concerned that he unleashed some wild beast on me, which I suppose he did. But I have a beast too, and she was very, very happy. I kissed him to reassure him, and in seconds we were making out, entwined around each other, me wet and moaning with desire, and he hard as a rock, in heat again.

This is insane, I thought to myself as I hungrily guided his cock into my hot, wet pussy. Again. It was as if our bodies couldn’t stop fucking each other.We could barely move from exhaustion, so it was one of those where once he got deep inside, I writhed on his delicious cock, he against me, moaned and grunted in pleasure until I brought myself to orgasm. Then he pumped me a few more delicious times and came with a subdued shudder. We fell asleep still clutching each other and with his cock still inside me.

We woke up about an hour later and peeled our bodies off each other, laughing at the pain — our skin had stuck together like duct tape. Our very pores were trying to fuck each other, I thought. “We need to get out of bed before we kill each other,” I said.

“You’re free for dinner?” Yes I was. It was a Friday night and my son was with his father for the weekend. J and I were not together at that point, but we reunited soon after.

I got out of bed and my knees buckled. Seriously. He caught me and sat me down on the bed, laughing.  “Fuck you,” I said, smiling.
“I did, that’s why you can’t walk,” he chided. I couldn’t even be embarrassed.

He left the room for a moment and came back with a more water and orange cut up in wedges on a small plate. “You’re just dehydrated and your blood sugar is probably low, ” he said, feeding me an orange wedge with his fingers. He knelt in front of me and made me eat the whole orange, making me take the wedges from his teeth so he could kiss me with each wedge.

He held me around the waist when I stood up again without incident and walked across the large bedroom to the master bath. He walked to the huge sunken tub and turned on the water, got some scented bubble bath and squirted it into the tub.  The toilet was in a little closet across the room and I slipped inside to use it.
The bathwater made the air warm and smelled delicious. When I came out, the tub was surrounded by candles and he was sitting on the edge of it, waiting for me. It looked beautiful, and I thought, I have to tell him, because this looked like major feelings, and….

“You look worried,” he said (damn these hyper-observant motherfuckers). “I’m not proposing or anything,” he laughed. He looked at me for a long moment. I just wanted to experience this with you.” he said quietly. “I’ve been thinking about it for a long time.” My heart. My heart.

His gaze was full of desire and something else I couldn’t pin down.

He got into the water and pulled me in. The temperature was perfect, and the water felt silky against my skin. He sat down in the water and pulled me to sit on his lap, facing away from him (you pervs, lol) and we just leaned back in the candlelight and relaxed.

I heard soft music coming from somewhere. Familiar music. I sat up when I realized it was the playlist. OUR playlist, that I started putting together after we first met. The playlist I’ve been listening to all this time to think about him, invoke him and write about him. I sent it to him ages ago and he never mentioned it. It filled the air around us.

I turned around and looked at him. “I thought you hated it,” I said.
“I never said that,” he said.  He came toward me and grabbed a big bath sponge from a basket on the edge of the tub wet it with the soapy water. He pulled me to him and began to clean/massage me with it, as the strains of Chet Baker, Bill Evans, and Wynton Marsalis played our slow, jazzy sexy music.

Terminator used that sponge as an exploratory device. He cleaned/caressed every inch of my body with it, often kissing a spot after the soap had been washed away. He concentrated like he was committing every inch and crevice of me to memory as if he would be asked to draw me from memory. When he was done, it was my turn, and I caressed his body with the same attention, fascination and hunger, massaging his lean strong muscles, inhaling his scent, running my hands over ridges and valleys of muscle and tendon, drinking him in for what may be the last time. I know it has to be, but I still can’t believe it. And it’s that disbelief that will destroy me if I let it.

We’re facing each other, looking into each other’s eyes knowing everything. Knowing nothing. He sits back and pulls me back, onto his lap and we stay there a long while letting the candlelight and music wash over us. Soon we are kissing, a slow, sweet kiss that started simply and ended with me sitting astride him, and his erect cock between us.

“I’m sorry,” he says ruefully.
I kiss him and lower myself onto his cock. Ooooohhhhh sooooooo delicious. We both moan, and I stay there for a moment, his cock twitching inside me, while we savor the sensation. Our pleasure is more than feeling, it’s an event, a natural wonder, a miracle. Holy. That pause is an obeisance to the magic we produce. I make this a slow one, feeling every inch of pleasure, slooooly up and down, back and forth. Loving every inch of him, killing him softly. He’s squeezing my ass and when he starts biting and sucking my nipples I throw my head back in surrender to the alchemy of our bodies, to our desire, and to our response to each other. Every caress and kiss he bestowed on me had a corresponding response/reaction in my pussy or in my muscles. Our bodies were speaking a language we didn’t know existed. I rode his precious cock until I had to come or die, scratching, biting and splashing the bath water halfway across the room.

But he wasn’t done (of course). He bent me over the edge of the tub and fucked me slowly, savoring my insatiable pussy and her squeezing response, slowly pulling out and going all, all the way deep into her, and savoring that velvet squeeze, making me whimper and writhe, and then pulling out almost all the way so that I could feel his tip throbbing just inside me, matching my heartbeat.
“Please.”  “Please,” I begged.

He didn’t move, but I could hear him breathing hard. His grip on my hips was like iron.
I writhed against him moaning in protest.
Fuck Me.”

And he slapped my ass so hard I yelped, and then rammed me.
slam-slam-slam-slam-slam-slam, until we were both screaming and I gushed all over the tub.

A few minutes later, we walked into the shower stall to clean up and in the mirror we looked like two zombies. Sex zombies. We were starving and we showered and dressed quickly so we could go get something to eat.


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Darkness Descends

I mentioned my history of depression way back when I started this blog and have referred to it a couple of times since then, but I haven’t gotten into it because I haven’t been depressed or on medication since 2011 or the end of 2010, I don’t quite recall.

 At the beginning of the year I still felt great; like a race car read to roll. Full of energy and optimism, I resolved to accomplish a lot and I did. I started dating and fucking again; I started working out again and lost 30 pounds; and professionally I accomplished several goals that I hadn’t had the stamina or focus to tackle before. I felt renewed and reborn. I was especially happy because I had been off medication for quite some time.

I told Mr. Jones fairly quickly about my diagnosis and history with medication, because he needed to know and I needed to make sure he was ok with it. He understood and is fine with it. Around the middle of December, I started feeling…different. I knew immediately that it was coming back and I was infuriated (how could I be depressed? I was getting laid and falling in love!) and went into denial. I waited, hoping that I was mistaken and that my ennui and sadness were caused by the weather or something. At some point I recall talking to Mr. Jones and telling him that I felt funny and that I would probably end up going to the doctor and get back on the meds. We discussed it a bit and he said he supported me in whatever I needed to do to feel healthy.

In the Shadows

By the end of the year, I had stopped working out, stopped writing, stopped reading. The only time I was happy was when I was with Mr. Jones or the Terminator.  But I realized I was truly in love with Mr. Jones. ate one night when I woke up to go to the bathroom and he popped into my head, along with all the warm fuzzy feelings, and the certainty that it was serious, and what that meant and then… I had a full-blown panic attack. My heart started racing, I started sweating and trembling, my brain was going a mile a minute, until I caught it and stopped myself. I took deep breaths, calmed myself, and splashed cold water on my face until I eventually calmed down. Then I laughed about it. If the thought of true love gave me panic attacks, I was more emotionally fucked up than I imagined.

Late one night I woke up to go to the bathroom and Mr. Jones popped into my thoughts, along with all the warm fuzzy feelings, the certainty that it was serious, and what that meant and then… I had a full-blown panic attack. My heart started racing, I started sweating and trembling, my brain was going a mile a minute and my thoughts were speeding out of control. Then I caught it. “Get a grip, woman,” I told myself. I took deep breaths, calmed myself, and splashed cold water on my face until I eventually calmed down. Then I laughed about it. If the thought of true love gave me panic attacks, I was more emotionally fucked up than I imagined.

Finally last month I got back on medication, and I felt a slight improvement immediately, but the drug has to accumulate in your body before an appreciable improvement happens. I am improving but it is sloooow. I hate the wait.

When I mentioned all this to my best friend, she asked me what triggered the descent (there is usually a trigger). I thought and thought, but couldn’t come up with anything. A few days later, when I decided to clean out my email inboxes and get organized for working again, I discovered that I stopped working and doing research around the time of my last tryst with the Terminator. Then it all became clear.

At that December meeting with Terminator I told him about Mr. Jones and that it would be our last time together. Deep down, I had wanted him to fight for me, to tell me he loved me and wanted me exclusively; to claim me and ask for a relationship.

I had wanted him to act on the emotions that his body conveyed to me in the throes of passion. I wanted this even though I love Mr. Jones, and even though I know Terminator is in no way monogamous. It was completely unreasonable, but that is how I felt. And of course, he didn’t say anything of the kind. So I was hit with the reality that we were over (or soon would be). And letting him go (emotionally) sent me over the edge.

When I realized this, it made perfect sense. It was a pattern. My entire life, whenever a relationship ended I fall into a deep, deep depression. It stems from my father’s abandonment, an event that scarred me so deeply that here I am, forty years after the fact, suffering. I am always falling hard for the guy who can’t or won’t love me the way I deserve, like my father. On some level it seems that I’ve been hoping to change the ending to that story and have the unavailable guy (and all of them were) open his heart and love me the way that I’ve always wanted to be loved; to finally heal that wound and erase the rejection that my father scorched into my soul. It has taken me all this time to realize emotionally that all this time I’ve been falling for the same type of man in the hopes that this time he will choose me, stay with me, love me. I’ve been a broken record for 40 years…but how beautiful, how fortunate that I’ve finally figured it out, and am breaking the pattern.

I’m letting it go, to love the man does love me deeply and is proving it every day and in every way.

I’m fully ready to do that now. And I will be lighting a candle with the tattered remains of my Catholicism, to the patron saint of broken-hearted little girls.

Image: original source unknown. I do not own image or copyright.


A couple of days after that amazing tryst with the Terminator I was off to spend a couple of days with Mr. Jones. It had been almost a month since we had been able to have a weekend together and we were excited.
We talk and text everyday, sometimes Skype at night and when I have space in my schedule we spend a day together (he’s off work until June), but I always have to run home for my son. We hadn’t spend an entire night together in about a month.

We had all sorts of plans, places to go, drives to take etc. Within minutes of arriving at his place I was undressed (as was he) and we were curled up on the sofa watching movies, and caressing each other, in a state of bliss I’ve never experienced before. When he wrapped his arms around me I actually said, “God, I’m home, I’m home.” It’s like I have no peace until I’m warm and safe (and naked) in his arms.

We lay naked and spooning for a long time, in a state of contentment and bliss so profound it was practically transcendental. All we need or want is to be in each other’s arms, skin to skin. Our languorous arousal was constant but without urgency. We played with each other, satisfied each other and would return to our blissful embrace.  This lasted all weekend. We didn’t get dressed until Monday, when I had to go back home.

After what happened last time with the toy I decided I wouldn’t use it again until we had worked out his issues with it. We would just play without it, and I would have to forgo penetration. It turned out to be the best decision because he was more relaxed, playful and after an amazing session gave me multiple orgasms using just two fingers (yes, he’s talented), then he slipped on a condom and fucked me into a coma. Wonderful. Ironic. Horny.

I really believe that everything happens for a reason, and I think that the reason Terminator and J. are both in my life at the same time is so that I can see clearly for the first time, the difference between a real relationship and…whatever the thing with Terminator is, which is my pattern.

Mr. Jones and I are slowly falling deeply in love, and for the first time I know what that looks like and feels like, and its beautiful. Every day I’m more positive that Terminator and I will end in three months (this year is flying by), without regrets. Well maybe a little regret. But ending it won’t be painful, because I’m giving him up for something wonderful.

Image: original source unknown. I do not own the image or copyright and no infringement is intended.

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