August 9th
Ah … August 9th. You might not remember August 9th, but I do. It’s a date I don’t think I’ll forget about in a hurry; one that brings a very cheeky blush to my face as I remember the things I was doing last year. Or, rather, the person I was doing last year: My Mr. Grey.
If you haven’t yet read Warning! Explicit Content!, you might want to read it now. It’s proper NSFW, by the way.
I sent him a Facebook post as soon as I awoke and realised the date.
“Many happy returns!”
A Facebook post was smarter than a text message because a text message would’ve led to an explicit conversation … which in turn would have led to an awkward conversation. One that goes something along the lines of: No, My Mr. Grey, we cannot have phone sex anymore because I have a boyfriend.
He didn’t respond to my birthday post until many hours later, while I was at work. He ignored the Facebook post, responding via text, so I knew that he remembered what we were doing last year. I placed a little bet with myself: he’d bring up what we did last year within an hour … and he did.
“Bit different to what we were doing last year!” he joked, and I played along because I was bored at work. He’s a great little boredom buster, always there at the end of a text to make a slow day move along just a little faster. He knows just what to say to get me hot under the collar and, as usual, he didn’t disappoint.
“When do you fancy letting me get wrist-deep in you again?” he asked. It took everything in my power not to say: RIGHT FUCKING NOW, PLEASE. Right now, at this very moment, a little helping of him and all of his kinky fuckery would be heavenly. My boyfriend would never need to know. He’d never find out about it. I could absolutely get away with it.
But I’m not that stupid. I’m just thinking out loud. I have absolutely no intention of meeting up with My Mr. Grey despite every single cell in my body willing me to do it. I just keep imagining what it would feel like to have his hands on me right now. All over me, and inside me, and … well, wherever he liked them, really. One of the best things about My Mr. Grey is that I can just lie back and let him have his fun, trusting him enough to know that he’d stop and move on if I were ever uncomfortable. He never disappoints me, always coming to me armed with a range of new tricks and treats. Our sex is never the same twice in a row. It might be fisting one time, anal another, maybe rope play another time after that. Always different. Always thrilling. Always pushing me right to the edge of what I think I’m comfortable with.
We don’t see each other very frequently at all and there are sometimes years and years between our dalliances, but when we do meet up, it is ALWAYS explosive. That’s why he’s my go-to fantasy when I need to pull something out of the wank bank. He’s the man I lust after when my hands trail down in between my legs. It’s always him. Him with his tricks and his torture and his mind-blowing orgasms. He pops into my life and fucks me in ways I didn’t even think were possible, and then just like that, in a flash, he’s gone.
But what about Jock?
I know, I know, I have a boyfriend now. He’s the one I should be lusting after … and I am lusting after him too. But it’s new with us. Jock and I haven’t explored each other properly yet or divulged our dirty little fantasies, or even really opened the sex box at all. I haven’t unleashed myself on him yet. Not properly. It’s still young and new and fresh and I don’t want to scare him away.
Jock and I have chemistry, but it’s a different kind of chemistry to what I have with My Mr. Grey. With the latter, it’s electrically charged, built up over more than a decade, brimming with trust and love and mutual respect. With Jock, it’s new and exciting and still unveiling itself. He turns me on in many ways, sometimes just with a look, and I love just being around him, naked, doing whatever it is that takes our fancy in the moment … but it’s not quite the same. They’re different men. Very different. It’s okay to miss what you no longer have, right?
He has passion for me, and it seems as though he’s willing to fight for me. Not that he’s really had to yet, but with My Mr. Grey it felt like I was constantly needing to vie for his attention, or his affection, or something else … I’m not sure. But he never gave me enough. Not even for a moment. He was never willing to offer me commitment, or anything else that comes with a monogamous relationship. Maybe he wasn’t about monogamy at all, but it would’ve been nice to have known that, you know? With him, it felt like I never knew a thing. I was never in the loop, always the last to know.
Jock, on the other hand, is offering me everything I could want on a plate, with a side helping of a few things I don’t want. Talkin’ the Talk being a classic example of that. But for some reason, and I genuinely don’t know why, the thought of My Mr. Grey still niggles at the back of my mind, like one of those annoying headaches you get after spending too long staring at a computer screen in a dark room. The thought of being with him, alone, in some 3-star hotel room, armed with an array of toys and accessories that are all designed with utter filth in mind, makes my mouth water. Like, literally makes my mouth water. I even have the cutest outfit that I want to wear for him, it’s all figured out in my mind how it’ll go.
I should probably get a grip of myself.
