During therapy today, I stood on the edge of a Grand Canyon of rejection and disappointment. I peered over the edge, my feet hanging over. I was not scared; because I had a posse of people tethered behind me, holding me back from either jumping in or being sucked down by the tendrils of thought floating up, wrapping themselves around my ankles. Seducing me like the sirens of the sea.

If I don’t listen to them, I can live on the edge.


I’m at home on a Wednesday afternoon waiting in a dress with no underwear on for my lover to show up and surreptitiously make love to me while he pushes me up against my kitchen counter. When finished, he will leave as stealthily and silently as he arrived.

I am wet just thinking about it.

22 minutes and counting.

This could be a disaster.

I have never done anything like this before.

I used a spermicidal gel thing. I hope it doesn’t react with either of our bodies. I hate condoms. I am getting my tubes tied. But I have not done it yet. I want him to come inside of me. Deep inside of me. I love fucking this man so much. Just the mere thought of his body and hands and skin and smell drives me mad with desire. We can only see each other at the most, once a week- more like every two weeks, lately.

20 minutes.

Longest fucking twenty minutes ever.

It was two weeks ago when we last fucked on the living room floor of my old house, while my daughter slept downstairs, and my life was packed up in boxes all around me.

Now I am unpacked, open, and waiting.

11 minutes

5 minutes

Oh shit. I hear his motorcycle.




That was, without question, the singularly most exciting, erotic, pleasurable, hot, and sexy experience I have ever had.

Hands down.

Just thinking about it is enough to make me come.

After he had left, I crumpled to my kitchen floor and wept, alone. Not because I was sad, but because I felt so good. It took me thirty minutes before I could sit down at my computer and make sense of what just happened in my kitchen.

He was exactly, to the minute, on time.

I fucking love that.

He knew, intuitively, that precision was everything.

If he was too early, I might not be in my “place” in the kitchen, and if he was late, every second would be excruciating.

His motorcycle pulled up.

He walked up to the gate; I saw his shadow through the wooden slats of the fence.

I walked over to the kitchen counter and leaned over.


My heart was pounding.

My knees were weak.

My body quivered with anticipation.

I had no idea what to expect.

I heard the gate open and his heavy booted footsteps on the patio out front.

The front door opened slowly. So slowly. I had to remind myself to breathe, as he languidly walked towards me.I didn’t turn to look at him or greet him.

Not once.

Not ever.

I kept my head facing the sink. He stood quietly behind me, about a foot away. I could hear his leather jacket crinkle. I could hear his breathing. I could sense his body heat.

But he didn’t touch me, nor say a word.

I shuddered.

Time slowed down as I waited for him to reach out. Then I felt it. His big warm hand on my hip. He pulled me back. I arched against him, feeling his erection through his jeans.

I still did not turn to look at him.

At his face. His lips. His eyes.

He brushed the hair away from my neck, and kissed me there, at the nape. Time stopped. The moment was rich and ripe. His other hand reached around my body and pulled me in tighter while he kissed my neck harder Then he wrapped his arm around me and grabbed the inside of my thigh.

Not hard. But firm.

Running his hand up the inside of my leg.  Each time getting closer to my naked quivering cunt.

Finally, his fingers grazed me and my body shivered.

I moaned softly. He pulled away briefly. I heard him undoing is belt buckle. He kept his jacket on. The intoxicating smell of leather filled my nostrils. I breathed deeply. I felt him slowly ever so slowly lift up the bottom of my dress. He took his time. He says he loves my ass. I could tell he was admiring it before I felt the head of his warm cock against my right cheek.

All I could think about was how warm he was and how wet I was.

I wanted him more than I have ever wanted any man in my life. At that moment. He slapped me with his cock a couple of times. On each cheek.

Cheeky bastard.

I like it. I like when he spanks me. He gets me like no other. He knows where the edge is, and he never hurts me. I can’t believe how good my body feels. The wanting is so intense. Every moment movement sound is so intense.

And now, he slides his warm shaft up the inside of my crack and holds it there for a glorious few moments, before he wets himself entirely by rubbing it between my legs. I am aching for him.

Finally, he begins to push what I can only presume is the throbbing, head of his cock against my cunt.

Oh My God, he’s so warm!!

So warm. And slow.

The pressure is building, and my body is





To be filled

And he does

And dear god

It is a glorious fucking moment for me.

His beautiful manly hands that look like they can build some shit but not too much, not all dirty and calloused, but strong and big and firm, take both of my hips, and holds himself firmly against me.

He doesn’t move.

Filled. Completely.

Just like he promised.

Then he begins to move. Hard. Harder.

He transports me to another place entirely.I have never felt this turned on in my entire life.

Have I mentioned that before?

It bears repeating.



Faster harder


I am in awe and ecstasy.

Then he stops. Pulls out. Slides up and around, then back in.

And this time, he means business.

And just like he promised.

He fucks me harder than I have ever been fucked.

I hear him and feel him come.




Bodies stuck together like one. The sensations are so intense and incredible. I am tingling from head to toe while he silently holds me against him, both still standing up, in the kitchen.

I hear his breath in my ear.

I wonder if he will say anything or just walk out.

Like we discussed.

I want him not to say anything.

I want us to stick to the script.

He does.

How does this motherfucker know what I want???

I don’t even know what I want, but SOMEHOW he does!!!

He fixes my hair. He fixes my dress.

I can feel his come dripping down my legs

He kisses me one more time against my neck.

And as I stand there gripping the kitchen counter, my entire body shaking with delight, I hear him pull his pants up, put his belt back on, turn around and walk out the door.

As soon as I know I am all alone, I fold over in disbelief and shock.

It happened.

And it was more than I even dreamed it could be. I couldn’t move.

I was rooted to the spot where the magic had just happened.

And then I started to sob. The strangest sobs I have ever known, because I was not sad. Not in the least. I was overcome with emotion. The joy I felt in my body from head to toe was overwhelming.

I felt alive

I felt wanted

I felt desired

And powerful

In a truly profound way

What a trip

And then the wanting came

I felt the tendrils snake their way up from my grand canyon of pain

I want him more him me us we him me want more be my


I stopped

I grabbed her, and I held her, the part of me that wants to attach so desperately to anything or anyone that feels good.

I rocked her crying telling her once again

Attach to ME!

Attach to ME!

I got this. I got you.

I am here now.

Attach to ME!

And surprisingly the ache to be with him subsided and I was calm with me.

I was attached to me.

Wow. Connecting to me feels so FUCKING GOOD! I am fun to attach to! I am fun! I am sexy! I am rad!

Later I went to yoga, and his wife was there, again. I desperately want to connect with her, make sure it’s okay, but he has asked me to wait until he tells her first. I hate waiting. I feel so fake. So I tried to connect in my own way. I brought her a strap and smiled at her. And then at the end, I said fuck it, and introduced myself, reaching out my hand for an awkward handshake. She seemed genuinely pleased, and I felt a little less like an asshole.

After class, I received a text from him, saying:
My wife said you introduced yourself to her!

I replied:
Does she know who I am?

He said:
Yes, she figured it out a few classes ago but thought you didn’t know, and I didn’t want to say that you knew for awhile so…


She knows who I am. I know who she is.

I wonder if she knows what happened today in my kitchen.

I am not going to ask that question.

Class next week will certainly not be dull.

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