Dana left just before dawn, this morning.
She held my hand.
A few times over the course of the night.
She held my hand,
with her mouth on my clit, she held my hand and rocked me.
good. she fucked me good. really good.
We had dinner late, after I got out of work. I didn’t get out even a minute early and I was pretty exhausted, but I really couldn’t wait to meet Dana. We talked on the phone last night for a while and it was one of those conversations where we found ourselves saying “me too, oh me too!” half the time. The list of things we have in common was starting to get a little bizarre. But whatevs. It’s good, nice to relate with someone on so many different points.
She climbed up on top of me and pulled my arm down to her pussy. After perfecting the angle, she moved and I moved and, kneeling above me, she came hard, shivering and shuddering. Dana sighed and laughed and smiled.
She said my name. It caught me by surprise
because I’m not used to hearing my name
spoken aloud in the quiet tenderness of sex
and resting quietly in bed, as we lay together,
She said you are so beautiful, and then she
said it. She said you taste so good, and then.
And then, and then, and then she said it.
And it was not that searching to find something lost sex, it was that exploring to see something new, exploring to learn a new language sex. I think I’m unlocking the puzzle of my pussy little by little, and Dana had a hairpin jammed in the lock before she kicked the door down.
Lying on my back, I had one hand in her hair, sure, but she had her fingers in my cunt and her mouth softly/firmly on my clit and my other hand was resting, pressing on that tender place between my hip bones. It was over the river and through the woods several times. Hmm.
She said my name. She held my hand. She said piano music would make her think of me for a long, long time. She wore a tie, a real tied tie simply because I said I liked ties that I could tug on. She treated me to dinner – and I don’t let people do that!
I really can’t decide how I feel. The dyke side of me wants to immediately like her. My inner commitment-phobic consciousness is setting off all kinds of warning blasts and alarms. I have half a mind to tell the voice of reason to fuck off. Except that, while my sense of right and wrong is pretty unique, that darn voice of reason is pretty persuasive.
I guess I just want to consider everything a “start” so I can make it a good start ::: foundation. If your foundation is sandy and shifty and loose, it’ll be dangerous to demolish. Have a good start so I can have a good end. I’m trying not to presume.
But it’s almost 8 a.m. and I haven’t slept since 11 a.m. yesterday.
And I have to see Trey tonight. Wow. I think I’ve packed too much into my weekend.