One of the wonderful men in my life is a kind, kinky man 10 years my junior. He rides a motorcycle, had countless tattoos, and a sleep pattern that can be best described as ‘unsustainable.’
Our meet ups inevitably lead to sex. Sex that lasts for hours. I don’t think we’ve gone to bed before 3 a.m. once during our times together and the other night was no different. We met to see a show, grabbed some food, and went back to his place.
I had texted Sugar earlier in the day as I was nervous that my vaginal pH balancing suppository wouldn’t dissolve in time for sex and we decided I just had to roll with whatever happened. Trying to balance vaginal health with vaginal penetration can be tricky.
The true test arrived after he had been fingering me for awhile (do we still call it fingering?) and then put his fingers in his mouth. This is always a sexy move (see here) and I was desperately awaiting the verdict. “I love the way you taste,” he said while sucking his fingers and looking at me. Hmmmmm. . . Was this just the socially acceptable comment or did he mean it? Was the food-grade borax flavor still lingering? I had to know. I took his hand and put his fingers in my mouth and, sure enough, it tasted like me + suppository. Not horrible, but not delicious, and -most definitely – not my norm. Did he not notice? Did he need some borax in his system and I was helping him? Either way, I opted not to mention anything and made the mental commitment to try to maneuver the sex away from him going down on me.
This commitment was not easy to keep as this man loves eating pussy. I felt a bit bad denying him of this pleasure, but I couldn’t recall if there was a ‘do not digest’ warning label on the suppository and we had plenty of other sexy alternatives.
As the hours ticked away, I briefly wondered what the hell I was doing. It was a weeknight, I had a meeting the next morning, I potentially had a partially dissolved suppository in my vaginal canal, and here I was getting my ass slapped by a 20-something-year-old as he fucked me from behind and licked the sweat off my back.
I lost count of the number of orgasms, but snapped back to reality when I got a glance at the clock- 2:30am – and realized I needed to cinderella myself back into a mature responsible adult. So, I did what any mature responsible adult would have done. I flipped over onto my back and told him to cum on my chest. He sweetly obliged and then laughed as I immediately set about gathering my belongings and reminding myself out loud to take my trash bins out when I got home.
As I hastily grabbed my shirt off the floor, I paused: shit, this is dry clean only. Who has time to go to the dry cleaner? I couldn’t risk a cum stain and trip to the cleaners. My responsible adult brain rapidly sorted my options and I tucked my bra in my purse, zipped up my machine-wash sweater over my still decorated torso, neatly folded my fancy shirt over my arm, and blew him a kiss on my way out the door.
I laughed the whole way home about my responsibility within my recklessness and chalked it up to ‘good life balance.’ I pulled the trash bin out, hung my shirt up in the closet, and tucked my slightly sore ass in bed hoping I’d wake up as someone who only needed 4 hours of sleep to feel rested. . .