Last Sunday, I had my favorite metamour day so far. Ms. Sweetheart was in town for a meetup with one of her online communities and I was superexcited to spend some time with her. To tell the truth, if we hadn’t been with a rather vanilla-y crowd, I’d’ve been an eensy bit snuggly toward her. I like the way she makes me feel looked-after: During dinner, a chocolate chip from my bread pudding fell on my jeans and she didn’t hesitate to try and clean it off—to no avail, but still.
When Sweetie came to pick me up, Ms. Sweetheart walked me over to the car, saying “Do you think I should’ve blown their minds and told them you’re dating my boyfriend?”
And that’s how I found out that Mr. Sweetheart and I are dating, and I guess he felt the same. When I told him what she said, he said, “Oh, I’ll have to thank her, now I know!”
So yay, we’re dating. We have a weekly phone date on Wednesdays at 8 pm and plans for a visit are starting to come together.
And, (I can’t resist saying) speaking of coming together, during this week’s call he suggested talking about regular stuff for the first hour and then getting smutty after that. Sweetie even gave me the house to myself for the evening so I could speak (etc) without worrying she’d hear more than she wanted to.
When it came time to talk dirty, I was uncharacteristically shy—there are a lot of things I’ve written that I have yet to feel comfortable saying. He was kind enough to do the talking and oh, swoon, what a talker.
I kind of flunked “what are you wearing?” I had cute lacy pajama shorts on but I had to admit to a ratty and less-than-hot old top. Next week I’ll take the opportunity to put on an outfit—for a nudist, I’ve been getting preoccupied about outfits lately. I think that’s partly because I’ve been working out and I’m starting to feel a little more lingerie-able or something.
I was surprised by how intimate and sensual it felt—the sound of his voice made it feel like he was close. I got all warm and soft as if he were there to run his hands over me. He told a rope-themed story full of helpful angles and detail, but the part that gave me such a squirm/twinge/sparkle of lust was when he said something like “I’m getting nice and hard for you” and then said my name. What was it about hearing my name? I don’t think I’ve heard it said to me like that before.
“Are you ready to come for me yet?” he asked, saying my name again.
“Aaaalmost…” I sighed. I couldn’t really scrape together too many words the whole time, mostly moans and breaths and sighs which I felt oddly self-conscious about on the phone but nonetheless could not stop making.
I was in a dreamy, sleepy state and held the phone to my ear with my shoulder while I rubbed my nipples and clit.
“Come for me.” (Is there a better sentence in the universe?) and I did come, a new kind of orgasm swelled up and crested like an obedient (but still naughty) wave. I heard him come on the other end of the line too, and we were together and happy. We panted our way back to regular talk until it was time to say goodnight, at which time I texted him 1. The doodle I’d made during the regular part of the conversation and 2. A picture of the wet crotch of my PJ bottoms.
Even writing this a couple of days later, I still feel like we should high-five. Instead, here's a star: