The things I would do for you

We have begun to obsessively send each other text and photo messages via cell phone throughout the day. Photos in bed in the morning, photos before sleeping at night, in the nightgown, in the back yard, in the recording studio. As much as I crave connection with him, and enjoy catching a glimpse of his daily life without me, I hope this cools down, it’s so distracting. For both of us. Neither of us is sleeping well. Or working effectively, for that matter.

News from the wife. Big surprise. I am desperate to see him, but I have absolutely no desire to be in that place. To tell you the truth, if I knew that the other woman was even considering seeing my husband in my own home, invading my territory, knowing my children, being in the safety and comfort of my own space, I would turn into a vortex of something hideous and evil the likes of which mortals have rarely seen:

The [movie] will be dragging out longer than they originally said.  So

let's not use that as a factor at all.  The fact that we both have lots of

work to do is sort of a given at this point.  I have no LA trips scheduled.

Unfortunately the production of the movie is up in 
Toronto and I

really don't want to go back there.  The perspective of having you here is

wonderful, and this would be the weekend, unless you want to meet [my wife]

in the process    And my kids would have to meet you.  And [my wife] has 

sort of set a boundary that our respective lovers don't come to our house.

That's subject to change, but I'd like to respect it, although my feeling

points in a different direction . . .  Let's not go there at this point.

So: when am I going to come to LA?  I might have to do it for one purpose

only: to see you.  What a novel idea.  Nice one, too.

Strangely, I’m not jealous of his wife, the relationship they have is complex and strange and very much their own, and I don’t deny them that. I am jealous of his Tantrica. I received this email today, and try to be reasonable about it, but I know that there is a woman in Los Angeles manipulating him to “open his channels” and I have a feeling that means she is touching him in places only I get to touch, in ways I haven’t figured out yet. Bitch. He says this is to clear sexual blockages he has been suffering through (he has) but I am selfish and want him to put it in me, and not her. I am unwilling to share, even if it means better sex with me in the long run (sex, so far, is the best I have ever had, I think, and I’ve had my fair share). I don’t think I’m unreasonable about that. Hypocritical maybe, but still, not unreasonable. 

To close this letter he writes:  

I could also imagine doing a session with her together (if you would be open for that).  Learning together and growing together.  I feel less and less polyamorously inclined and am certainly not into having anything remotely like sex with anybody else but you.  I hope you can see and feel this as a very sincere statement and not just some calming-your-mind-strategy.  I really don’t want to do that kind of thing ever again.  

*

A session with her together? Are you fucking kidding me? Of course if he wanted to do it I would, I’m irrationally curious. And catty. And skeptical. And critical. I don’t like the idea that he has an intimacy with her that I don’t have with him. I need to see what she does. And how he reacts to it.

I’m feeling really guilty about posting all of this email he sends to me. If he found out it would be over for sure. I think it must be some passive-aggressive method of exerting some kind of control over a situation in which I sometimes feel is completely out of my hands. Of course I could end it all with one phone call, one email. But I won’t. I’m not done with him yet. I’ve only just begun.

As I sit here and type this my pussy is still aching from the hours of finger fucking I received last night from *. He got back from Toronto early because the director was happy with the film score, so he was able to stay at my place for the first time before going back to his wife.

He has amazing hands and long elegant fingers that belie the thick cock he has and is able to stimulate my g-spot and my clit in this beautifully orchestrated rhythmically mesmerizing way. When I am with him I am slick with juice as soon as he touches the small of my back or the nape of my neck and after his attentive ministrations we are lost in a pool of my own creation.

We used the last condom that J and I didn’t use on Saturday, then proceded to - for the first time-  fuck without protection. He feels bad about our lack of caution, but I didn’t care. My legs were pulling him into me the whole time, my body screaming give it to me, plant it, keep it in.

He slaps my ass and thighs sometimes, but won’t really hurt me. He says he is shy and doesn’t want to, it’s not his thing, this he knows from his training in the brothels of Berlin in the early eighties. I’m thinking, you could hold me down a little harder, slam you cock into me with more force, bite my neck again, I don’t mind the marks, and I know you don’t either. The bed creaks and the roommate is asleep two doors away but I can bite my arm or suck your fingers and will keep quiet enough so that you aren’t so self conscious about it all.

He tells me before I go to class this morning that he gives his wife an alternate phone number when he travels just in case there is an emergency with the kids, or if his cell phone service doesn’t work. He tells me that this time he gave his wife my cell phone number. Just in case. She’s a reasonable person, he says. Very balanced, very aware. My god. The rational side of me says there really is no other solution but that, the emotional side of me says, beware of the impending ambush.

What I should have done is break up with him on the phone instead of allowing him to drive down here. I saw him in person and couldn’t do it. I was told that I woudn’t have the guts and that I would would probably end up fucking him, and they were right, I did. We had mid-afternoon drinks and then he pulled my hair hard and licked my face and came on my stomach.

I think he is really becoming attached and is testing out the love word in innocuous conversation. When he kisses me his lips linger. After he fucks me he caresses my hand. He looks at me from across the table and says “I feel lucky to know you.” I don’t have the heart to tell him that I’m in love with someone else.

I’ll do it next time, for sure. But not if I have to see his face, or his thighs, or that place on the inside of his arm that is so smooth and soft and hard at the same time.

Of course he’s referring to a different blog, but I thought he had discovered this one, and so soon! But holy shit, do I feel guilty posting this, from him:

I have nothing against the blog (so far), but I really don’t want anybody to read our e-mails.  :-)

Love,

*

Me to him:

Coming across too desperate? Am I too desperate looking at my phone all the time to see if you have called? Trying to linger on the phone even though I really have nothing to say so I can still hear your voice? You can have me with the clogs, without the clogs, but the over-the-knee striped socks are hot and should be taken to bed for sure. I wonder what my face looks like when I am walking home from class visualizing your dick inside of me while I have the vibrator pressed up against my clit and your thumb pressing against my ass…

love and kisses and licks all over,

Kitty

His reply:

So now the dirty talk has really entered the realm of e-mail?  Aha.  I’m not judging that, BTW.  Just noticing.  To clarify:  it was my right index finger and it was inside your ass.  But I understand that the little pocket rocket creates an intense sensation that might blur the senses a bit.  Not a bad thing.  Who needs to stay completely clear during a passionate encounter?  That would kind of defy the purpose.  Altered states bring us closer to enlightenment, which is why sex should totally be sacred and accepted as a divine act, at least when exercised the right way (which should be taught to adolescents).  Maybe we can work on that in our own time, since we’ve been so neglected in that department.  Where was our holy mother the Catholic church when we needed her?

*