A helping hand

May is Masturbation Month. Did you know that? My thanks to Advizor for the timely reminder.

In consideration to boosting and (hopefully) improving my sex life, I'm choosing to not only meet his challenge and go for a perfect month (31/31), I also decided quite impulsively that Od should take this challenge as well. Yes, that's right. The man who hasn't jerked himself off in God knows how long (possibly over a year) has been given his orders. Or assigned a task. Requested to participate. However it suits his sensitive little ears these days.

Every morning after our snuggle time he's going to put on a show for me. Or lull me back to sleep with the rocking motion of his arm. Either or, win-win.

I'll be joining in the celebration myself later in the day when I have the house to myself.

Some of my readers are familiar with our experimentations and struggles with chastity play. Od's a bit off/on about wearing a device (even though he voluntarily indulged me for a few weeks in March as a surprise - God, I do miss that...) but he's flawless when it comes to the honor system. There's been no orgasms without Freya. And honestly, those have slowed to a moderate trickle in the last 4..5..6.. months or so. I've been taking clues from him and holding out for receptive signs instead of attacking him as I was wont to do. What I've discovered, simply put, is that I have a much higher sex drive than my husband. He just does not seem to be cast from the same mould as other men. In most regards I'm thankful for that. But I'm looking to boost his libido (to use it against him, of course, this is me, after all) and I'm hoping that continuous orgasms might do the trick. Couldn't hurt, right? If anything... I'll have good reason to slap that cock cage back on him in 31 days' time. *grins*

I plan on posting a few updates throughout the month. I'm very curious to see what transpires.

On another note...watch this space for the conclusion to Navy boy. I'm having a hard time wrapping it up in a tidy bow, but it's coming along.

Navy boy pt. 5

Jeff turned out to be a Stage 5 clinger.

I had my suspicions he knew something of my true feelings beyond friendship toward Navy boy, but he wasn't letting on. He wasn't giving in either. He turned up the heat and turned up the emotion. And if I'm a sucker for anything...it's heat and passion. Together the two bought Jeff a little more time. Being fellow Leos worked well for us in those moments. They were some of the best I shared with him. A specific afternoon spent letting the shower water run cold comes to mind.......  It was in the aftermath of such a day that left me with a hickey high on my neck, hair barely hiding it. Marked territory or not, I had a date with Navy boy. An official date. He asked, picked me up, and everything.

So I used my make up to it's best advantage and covered the love bite. All night, sitting in that comedy club I was more preoccupied with keeping my long hair swept forward over my shoulder to shield his eyes from my disgrace. I chose my seat based on this. I postured my body to his disadvantage. All night the panic of him discovering that tell-tale hickey kept me from enjoying my long awaited, little deserved night with him. As we walked around the downtown sidewalk, under the glow of the streetlamps he reached for my hand. And that, even that - a simple, gentle affirmation of his affection towards me - was tainted with the stink of betrayal. If things were going anywhere with Navy boy - and I desperately wanted them to - then I needed to close my legs, harden my heart, and open my mouth and speak the words that we all knew were inevitable.

I finally made good on my promise to Navy boy and ended things with Jeff. There, in his driveway (lest I be suckered into anything inside his house) I stood my ground. I watched the confusion in his expression, the disbelief, then the hurt. He paced circles below the basketball hoop, frantically running his hands through his sandy blond hair attempting to change my mind. When he realized the futility of those actions, he built up a head of steam, then began shouting at me, demanding to know "why". I don't know what I told him as I stoically watched, I only know what I refused to tell him. I would admit in no way that it was because he was less than what I wanted, less than what I ever wanted, less than Navy boy. I suppose I grasped the "it's not you, it's me" excuse and pathetically offered it. It fit. Jeff never was the problem. He didn't lack the proper boyfriend material. He was perfect in every regard - just not perfect for me. And I was definitely not what he needed. The tears shining in his eyes  were proof. They slid down his face as his back slid down the garage door, and he sat there, crouched low on the cool concrete of his shaded driveway and failed to look at me for quite some time.

Struck with the awkwardness of his unexpected display of emotion, I watched in mild horror. I took in the sight of him one last time, knowing there was no way to undo the damage I'd caused, made a final apology, and I left him - frozen in that same crumpled position, refusing to meet my eyes.

It took a day or two to manage the fall out from our combined friends. The ex even made his feelings known on the subject. He was not surprised. He knew me better than anyone, and experienced my betrayal of Jeff firsthand. We discussed the irony in how easy it was for us to separate time and time again with simple words, because the knowledge that we'd get back together was always present. But with Jeff, the disentanglement of emotions was like a sticky spider web (of my own weaving, of course) and when one limb was free I'd find another one snared again. Yet overall, it was my relationship with Jeff that I took most casually, and affected me the least. By the end of our talk, my guilt over hurting Jeff was soothed, and the relief of being finally free kicked in. It's shocking how quickly the consciences of teenagers are cleared.

It was with nothing but joy and a feeling of success when Navy boy held onto my face with Those Hands, long fingers curling ever so gently around my flawlessly skinned neck and he kissed me for the first time. Our dinner date ended on his front porch, and we talked for hours that night. Hours and hours of nothing but us. He expressed some concern over the short time we had left to spend together. I stated my lack of concern over the matter - now was a time to relish and enjoy. Nothing more. I knew we had a shelf life. Short one, at that. Strangely, I was okay with the fact. I'd envisioned myself with him for so long, our romance being played out in fantasy over and over again and I'd struggled for so long, and in such unnecessary ways to bring us together that I was content in the act of just being. And so we were.

For the remainder of the summer I lived for the stolen time when he was not working. There was a fragmentation to my social life. Nights when he worked, I partied half-heartedly with my friends, but my days were spent with him, wandering the shore of a nearby lake, revisiting the art museum, taking in movies at the Indie theater, and sitting, talking on his front porch. Sometimes we took it inside to the coolness of his basement. Our shoulders rubbed together side by side, my legs crossed over on his lap, and we held hands when we walked. A few times we found ourselves lounging on the couch with hands wandering. I was determined not to make the same mistakes with Navy boy that I'd made with Jeff. I'd allowed my hormones to make decisions instead of my head. And on a hot summer day, when we escaped the outside heat in his basement only to create some indoor heat of our own, and somehow found ourselves walking the two sets of stairs to his room, Navy boy voiced his concerns. My hormones double checked with my head, and even consulted with my heart. All three gave the green light. I followed Navy boy into his room and shut the door behind me.

Navy boy pt. 4

Read part 1 here.
Read part 2 here.
Read part 3 here.

Taking risks with my heart wasn't comfortable territory for my 16 year old self. Then again, neither was stalking, yet there I was after 10 p.m. driving slowly past the cul-de-sac where Navy boy's parents' house presided and craning my neck to see any signs of his return from work. It required closer inspection.

I parked inconspicuously on the street, and as I crept to the side of the house I noticed the lights in the basement shining through the split-level home's side window. With pulse racing, and nerves properly steeled I chanced a peek and saw him sprawled in a recliner, gazing at the television with a Camel Light in one of Those Hands arcing from the armrest to That Mouth every so often. I enjoyed the relaxed, laid back appearance of him with his collar unbuttoned unnecessarily too far, shirt tails untucked and bare feet propped up. (so maybe I watched for just a minute or two) My knuckles tapped the glass. He froze.

It's hard to pull off "casual" when one is crouched in the dark, uninvited outside a person's home, hoping against awkwardness. Well...I failed. It was awkward, for about a minute after he slid the window open to see me there, keys flipping anxiously in hand, breathing a "hey" in his direction. He blinked, his head cocked, and his mouth rounded in the beginnings of "Wh....." as in :

Why are you here?
When did you get here?
Why are you knocking on my window?
Where's your good sense?

All valid questions meriting a solid answer, only his lips stopped at the "Wh....", then he merely gave up that line of thinking and accepted the fact that he had company. He took another drag from his cigarette, ground it out in the grass, flicked it out past me and with a wave of his hand said "Go around front. Give me a minute." *sigh* I was being relegated to our front porch friendship once again. What else had I foolishly expected?

At the front of his house I stood exposed in the glow of the street lamp and waited. I briefly considered if I'd ever wash the stink of desperation off myself after this. I suspected not. Hold on.......is he???.......is that the???.......Oh. Ohhhhhhh. My ears perked at the clanking gears of the garage door opener. His shuffling footsteps announced his presence as he emerged from the shadows, stepping into the light briefly to look at me and smile. He tucked his hands in his pockets, rocked on his feet, toes tipping up, eyebrows raised as he offered "Are you coming in?"

He turned. I followed.

Through the access door in the garage he snuck me into his house and we headed directly for the basement. Switching the t.v off, he flopped at one end of the couch, reaching under to retrieve his stash of cigarettes, then offered me one and I accepted, mirroring his action I flopped at the opposite end of the couch.

After explaining myself lamely ("I ran into town to get my mom something at the store and thought I would swing by on the off chance you were home from work, just to say hi.") we settled into a more comfortable exchange. What we talked about or for how long is lost in my memory. I do know that nothing untoward happened that night. He did voice reservations over the fact that I had a boyfriend who might not like my late night habits. It was his mentioning of my boyfriend that bothered me. I'd been careless of my ties to Jeff, wanting to be good for him, knowing I was not. I'd known for some time that Jeff was only a place holder until I could secure something, anything with Navy boy. It never occurred to me that Navy boy thought otherwise. He might not have understood my willingness. Could it be that he was holding back? I'd evidently misjudged him, assuming too little of his character - assuming his morals were level with mine. No. He was better. He was respecting my status. I was cock blocking myself with my own improper actions. That June night an epiphany came to me. I stood no chance of ever having my Navy boy, if I didn't cut Jeff loose once and for all. I left that night with a clear objective, and an open invitation to return to the little side window.

A week later Navy boy was a high school graduate, waiting tables full time in order to pad his account for when he returned from the academy. He was scheduled to leave early September. I was a summer school student, preemptively earning my American Government credit. Summertime guaranteed me a freedom from the daily presence of my doomed relationship with Jeff. I was taking the opportunity to distance myself. I used school, homework, sleeping in, suntanning, and hanging out with friends as an excuse to be unavailable or miss his calls. He was unaware that one of those "friends" was Navy boy. Our little side window arrangement still stood. And I visited often.

It was one summer weekend when I had the chance to reciprocate the invitation. My parents were out of town, Jeff thought I went with them, and Navy boy had the night off. It all stayed very innocent, as we swung on the back porch swing, talked, laughed, joked, and spoke of futures as the sun dipped lower and lower. He was more carefree with me now, the stress of Senior year behind him. More smiles, more happiness, and I was noticing more flirting.

After the last session of summer school, my friend Carrie and I were heading out to our cars when I noticed Navy boy in the lot, stepping out of his mom's car that he sometimes borrowed. I waved, he waved, then he slowly walked into the building maintaining eye contact, but with Carrie present I had to keep up normal appearances. I stalled at my car until Carrie drove away. In a moment of boldness I tucked a cheeky note with an invitation to my favorite art institute under his windshield. I drove away with my heart beating wildly. Then waited for his response. And waited. And waited.

Daytime visits to a local museum with a friend aren't dates are they? I told myself no. Despite the pre-date jitters that I felt. Despite the extra care I took in my appearance. Despite the obvious extra care he took in his appearance. Despite the fact that I imagined every shadowy nook in the museum as a perfect location for a first kiss, this was not a date. But then when he told me how much he enjoyed our day, wished we could do things like that more often, missed our library time, and lamented his long evening hours (hinting at wanting to spend that time with me) it was beginning to sure feel like the end of a date. And I knew, when he said we should have done this a long time ago, that I had just been on my first not-a-date date with Navy boy.

I looked him directly in the eye, stated that we'd do this again very soon, just as soon as I took care of something. He raised his eyebrow in a way that questioned "really?"

Smiling knowingly, I confirmed. "Really."

And with the happiness of my day still glowing around me, I set out to break Jeff's heart.

Navy boy pt. 3

Read part 1 here.
Read part 2 here.

I was over the ex. We'd fucked each other out of our systems on that rainy spring day, and miraculously gotten away with it.  Really, it was necessary. We could both now move on with our moving on. So we did. We tucked away the knowledge of our tryst and it remained nothing more than an inferred secret whenever our eyes caught.

I kept my prom date with Jeff. He was considered my boyfriend at this stage, so why wouldn't I? All dressed up we attended the event and it was just as much fun to see others as it was to be seen in our finest. Of course I had my eye out for Navy boy. As was his habit, he disappointed me by not showing up. I was curious to see him in a suit, and even more so to know who he might have asked to go as his date. Earlier in the week he'd been vague when I pressed him for a straight response about whether or not he was going.

"I haven't decided yet."

"Why does it matter?"

"You might see me there."

All said with gentle smiles and slight smirks in the evasive way that he owned. I always got the sense from him that he was hiding something. Was it the fact that he liked me more than he let on, or the fact that he didn't like me as much as I hoped? Or maybe he just liked to appear mysterious. Fact is, we both knew he was playing me, but what, exactly, was he playing at?

He ended up working the night of prom, so any fantasies I harbored about sharing a dance with him fell flat. The night carried on and being a resilient teenager, I bounced back from my hidden disappointment and enjoyed myself as much as possible. Which was a lot, actually. When the evening was over, our small entourage skipped the official after prom function and opted for a midnight viewing of The Rocky Horror Picture Show, then we all separated to go do what teenagers do late on prom night.

My friendship with Navy boy chilled after that. He backed off from the flirting, the innuendos disappeared, and he withheld any touching. This, I think, is when I became fixated with his hands. It was the touching I missed the most. Our library conversations were now held across the table from one another, hands held in front -  mine tapping their nails in distraction or flipping through a magazine that I wasn't reading, and his calmly crossed one on top of the other, or fiddling with the Mickey Mouse watch that was ever present on his slender wrist.

Watching his hands, taking in the way his fingers worked the timepiece over caused my imagination to picture what else he could work over so gracefully. With a flushed face my eyes jumped away from his hands and settled on his eyes. There in his eyes I would see a recognition that he never gave voice to with his mouth. The words that fell from there were so casual, so unassuming, one could never guess the hot tension that was building under the cooling surface. I never guessed it. And I was sitting right across from it. My eyes explored him from hands, to eyes, to lips, then back to the hands. Every day for the remainder of the school year. Hands, eyes, lips, hands. Through casual chats about his upcoming graduation, and the verbal sport of tossing our summer plans about. Hands. Eyes. Lips. Hands. All the while I continued to date Jeff, look for an easy way out, and fantasize about those hands. Those eyes. Those lips. And those hands...

Something snapped in me the last week of school. I knew upon graduation that I would no longer have easy access to Navy boy. No more shared library. No more rides home. No more hanging out and talking. No more sexual tension to feed the flames. I was obsessed with this tension between us. What was once hot on top, yet cool underneath was now an iced over volcano. I needed a way to force things to the tipping point. One way or the other. I couldn't carry on like this  any longer.

In a moment of true grit I set aside all of my ego, let my determination guide me, and I grabbed my keys and headed to Navy boy's house.

Navy boy pt. 2

Read part 1 here.

The phone call from Jeff was unexpected. However, learning of his secret admiration warmed me as much as it alarmed me.  We'd been forging a friendlier than usual union from the wreckage of my last relationship, but never did I pick up any clues that for him it was more. Our most common interest, my ex and his friend, had moved on to another girl, so he thought the coast was clear. I honestly never saw it coming. We had made our prom pact sort of jokingly. But he now took full advantage of the deal. And upped the ante, it seemed. Jeff wanted more. Jeff was laying all his chips on the table. Jeff actually made a good argument for himself. By being his honest, humble, humorous self he forced me to look at him in a new light. He used the hell out of the surprise element. He was also fortunate in his timing. Navy boy's resistance to me had been wearing thin. I'm not even ashamed to say I succumbed to Jeff's subtle charms. I've no excuses except for that my 16 year old self was subject to flattery and attention. Both of which Navy boy was being stingy with.

I'm sure subconsciously my motivation for dating Jeff included prodding Navy boy into action. I wanted him to act. Did I expect him to? No. And he didn't. With my preoccupation at giving this new thing with Jeff a go, added into the excitement of upcoming prom, I temporarily abandoned my advances. But I never stopped wanting. If Navy boy was my life's lesson in patience and determination, then Jeff was my lesson in settling for less.

From the beginning of our arrangement (I hesitate to even call it a relationship) I felt - even knew deep down - that what I had with Jeff wouldn't last. I tried my best, enjoyed myself, gave over to the experience of someone, something new. No matter how I tried I couldn't lie and say that my smiles and happiness were as true as his. I couldn't say that I wanted him as much as he wanted me, or as much as I wanted Navy boy. And even still, I carried the power within me to make things so much worse. I began exchanging late night conversations with the ex. Conversations meant to be light, friendly catch-ups and how-have-you-beens turned into I-miss-yous, are-we-really-overs, and I'd-like-to-see-you-one-last-times. *sigh* And that's how I found myself agreeing to skip school early on the last day before spring break in order to have an illicit, long overdue breakup fuck with my ex. No bones about it. We weren't rekindling a romance. This was not a reunited love. It was scratching an itch, and it was either so right it was wrong, or so wrong that it felt right. But this was the first spark of excitement I'd felt in too long. I had no regrets. Even when I ran into Jeff outside the school and lied to his face about my leaving, even when the ex lied to Jeff about why he didn't need a ride to school that morning, and no...not even when Jeff surprised us both by showing  up after school while we were sharing a post-coital nap and I had to quickly hide in my ex's mother's room, thanking God that I'd had the good sense to park my car in the garage.

Believe it or not, it took all that for me to see that perhaps, just maybe I sorta wasn't taking this thing with Jeff seriously and needed to cut the poor guy loose.

If it was only that easy.

Navy boy

It was through misappropriation of my study hall hour that I came to know and fall for the one who became my Navy boy.

Students lived and breathed for their alphabetically assigned day to visit the library instead of festering in the forced, unnatural quiet of the large study hall room. I never failed to use the permitted freedom. I could read magazines, flip through the local newspaper, stretch my legs amongst the stacks as I browsed at my leisure not looking for anything in particular, really, or socialize on the sly away from the uncaring librarian's disinterested gaze.

Mostly I was content to be alone at my favored table, the stacks to my back and the entire library in front of me, people watching through the glass walls that seperated the quiet bliss of the library from the low-traffic classtime hallways. Occasionally a bored student office worker would wander in to kill time. Some I knew and liked so they stayed to talk for awhile or we shared the current People magazine. Others I simply just knew, so we kept our distance and ignored each other.

I can't recall if I knowingly sought the delicate, beautiful, brunette out or merely responded to the Senior library assistant's friendly nature, but deep into my Junior year I was entrenched in an unusual friendship. We talked about music - his taste so different than mine but merging in a few places to strengthen our interest. He read me sonnets from Shakespeare - really, he knew his favorites by heart but used the book as a prop to look out from under his floppy bangs with his enbelievably large and long-lashed baby blues. And we talked sex. In round about ways - about girlfriends, boyfriends, accumulated knowledge of the opposite sex including successes and failures of, and duration since our last experiences.

Mine had been quite recent, having broken up for the last time with my first serious boyfriend. They knew of each other and moved on the outer edges of each other's social circles. In my small community, that was about as far away as you could get from someone. Not knowing a person was impossible.

His had been more than a year prior. Somehow that made him more attractive to me. If I first saw him as a challenge or as easy prey isn't clear to me still to this day, but with each and every innuendo, confession, flirtation, and smile I fell deeper and deeper into desire for the pretty boy with a voice like a soft Christian Slater. But poor choices and bad timing wouldn't let me have him just yet.

For months we built our flirty friendship around the entanglement I'd gotten myself into. I had agreed to go to prom with the best friend of my old boyfriend in the event we both hadn't found suitable replacements for our exes. I'd found a suitable replacement, sure...but he wasn't grabbing the bait. Pretty boy liked to play hard to get. He'd warm up to me with a slide of his palm along my thigh as we faced each other in close conversation, only to breeze past me the next time with a cool hello as he went about his library business. Some days he wasn't in the library at all, having convinced the librarian to let him wander the halls. All while I was stuck in the fishbowl room with nowhere to go. My frustration with him on those days only caused my heels to plant more firmly in determination to make him mine.

He'd tell me about the good times he had at the restaurant where he waited most evenings and about the parties he went to with his friends on the weekends. I was jealous at the life he had outside of me. We were strictly M-F during school hours. Navy boy was happily suited to our friendly arrangement. I was...not. Being denied isn't something I've ever been good at, nor have I ever wanted to be. Call me spoiled, but I knew I wanted him, all most signs were pointing to him being interested in me, so why was I having a hard getting what I wanted? He was a lesson in patience and determination for me. Navy boy, dear readers, was my first and only boy to play hard to get. I proved to be eager for the chase.

He gave me his phone number (along with a dirty joke about 69 being in there) so I called. Turned out he wasn't much for phone conversations. He was more of a chill out together in person kind of guy. So I found a way to be in person. An offered ride home afterschool was my ticket. I had a car. He did not. We started hanging out on his front steps and talking for hours. It was after I'd gotten home from Navy boy's house one early spring afternoon that I got the phone call. The one where he came clean about really liking me all this time and he hoped that we could be more. The one where he hoped we could have a real date. And he hoped we were still going to prom. Yes. Prom. Oooh. *cringe* I'd forgotten about that.......