If there is anything I should have learned by now it is not to anticipate the next moment. My last post completed – anticipating my long walk down two flights of stairs – I walk into Carrie’s bedroom (yes, it feels funny putting that into words) and we hug. She is racked with tears, overflowing with sorrow. We hug, we talk, we support each other. Eventually a combination of instinct, shared trust, and of course trauma kick in and we make love. A final hug and down those stairs. Fini.
My new home is not bad – the size of an average prison cell, but I do not need to share it and the full size bed is quite comfy. I lie there considering my new life and I hear noises: there in my doorway is Carrie. Unlike me Carrie does not have a boyfriend, she is not on the prowl, she is expecting a long time before her next opportunity and now we make love again. No, not exactly: we have sex, the raw sex that has been there for decades.
Before I go forward I must go back, back about eight hours to the mid-afternoon. I thought I knew what lay ahead and it included my own bed but did not include sex, excepting my hand. A long holiday weekend lay ahead, so there was a little party: Sam and me, a motel, a few beers. Let’s face it: I no longer need worry about being caught. We had a good time but truth be told I am not the sexual animal I once was – age and biology have stepped in. Maybe all those drug ads are more relevant than I care to admit.
So back to the evening. Carrie and I have made love, we have had sex, and my afternoon was still successful. The body is spent but the desire – well, has that not always been my problem. We try for more and Carrie reverts to to our personal pattern, one that has served us well. She “whispers”, she tells me what it was like when I bottomed earlier, her description is uncanny, as if she was in my head. And yes, I am excited, God, am I excited and against all odds I am cumming yet again.
Now all of you read the title and thought of an F word – don’t deny it. But it was the wrong F word for at least on this one day Fantasy trumped Fucked. I find this strangely troubling. I am giving up so much for reality only to have the fantasy kick in so dramatically. Carrie and talk about this. She suggests maybe I haven’t found the right boyfriend, or maybe the fact that there is an underlying reality empowers the fantasies even more.
Not to worry, I will just have to continue with my new reality for a while longer. The journey, undefined as it is, will continue but I would be lying not to say this gives me both pause and hope: pause that I am not chasing an illusion and hope that I will find the right path for me and for Carrie.