We passed a nice few weeks together. In fact that's not enough, to say that, to call it nice. It was wonderful, it was almost heavenly. To me. Every time I saw Ed I felt that my heart was so big, that it had grown to fit in all the good feelings I had for him. We talked and talked, and listened, and enjoyed silences, and learned each other's habits. He had a way of rubbing his face when he was tired and I thought that was adorable. He said that I liked to wag my finger when I was using strong sarcasm, and that he liked it. I probably would have done anything he'd asked, in that time, and not given it a second thought. But he didn't ask much from me -- we just did normal things, and enjoyed it almost obscenely. Cooking together, the cinema, walks in the biting wintery air that usually made me miserable.
Not this year. This year I had inner warmth. Sugar had been poured into my life, from an unseen hand, and I didn't question that, other than the think with amusement that at Christmas I hadn't even known he existed, and to call myself the luckiest lady around. People at work commented on my mood -- they weren't used to seeing me look happy. Brian met us for drinks and told me afterwards that Ed seemed to him 'a damn fine match' for me. And all of this positivity made me look at other parts of my life in a different way too, and all of a sudden my job, and my difficult parents, and the cold flat, seemed more than bearable. It seemed like all of my cards were organising themselves into a nice row, or the ducks were stacking themselves, or whatever the phrase is. I believed life was working for me. What an idiot, right?!
The only key thing I felt I was neglecting was my writing. Rosie's Winter of Love had been on pause for a while, partly because I spent most of my free time enjoying myself with Ed. But also I was a little bit afraid of coming back to it. Unlike previous things I'd written, I'd channelled a lot of negativity into Rosie's..., without meaning to, or realising it. A thread of cynicism ran through it, an unromantic atmosphere of foreboding. I didn't want to step back into that. The new me didn't fancy it much. Ed asked me about it a few times, it was very clear he wanted to encourage me, believed that I would regret abandoning it. Five weeks after our midnight lake dip, he even brought it up during a blowjob.
"You've got some good experiences to put into the book now... all the stuff we've been having fun with," he said, through short breaths. I looked up at him from my kneeling position, there on the carpet, in front of the tall mirror just as he liked it best. But I had my mouth too full to talk, and I just kept the motion going, lips tight around his cock, along and back, along and back. Firm sucking and lots of spit.
"Just like that..." he whispered through gritted teeth. I sped up very slightly, feeling his hands in my hair as he guided my movement, thrust towards my throat but not quite there, managing to hold himself back from that. I was glad -- I hadn't done it that deep before. This was enough for now. Feeling his smooth shaft pushing in over and over, the swollen head occasionally coming all the way out to my lips before shoving its way back in, saliva starting to run down my chin. Half the rhythm was his and half of it was mine, and it was all ours. I gently cupped his balls, moving my palm under them like I was sifting sand, feeling the trimmed hairs brush my palm, and he gave a deep groan to tell me that he was close. I gave him a deep burning look, and when he met my eyes that was the final nudge, and he stopped trying to thrust, just held my head, gasped, and I felt his cock spasm in my mouth, then fill it with thick warm salty cum, and I closed my eyes and concentrated on not choking on it. I swallowed, felt it slide down -- not pleasant but not awful.
He told me that I was wonderful, and sat down on the carpet next to me. I put my hand on his heart and felt the pulse returning towards normal, gradually. Eventually he returned us to the topic of my book, and asked when I would resume it. My reply was that I wasn't sure.
"It would be a waste not to."
"Why do you care so much?" I said it gently, to show that I wasn't annoyed, yet.
"Because I care about you, and I know it's important to you."
"It's not the only thing that's important to me. You're important to me. Maybe I just don't feel the need so much anymore, now that I've got something in my own life, something good. That's actually real. Maybe I don't have to imagine things anymore."
He stroked his hand through my hair. "You can do both."
"I know."
"Well, let me know if you want some help. Anytime."
