Church with TombyHuntressinred©
Today was a bit different. We had Tom's house to ourselves. He met me in St. Francis after I dropped off Maddie to Bryan.
I love that truck. It smells so new and inviting when he helps me in, and he always helps me in. Will that, all those little courtesies ever get old and common place for me? No. They never will. I see the way some men walk in front and lead their partners around and don't seem to give a care where or how they are and the concern that is ever present when I am in his company makes all the difference in how I feel when I am so vulnerable in his arms. Do other men not see or understand that?
This man who is my generation, raised up and taught by a traditional mother, as mine was and my grandmother was, has always displayed those values and hold them honestly whenever he is in my company. I continue always to be impressed with him and who he is with me.
He asks what I would like to do, go back to his house or out to eat or? He doesn't seem eager to cook, or have me cook, so he takes me to a small place in Anoka on Jefferson St., the Main Street Eatery. He has researched it, he later admits.
It is VERY busy there but they seat us at a small table in a crowded dinning area. He is displeased, but I am not, and thus, we order and eat. I have eggs Benedict, that I have not had in a long time and order it with fruit instead of potatoes. It is very good and the fruit is deliciously sweet and plentiful. The table wobbles on an uneven leg and he holds it stable with one foot, slightly irritated. The things he will tolerate for my sake. He is accustomed to fine dining places and exquisite fare, but is just as happy to eat where I am comfortable in small out of the way bars or cafes and tolerate little inconveniences to keep me at my ease. Again, small sacrifices for me that endear him. Does he realize these things and how they impact me, or is it just natural to him?
After the meal he helps me on with my jacket and into the truck and begins the drive back to his house on a curvy country road through Elk River and Nowthen. The country music on the music system is comforting and familiar and pleasant, as is the warm truck and seat heater. He visits with me about incidental things and I marvel at the ease and familiarity that I always feel in his company. This is so new really, but feels so old, so right and relaxed.
When we get to his house he drives the truck into the garage and closes the door. Comes around to help me out of the truck and opens the door to the house.
I know the house from the last time I was here and know my way to the kitchen, bedroom and sunroom.
We talk, sit and visit some. He doesn't hurry, although I feel the need to be handled and held and what all comes after and with that. Actually, I was loath to go eat and just wanted to use my hours in the bed with him, but that is lewd and too anxious so I have bided my time till now and now can barely wait to undress.
He teases me about the cleanliness of the house and sheets on the be and whether or not there is turtle cheesecake. There are all those things waiting for me. He has had trouble finding the cheesecake though, had to go to a Byerly's to get it and it turns out to be luscious, and worth the search.
I go into the bedroom to wash and change into my lingerie outfit while he plays with the music on the computer and I come back in my brown satin lounge pants and chocolate sleeveless shirt. No under things at all.
This is his clear invitation to use his hands and mouth. I am always so ready to participate, gladly, enthusiastically. Finally I am free to indulge in this that I have come for.
Tom gives me so eagerly all the hungry desire I am starving for. We kiss and touch and fondle for just a short while until finally we move to the bedroom where everything is easier, more comfortable and freer. Clothes are soon discarded and skin is the order of the day and we get lost in the feel and smell and taste of each other.
Hours slide by, in the dusky bedroom with music in the background and oil, and liquor and ice. To sit and remember it and put it down on paper carries my mind back to a heady, happy glorious place I wish I never had to leave.
I have had such a difficult time taking my climax from him. Is that my conscience demanding payment for this crime of faithlessness? Probably, but today, I nearly reached that sweet point but not quite and again I resort to the vibrator which takes me at last over the edge. This is a disappointment for Tom I know, he admits it is and wants so badly to find the key to releasing that amazing feeling for me.
When his climax takes him, he is the animal unleashed that no one else ever sees or knows exists.
I tell him as much, after he catches his breath and can focus on where and who he is once more.
I laugh, delighted that he has enjoyed me, I have completed what I set out to do. His lazy, relaxed, relieved smile asks me "what?"
I smile, warmly as I move comfortingly into his arms, he has rolled off of me and onto his back. "No one in your 'real life' knows you are this animal." I tell him. "You are this wild, unleashed thing only with me." "I love it that only I know this side of you."
He tells me "I have never been with anyone like you." "You are unique, amazing and beautiful." "You take me to a place I cannot reach without you."
We lay there, in each others arms, resting, and content. This is almost as glorious a feeling as the play and climax. I think again, silently of how after that first opportunity I have this man, and how badly that turned out, that I thought 'no more.'
But something deep inside me begged a second chance for just one second chance. He was worth a second chance. Prophetic. All these lovely Sunday afternoons I would have foregone, had I not generously, graciously offered this gentle man one second chance.
Finally, we deem it time to leave this place of passion, this dusky room and dress and finish the day.
I am ever the honored guest with him, and when I request a shower, he makes all accommodation for that little comfort, and provides towel and necessities. As I indulge in my toilette he dresses, makes one fresh cocktail each and waits upon me.
I finally emerge, fresh, warm and coiffed, ready to begin my trek homeward and he smiles, "one for the road?" he asks me?
"Yes, thank you kindly sir." I tell him and reach for the glass. Glass. He is much like I am in that, he won't drink his liquor from paper or plastic cups. Something about the cold hard feel of good glass in one's hand makes the liquor all the more splendid. It has been an exceptionally wonderful "Sunday at Church".