My ears have popped for the last time this year; I've endured airplane food for the last time this year; I've cozied up to family for the last time this year; I've most likely eaten roasted pears and pumpkin cake for the last time this year. And I'm pretty happy about it. Now I can go back to showering for more than fifteen minutes on a weekend (damn water heaters). I can wake up at 2:38 am and get myself off and SCREAM as I come. Because I don't have four generations of people sleeping or cavorting around. It's just me and a box of takeout beef noodle soup right now. Oh and delicious home-baked cookies I stocked up before departing. Yes, life is well. Home is good.
In NH, my mother noted how glowy I looked. "Something's going on with you," she said. "Is there a man in your life?"
Um...well...technically yes. There is a man, but I don't want her to know that. I'd much rather keep Steven a secret for now. And yes he called, and we had REALLY GOOD phone sex, and I had to be quiet, so he did all the talking. He was very efficient, and I think he may moonlight as a phone sex operator. What pushed me over was when he said, "I know you want me to be rough with you." God, YES. Be rough, I thought, as pleasure flooded my body. In an antiseptic environment such as a New England house, I longed for filth. I longed to hear the nastiness flowing from his incredibly sexy throat. Under my cover -- in darkeners -- I got myself off three times. I've never wanted him to touch me more than I did in NH, listening to his voice, his breathing, his arousal. So, yes, there is a man, but he's my little secret.
But let's talk about home. I'm here and loving it. Already, I've shampooed, ate stale granola bars, and organized my laptop files. I'm doing laundry, sorting through various Christmas presents, deciding on which to donate and which ones to keep. I'm really feeling good.
Plus, I just learned that Viv is throwing a New Year's Eve party with the theme of Debauchery. I'm thinking of inviting Steven. Heaven knows that's right up his alley.
Did I mention I'm home? Oh, I did? Well let's fucking celebrate!
In NH, my mother noted how glowy I looked. "Something's going on with you," she said. "Is there a man in your life?"
Um...well...technically yes. There is a man, but I don't want her to know that. I'd much rather keep Steven a secret for now. And yes he called, and we had REALLY GOOD phone sex, and I had to be quiet, so he did all the talking. He was very efficient, and I think he may moonlight as a phone sex operator. What pushed me over was when he said, "I know you want me to be rough with you." God, YES. Be rough, I thought, as pleasure flooded my body. In an antiseptic environment such as a New England house, I longed for filth. I longed to hear the nastiness flowing from his incredibly sexy throat. Under my cover -- in darkeners -- I got myself off three times. I've never wanted him to touch me more than I did in NH, listening to his voice, his breathing, his arousal. So, yes, there is a man, but he's my little secret.
But let's talk about home. I'm here and loving it. Already, I've shampooed, ate stale granola bars, and organized my laptop files. I'm doing laundry, sorting through various Christmas presents, deciding on which to donate and which ones to keep. I'm really feeling good.
Plus, I just learned that Viv is throwing a New Year's Eve party with the theme of Debauchery. I'm thinking of inviting Steven. Heaven knows that's right up his alley.
Did I mention I'm home? Oh, I did? Well let's fucking celebrate!