San Francisco Story # 15 - Taking a Break, or Not

Prologue“Baby, for the first time in a long time, I smelled spring the other day: it was a mixture of fresh laundered clothes, with a bit of sunshine, a bit of Angel's Trumpet flower and a bit of rain drop.”

Break? No Break!
“No break. I don’t want break.” You said.

“We already take a lot of break.” You continued.

“You are mine. I don’t want another man in your life.” You told me earlier, when we were fucking. You entered me from behind and kissed my ears, my neck, sending me to a frenzy. Those were the most sensitive parts of my body. I didn’t know how you found them. I never told you. You never explored that part of my body before. You kissed me. You asked me to turn around so that you could plant millions of kisses on my lips.

The Cab Ride
Earlier that evening, I was 20 minute early. “I’m here,” I texted you. I spotted your car, orange, sparkling clean, parked just outside of your apartment.  The cab driver was quite familiar with the route. They might have recognized me. I cabbed to your place often. I had your address finally memorized. I used to have to always look it up. But now I knew where it was, the exact street number to your apartment, which route was the fastest, how to bypass the traffic, the stores I’d pass in North Beach, and the turns they should make. It would take 10 minutes on a good day, 25 on a convention day. The cab always turned right on 3rd.

This cab driver was Chinese. He knew his route well. He turned at the right corners, he didn’t have to go through the infamous route that curved, downward spiral, the tourist route. He knew how to cut across. I tipped 40 percent. He deserved it.

I got out and I saw your shadow, behind the door, waiting for me. I saw you; you didn’t open the door until I arrived. You were inside, waiting for me. Strange. I thought to myself, why not come out and greet me? You seemed always secretive, but then when you opened the door I realized why. You had removed your shoes.

At the bottom of the stairs, I told you, “I was early, I was going to read on my iPhone, a Kindle book, before I ring you.”

“Why?” you asked. I was always awkward at the beginning of our meeting. Six months of dating, I still acted that it was our first meeting, proper, distant, unsure, polite.

I kissed you. Quietly.

“Let’s go upstairs, come on.” You commended. I handed you my gym bag, which contained my suit, change of clothing, a make up kit, a hairbrush, a pair of shoes, and some brushes for applying make up later.

Call Girl
The day before, I asked in my email to you: “Who do you want to see, your call girl, or me?”

You response was, “call girl, please. And no perfume tonight.”

I wore a leopard Bebe mini dress, back exposed, my black one-piece teddy had exposed breast cup, and my stockings were designed to expose my ass. My shoes were black raffled, Promiscuous brand, six inch tall, I had put on heavy eye shadows, glittering black eye shadow, with silver glitters all over, the kind you liked. I wore two strand of necklaces, one had pearls; the other pressed silver. My earrings were large and dangling. My light pink Bebe coat had ruffles on the bottom and it looked more like a dress than a coat. I had my hair styled, so it looked puffy, long, and curly, unlike my prim suited look. I worked in Investment Banking, I wore button-down shirts, Brooks Brothers, Jones New York, Tahari, or Max Mara petite size 2 suits to work, with long hair tied back.  But at that moment, I looked like a call girl, your call girl.

I climbed to the top of the stairs. Your living room looked sparse. You embraced me, kissed me like you always did. “I’m sorry it’s been so long, baby.” You apologized.

You held me so tight, I couldn’t breath. It’s been exactly six months since we started seeing each other, why did it still feel the same, the same out of body experience, the same level of excitement, the same yearning, the same craving as it did when we first re-met up, and a it did when we first dated 14 years ago?

We stood in your living room, my coat off, my bag  on the floor, my dress and shoes on, you grabbed me, held me tight and kissed me. Time stood still.  I wanted to cry. I knew it was different this time. I knew because I wanted to tell you that I wanted a break, a break from us, I wanted to stay away from you, because god forbid, I started to fall, I had not fallen for anyone for over a decade, I hated the butterfly feeling, the feeling of longing, the sadness, the obsession, the incredible confused emotion, the irrational overwhelming feeling that hit me like a ton of bricks. I had no idea it would happen, I had not felt anything remotely similar for over a decade, I was out of practice.

Emotional Declaration
I stood there, letting you kiss me. You professed, out of nowhere, “You know, being with you sometimes overwhelms me.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because I am not myself, I lose control. I can’t control myself.” You said matter-of-factly.

You continued to hold me. I had never heard you say that before, to me, it was all about the fucking. It was a physical, primal thing that occasionally would result in you murmuring “I’m crazy about you, my love” in the heat of moment, but never before sex, never in this calm, factual matter.

I couldn’t stand it. I felt overwhelmed too. I couldn’t possibly know what was that you felt of me. You told me so many times that you loved “fucking” me, which implied this was just a physical thing. I didn’t know you felt something more too. I thought it was just an illusion, my imagination, me being a woman.

“Come on, let’s go to the back.” You led me to your bedroom. The place I spent many nights, lunch and afternoon since we started seeing each other.

“What’s this room?” I asked as I passed the hallway, your spare bedroom. “Is that your office?” I asked.

“It used to be. Not any more. Go ahead and open it, if you want”. You said.

“No, that’s okay, I’m afraid there is a spider inside.” I was only half joking. I didn’t want to presume that I had any rights to your place. I didn’t want you to think that I was noisy. I was never quite sure what we had was, even this was real or my imagination, what you saw in me, what this was, and whether you had other women besides me.

You took out your Kindle Fire, and started to play music. I was not familiar with the music, it sounded romantic, slow and moody. I had still my dress and shoes on, the six inch heels. You didn’t ask me to take them off so I just wore them in bed. I was quiet. I wondered if a call girl should be making any demands. So I waited, to be asked what to do.

Watching Porn and Having Sex
You took your computer over to the bed, and started to play German porn. Three women, lesbian scenes. You liked lesbian scenes. You told me it was German porn. I liked German porn, its filth, kinkiness, and boundary-less.  You had told me that it would be okay for me to take on a woman lover.

You hiked up my dress, examined my ass with your hand. I couldn't tell if you had unzipped your pants or not. I felt you touching me, your fingers sliding in and out. “Watch the show.” You whispered in my ears.

But you didn't enter me. I waited. My ass slightly arched.  You rubbed your hand on it, I knew what you wanted to do, so I waited, anticipated. And  you slapped me hard. It hurt. I enjoyed it. You palm came down, again, this time on the other cheek. I liked being spanked by you. I liked how hard, and how sore it felt afterwards. Sometimes days. I wiggled my ass in the air, waited for your palm to come down again. And it did, several times. It hurt, but it felt good.

I watched as the women started to fondle one another. I liked watching women. I enjoy their sex scenes more than watching men. I was never quite sure that I was straight. I had been dreaming about eating pussy. I wanted to eat a bare pussy, I want to be making love to a woman. You knew that.

Then you flipped me over.

“Get on all fours.” You ordered me.

I did just that. Then you unzipped your pants. I always loved it when you took your cock out of your pants, while you were still fully dressed so that I could suck on it, the only exposed part.

You knew what I liked. I liked to be submissive, to be told what to do, to please, you.

The BDSM relationship ran at the core of our interaction. I wanted to be yours, your sexual slave, I wanted to please you in whichever way you wanted me to. You tied me up, spanked me hard, pissed on me, fucked me hard, and then you took care of me as if I was the most fragile thing in the world, you held me and fed me and washed me, and you took every opportunity to compliment me. You adored me as if you adored your newest toy. I liked that, I wanted to be your toy, I didn't want to be a lady.

I sucked on you as I was on my all fours, I wanted to use my hand, to gently massage your balls, to run my fingers up and down your cock so I could taste it. You jammed your cock all the way to the deepest part of my throat possible, it almost choked me and I liked it. You wanted me to suck you until it was rock hard, until you couldn’t take it any more. I loved your cock more than anything else in the world, and I couldn’t possibly enjoy anything more than being on my hands and knees and giving you a blowjob. That was always my go-to fantasy. To be on my knees, sucking you off.

Then you turned me over, removed your pants, and finally entered me from behind.

“Watch the show.” You had turned the show back on. The women started to eat each other out as they peed on each other. It turned me on. Watersports always turned me on.

I was still quiet. You were getting worried.

“What’s wrong baby?” You asked. I guess I was often more talkative, more expressive than that.

“Nothing.” I remained quiet. I wanted to figure out when it would be a good time to tell you that I wanted a break from this. A break for us would do us good. Because I started to feel. When I started to feel, I wanted to run away.  I was always good at running. But I had trouble telling you that, because just earlier, you told me that being with me overwhelmed you too. Because you couldn’t control yourself. Because, you too, had feelings.

I watched the porn as you continued to fuck me. You enjoyed fucking me from behind. I loved that position the most, so at some point, I must have let out a moan. I said “Oh baby.” It was the first word you heard of me since we started having sex.

“What’s that baby?” You seemed encouraged.

“Baby….” I whispered.

That simple, singular word, was our go-to word. We had stopped calling each other names, You only called me baby or sweetie. I called you baby. You kissed me all over to reward me for responding to you.

“Turn around.” You asked me, so that my face was then tilted, on the right, so you could reach me with your lips and you kissed me like you’d never kissed me before.

I knew that winter had thawed over, the spring was arriving.

Olfactorily Compatible
“Baby, get up.” You lifted me up and led me to the floor, a large bath towel was on the floor. You slowly let go of me. I fell on the floor, on the towel. I knew what the towel was there for.

I kissed the top of your cock. I sucked on it, I put my head under it, I licked your balls. I waited patiently for you to drizzle. I rubbed my head on it, like a kitten, waiting to be rewarded by her owner.


It started slow, then it became a steady flow.  I put my mouth under the flow, I wanted to taste your pee, I wanted you to pee in my mouth. I drank some and I let it run outside of my mouth. You finally let it go, and my face, my hair and my mouth, filled with your liquid, and it gradually flowed down to my body, my black see-through teddy, and stockings with my ass exposed, completely soaking wet. I loved the sensation of your urine on me, It was always the best part of our recent sexual engagements. I liked it more than you did, if I might say so myself.

I then was laid down on the floor, and you entered me again, my soaking, sticky body pressed against yours, folded in your liquid. I never had tasted anyone’s pee but yours, but like your cum, I enjoy the flavor of it. I knew then why you didn’t care for my perfume, very much like how you liked the way I smelled. I loved the way you tasted. It was just that simple, we were olfactorily compatible.
You were fucking me furiously by that time. “You are beautiful, you are beautiful.” You spoke as you came inside of me.

I let your spent cock rest inside of me, while you collapsed on top of me. I move the inner part of my vagina, contrasting and squeezing your cock, you smiled. I made those subtle movements while you were completely spent, at my mercy.

Shower
“Come on, let’s take a shower.” You lifted me up and took me to the bathroom. You didn’t like bright lights, you kept the lights low. You were peculiar like that. I liked bright lights, you liked dim lights or no lights.  You stepped into the shower, and turned on the shower head that was for me. We had taken showers before and you knew which side I wanted to stand in, just like the bed. I knew which side I slept in.  We had gotten so in sync, it was completely unexpected, yet so natural.

I showered quietly. Occasionally asking for more shampoo and conditioner, as I held my palm out, while you squeezed the bottle, a dollop would show up in the center of my palm. I thanked you and lathered the hair product into my hair.

I remained quiet, waiting for the right opportunity to tell him that perhaps it was time to take a break, from us.

You stopped under the other shower head,  let water run at a much lower temperature. I liked hot water, steaming hot, you liked it cooler. As I let the hot water washing away your smell, and as I cleaned up my wet, lubricated pussy, you had come close to me, held me and started to kiss me. I wrapped my arm instinctively around your neck and returned your kisses. You held me in the shower, kissed me gently, as if you were still asking for forgiveness for not able to see me for three weeks. You knew how much I disliked you changing your schedule the last minute, you knew how much I was disappointed because you cancelled on me the last minute.

You kissed me to make it all okay, it seemed. I let you, still silent.

You finally let me go. You stepped out of the shower, and brought me a fresh dry towel. I dried myself and fetched my clothes in the living room. It was a teal colored off shoulder dress.

“You are one of the lucky ones, you look good without make up.” I heard you in the other room. I dried my hair and showed up in that new dress of mine.

“It felt like a fashion show. You change so much.” You then complimented my dress – “you look like a Greek goddess.” I smiled.

You were always giving wonderful compliments when you were with me. I wondered if this was part of your statement about being “overwhelmed and not yourself.” You became this person who provided compliments to his lover constantly, as if that you had worshiped her; yet, when you were in the bedroom, fucking, you ordered her around like she was your slave.

“I like your wild hair.” You turned your attention to my now birds nest look alike crazy hair. I took out my brush from my gym bag to brush it.

You disappeared into another room to wash the towels, the towels drenched in your liquid.

“We always make a such a mess when we have sex.” You commented on it but did not seem to mind at all at this dull task.

I came into the bathroom, as you were washing the towels. I was still quiet as a mouse. You got up to wrap arms around me. I sought your lips so that I could kiss you. I kissed you gently, I let my body relax, tightly wrapped around you. I was melting but I tried very hard to stay calm.

“You are such a wonderful creature.” You parted your lips from mine, finally let go of me; you turned your back on me as you continued the task of rinsing the towels.

You then took my black teddy and stocking to wash. You offered to wash them. I thought that was so sweet of you.

You were the caretaker I always wanted. I wanted you to take care of me, till the end of day, but that was not something I'd ever say to you.

After Sex
I went back to the bathroom to apply make up, you came to look for me. I walked out of the bathroom, jumped into your bed. I smiled. You came around and said, “Scoot over”.  With that you hoped into bed, and pull me close. I lay my wet-haired head on your chest, you started to massage my head.

I purred like a kitten.

I felt utterly, completely belonged. Making my next comment more different. But I pressed on anyway.

“Do you think we should take a break?”  I asked.

“No, I don’t.” You answered.

“I’m starting to have feelings.” I continued.

“It’s difficult to have feelings and I think a break will solve that problem."

“We are already taking long breaks from each other. We don’t see each other enough as it is.”  You protested. All the while holding me.

“I don’t like the feelings business. Baby. I am scared.” I told you. You listened.

"You can't stop feeling. I feel a lot." You said.

“Should I take on another lover?” I asked.

“No, I want my dick to be the only dick in you.” You answered quickly.

“What if it were a woman?”

“That’s OK. Especially I get to participate. I want to watch you eating a pussy while I fuck you.”

“That sounds lovely. I’d like that.”

“Baby, are you seeing anyone else?” I asked.

“No, just you. I know you think I have another secret life, I don’t. I just have you. And I don’t want any break.”

“What have you told your friends about me?”

“Just this and that, your background.”

“What do they say about me?”

“They are intrigued by you.”

“Is it because I’m married?”

“No, just by you. As for being married, these things happen, right?” You caressed my hair, gently. You were referring to the fact that you were dating a married woman. You weren't phased by it, you were quite accepting of the fact that I was married. You knew that my body and soul, belonged with you.

I became quiet again. The conversation was not going as I had expected.

“If you want to leave me, I want two months warning.” I declared.

“Do you want your severance pay too?” You teased.

“Yes, that too, and two months advance warning.” I insisted.

“Baby, it’ll take you 10 minutes most to find another boyfriend. I will not let you go, first of all. And even if I did, which I won’t, It’ll take me a lot longer. I may never find another person like you.” You meant it when you said that. I felt another tuck in my heart. I was feeling sick. I wanted to find my inhaler in my purse.

This, felt like a declaration of permanency.  A sense of resolution, a sense of commitment, a sense of …love.

“Why would you not want to get married?” I switched topic.

“I just don’t see the point in it.”

“Did you have any childhood trauma?” I asked.

“No I didn’t.”

“Well, I did. That’s why I don’t care for marriage.”

“But I am now married.” I ended on that comment. The reality was that I was having an affair, a six-month long affair. I had no guilt, just incredible longing, longing of you.  That’s the true state of my marriage.

“Look how well that turned out.” You remarked.

I didn’t want to engage in this heart-to-heart conversation any more.

I got on top of you. You flipped me so that you could be on top. I forgot that I was still in this role, the submissive role, and I liked it more when you were on top, in charge anyway. I wanted to be taken care of. I needed your dominance to feel secure and strong, oddly enough. Complete opposite of all my past relationships and my marriage.

“What is that you do?” You asked me.

“Sarbanes-Oxley?”

“No”. I proceeded to tell you what I did for a living.

You were visibly bored but you put on a good show to endure what I had to tell you. You wanted to know me outside of the bedroom. That was new, and that took only six months.

“What is that you do?” I asked of you.

“We build models.” You told me exactly what you told me the last twenty times, the last fourteen years I’ve known you, the only profession you ever held. You used to go to client sites a lot, working for others, then you started working for yourself, you now had a small firm with some number of people working for you. I had seen your office, but not the new one. I just knew that you owned a start up firm, for the last ten years I've known you. Before that, you lived in Europe, and before that, we dated, briefly.

I remembered searching for old emails that we exchanged over the years as I hardly remembered anything between the time we went on the water rafting in the late 90s to now. I remembered then you were never really far away from me. I remembered your writing to me, always inviting me out to do things, coming to your company’s party, always ending your email with the polite “best”, and now we were just naked, exchanging bodily fluid.  The most intimate exchange of all exchanges.

I told you about my upcoming relay race, my recent half marathon and the other races I had signed up to do. I told you about my pending family vacation and then I went quiet.

“So we are not taking any breaks?” I went back to the original topic.

“No.” Your answer was firm and final. In this relationship dynamic, I deferred to you to make decisions.

“OK.”  I retreated.

“I get nervous when I don’t see you for a long time.” I feared. I feared losing you.  That I didn’t tell you. I didn’t know whether I had you or not. If you didn’t know if that some person was yours or not to begin with, how would you then know if you would lose that person?

“I know, baby, I am so sorry for leaving for so long.”  You hugged me so tight. I could tell that you were genuinely sorry, You knew that you hurt me.

“But there was nothing you could have done.”

“No. Nothing would change.” You loved your work. You had other priorities. Priorities that did not include me. I was the after thought. I knew that going in. I knew that I’d never be your top priority, despite the fact you were equally overwhelmed by your emotions. Despite the fact you said that you might not find anyone like me, again, or at least, not for a long time.

Stand-Still or Making Progress
We were at the same stand-still. I felt like crying. I should not be asking anything of you. But feeling was a strange thing, lately the feeling business made me wanting to cry. The last time I felt this way, I got royally screwed up in the head when things ended. It was the last gate before I would show my full vulnerability. It would not end well. Someone would get hurt, someone, could be me.

You drove me back to the train. You had a six am flight to catch.

“If I talked to you on the phone, would it make it better?” You asked me.

I paused for a long time and finally said yes. It was the best you could do, yet I didn’t trust you would do that. You were never a phone person.

“I enjoyed our correspondence when you were on the road last week.”  I told you. It was true. It was the highlight of the day to hear from you.

“What did I say?”

“You said ‘I miss you and I hope to see you soon.’”

“Yes I did say that.” You nodded your head and smiled.

I didn’t realize you were quizzing me. But I remembered everything you ever said.  I was falling for you, and you knew that too. That's why I wanted a break. To stop falling. To stop feeling these overwhelming emotions, to stop feeling that I cared about you, to stop wanting to know what the future held. I should not have such or any expectations. That was what affairs were for, to not think but to do. Smart people knew that. I apparently was not that smart. I lacked foresight. This, was not the outcome I had anticipated six months ago.

“I’m going to drop you off on the right, OK? Do you have something to read?” You asked me.

"Yes I have a few books on my phone’s kindle app.”

“Good. Have a good train ride. Baby.”

I reached back to you, kissed you. Stopped. Kissed you some more.

I always wanted to know when I’d see you again, but it was useless. We had promised that we’d see each other every week, and after the promise was made I didn’t see you for three weeks. I should not ever put any stock in this empty promise again.

Your life was too chaotic for you to manage. Having expectations of you, would only disappoint me, sending me to a frenzy, depression even.

But when you dropped me off at the train that night, I felt infinitely better. I knew that you wanted me. You didn’t want any breaks. You wanted to be with me. You didn’t care about the norm, the rules. You were never the same as others, the others being those who were involved with married people. You accepted me for who I was. You adored me regardless of what.

Your life was as busy as mine, as complicated as mine, and yet you wanted me and I wanted you.

I remembered what I wrote a few weeks ago. I did want to grow old with you. I just didn’t know how. I still had not figured out how. But I wanted to be there, with you, until all of your hair turned gray. Until you started to forget everything. Until your green eyes stopped burning. Until the very end. That, again, I would not ever tell you.

The Non-Ending Ending
You made me feel alive. I had found a place to call home. An emotional home. A sexual liberation that I had been looking for and finally achieved. An obsession that lasted six months and counting. And for the time being, for the very first time ever, I felt, you might feel the same way too.