I fell asleep on the couch. She had been busy working on research and I was doing work for a client when I eventually passed out around midnight.

I should say that  I’m a very heavy sleeper.  So heavy that she’ll sometimes ride me in my sleep and I’ll barely even remember it the next morning.  This time she was doing things that made it impossible for me to stay asleep.

I vaguely remember her putting the handcuffs on me, pushing my hands up over my head and ripping my pants off while I was on the couch and sliding a towel underneath me.  I remember catching a glimpse of her wearing her leather harness and her cock.

I remember her spreading my legs and sliding into me, pushing my shirt up to expose my chest and pinching my nipples with one hand and stroking me with another.  Fucking me while stroking me and using my cock as leverage to slam into me.

I don’t remember how long she fucked me I was in such a daze but soon she was counting down from ten and when she hit “one” she then ordered “Now!” and a wave rushed over me for the longest time.

After I came down from the high I noticed the clock displayed just after three in the morning.

We showered.   Washing her back was all it took for me to be ready for round two and soon our wet bodies were in the bedroom but this time it was all about her pleasure.

The last thing I remember was looking at the clock and noting it was after four in the morning.

I woke up late for work, rushed out the door and made it into the office in the nick of time.  I was in a fog for the rest of the day.  My body achy and numb.

Worth it.

I have enough mental porn from the past week and a half that I jerk off to it for the rest of my life.

 

I almost cried while getting my haircut tonight.

I was sitting there at this old-timey place on the upper-east side, It’s way too expensive for what I could get a cut for ($35) but I go there because it reminds me of the place I got my first haircut.

He had given me my very first harcut and every haircut after that until I left home to seek my fame and fortune.

We never had any big conversations.  Always small-talk but he’d throw in a quick joke here and there, he’d give me an update on his son who was my age and I’d blabber on about who-knows-what.

After every haircut he’d throw me a penny to use in the gumball machine.   When I was very young he’d hand me a penny.  I was way too young to catch it but getting that gumball was always the highlight of our family trips into town.   That and the comic book rack in the drugstore on main street next to the barber shop.

I still remember when he threw me  the penny instead of handing it to me.  I felt so big.  Like I was older.  I felt like a man, even though I was probably 5 years old.  I was old enough to catch it and it meant so much to me that he did that.   I still remember how cool I felt.

I’m still searching for my fame and fortune but every time I’d go back home I’d stop in to get my haircut and that old-timey barbershop in that small midwestern town.   I’d go even though my female friends said he didn’t help my appearance, that the style he’d give me was no style at all.  But I needed to go.  It was tradition.   He’d tell me the news about town, drop a few jokes here and there and eventually I’d stand up and pay him.  The silly thing is, I’d always forget about the penny until I was just about to go out the door and he’d say “hey” and toss it to me.  It was impossible not to smile.

The years in between my haircuts with him would get further and further apart but I looked forward to it every time.

Then a few years ago I got a call from home.

He was been a very athletic guy.  From what I remember he’d run marathons, bike.  In fact he was the only person I knew as a kid who would exercise.   Everyone else in my life got their exercise from working in the fields or chasing cattle.  I always though how “big city” it was of him that he’d go jogging and biking for the sport of it.

It turns out one day his doctor told him he had a type of cancer that would take his life and it was inoperable.   He had some time before he’d feel the effects of it but within two years he’d be dead.   He went home after this news was given and he killed himself.

When I first heard about it I was sad but I didn’t cry or anything.  I took it in and after another day or so I had forgotten all about it.  He wasn’t a big part of my life by any means but I’d remember him every time I got a haircut.

Then…tonight after work I was sitting there and I remembered that penny, how he made me feel when I was 5 and how I never really thanked him.  I never returned the favor by sending him a christmas card or called him to check in or even just to say how cool it was that he gave everyone a penny for the gumball machine if he had cut their hair as a kid.  It made me miss home a bit too.

So there I was getting my haircut and trying to hold back tears.  Instead I turned my mind to Sade, knowing she always makes me smile but then I started feeling overwhelmed with joy and how lucky I was and I started tearing up again.

Fuck

I managed to hold it off without anyone (hopefully) noticing, but I’ve been thinking all night about the people around us and how the smallest gestures can make a lasting impact…

…especially with the people we barely know.

 

Almost every morning I play a song for Sade while I’m at work.

I log into our media player remotely (It’s a mac-mini hooked up to our stereo) and play a song our of the speakers in our bedroom.

Every morning I’m not there I play a song to wake her up and sometimes it’s hard to pick the song.

Every morning I imagine what I would play for her if I was there.  Of course if I was there I wouldn’t play anything since I’d much rather wake her up with my lips.

Sometimes I close my eyes and feel what the morning feels like, what I’m feeling like.  Am I feeling psyched for a new day? Cuddly? Horny?

I’ll log in and browse our music collection.  If the song isn’t there I’ll download it (usually legally).

I’ll click play and slowly turn the volume in the bedroom up.

I’ll imagine her stirring to the begging of the song.  A smile crossing her lips ad hoping that the vibe of the song.  Shortly after she’ll usually call or text me with a smile.

Sometimes the songs are silly-love-songs, sometimes they’re happy, sometimes they’re the songs that let me know I’m missing her.

But they’re all filled with the hope that one day I’ll be able to work from home and cuddle up next to her instead of connecting to her over wi-fi.