Tuesday, December 14, 2004

Meat and Potatoes

I make coffee, prepare lunches and rouse the kids. Jason needs help putting finishing touches on his homework. Lillie argues with me about the clothes she will wear, and I win out by distracting her with cool new hair clips. Collie decides too late that he does in fact want breakfast, so I put a handful of Frosted Mini Wheats into a sandwich bag for him to eat on the way to school.

After dropping them off, I walk the few blocks between their school and Jessica’s apartment. She and I have a date in her bedroom.

Jessica and I have been having sex for about a year. We met through a Craig’s List ad she posted seeking a fuck buddy. I wish I had saved it; I was impressed by it’s forthright language. It said, in essence, that she had no interest in being bothered with relationships, and one-night stands are a drag. She just needed to get laid on a regular basis. She wanted an ongoing thing that wouldn’t get messy.

Her subject heading was something like “Let’s Face It.”

I replied, in concurrence. I was in no place to get involved, and I had no experience with one-night stands, but that didn’t mean I wanted to do without sex. We had a lively email exchange, but . . . she had no photo. She was reluctant to talk on the phone.

For Craig’s Listers, these are all the markings of a tease, or—more likely—some man who gets his jollies by getting straight guys all hot and bothered. I assumed this was leading nowhere.

Then, one day, she called. Would I like to meet for drinks?

We meet near my place. She’s 29, with bobbed chestnut hair, blue eyes, an adorable smile—dimples, even—and an easy laugh. I guess she was satisfied with what she saw in me as well, as we had sex within an hour of meeting.

We get along well so long as I adhere to the rules of the game by fucking her fairly regularly. Early on, if I neglected her for too long, I had to make amends. She would get pissy and annoyed. Then she set me down and made it plain:

Look, I like being with you. I don’t need you to call me all the time. I don’t need you to listen to me talk about my girly “feelings” (a word she never uses without implied air quotes). But I do want you to have sex with me every ten days or so. It’s that simple. I understand that you have a busy life. So do I. But I picked you to fuck, and you need to put out.

Got it.

Now and then, I tried to encourage her to take on another lover for when I was unavailable. In the interests of variety, I offered a threesome. I tried some role play.

No dice.

What she wanted was me, for straight-ahead, no-frills, meat-and-potatoes sex, served hot and regular. We both give terrific head. That’s all good. But really, she needs me so she can fuck.

Meat and potatoes. Side dishes are fine, thanks, but you can save the salad for the rabbits.

As we have become more familiar over time, I have become better at meeting her needs regularly, and she has become more forgiving of my lapses.

Last night, as we made plans to meet, I said we were doing a good job of making this work. She said, “Too many people want to find people who can fulfill their own neuroses, their own needs. Who wants that? You pick up enough baggage in life; you want to add to that with other people’s stuff? That’s just weird.

“I don’t understand why people aren’t normal. It’s not that complicated to just be yourself, and stay focused on that. That’s normal.”

I apologized that because of business travel and such, it had been a month or so since we were last together. She said, “You barely have time for the things you need to do. You have some super extraordinary thing going on, and you get it done in an exceedingly cute and worthwhile sort of way.

“You have to understand, the time I am away from you makes me want you more. We have the fundamental shit covered. The rest will work itself out.”

That’s about all the foreplay I need.

When I got her place, she answered the door wearing only a slip. “Why so dressy?” I ask, taking off my coat. She usually answers nude. (I tend to do likewise when we meet at my place.)

“I was cold,” she says, kissing me. She got my sweater off in due time. I made short work of the slip.

“I am suddenly very tired,” I say, taking her hand and moving to the bedroom. “ I think I need to lay down.” She pushes me onto her bed, climbs on top of me, and kisses me. She sits up to reach back and fumble with my belt. I slip my arms between her thighs and pull her pussy to my mouth.

She moans, and my hands move to her hips. Feed me your pussy, my hands are telling her. She hears them. She grinds on my mouth.

She opens my pants, and runs her hand on my cock. Soon I am in her.

When she rides me, she has a remarkable way of moving her body. Her hips move with great rapidity, and in counter rhythm to her upper body. I can tell when she is about to cum, as she shifts into an even faster mode, moaning.

She cums.

Last summer, I joined her to swim laps, which she does several times a week. She logged her customary sixty laps. I managed ten lung-searing passes, with gasping breaks between each. As I sat on the pool’s edge recovering, I watched her move through the water with determination, grace and ease. I am keenly aware of her body’s strength and agility when we are making love.

She rolls off me, and takes me atop her. We are kissing, and holding each other very close. She cums. This time, I think, I will keep track of how often she does, but I eventually lose track.

We go at this for about an hour and a half. I notice the time on her clock as we lay together, pressed very close, touching each other’s skin. I adjust a bit so there is no space between us. I want the feel of her flesh.

As long as we are so close, we may as well kiss. As long as we are kissing, I may as well have my cock in her. So much for our break. We go again.

She has worked up an appetite and we make lunch. Medallions of filet mignon, wrapped in bacon, served with creamed spinach. I never eat beef, but this seems a reasonable moment to make an exception. She pops the cork on a bottle of champagne. No special occasion: she goes through champagne like soda pop. We eat nude.

We have a little time before I need to go. We are back in bed for more, and I fuck her fast, trying to match her gyrations. When she cums, she is on the edge of the bed, and I am holding her legs back, firm. I am standing on the floor, on my toes, my cock deep inside her. “Enough, enough,” she says. “I can’t take anymore.”

I lean back and move my cock in and out of her, slowly, deeply. Almost entirely out, deep inside. Easy. “Is this okay,” I ask?

“This is very nice, oh yes,” she smiles.

The sun is shining through her window onto us. I am looking at our bodies, her face, watching my cock slide in and out of her. I pull out, and cum on her soft skin. My body jerks and twitches with the intensity of it.

I fall back on her and we kiss.

It’s 2:30, and I need to go pick up my kids. We’ve been at it since 9:00. I shower quickly, we kiss again, and I go. She says goodbye, naked in the doorway.

On the way to school, I buy some rugalah for the kids.

1 comment:

Dacia said...

"On the way to school, I buy some rugalah for the kids."

And THAT is exactly what I've always loved about your writing. You hammer away with an intense passion about something that seems almost unreal, and then you throw in a closing line like that, so casual, so beautiful, so real.