My life is currently filled with such a magnitude of love and respect that is difficult to keep from frequently pinching myself. My connection with M continues to grow and strengthen day by day, B is entirely supportive and excited about this new chapter of my life. I have examined and re-examined my own depth of feeling, always arriving at the same conclusion: it’s legit and I trust it.
I am positive that my friends are tired of hearing about him, though they continue to celebrate this romance with me on a daily basis. He has become a feature of my routine – joining my coworkers and I via video call for morning coffee when he has the opportunity, virtually body doubling for me while I get work or school assignments done, spending Saturdays together with his family, and then adding in as much quality time as we can make for each other whenever we have the chance. M has become a constant companion, despite a 150 mile distance separating us during the working week. His willingness to invest so much time in me feels like an enormous gift, and one that I don’t take for granted.
At this precise moment seven days ago, we were in the midst of our first overnight stay together. I had made plans, set them in motion, prepared. He was to come to my home for the first time, somewhat late in the evening. I would have a dinner ready on arrival, despite the hour. He had held up his end of the strategizing: moving his work commitments, and negotiating his absence from home, then making the two and a half hour drive from where he lives to where I do.
That afternoon, my spouse informed me that his work trip had ended early and he was headed for home. Shit. Okay, we’ll need to pivot. I let my spouse know that I was pleased for him that he could come back early, but that I had already made arrangements for that evening and would be spending the night elsewhere. I booked a hotel room before I even let M know there had been any adjustment to make. Problem solved.
I still wanted to cook for him, and had already placed a grocery order for all of my ingredients, so I decided I would make dinner and just take it to the hotel for us to eat there. No worries. So, I picked up groceries, went home, and cooked. It tasted terrible; I had burned some garlic in the first step, and the bitterness was intolerable to me. Okay, time to pivot – again. Dinner in the trash, I headed for the hotel and ordered pizza as soon as I arrived. M was almost there.
It was so good to see him. I let him into the room and practically pounced on him. He did not object. We tangled ourselves up in each other while we waited for the pizza I no longer cared about by the time it arrived. This was fortunate, as it was crap and we didn’t eat much of it anyway. Total food failures all around. But we weren’t there for the food, we just wanted to be together. As close as possible, for as long as possible.
We spent the duration of our night alternating between snuggling up and talking, and fucking. Back and forth, back and forth. It was glorious and beautiful. We talked about everything. Made beautiful promises, spoke all of our mutual adoration aloud. We didn’t want the night to end, or to leave our sweet bubble. He gave me some reassurances that I had badly needed to hear regarding my home life and my approach to it. I was so moved by his words that I threw myself into his arms and held back tears of relief.
The sex was incredible. I love the way he touches me, the way he looks at me, the way every part of him feels against or inside every part of me. I love the way he enjoys and appreciates my body, openly and without reservation. I love the way he breathes me in, reveling in my scent. I love the softness of his hands, the safety of his arms, and the hunger of his mouth (on whichever part of me it lands). I love his dogged determination to provide me with all the orgasms I can handle. I love looking at his beautiful blue eyes with their long, pretty lashes and knowing that while I’m appreciating them, he’s doing the same to mine.
We fucked all over that room, I have no idea how many times. Lots. I have even less cognition of how many times I came. Lots and lots.
We stayed up until 5am, clinging on to every minute together despite knowing that we needed to be up in a couple of hours. We didn’t care. We had each moved hills, if not mountains, to spend that time together and we weren’t going to waste our precious and limited time on sleep until we were completely spent. And even when we did settle down to rest, with him as the big spoon and me as the small one, we still fucked some more before we passed out.
In the morning, he followed me to my office where he spent the morning with my coworkers and I, chatting and drinking coffee. Having him there felt entirely right and natural. He had been instructed to provide donuts to the group, which he dutifully did. He won my work friends over immediately, of course. He was laid back but not nonchalant, sociable and chatty without being overbearing. He is so easy to be around. His energy is warm and gentle and seeing him chat to my friends with such ease only made me love him more.
He left at noon, with family commitments pulling him home. I watched him from my window as he blew me a kiss and got into his car. Then I went to my coworker’s office, laid down on the floor, sighed, and said “I am so in love with that man”, to which she replied, “I would be, too.”
I am so in love with that man.
Fat and Slutty 