Curry & Chocolate

Last night marked the first hotel-based escapade I've managed with D in a couple of weeks, what with the moving out of K. There have been a couple of car-seat shenanigans, which makes one shake one's head with minor embarassment that all these years further on, you're still acting like a randy teenager. But there's nothing quite like a full-on, mattress-enabled hotel-room fuck to remind you that age has its compensations.

The entrance and egress to the hotel was complicated by the fact that half the senior management team were staying there again, and at some point someone will twig that D & I keep shuffling off to dinner by ourselves. As I pointed out, after a staggered, comedy-routine escape, we were either going to have to pack it in, get a bit smarter at booking hotels or just take out a full-page ad on the company intranet and have done with it. As it was, I had to smuggle out the gift of the chocolate egg he'd bought me, if only because he'd been out at lunchtime and met a colleague who'd stayed with him while he bought it. Eventually we escaped, for a pie & a pint for him, shiraz & curry for me.

But the necessary irritations of the mechanics of work affairs aside, the compensation is the moments of time-arresting pleasure. The countless orgasms are delicious, the novelty of cumming through having my neck kissed, my nipples pinched, helped along with penetrating fingers, tongue and cock is joyful. The memory that sticks with me though is D falling asleep; two fingers still buried deep in my warm wetness, head resting on my breast where his teeth had been teasing my nipples. Pulling him to me, cradling and rocking him to temporary oblivion makes me wistful - that urge to protect, tend and nurture is so strong. I have to remember that like a library book, I'm only borrowing him for a few hours - I have to give him back.

Still, back indoors for the long Easter weekend, I'm embarking on that enterprise that traditionally marks the time of year or the end of a relationship - decorating!