The last time B and I were able to spend any real time together was Easter weekend. Seven weeks. That’s too many. We have seen each other twice in the interim; once, when I went to watch his band, and then we had lunch a couple of weeks ago, when I was passing through his city on my way home from Dallas. Those meetings were lovely, and they definitely topped up my batteries a little, but I missed him terribly. We had tried several times to make overnight plans and life kept cock blocking us.
This past weekend, we finally made it happen. We booked an airbnb for a couple of days. A secluded, private house in the country. Two nights. Just us. Whatever we felt like doing, whenever we felt like doing it. We both needed it, badly. We needed some time to relax, recharge, and fuck the hell out of each other. And we got it.
When he arrived on Sunday evening, I was already naked and waiting for him. He’d asked me to take the lead, put him to work, use him. I’d agreed, very willingly. So when he walked in, I grabbed him to kiss him. He tried to stop me, wanting to set his bags down first. I told him, ‘You asked me to tell you what to do, and I’m telling you to kiss me right now.’ He conceded, and I got my kiss.
We went straight to the bedroom – a challenge in itself, since it was at the top of a very narrow spiral staircase. Not wide enough to accommodate my hips, meaning I had to ascend sideways. And even then, it was a squeeze. It reminded me of that scene in Pete’s Dragon (1977) when Elliott is trying to light the wick in the lighthouse, but his belly is squished in the railings and he can’t get any fire. B was into it. He enjoys my size, and there is something that appeals to him about scenarios where my body does not fit into regular spaces. Fortunately, my days of feeling guilt or shame in those moments are long gone. And, of course, if I did feel badly, he would not enjoy it. As it was, I found it very funny, if mildly inconvenient.
So, eventually, we were upstairs and in bed. I really had wanted to boss him around and use him and do all of those things. But I also was pretty desperate to fuck him immediately. It had been seven weeks. I tried at first, gave him some direction. But within a matter of minutes I told him I just needed him to fuck me. Like, get the fuck inside me and stay there for as long as possible. Please and thank you.
He obliged. It was wonderful. My God, I had missed him. Sex with B is always, always, always incredible. He knows my body so well now. It’s like he has a map in his head of all the places to touch and the best ways to touch them. I love it. I love him.
After the fuckfest, we went out for dinner, and then grocery shopping. We had decided that we didn’t want to leave our spot at all on Monday. We got back to the house, fucked some more, and went to sleep. Happy and satisfied in all of the ways.
We spent our Monday in blissful togetherness. He cooked, we ate, we fucked. We took it in turns to show each other episodes of TV shows we like. Fucked some more. Ate some more. Sat outside and got some sun. Listened to thunder as a storm approached. Watched an incredibly disturbing horror movie. And fucked some more. As we were getting ready to head for bed, he told me he was fading, there would be no more fucking that night. I told him that was absolutely fine, but I had eaten a gummy and was absurdly horny. I asked him to hand me a toy I’d brought with me, saying I would get myself off so I could sleep more easily.
He picked up the toy and put it inside me, and then he crammed himself in there, too. Holy fucking shit. I’ve had a lot of sex in my life, but I’ve never been double penetrated exclusively vaginally before. I didn’t think he would fit, but he was determined, and he did it. Oh my god. Five stars. Phenomenal.
We fucked until we physically couldn’t anymore. Which is typically the only time I want to stop. It was perfect. It was loud and dirty and messy and ugly and beautiful. Primal and fierce. All of the things I love about having sex with B.
He slept, I lay in bed and looked out of the window. Soaking in the moment, cherishing it. Replaying our perfect day in my head.
Tuesday was wonderful, too. We made breakfast together and ate it together. Cleaned and packed, narrowly avoided a crisis involving my hair dyeing the cream leather sofa blue (thank fuck for bleach). Then we drove into town and had a wonderful lunch, visited a plant nursery, went to a movie, had dinner, and finally said our goodbyes.
Dinner was particularly memorable, for me. Our server was hitting on B so hard that even he noticed it was happening. Once again, my hips found a space that could not contain them. This time, it was a chair. I looked around and spotted one that would be more suitable. I told B I was going to switch mine out, and he insisted he would do it instead. I let him. He told me, ‘I will make any space big enough to accommodate you’. I said it was fortunate that I wasn’t afraid to speak when I was uncomfortable, and that for many larger-bodied people it could even be traumatic. He said he understood and that seeing me move through the world as I do was like witnessing a superpower. I liked that sentiment.
Mercifully, we will not have to wait so long to see each other next time. It’s my birthday in two weeks and we’ll have two nights together, again. I have a bunch of fun shit planned for that weekend, and I’m really looking forward to it. I’ll get to see his band play that day!
There are times when I ask myself whether the challenges of my relationship with B are worth the perseverance it sometimes requires of us both. The answer is yes. Without a doubt.
He is sunshine.
Fat and Slutty 