6:30 to 8:00 - Sex is in Session

He said, “You smell good.”

I was, at that point, completely naked, in his bed. Hair a bird nest.

“What time is it?” I asked.

“It’s 7:20.” He got out of the bed, stark naked, he was looking for his phone or watch, I couldn’t tell, but he found what he was looking for.

“Good, we have a few minutes.” I said. I spread in his white down comforter, still feeling the heart beating in a speed that I was not used to. My personal trainer called my activities with B cardio.

“Have you had any cardio lately?” She’d ask. She’s a young lesbian woman in her mid 20s. She does lots of cardio with lots of different women. She’s beautiful, dark hair, big brown eyes, lean body, about 5’6”. No body fat whatsoever. I would totally be in love with her, easily, if I was single. But I had not been single in a long time.

B hopped back into bed, he would always say, “Come here”, when he drew me closer. So he said, “Come here”, and I was all of sudden in his arms. Completely relaxed and smelled like him. Sex, mixed with Coco Chanel. His favorite perfume (on me), apparently. But that evening, there were others bottley fluid. Just slightly more, variety was always the key in our relationship.

“Why?” I knew the answer but I asked anyway.

“Because you smell like me and your perfume mixed with sex.” What he meant – was the little extra recreational sport that involved other bottley fluid. The non-garden variety kind which I had expressed an interest in exploring further and he satisfied me. I was therefore, very hot, very wet and very aroused. I always wondered about that - whether I’d be interested in such things. He took the lead and there I was, wondering no more.

“I thought it was closer to 8.” I was implying that we’d had a much longer sex session than what the clock showed.

That evening, I arrived at around 6:40 PM, at his apartment in North Beach. My cab had picked up someone else from my building, it was the Mac convention and there were shortages of cabs. I waited for another good twenty-minutes before another cab showed up. I was therefore, a few minutes late. I got a text from him as my cab driver worked his magic in a rather congested street.

“Where are you?” 

By then I was only a couple blocks away so I told him just that. He sent back a smiley face.

I arrived just ten minutes after our scheduled meet time of 6:30.  He came down to open the door. I had not seen him for two weeks. It had been a weird two-weeks where he had seemingly gone cold via emails, he was less flirtatious but more serious about things; he was questioning about what my implied message was when I sent him an New York Times article about some woman who got abandoned by her lover, twice, the second time, he just left her, without a reason, without any warning. He commented on it, and said that it did not apply to our relationship. I would have used “situation” to describe our relationship, but he referred to it as if we were in a relationship. I had not quite gotten used to the concept of the “relationship”. B wrote that he had not asked any details of my marriage, and that obviously he was unmarried but had his own responsibilities with his work and son, etc. I wondered what that “etc.” entailed, but I didn’t ask.

He wrote briskly, and he asked me what I thought of it. I replied, a day later, and declared that I missed him. B did not write back.

Days passed by. Nothing. No communiqué. Our relationship had always been like this. He wrote passionately one day, and he disappeared another.  I wondered if he had relationships across the country, as he traveled to different places. But I didn’t ask. I didn’t want him to know that I cared. I was not sure if I did care or not. I wanted honesty more than other things. But I didn’t feel that I needed to know every detail of his life to adore him.

When he came out to greet me, I had half expected that we’d go out for dinner. He had told me that we had an hour and half, and we ought to go and grab dinner.

I then realized that dinner plan was just a front. There was no way he could have lasted another day without me. I knew that because the second I stepped into his living room, we locked lips. He was eager to remove my dress, all the while complimenting me in this dress. It was as if he was waiting for me, and had missed me. I missed him but it was not that obviously he did, he never wrote since he wondered what I thought vie se vie the article.

We spent the rest of the hour devouring each other. Smelling like sex after, To be more exact, I smelled like him. I was his, completely and utterly, his.  

“You are a perfect girl”. B told me while he fucked me like he had not fucked in a while. He didn’t seem like a guy who would go around the country and have sex with other women. I could be wrong but that was the vision I wanted to maintain. It was cleaner, simpler and less risky.

He asked me to do something for him. I did. It felt like a bit of a game. He wanted certain kinks. I followed his lead. I was rather aroused, again. I liked variety.

“Should we shower?” I asked afterwards.

“Yes”.  So there I was, in the shower, for the first time, with a man. Strangely enough, I had never taken a shower with anyone. It would appear strange to ask him given that we just had sex, but I wanted to be fucked in the shower. So I kept the thoughts to myself.

He then got dressed, my hair was wet and I clipped them together.

“Take me to the gym, will you?” I had planned to go and work out after.

I put back on my dress, and found myself sitting on his lap, at the edge of his bed.

“Next time, I want to sit on you and fuck you.” I always wanted to be sitting on him, sitting with my boobs exposed, he sucking on them, while I'd ride on his cock. I think I'd like that.

“OK, Baby!” 

He was that way, always trying to anticipate for the next time and agreeable when it comes to my suggestions of sex. 

“I love fucking you.” B said it again. He did it out of compliment. Fucking is a great word. It implies that sex in the roughest sense. I would rather be fucking than making love. The word fuck is largely underutilized because it implies that man is not being gentle. It implies roughness. It was a wrong word to use among feminist.  Women wanted to be made love of. Women wanted romance. I, wanted to be fucked. The way I always liked. The way I want to be done.

“See you Wednesday”. I said to him casually, almost wanted to end the sentence on a question mark.

Wednesday I would be meeting him and his son for the very first time. Four months of dating, rather, fucking, he now would like for me to meet his son.

He dropped me off across the street. He kissed me on my lips, he called – “Bye baby.”

I kissed him back. There had been this invisible string, he was pulling me closer, into his inner circle. He was pulling me in slowly so that I could feel his heat, this gradual, but developing heat that intensified what we had. 

I realized how much I had enjoyed sex with him. He casually mentioned to me that I could have dinner with his son and him. So I went along with it. I went from not seeing him for two weeks at a time to seeing him twice in a week.

Relationships do evolve over time.  My shrink told me that it would get intense over time. 

For instance, things get defined. First, the "I love you" murmured out of his lips, which I disgarded.

Then he referred what we had as a "relationship".

I had asked him, earlier that night, after sex, "What are you to me?" 

He replied, "I'm your boyfriend."


"Alright, I shall be your girlfriend then." I said.


That was a defining moment, perhaps. I was not used to definitions. I liked the gray areas. In fact, I had always been in the gray area. I had no guilt, no remorse, no expectations, and as a result, I had no wishful thinking, or hope. I lived in the moment, I liked B. I might grow to love B. I would continue to love my family, but they were different types of love. If anyone would understand it, it would be B. I suspect he had a similar situation going on. Definition or not. 

I suppose that nothing would be stand-still forever. Not even B and I.  


And I wonder where the story goes from here.