Sunday, August 25, 2013

Je Suis Perdu

It was a perfect August Friday afternoon. We met in a hotel in the FiDi. I had suggested we "get a room" the day after we made out like teenagers on the park bench and she said, "Are you crazy? Spend all that money? You can just wait until I'm an empty nester again". But the delicious sexual tension grew and she agreed to allow me to go ahead and make a hotel reservation. Now, I've never done the love in the afternoon thing with a room that I rent for overnight. Do I tip the maid? When I check out will they smirk knowingly that I wished for clean sheets and an hourly rate? She-Who-Visits used to get hotels to give her a "day rate" when she plied her trade back in the day. No day rates in our world today. Believe me I tried.

But once I'd made the res I felt totally right about it. And so she and I met at the hotel's wine bar. She kissed me wet and hot and sat down. "I'm nervous", she whispered. "Me too", I confessed. "No you aren't", she followed. Really I was nervous. Mostly about whether what so far seemed like a perfect lightening strike would crash and burn. And of course I worried about getting it up. Am I the only guy who worries about getting it up?

The concierge delivered the hotel key to our table. She definitely gave me a "you naughty boy" look. I'm sure she did. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. So we went up to the room. When I tried to sneak my Levitra into my mouth and Mi Goddessa asked what I was doing I told her it was an insurance policy pill and she just smiled.

In our little den of sin I did a slow strip tease as she lay back on the bed and watched. Then I found the generic fancy lotion mid-level hotels like to use to convince you that you are among the luxuriously moneyed class. I started on her feet and she was moaning. The next thing I knew I was having the most incredible mind blowing straight vanilla sex of my life. No lie. We ravished each other. For hours. We fucked like bunnies and made love like it was the last time we'd ever see each other.

So? Is vanilla a gateway fetish? Should I stop writing about kink and focus on a gazillion kama sutra positions? I swear I feel like a little kid in a candy shop. Can I have another please? Can we try that thing I haven't done in like 25 years? Oh please!!!

Actually, quick as its been I think I've fallen in love with La Goddessa De Vainilla. She is not a domme. But she's open to exploring all things kinky. She's been reading my blog and thinks Veronica is unbelievably hot. She loves the retro lingerie sites I've shown her. Most of all we connect. Now this is a relationship that could just so easily disintegrate. I can't give her the love and attention she wants right now and caring for my wife will always come first. But I've imagined a life with Maitresse Vainilla in such brilliant detail that it's scary. What am I going to do? I have no clue. But for now I'm lost in romance.

Que voy hacer je ne sais pas. Que voy hacer je suis perdu a mi carina vainillita.

Sunday, August 4, 2013

Recortes Pequeñitos

She hit on me on the date site. Interested in kinky and no commitment. She seemed exotic but grounded with the most mischievous and licentious of grins. We began a text/sext affair that lasted almost ten breathless days. She grew up the child of privilege in a mysteriously beautiful South American country riven with struggle, hope, and blood. She lived in Paris where she learned French and furious fashion. She was a Barcelonita muy bonita. And she's lived a stone's throw from me in the country for many years. I knew I knew her and yet couldn't place it. No parties, no chance passings in town. It was from another life we'd lived together for though we knew many in common we'd never met.

We planned to remedy that but her conscience caused a delay. If she was looking for her next great love she was spending precious time if she dallied with me not going anywhere she'd set as an emotional goal. I totally got that but was devastated nonetheless as by that time I had many pictures of her to ignite my flights of fancy. She swam across lakes at sunset, cutting the water smoothly under twilight sky. She rode horses. I imagined her at a canter wearing tight cream jodhpurs and a prim white shirt buttoned to the neck. And there was the riding crop...

So when she cancelled I got it but was devastated. And then she came back, confessing distraction from her search. With my wife temporarily out of town, we met, drank, and dined with a view of the lights coming up across the awakening of a perfect Manhattan summer's night. Then we found a park bench by the river and made out like teenagers. A kid rode by on his bike and skidded to a stop right next to us. "Damn", he yelled, "This is Make Out Paradise!!" We collapsed laughing and saw two other couples going at it down the bench.

She'd made me speak to her in Spanish over dinner and pronounced that I spoke well. She was being charitable, but she did say I should install the Spanish keyboard on my phone. So the next morning she texted that she'd awoken to thoughts of our "besos mordelones". She loved our kisses that bit. I rejoined that she'd left "recortes pequeñitos en mis labios codiciosos". No, I haven't had a sex change operation. I wrote she gave "little cuts to my greedy lips". She called me a poeta. I told her I'd cheated on her with Google Translator. She told me I needed much correction.

So we shall see. If I get lucky we'll soon be up all night tryin' na get some.