Long Post: 1544
Dinner was hasty, our presence conditional on a deadline of vacation for a previously booked reservation. We parted ways outside the restaurant – he to head for the supermarket and I to the ice-cream parlour. As is the way with our not-relationship, not-dating, not-having sex situation I playfully pushed the boundaries a little, licking my sugary cone lasciviously as he sat in his car waiting for a break in traffic. I couldn’t see his facial expression well from the distance we occupied, but I think he grinned.
I arrived at his house first, sitting in the car checking out the latest posts in my reader while I waited, gathering up various bags from the rear of the car once the headlights flashed up the driveway behind me. He made coffee, and arranged nibbles on a plate while I perched on my habitual stool watching his hands, trying not to drool too obviously.
As always we talked about anything and everything. This has been standard for some time now. There is little I hold back from him, and much I attempt to challenge him on. I make no secret of my attraction and he tells me things about his wild past that make me squirm – often but not always with frustration. I cannot tell if we are engaging in extended foreplay or exquisite denial (or both).
Eventually we mount the stairs to the ‘games room’ where he selects ‘Bladerunner – the Directors Cut’ from his extensive collection, placing it in the machine. A couple of weeks ago, we agreed to watch the original film and the latest sequel together. I took this as a sign of increasing intimacy but I’m also a huge fan. So while part of me is already on fire at his nearness, the cooler part of me is anticipating a visual and cerebral feast.
He fiddles with the lights, eventually deciding on darkness, and I wait poised in my allocated part of the couch, unsure of how this will play out. I feel like a teenager again. He makes a remark about a cuddle – is he talking to me or the cat? Like most solitary people, myself included, discussions with the cat are standard fare.
He settles himself in his corner seat.
“Come over here for your cuddle if you want.”**
Ever mindful of his mysterious boundaries I scoot sideways to his outflung arm, inquiring “Just need to clarify – for how long?”
“As long as you want.”
I let out a long, slow, silent breath, while snakes of energy and desire coil through my body.
Cautiously I thread myself under his arm resting my head on his upper chest, feeling the glorious wash of endorphins firing through my body, before settling to a soft and delicious haze. We watch the opening credits attentively, making small adjustments for our comfort. His stomach gurgles and I laugh softly with recognition and ridiculous pleasure. How long has it been since I’ve rested my head against a man and heard that sound?
We take a break midway through and I ask if I could cuddle him in the second half. He assents. I ease my bum into the corner of the couch, spreading my jeans clad legs to give him space to sit between, placing a cushion between us for his head, and sliding my hands over his shoulders to his chest. A claiming hug.
Immediately energy begins to pour from my hand to his chest. It knows the pathway even though the position is different. After a little while I transfer my left hand to the rear of his injured shoulder, articulating what I am doing, checking, as always, that he is ok. While I rest my hands firmly on his body, one thumb, one restless sensual thumb, rubs lightly, repeatedly, in the same place on his chest. One of his hands rests lightly on my ankle, but every so often his fingers trace a tiny movement on my bare skin sending fire coursing through my nerves. Somehow I maintain focus.
I love this film, I live this film, tiny breaths, small noises accompany my viewing as the story unwinds, as the body count rises. These responses are all about the film, I allow my erotic reaction to our prolonged proximity to wash over me in steady, muted waves of energy, breathe through the glory when he touches my ankle. We wait respectfully as the credits roll talking in low tones about the minutiae of the cast and crew.
He tells me about the starring actress, her battle with addiction. This man understands the nature of addiction very well, and later, safely back in the kitchen with the bench between us, cautions me about masturbation addiction. *** This is something I’ve begun to be concerned about with the latest online challenge, and his words slowly percolating through the next few days bring home to me what I have not yet been able to articulate for myself.
My father, my brother battled addictions throughout their lives. My previous partner had deep, hidden, highly destructive addictive behaviours – that’s what led to our breakup. I told myself I was free of that world, but now I know I’m not. There were warning signs right back at the beginning. I am at another crossroads, and so much of what now brings joy and pleasure to my life is bound up in both my sexuality and my desire for relationship. In my youth it led to poor relationship choices and infidelity. Now it has led to my sex blogging, my cautious but growing exploration of kink, my/our playful, erotic photography ventures. And my growing obsession with this deeply flawed man, who in his own words (and that of a well known actress) just “want(s) to be alone”.
He seems slightly reluctant for me to leave, even though he makes it clear that I should go. And I am reluctant to go, but I know I must leave. He starts another conversation, as he rounds my side of the bench, this time about my reaction to the film.
“I noticed how involved in the film you were,” he says “I heard those little gasps, felt you moving and responding to things that were happening. I know why this is one of my top five films, but why is it yours?”
I turn partially away from him, leaning onto the kitchen bench, considering. This is an important question, and on a personal level its more intimate than our earlier conversation about masturbation. He’s asking me about something that matters to him, and he genuinely wants to know the answer. I grope my way through a multifaceted answer that takes in a range of things from aesthetics to the ethical and moral issues of creating and enslaving sentient beings, concluding:
“As a species we should be better than that. But we’re not. And I hate that.”
“Exactly.” he says. “And you wonder why I don’t want to have any part of this society.”
We have returned to a familiar place, one I have no ready answers for. One he struggles with every day. We exchange pained expressions.
I pick up my backpack and head for the door.
**For those who haven’t read more about our friendship agreement – it involves touch – proper hugging on arrival and departure, additional cuddles as needed. Last week when I was struggling badly over the impending anniversary of mum’s passing he called by on the way to an appointment and texted me afterwards, feeling that he should have spent more time with me given my fragility.
This ‘not-date’ was by way of making up for that with extra cuddling on offer if I needed/wanted it. I didn’t need it at that point but I certainly wanted it!
Another thing that arose during our pre-film conversation was that I’d prefer he didn’t read my blog any more, given how often he featured in it. He was fine with that – said once he’d read something it could not be unread. Thinking of my Hot Buttons #2 domination fantasy I was rather relieved. Things are getting pretty naked on this blog ATM and I don’t mean flashing my bits. While my erotic writing always goes through the roof if I am denied a lover, it’s a little easier to do if you know they are not reading about it, even though I have his permission to post.
***As it turned out I was too tired to masturbate when I returned home, and while I did a bit of body touching the following morning, I had a drawing workshop to go to. Therefore masturbation had to wait until Sunday evening. I do find that spacing my sessions out does give me a greater chance of success, but I am finding that harder to do. All the dire warnings, my premonitions of disaster came back to me when I retired for a couple of hours this afternoon.
Therefore I’ve decided I need to stop the 30 day challenge, limit my blogging and try to get some clarity around my emotional situation. So if you don’t see me blogging as much I hope you’ll understand why. I will fulfill any blogging obligations I have already committed to, and I still plan to come to the UK in September. Thanks for being here.
Postscript 14/04/2018: Another frank talk today. Its definitely come down on the side of denial. Since he’s just started a new job, we won’t be seeing each other for some time. And while we hope to continue our creative partnership he won’t have time for a while. Perhaps that’s just as well I’m pretty bruised right now and not in a good way.
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