Normally, I’ve never enjoyed the company of men outside of a date night here and there. But since that night that we fucked, he’s been around in a different capacity and not just as my detail.
We’ve been together every day, laughing, talking and getting to know one another. And it didn’t feel forced. He’s a gentle giant.
I didn’t feel like he was imposing on my space, and I wanted him to leave me alone. Those feelings hadn’t come…yet. Instead, I felt a little comforted. But I reminded myself that it’s only been ten days. Not that I wanted to wake up and tell him, “Let’s go back to being professional"; I just expected it. It’s been that way for as long as I can remember.
Right now, he wasn’t pushy. In fact, he was very reassuring. He told me multiple times that he understood I wasn’t trying to settle down and that he was okay with the space we were in. That’s all I can ask for. But tonight, he told me that if I wanted more, he was okay with that too. I think that is where my reflection comes in.
Because I don’t want more.
I think the reason why I haven’t run away yet is that I like his personality. He’s a gentleman, and when I’m around him, it’s literally princess treatment only. When we finish having sex, he bathes me, and I stand there like my limbs don’t work, and let him. Even when he’s off duty, he still opens doors for me and pulls out chairs. Despite his menacing look, we laugh a lot together.
I know that each man is different, so I don’t like to compare them. But what I do like to be mindful about is how I react to each one and how I feel in their presence, for research purposes, of course.
I keep waiting for the instant when one of them could make me feel something. Maybe a flutter, my heart to skip a beat, anything. Although I welcomed his presence, that “something” hasn’t come with A.
Yet for reasons unknown, he’s still around. This was new territory for me.
I’ll get to the bottom of what it is.
The Heaux
January 9, 2022
Happy New Year!!!
It was the best of times; it was the worst of times, child.
I’m sure most women haven’t spent the second weekend of the new year being turned every which way but loose by not one but two fine-ass men and being eaten from the rooter to the tooter. But favor ain’t fucking fair.
I’m sitting at my desk, robe snuggled around me, legs crossed, and the smell of Tom Ford still lingering somewhere on my body. My pussy hurts with every slight movement I make; myasshole feels like it’s been ripped out and put back in place. The red outline of a palm print is visible on my neck, and my cheeks are sore; it hurts to smile. I wouldn’t change a thing. This is peak happiness, and I’m content.
Last night was something that had been on my bucket list for a while. It was always a desire to have multiple men worshipping my body at the same time. But I had never been able to say it aloud. There was this whole stigma about women who fucked multiple men at the same time. But my logic is, if I’m going to fuck one today and the other tomorrow, why can’t I save myself the hassle?
Over the last three months, Big A has helped me open up to him in a way most people haven’t. My life was one of those “if you know you know” kind of things. While I was still careful about how much or how little I divulged, some of the things he asked me about allowed us to have deeper conversations. A threesome with two men was one of them.
At first, I held back from it when he asked me what one of my fantasies was. I gave him some cookie-cutter answers. But he saw right through that shit. Eventually, I told him. He asked me if I wanted to make it happen. I was hesitant at first, but I agreed. Then we went into the logistics of it. Who would the person be, testing, non-disclosures, etc. The last thing I needed was to be outed by someone with whom I had a threesome.
Eventually, he came back to me and asked me if I had thought about the person that I wanted to have the threesome with. I had thought about it and written it off. For me, there was too much unknown surrounding it, and approaching a man about something like that wasn’t what I wanted to do. My aim was to give my private endeavors as private as possible. Especially if it wasn’t something they were comfortable with, I would have exposed my hand for nothing.
The only person I thought it might even remotely work with was someone I didn’t want to ask. One of the guys on my security team, Solo. Solo was slightly younger than I am, maybe about five or six years. He was tall, dark-skinned, had a slender build, shoulder-length locs, and these bowlegs that I thought were sexy. He made the most sense because he was already bound by a non-disclosure agreement, and I easily found him attractive. But still, I didn’t want to approach him. He was always quiet; he never spoke- even to the other guys. His energy was so unwelcoming, it was almost cold. Like, he only wanted to do his job and go the fuck home, but I couldn’t blame him. Because, same.
I don’t know anything about him. I didn’t know his circumstances, didn’t know if he had a girlfriend or a wife and kids tucked away, or even a man somewhere, so I decided against it.
When I opened up to Big A and told him who I would consider, he wasn’t initially on board. I think it was one of those things where it was a little too close to home for both of us. I was ready to drop it, but after a couple beats of silence, he agreed and said that he would handle it.
I didn’t think that anything would come out of it until New Year's night. We were having my annual company party, and all of my staff were in attendance. New Year's is one of the few nights that we all just let loose, have drinks, and I give them all bonus checks.
Solo had come to the party, and, per usual, he was quiet, standing at the back of the wall for most of the day, eyes dark and deadly, as if he were waiting for a threat or about to become one. I walked past him, then down the hall to my office so I could use my personal bathroom.
When I came out of it, I dried my hands and disposed of the paper towel, and Solo was standing there leaning against thefurniture of my office with his arms folded. His eyes were glossy, courtesy of that one cup that he had been babysitting all night.
I palmed my chest and then exhaled.
“You scared the hell out of me,” I said breathlessly as I tried to compose myself.
“My bad.” He smiled.
He had a southern drawl. But I couldn’t put my finger on where it was from; that was until he kept talking and the Louisiana accent poured from every letter he spoke.
