Dee's Journal

Justin was at the counter, working on repairing a controller handset. I leaned his way and asked him, "Where did you find this game?"

He smiled, picking up my tone of perplexity. "It's a weird ride, isn't it? I take no responsibility. It's Henry's, he brought it."

Henry, an excitable young guy also playing the game, said, "Once you get about ten turns in, it can challenge your assumptions. We all want to take the liberators' side, but is it always good when they coerce your village into tithing twenty percent of your food and supplies? And is it always bad when the oppressors ensure that your water supply is abundant, and let you decide who in the village gets taken by the press gang?"

Deep nerd discussion ensued, slowing the game down even more. My quitting time arrived before the game ended. Casual, unfraught goodbyes. Except Justin's. He stepped out from behind the counter, smiled, and said to me, "Don't let one game drive you away. We really like seeing you here."

Well. That got from me a pleased smile that I wasn't expecting. "It's all good," I said, at a loss for words. Yes, really.

Okay, he's bald and forty, but lean and fit. I can imagine him doing his own car repairs. Surrounded by guys who appear to have some mind-body disconnection, Justin appears completely self-assured.

Maybe sex has recalibrated me too much.

Must. Avoid. Drama. And he's probably too tall, or I'm too short.

***

April 29

Yeah, I am recalibrated. I don't sense any particular difference, but other people must be picking up a new vibe from me. I've now determined, for this journal, the story that I'll stick to: Sex is not that important, and it does not fulfill me as a woman, but its absence had clearly been annoying me, and that carried over to how I presented myself. With that annoyance dispelled, I'm calmer, and more confident, and less of a pain in the ass. Never mind that I'm still jittery about Repeat Sex.

Evidence continued to gather on this after game night. On Wednesday, there was a video call at work, on the usual things in general at corporate. I didn't feel any different than in other recent calls. I made my points and reported on action items and joined in brainstorming. Yet people seemed relaxed about my involvement, even seemed to gain energy and enthusiasm. I'm not so egotistical as to think this was all because of me, but some of it clearly was.

On Thursday I drove my electric car out for farm visits. Two stops were with existing provisioners, to get a handle on their upcoming hothouse output so it can be priced accordingly. The other was with a retired couple just getting into beekeeping. This was mainly business stuff, not actually any happy talk. Yet there was no strain to our general shared belief in what we all do.

One provisioner, a woman maybe ten years older than I am, said at one point, "Are things really that good at TruFoods? You're, I don't know, giving off a glow."

Well, we were standing out in the sun. I spread my arms and tried to joke it away. "I'm blooming with the spring!"

I couldn't help but think she was, juuuust a little bit, coming on to me.

I had to break it to the beekeepers that their honey output wasn't going to be large enough for me to give them shelf space in the store. But I bought a jar for myself, and said that if my tasting and testing had good results, I'd let them use a 'Recommended by TruFoods' banner when they sell at farmers' markets. They were effusive in their praise, just for me giving them that chance.

No, they didn't invite me in for a three-way. But we all seemed to like each other.

And now it's Friday night, and things are set up for me and Curt tomorrow, a prospect of eagerness and dread. But, purely to pass the time, of course, I just did a little self-care. Only this time, instead of addressing a dire physical need, it was for fun, and with a sense of self-mockery, and (of course) to gain new information for this journal.

I illuminated the flatscreen with lesbian porn.

Hey, if my glow is going to entice women, I should find out if I like the idea.

Well, it was fun, and this fingering session got the desired results, but that happens when I'm not looking at anything. I wasn't hugely aroused, seeing these women at their pleasuring. It was more of a companionship thing. Hey, you ridiculously attractive ladies, may I join your pursuit of the Goddess Kisses that are female orgasms?

This was high-minded female-produced erotica, with its profitability probably boosted by the male gaze. What I've concluded from viewing it is, my now-sexed-up self hasn't changed that much. I'm all in favor of the Sapphic sisterhood, and every other set of adult, consenting lovers. I hope they can pursue their goals without threat of scorn or violence. But what my body says it wants is: A male human. One. (At a time?)

Most immediately, a sandy-haired, blue-eyed one.

Gotta write this too. My nervousness about tomorrow isn't just about me, and whether I'll feel good about whatever happens. I'm also thinking about the effect on Curt. I wonder if he can really be a casual FWB, or if I'm going to mean too much to him. I don't want to lead him on. I don't want to waste his time. I don't want him to want something from me that I don't want to give.

If he feels bad about any of this, I won't feel good.

***

April 30

I put in a few hours this morning at TruFoods, then met Curt at our coffee joint.

Despite having to wait out my period, and spending too much time thinking about Melanie, I was relaxed. It was nice to see Curt again, one on one.

I was excited, in a fun way, but not all that much. Mainly I felt comforted. Or comfortable?

He was excited, and maybe confused. Finally he said, "I don't think I've seen you like this before. Um...tranquil?"

That made me laugh. "I don't think I've ever been called that!" But he did catch that I felt different. For whatever reason.

I knew we were about to go to his place and pitch a wangdangdoodle. I was happy about that, but not in the frenzy from before. And, somehow, the double dilemma, over whether good or bad sex would be a bad or good thing, wasn't bugging me. Maybe I was tired of it.

I tried to remember that this was an important tryst, to see if we really did do sex well together. But the coffee tasted good and the chair did a fine job of supporting my butt and the cute guy was nice to look at even with most of him covered by clothes. I was in no rush to leave.

I think he got 'tranquil' too. We chatted. The smiles we shared were friendly.

Then, still tranquil, he said, "I'd like to show you how well I've cleaned up my place."

I grinned. "Oooohh, I can't wait!"

I didn't call Donna. Now, I trusted Curt.

We were just as tranquil when we started making out on his sofa.

But then the kissing lifted us off, far from Tranquility Base.

We were eager this time, instead of anxious. More poised. Smoother.

I had worn a buttondown over the low-scoop, side-shoving bra.

Once he undid the third button from the top, he leaned his head into my dark, deep declivity.

His lips met my first rise of goosebumps.

I stroked his hair and let my head roll to the side on the cushion.

I wasn't going to hurry anything this time.

Still, it seemed right to say, "I've never been in your bedroom."

The words "I have," rose from my bosom. "It's pretty boring. That would end if you enter it." And then he stood, and took my hands, to get me to do the same.

Behind the closed venetian blind, the window was open, and sweet spring air flowed in to make our own scents enjoyable. It was a day that should go on forever, for two people to enjoy their bodies and please their minds. We undressed each other as a continuation of our make-out, the freeing of our skins as a sharing of gifts.

Lest the violins become deafening, it wasn't long at all before his cock firmed in my hand and my pussy dampened his fingers.

"What I said last time about oral," I said, "we can forget that, if you want. Only I'd rather not swallow."

"Not an issue," he said. "I'd rather be at full strength when we have our main fun. But we could also spend more time enjoying the preliminaries."

This time I went first. It was, indeed, educational to put lips and tongue on his glans, his shaft, his veining, his base, and every surface of each testicle, while assessing what each contact did to him, and for him. Ohhhh yes, mouthfeel! I could get nearly the whole semi-erect putz inside comfortably. My suctioning made him vocal, but not verbal. It also enlarged and stiffened him, forcing me to back away to avoid gagging.

It was the taste of something, I guess his precum, that made me realize that I had never before fellated a man so thoroughly, so languidly.

I eased my mouth free and said, "Switch?"

"Yeah," he grunted, as he labored to rise from flat on his back.

He knelt on the floor, lay prone between my legs, and, I think, set his erection in free space beyond the end of the bed. His hands reached below my thighs and brought the arms around to encircle them, his fingertips fondling my clit hood and spreading my labia. The touch of his lips reminded me of what I didn't have while watching those lovely lesbians lingus their cunnies.

This ascent of pleasure got me back into the double dilemma.

He worked at his own education of oral-genital response. Enough so that I wondered if his sweet slowness controlled the rate at which I ramped up. It was as enticing as it was frustrating, as suspenseful as it was inevitable.

I had to give him the option. I rasped, "Gonna cum!"

His mouth got free long enough for one syllable: "Good!" Then his face returned into my slick furrow.

No holding back on this one. And he wouldn't let me. He slurped and smooched and nibbled through my wide array of howls and twitches.

Other men have eaten me out. Never like that.

"Done, done!" I whimpered at last. "Oh god thank you yes so great."

My eyes were still trying to focus, so I didn't see his smirk as he said, "Like last time?"

I tried to glare at him. But I had to say, "No. Way better this time. I'm sorry, last time I couldn't--"

"No problem," he said, now holding a wrapped condom. "Need a break?"

"No. I'll be a considerate lover and help you avert blue balls."

We now pursued our education jointly, exploring various positions. Spooning didn't feel like much. Doggystyle got us going, and I would have been happy to keep that up. But he said, "Could you get on top?"

I looked back at him. "Seriously?"

"That's always my favorite."

This could be a buzzkill, yet I cooperated. Education, after all.

His tool was stiff, vertical, and red, even through the latex. It slid in very nicely as I mounted it.

The worst I can possibly look during sex is in cowgirl. I'm absolutely convinced that everything I have squashes down into a lumpy ziggurat. This was the acid test. Looking at me, like this, he'd have to cringe.

He didn't.

Some of the time, his eyes were shut. But when they were open, they showed effort, and desire.

Every human's brain is built on the brains of our predecessors. We, with our lofty abstract reasoning and creativity, still carry around a lizard brain that survived because of its quick choice of flight or fight.

My lizard brain rejoiced that I had claimed and conquered this man.

Other parts of my brain were inspired by this to ask, What the fuck?

A quivering heat flowed through my body.

I was stunned to realize that, at no time, had I failed to enjoy fucking this man.

Curt's hands found my breasts within the cascade of flesh.

My eyes closed. I whimpered.

One of his hands moved to my side ribs, seeking to draw me closer. "Here, please," he huffed.

I stretched my spine as I leaned, knowing.

His lips, thin but now trained to bring delight, encircled an areola. His tongue enfolded the nipple.

My other breast felt both gentle fingertips and a firm palm. Perhaps my lover knew that he had claimed and conquered me.

Long, low moans rose from my throat, expressed by a smooth ecstasy, less bombastic than from his oral love, but far higher than what I had felt sipping coffee and looking at my lover in his safe-for-public clothes.

His thighs rose, perhaps he bent his knees. My tush was thus supported as I ground my pelvis on his. Yes, his flesh with its sandy down felt very much better than the chair at the coffee joint. His mast entertained my widened walls, which thanked it with lusty squeezes.

A tooth lightly grazed my nipple. This sudden change in what I felt made me realize that I was in an orgasm. I don't know when it had bloomed above the stratum of pleasure. The contractions were real, and thrilling, but seemed to be part of the joy that rippled through my body from everything we were doing.

He grunted into my breast. A thigh jerked against my butt.

"Cumming?" I breathed.

"Close," he gasped. his saliva chilling my exposed nipple. "Should I wait?"

Yes damnit give me hours and hours of this! "No. Don't suffer. Enjoy."

His head snapped back and his trunk thrust up. There were, I think, eleven rapid pushes, each timed to a gargly yell. When they ended, I became an active pregnancy avoider. My feet dug into the blanket enough for me to lift my cooch off his tallywhacker. I rolled to the right, onto my back.

His poise from the end of our last bang wasn't here now. He remained on his back, wheezing. His once-proud tower slumped and shriveled, the condom wrinkling.

"Please tell me the truth," I said in a slurred monotone. "Until our first time, how long had you gone without sex?"

"Ten...um...eleven months."

"And how old are you now?"

"Twenty-five."

"Damn," I said. If I hadn't been short of breath, that would have been a wail.

"Is there a problem?" He was now able to incline his head towards me.

"We're each the first partner since..." With an effort, I made finger-quotes. "...brain maturity. No wonder the sex is so great!"

"I'd rather believe," he said, looking confused, "it's because you're amazing."

"Yeah, right, and you're fucking amazing, at fucking, but it almost has nothing to do with us! We just happened to stumble on each other when we were finally ready for it!"

Now he looked annoyed. "Are you trying to find a worst case about this?" He shifted onto his side to face me, his dick flopping onto his thigh. "Ms. Campanella, I declare us to be ideal fuck buddies, and I don't give a shit if the first stage of the aging process got us there."

That got me to a chuckle. I lightened up. I propped up on my elbows, only then noticing the messiness of my torso. My sweat, his sweat, my quim juice, his drool, yeesh. "Okay. Sorry. You're right, I should celebrate you, and the act of finding you. So could you please go wash off all those babymakers so we can hug without worry?"

His smile looked relieved. "You could join me in the shower."

"Later, please. I want to hug here until I'm sure I can walk."

We were in the hug, and I was close to wanting the shower, when he leaned away and put a hand to the side of his face to mime a phone. "Hello, I'm Curt Mayerhoff, your customer support representative. I'd like to inform you that your options include staying here overnight."

The smile I began vanished into compression of my lips.

I wanted so much to stay with him. Wake up with him.

Right then, too much of me wanted to scream. And not just about what he'd probably have for breakfast.

I made the phone-gesture and said, "I don't think I'm ready for that."

His smile started to droop, but I leaned close and kissed him, slow and deep.

This shower felt every bit as nice as our last one. Until I ruined it.

"Please tell me," I said, "if there are things I shouldn't do. I don't mean right now. In the coming days." I needed a breath before I added, "I don't want to do anything that would hurt you. That's, um, important to me now."

He just looked at me.

Then, finally, he said, "Can I ask...what it is, you think you might do...that would hurt me?"

I got angry, mostly at myself, but it sounded directed at him. "The kind of thing that got us to where we are now! With someone who isn't you! That would hurt you, wouldn't it?"

Another long pause, with him looking away. Without looking back he said, "I can't tell you what to do with your life. If what you want--"

"That doesn't answer my question! Spare me the no-strings platitudes! We've been lonely people, and not just from the lack of sex. Writing in the damn journal makes me wonder what I ought to be doing. Hooking up with you was a great decision, but parts of it really scare me, like what happens if we get really close. So I wonder if sleeping around would keep us from becoming exclusive. But now I have something to lose, and I'm vulnerable, damnit, and maybe you are too. You're sweet and decent, and if I hurt you, I'll hate myself for the rest of my life."

I had no idea who this person was who had taken over my vocal cords. But I agreed with her.

Yes, Journal, there was selfishness in this. I did care about him, I do care, but I also didn't want to feel bad.

He looked at me. Despite the water, he didn't blink.

"You're right," he said. "About all of that. And...I don't think it would hurt forever, but it would hurt. I'm already on guard, even maybe threatened, by stuff like...Henry coming on to you when he justified his goofy game, and Justin, when you were leaving. But, it would only really hurt, if I thought you didn't, um...care, about me. Now, I think you do care."

He seemed to be recovering through that speech. I knew that for sure when he phone-gestured to the side of his face and said, "Or am I wrong about that?"

"Brilliant, Sherlock!" I said, and then had to wait through my laugh before adding, "No, not wrong, you master of the obvious."

I'm not sure which of us started the hugging, or the giggling, or the tickling.

"Yes, I care about you," I said at last, "and I'm very happy that you're in my life. And to share with you the maturity sex I was complaining about."

He clearly understood what I held back from saying. "For all of that, I feel incredibly lucky," he said, barely loud enough to be heard over the shower. "Thank you, Dee. And, uh, it goes for me too."

The lizard finally calmed down, and enough other parts of my brain came to a conclusion: There's no downside, or immediate danger, in the fact that we fuck really well together.

And then, I had to resume ruining everything.

"I don't know if being FWBs is what I really, truly want. But right now, I think it's...safe, I guess. Curt...I won't keep you from the life you want. If what you want is to find your soulmate, can I ask...that you talk to me about it...before you go do it?"

He looked shocked. He blurted, "I don't want to be with anyone else!"

The lizard brain felt good about that. My independent spirit, not so much.

When I got home, I texted him, apologizing for being such a doofus.

He texted back almost at once, saying his brain maturity allowed him to forgive me.

Then the gloves were off, and our joking back and forth went on maybe as long as the lovemaking. I sneered at the thought of waking up to his food, and sent a pic of the tofu casserole I was making for myself. He shot back with an accusation that I was scheming to make him to move in to my place. I replied that I cringed at the thought of my refuge being invaded by male underwear.

I haven't printed these. It didn't seem necessary.

Conclusion, Journal: Curtis Mayerhoff has given me what I wrote that I wanted, back on your first page. I am now not-lonely.

I feel as good about having him to exchange snarks with, as I am about having him to bang my gong. And neither of those requires getting married.