We arrived at the hotel at the same time. I drove to the back of the parking lot to wait in the shade for him to text me with a room number. He turned the other way, driving toward the office.
I rolled down the windows and closed my eyes. The warm breeze passed through my car, seemingly carrying away my stress and concerns of the day, too. That's how it always is when I'm alone with him - nothing but him and me and that moment. All the stuff I have to deal with during the rest of my life is completely absent. Next to being with him, I think that's what I really love about these times. I get to be truly in the moment for a couple of hours. Oh, I try to be mentally present all the time, but I never seem to master it on my own. My brain keeps piping in with a million things that need to be done. Real peace is rare for me.
But I was starting to feel it as I relaxed into the breeze that afternoon. The silence was broken by the buzz of my phone announcing his text. Room 214. They only had upstairs. Sorry.
Ugh. It's not that I mind stairs, but I'm unable to negotiate stairs without my cane and in the months I'd been seeing T, I had managed to keep him from seeing me with my cane, for the most part. I used simple tricks - park close to the room and be careful, get to his place first and be sitting on a bench waiting for him to arrive. But there was no way I could avoid it now.
Half of you are probably thinking, Why is it a big deal? (The other half of you are thinking, Kat? A cane? What? How did I miss that? You didn't miss anything. I just don't share it much. Canes aren't that sexy, are they? However, I'm starting to think it may be my job to make them sexy! LOL) Anyway, it's not a big deal. It's just my ego and my struggles with my own self-image. There was a time in my life when I would have driven away rather than be faced with this situation. But I'm a grown up now. And this was T in that room.
I made it up the stairs and to the room. He had left the door open so I walked in. He heard me and turned and looked at me at smiled. Damn, that man is ruggedly handsome. Then his eyes dashed quickly to the cane and back to my face again.
Have you ever had a moment in which it seemed like many things happened all within the duration of a split second? That's what I experienced right then. I felt fear and embarrassment and I quickly said, "I'm sorry. I didn't want you to see the cane, but the stairs....." Why was I apologizing? I had nothing to apologize for. Before I finished the sentence, he was standing in front of me, reaching out to pull me closer to him. "It's ok," he said. "No big deal." And he kissed me deeply. I hooked the cane on the back of chair and held onto him instead.
And there it was again. The feeling that came along with that warm breeze, shooing the rest of the world and all my stress away until only the two of us were in that room and nothing outside those walls mattered. We stood there kissing a while and then we stopped for a bit because both of us had just been on the road. We needed a bathroom break and a chance to clean up a bit.
The beginning of a lovemaking (or hot sex, or both, whatever the case may be) session is always interesting, and it changes base on how long you've known each other, how comfortable you are, and how horny you are, of course. Sometimes you just rip each others' clothes off. Sometimes you undress slowly, interrupted by kissing and soft touching. Sometimes, you chit chat and undress while you talk, waiting until you're both naked to get started. T and I were somewhere between the last two options. I often find myself torn between wanting to talk to him, kiss him, stare into his eyes, and suck on his cock. Of course, I can't do all of those at once, which is a darn shame. The good news, though, is that I knew I'll get to do all of them soon.
He lay down on the bed and I grabbed a pillow and threw it on the floor. "Turn this way," I said, smiling. He smiled a knowing smile and sat on the edge on of the bed. I nudged his legs apart and knelt between them. "Whoa," he said. "Can you do that?" He was referring to my kneeling on the fake hardwood floor. I just smiled and said, "That's what the pillow's for," and leaned forward to take his cock into my mouth.
Before I go on, let me say this: It was a lie. It hurt like hell and I knew it would. There's my ego again, my image of myself, my refusal to accept reality. At that moment, something hit me. Not everything from the outside stays on the other side of that door. Some things have to come with us, no matter how much we'd like to lock them out.
It hurt, but I knew he didn't know it. I'm chuckling right now because I know he'll be reading this and thinking, What the hell, Kat? Why didn't you say something? There's only one honest answer. Because I'm an idiot - too proud, too scared, too stubborn. I think he's been those things at various times in his life, too. Haven't we all?
Pain aside, I loved getting his cock into my mouth. I suckled him for a while, alternating between deep and shallow strokes, playing more than seriously working toward orgasm. I knew he wouldn't let me make him come right then. We had just started. He'd want to wait a while so he could enjoy it all more. I considered taking that decision out of his hands, and a couple of times I took him into my throat. I could tell he was getting close, but ultimately he tapped out (tapping my shoulder) and suggested I get up on the bed with him.
I agreed, and I started to comply, but then I stopped. In my exuberance and foolish excitement about getting on my knees, I had completely forgotten about the second half of that project. Getting up. At first, I was struck with panic. What if I have to ask him to help me? Seriously, at that moment, that seemed like a fate almost worse than death. Knowing someone has a disability is one thing. Seeing evidence of it (cane, wheelchair, etc.) is something else. But having to be involved in physically helping with what to others are simple movements? That's way on the un-sexy side of the scale in my mind. Sort of. Only when it's me. Could my perception of his sexiness be negatively impacted if I needed to help him? My perception of a man's sexuality is much broader than any set of physical characteristics. The question I continue to ask myself is this - Why is it so hard for me to believe that he wouldn't be put off my this stuff? T is a good man. I know he, like all of us, has struggles of his own. I know he doesn't judge me.
I proceeded slowly and eventually I made it up and onto the bed. I nestled in next to him and his hands started exploring me as we kissed. My neck, my cheek, the back of my head, my shoulder, my arm, my breast, my hip...... I parted my legs, knowing where he was going next. Hoping.
I heard myself moan softly when he touched me. He parted my lips with his fingers and found my clit instantly. My gasp and little squeal, and the way I pressed against his hand when he touched it might have been a clue for him that he was in the right place. A clue was completely unnecessary, though, because he never had trouble funding the right spot. Never. I relaxed and let him work his magic, surrendering to him and the moment. He brought me right along the trail he was blazing, at exactly the speed he wanted, using more than just his fingers. His mouth and tongue kept me entranced while arm was around me and his hand pulled the hair on the back of my head, keeping my lips in position to receive his kisses. He wrapped his legs around my leg closest to him and pulled it toward him, pinning me down. Sometimes he'd stop kissing me for a moment so he could watch my face as got closer and closer to coming.
I knew the moment was coming when it would feel less like he was doing something to me and more like he was reaching inside me to pull my orgasm from me, whether I was ready to give it up or not, because it was his and he'd come for what was his.
That moment flew by me quickly and I came hard, almost without the normal build up. One sharp bolt that made me scream into his mouth, followed by ripples of pleasure that forced out a series of little whimpers.
True to form, he didn't let me enjoy the final passing of the electricity. Instead, he kept going, stroking my clit through that almost painful period when everything is so intense...and on to another crescendo of delight. I reached down and found his cock, which was rock hard and stretched to its fullest, and I started stroking him. This time, there was a build up. Slow and steady. I squeezed his cock harder as I got closer to coming and gripped it tightly when I released. He kissed me gently, letting me come down this time, pulling his finger off my clit, sliding a couple of fingers inside me.
At one point, we stopped kissing and I gazed into his eyes. I was still shaking, he was holding me tightly, and I couldn't speak. I was feeling things I wanted to say, but I couldn't say them.
After a few moments, he rolled over on top of me, nudged my knees apart, and pressed his cock against my pussy. He slid it up and down against me for several strokes. I moaned, "That feels pretty good just like that." Just as I said that, he entered me deeply and I gasped.
To be continued......