Mr. Long Distance Is a Dear, Part Four

 

I loved laying there talking with him, playing with my nipples, and talking some more. When I asked to see all of him, he very sweetly said he wanted to save that for in person. He said that a few times, but I guess eventually the horniness won out. He angled the camera up from under his dick and oh fuck yeah, it was a profound beauty.

His cock was a fat cone of goodness, angled up and rock hard. I wanted to taste the salty tip of it. I could imagine myself riding it for days and nights, maybe for actual ever. I liked watching him play with himself, the way his thumb squeezed up and down his shaft. His warm face smiled down on me.

I asked if I could get out my trusty big pink rabbit, and of course he agreed. I was watching his face when I came, and he came not too much later. I’d like to have seen the evidence, but I’m definitely glad to have been looking into his sweet face as he got off.

He said goodnight pretty quickly then, but texted with praise, just as we’d agreed upon that afternoon. It’s not as good as snuggling, but it meant a lot to read his kind words, and then read some more in the morning.

But that weekend, I had a trip just a little bit longer than the trip to his place would’ve been, and the reality of our distance sunk in. I took stock of all the spoons I have to gather for any given trip and how much I need to take care of in my own life, and realized that it wouldn’t work.

I spent so much time being lonely during The Shy One, I didn’t want to set myself up for loneliness, for another form of unrequitedness. I wanted to celebrate Mr. Long Distance for the big life he is in, and do the same thing for myself.

This is my home. There are literal millions of men in this city. I had an even-cuter-than-his-picture breakfast date yesterday, a local and sweet and beautiful guy who brought roses. (I hadn’t remembered my favorite brunch place was flower-shop adjacent!) Still, as I type this through, I feel wistful for Mr. Long Distance. And grateful. And a little back-tracky. Matches go by fast, my heart moves slow.