June 2, 2023

So last night (Friday), I sat with almost bated breath, distracting myself with The Wolves of Calla, waiting for YMK to arrive. I know, someone out there is saying, ‘Why would I wait with bated breath?’ except, he’s been a no show for two weekends running. Typical YMK-move, by now I should have learned how not to look for him until I see him coming; and sometimes it’s easier than usual. Last night it was not as hard, but you know?

Last weekend, when I was menstruating (see I used the formal word for it, and I don’t give a fuck who doesn’t like it) he was supposed to come and I didn’t hear from him all weekend. I was panicky and cranky, disappointed that for yet another weekend I wasn’t going to get to speak to him or hold him or kiss him like I wanted to. Forget actually brushing, you know I just needed his sense of humour and his company.

I sent him a text message on Sunday (to his mother’s cell) and asked him to call me when he got to work on Monday. He called me on my cell before I could leave home Monday morning it had to be as soon as he got into work. We talked for a few minutes, him explaining what had happened to him over the weekend, me accepting his explanation, but boffing him all the same. Eventually he asked me to come up by him, because he missed me and although we couldn’t brush or anything (Tantie and her red parasol–are you closet prudes satisfied with that?), I was just eager to spend time with him, and you know when he says, “Ah missing ya baby….” we’ve alreayd established that I turn into mush.

So yet again I ran away from work, and went up to San Juan. Once I got there, we sat outside under the mango tree in his compound and talked like we do; we both know that we’re in something, but not at the level that we both need to take it. I love that although we have a great sexual attraction for each other, and it’s always shimmering under the surface of both our skins, there is so much more to our relationship than just that.

“I need time to get ready for a relationship with you,” I admitted.

“Yeah, because you know I’m going to be a handful.”

“Oi! Doan get tie up, I am a handful myself,” I qualified. “No, it’s also that I know it’s going to take a lot out of me, and I need time to prepare for it. I think you need to do it to.”

We both need that time, so as much as it doesn’t seem that way, we both know me going to England is the space we both sense we need. I’m actually looking forward to it. I need time to polish up myself, you know. I want to start taking care of my toes, my feet; I want to start my yoga programme again, go back to my vegan diet, lose some more weight. (Sidenote: Chile, ah jess dropping off the weight! I am losing it, losing it. All my clothes are too big for me! A large is now slightly too big, and an XL is voluminous and billowy on me. Those ”New Jeans” I bought are now two or three sizes too big for me. I can take them off without unbuttoning my fly! Believe me, good dick is the best diet plan in the world!)

We just enjoyed each other’s company until his mother came home, and then she and I sat at her kitchen table and we talked. I get the feeling she was lightly probing me to see what she could see. I was careful not to reveal too much, and remained as circumspect as I could about as much as I could without being too obvious. She was nice to me though and I think we like and respect each other. It was certainly not our first meeting, but you know, the first time we sat together at her kitchen table.

On Thursday, the day after I handed in my resignation letter, and handed over the reins of my project to my brother’s girlfriend, YMK had a job interview in Diego Martin. So on his way up there, he stopped and hung out with me at my office for about an hour.

The Padawan and he were kind of catching up — they hadn’t seen each other since Blanchisseuse.

In between seemingly calm talk, he’d whisper these off colour comments to me, just softly enough for me to hear, and force me to stifle my naughty giggles. Couldn’t stifle my PC muscles though, and well… you know, it’s not like I’ve been telling you my pussy has a mind of its own, and with regard to YMK in particular, there is no containing or controlling her. There is no leash I can grip, no chain to tie her down.

So there he sat next to my desk, all creamy and good looking, in his toffee coloured shirt and tie, his brown slacks and brown Tims, looking like a chocolate Magnum with almonds, and as far as I was concerned all I wanted to do was start my treat.

Gad oi! Blast and fuck! See ya girl trying to convince him that we should go back to his house, and find some time for a quickie. See ya boy, gently but firmly saying, “Tomorrow night baby.”

This led into a whole lecture about self-control that my kitty wholly did not appreciate, but which I tolerated in good humour. Pout in place however, plaintive protestations, (’Whhyyyy?’) the game was in full swing.

It’s just as well I suppose. I was due to start an intense 12 hour period of spiritual work (for Baba Esu and Mama Osun), and it seemed right not to get dick whipped before I went into it. I told him I’d wait for him until he was done with his interview, and well I didn’t mind about the totie-less afternoon, “Let’s just hang out,” I compromised.

It was time for him to head off, and I needed to get lunch, so I made to get up and go, but he grabbed my hand and told me to wait.

“What happen?” I asked as I sat back down.

“All this talk about sex and fucking has given me a stand.”

I began to laugh; low and muted, but I couldn’t stop the wicked pleasure I took in knowing that he was as effected as I was. Didn’t I tell you people I was bad?

“Do you think there’s enough room for me to get under this desk and put my tongue in you?” he said softly.

My laugh turned into yet another twisted moue, as just the image alone gave my pussy a little start. “Yes I think there’s room under there for sure, all I have to do is move this box.” But I know it was really my pussy talking, because I work in an open plan office; which I’m sure I’ve mentioned before. We both ignored her.

He licked his lips though, and just then the Padawan came back and sat down. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, and well I started to laugh again, I couldn’t help myself. The Padawan asked what was so funny, and I dropped a veiled comment, and he mutter to me under his breath, “Don’t sell me out.” So I kept quiet, but couldn’t stop myself from smiling.

The Padawan probed and questioned (God bless her) and although my boy’s stiffy wasn’t revealed, his holding out on me was exposed for a fallacy that it was.

The Padawan argued in my defense (again I say God Bless her), “Is only two weeks again, allyuh should be brushing up a fire.”

“But when I get to England, she’s going to have me for three years or more, I don’t want her to get tired of me at this stage,” he argued his own case.

Hmmm…. while their argument about why I wasn’t going to get totie that day went on, I stuck on and mulled over ‘she’s going to have me for three years’. (You don’t say? A lady could get up to a lot of mischief in three years.)

We headed out after a few minutes, when his ‘stand’ stood down as it were, and he went with me to get my lunch, and I walked him to the taxi, then I walked back to the office.

I was disinclined to write, and mostly spent the next two hours just checking e-mail and beginning the process of organising my backups and stuff. I tooled around the Net, checking out job vacancies in London and Manchester and talking with one of the elder journalists about several others like myself who had headed out to England over the last few years.

In the middle of the conversation, YMK showed up. After I turned around for a few minutes, we took off and headed up to San Juan. We had the whole taxi to ourselves, and he reached for and held my hand most of the way; held it in both his hands and rubbed the back of it.

Once we got up to his place, we were both tired, so instead of a lot of talk, or watching TV or any other such thing, we climbed into what I’m starting to think of as ‘our bed,’ and what he’s called as much. It was a nap really, because we were only out for about an hour or so, but we both fell deeply asleep; golden afternoon shadows spreading across his bedroom wall, and the bubbling of his fish tank making the sleep mean something. I woke up in enough time to catch myself and then headed back up to St James.

Friday night, he told me to expect him between 6pm and 7pm. By 8pm, I had started to brace myself to be disappointed. No YMK, no totie, no joy. Too many shades of the last two weekends past, when he was a no show. Hope was kind of dwindling. Then, around 8.30pm he walked in.

“I thought ya wasn’t coming, baby,” I said, relieved to see him.

“I know that,” he told me. “Here I am though.”

I curled up like a kitten in the middle of my bed and raised my arms to him, “Come here baby…”

He called me his little pet name for me (I am not sharing), and asked me how I was doing, while he stripped off his backpack, his jeans and his sneakers. Then he climbed into the bed, and folded himself into my embrace and we kissed and cuddled and our conversation took off on its own as usual.

As we lay there, my breasts were not quite exposed, but visible and pushing up over the edge of the light cotton dress I was wearing. He seemed to focus right away and he started playing with them, asking ‘his boobies’ how they were as well. Damned if those little nipples didn’t perk up and say, ‘Fine!’ After a few minutes he said, almost to himself, “My god. You’ve spoiled my dick.”

I didn’t quite catch it at first, but I asked him to repeat, and when he did I of course began my own probing and prodding. “What dat mean?”

Turns out that the night before, that’s Thursday night folks, his three friends all named C, himself and B, were hanging out at one C’s house. This C was married to a Venezuelan chick that announced to the group, “You are all just going to love me. Just wait.”

An hour or so after they got there, and probably into their second quarter ounce of weed, eight Venezuelan chicks showed up, all friends, cousins and relatives of C’s Venezuelan wifey, over from the mainland for a little vacation.

Apparently these girls had been tipping since before they left Venezuela, arrived quite tight to begin with, and by the time they got a little ganja in them… well they started to flirt as soon as they got there, so after two three hours…. well you do the mathematics. These eight girls took turns teasing the three C’s, B and YMK, pulling at their dicks and you know, whatever else it was they were doing (he spared me most of the gory details). I am assuming that the married C was off limits to everyone but his wife, but you know, I wasn’t there.

He told me that despite the girls and their prettiness, their skimpy clothes, their overt flirting and cock teasing, his dick refused to respond. He said after about an hour or two (or three) of this, he turned to B and said, “I not getting anything off of these girls.” He eventually made his way back home (at 4am). YMK told me during the recount, his dick was so small for a moment he wondered if it was in his stomach.

“Then ah not even lying down next to you for five minutes and my dick is hard,” he said, voice dripping in irony. I looked down and indeed it was.

“It’s the first time in 24 hours,” he added. “You’ve spoiled it,” he added in a small, sad, little voice. 24 hours ago, he was in my office, talking down another stand as I remember it.

I laughed, “You’ve made my night baby!” I sang out, then I pulled down the waistband of his pants and give his dick a loving kiss and told him thank you for being such a good boy.

I had promised my girl Eze that I was going to bring him to see her the next time he came, and she made me promise to bring him before any brushing went on, because once we got going she knew she wasn’t going to see us again.

So despite that big dick and candy sweet kisses, I pulled away and got him to put back on his jeans, and well although sometimes I think stiff would stand all time, his dick did go down and we went over. She just lives across the street from the house where all my first memories of the world are encapsulated.

There’s a reason why Eze and I have been friends for 28 years. After I introduced him, she asked if he’d just arrived, I said yes, she said, “Well it was good seeing both of you, hurry up, I know you have better things to be doing. Off you go!”

As we walked down the stairs, YMK said to me, “She’s nice.”

“Well there’s a reason why we’ve been friends for 28 years.” I replied. (You see?)

We went back to my house, and it took no time at all for us to be knee deep in some of that good loving that has us both in thrall. My pussy just kept saying, “More! More! Yes! Yes!” like a greedy orphan in last-chance soup line.

I’m also really becoming a fan of being on top, and I never was before. I really just cut loose, and have been enjoying it; am actually becoming an expert rider. After I’d come a couple of times in that position, when I got tired, he took over, working his cock in me, in a way that I can only describe with words he used later the next day in a conversation about virgins, as ‘shaping my pussy to fit his cock.’ He says I’m almost there. I think he’s trying to spoil my pussy for anyone else. Afterward as I lay there shivering, breathing hard and mostly insensate, my whole body thrumming and vibrating having had several orgasms back to back, I thought he’ll probably succeed; and soon at that. When he came, he sounded like it was being ripped out of him and my pussy was so sensitive, and gripped around him so tightly, I felt the muscles in cock against me, like a little heart beat. Wow! I thought, so that’s what it feels like. It felt good to me, knowing I’m not the only one feeling that good, that he is feeling as good as I do; that he comes as hard as I do, and it isn’t run-of-the-mill and ordinary for him either.

The next morning, we were both up at 6.30am and I kept him company while he shaved his head in the bathroom, then we had our coffee together.

He was telling me something or the other, you know, I don’t remember, because he asked me if I didn’t like him anymore, without thinking, without even checking myself I said, “Not like you? I wouldn’t do that. I love ya.” After that, everything I said before just kind of vanished.

It was out before I could stop, and I so promised myself I wasn’t going to give in! I was a little embarrassed, I must have blushed because my face was very hot, and I kind of turned away a little and shades of the last time I told a man I loved him crept in.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” He asked me.

“Nothin,.” I said in a small, sad, little voice.

He laughed and began to tickle me and tease me. “I knew it!”

“Don’t tease me!” I protested, but I couldn’t help it, I began to laugh too. “You told me you loved me twice at Frozen and I didn’t tease you because of it!”

“I told you I loved you at Frozen?” he asked.

“Yes. What’s more, it was the only thing that kind of stopped me from feeling like any other chick in the fete, because you wined down on C, on T and on the other C.”

I just couldn’t let it go, and well I know I’m getting to the point where I’m going to have to stop being jealous of all these other women. I mean, by now we’ve talked about this, I’ve told him that once I’ve left Trinidad, I don’t care who he fucks. I really don’t.

Back when we first started sleeping together, I asked him not to fuck anyone else while I was here. He had a girlfriend, but you know, back then things were very light between us, so she didn’t bother me. It’s the thought of all his other female friends. I won’t lie I know how adorable he is. He’s cute, cute and you know, that little chipped tooth of his, is very, very sexy. On the few occasions he and I have been out and about together, I see how women look at him. I know he sees how men look at me. Shiiiiiitttttt…. let’s be realistic for a moment, shall we?

The point is, he agreed not to fuck anyone else, while I was still here. I tell him I don’t expect him to be celibate while we are apart, and he’s told me the same thing. We’re both edgy in this thing, but willing and I think that makes the difference.

That said, he’s not shielded me in any way to the scheming way in which he, and men, think and feel about their casual sexual encounters with women.

He’s explained quite patiently (more than once, trying to calm a pout) that he doesn’t actually have sex with women he hardly knows. Usually, his extra-curricular activities involve women he’s been friends with for a long time, in some cases a number of years.
I have had to be big and deal with the truth, and he’s been very honest and open with me regarding his sexual history and that until he’s married, he’s not likely to be 100% monogamous. (Personally, in all my dealings with men, I never expect any man to be completely monogamous, married or not because it’s just contrary to human nature. Remember it’s the reality we’re dealing with, not the fantasy?)

I also don’t think not knowing is going to make me feel better. I also have to learn how to deal with my insecurities and my childhood’s preoccupation with abandonment and it’s inherent issues. I also have a little jealousy thing I’m working on. It’s fine to say you want to know, but then handling the knowledge can be tricky.

I also have to come to grips with my own need to commit here. I mean, here we are, doing some kind of falling thing hands locked together, bright eyed, terrified, but giggling all the way, but we’re both still trying to deal with the reality we are building both together and apart. Tomorrow morning I go to book my flight. I’m afraid to leave him behind, but I cannot stay. So I keep going.

I have to give him space because I know he’s still working through his feelings regarding his ex. I’ve been very flippant, and nonchalant, and neither of us have yet to acknowledge or even really deal with his now three declarations, and my one, no matter how they were delivered.

We are, quite simply, still playing the game. We’re doing it carefully, but we’re both playing it cleanly, being as honest as we can about what is really going on. Keeping it real, as the Americans are so fond of saying.

Months ago I told him I’d prefer to hear the truth about how he feels, no matter how hard or difficult it was to say it, or how much he thought I wouldn’t want to hear it. I’ve told him that the gory truth about what he’s feeling, what he’s up to, is far easier to deal with than a lie. So over the last few months, while our lives up ended and ended up, everything just changed and changing on us, including the rules of the game and how we’re playing, we’ve just kept on telling the truth and dealing with the consequences. It’s been interesting, to say the least. But you guys have been reading regular updates, so don’t complain.

I think to really be friends with someone, is to accept them as they are. I also think to really love some one is learning how to accept the inner truth of that person and learn to love them because of this. These are definitely part of my credo in life. Are we getting to that point? I think so. I still think I need time to think it all out, away from his penis and the distraction that it creates. Six months of knowing someone is long enough to know that he’s as good a candidate as I’ve seen. Better in fact.

I still need to sort out my feelings, deep and frighteningly real though they are, from what my pussy is feeling, oh She of the insatiable appetite, and this divine man who’s determined to give Her what She wants. Fi real! My pussy would have me in trouble, if I didn’t find a way to keep my head, so in this separation may the truth we speak be further revealed.

So as we went off on another talking tangent, and talked on and on, jostling, teasing back and forth, we kept it light and just played verbally.

“You really love me, don’t you?” He asked in his teasing way long minutes later.

“You really love me, don’t you?” I replied with equal insouciance, my heart and spirit light as a feather.

Draw. Neither of us answered the question, at this stage do we really need to? The questions melted into teasing kisses, hugs and smiles. That’s all I need to know for now. I think it’s enough for both of us, enough for us to take a chance.

Of course, we had another nice brush before he had to go. I find myself reduced when I try to describe it all. Don’t want to. Can’t.

About the only thing I have to report is that as we lay there, sweat drying on us, and my pussy on fire, my heart clenching in time with the spasms, he showed me his upper lip where he had bit into his skin and cut it deeply while he was driving his dick into me.

On the occasions when I looked up and saw he was biting his lip, and looking at me, I didn’t realise how much he was restraining his pleasure so I could have mine. How could I? I was trying to hold back my own orgasms, to draw them out and stretch them as long as I could, because like always, like never before they were so very, very good. He says I’m greedy, and I think he’s right! I appreciate his restraint, but regretted the gouge in his lip. I sucked it and licked it to make it better though.

I had accused him earlier of holding out on me.

“See, all the hold out I holding out on you, look it’s right there on my lip,” he said with a little laugh, and closed his eyes.

Then I whispered, “You’re best lover I’ve ever had.”

“You’re just saying that,” he replied quickly and a little dismissively, but I could see his mouth begin to quirk and his eyes slitted enough so he could look at me, coolly assessing.

“No, no I’m not. I’ve never had as much sex or such consistently good to mind blowing sex. My pussy is enamoured of you and your charms, and so am I.”

I don’t know any more who is holding out on who, or how long we are going to be able to keep this little game of ours up. The inexorable call to surrender is making compelling music, I’d say. I think we may have already surrendered without knowing it. In any case, this has been the most fun I’ve had in years!!

It’s really giving me a bit of a head knowing his dick is only getting hard for me these days. For such a egoist like me when it comes to sex, and my pussy in particular, it’s a real mind job.

I spoiled his dick. :internal self laughs:

Big Mami’s poonkie running business, oui? Damnit, I ain’t shame! I know it’s sweet. Oh yes, and daddy knows it too.

Part 1 | Part 2


dayo's mama, writer, web developer, orisha devotee, omo yemoja, dos aguas, apple addict, obsessive reader, sci-fi fan, blog pig, trini-bajan, book slut, second life entrepreneur, combermerian, baby mama, second life, music, music, music!

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dayo's mama, writer, web developer, orisha devotee, omo yemoja, dos aguas, apple addict, obsessive reader, sci-fi fan, blog pig, trini-bajan, book slut, second life entrepreneur, combermerian, baby mama, second life, music, music, music!


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