September 2022
Diary entry
Oh fuck! Maybe I've now tripped over my own dick. Except that I don't have one, but Jad does and by not taking the lube from the kitchen after he fucked me on the dining table...well, it was not a high point in my life that one of the visiting dignitaries felt the cylinder on the cushion as she placed her rather skinny bum down for a lovely morning tea....
High level bureaucrats from the local council finally accepted my invitation to visit and have a good look at this property. I've had trouble getting them to seriously consider my proposal for a fully off grid eco village.
I was hoping that by putting on a proper morning tea (my best second hand Noritake, thank you very much) they would see that such a development would not turn into a de facto orgy venue. It seems I have form, and the whispers in town have been half in awe, half in envy and an extra half for wanting to join us.
But I've become very selective in my maturity. No one seeing how Jad and I have been going at it would give me points for mature restraint. It has been quite the thunderbolt, and too recent for me to make sense of.
We have fallen into a deep symmetry, the usual getting to know you phase quite irrelevant, bypassed on our first fuck. In just 4 weeks I have tumbled, a raucous funnel pulling me slowly on a viscous slide. Don't think my pussy has been dry since he first appeared, although lube has its uses. Rolling days, nights, afternoons of coitus. Positions I'd only seen in diagrams.
Jad the naughty man winked at me when Janine from development and planning pulled the tube out from under her seat. The hard oak chairs have cushions for softer seating. I always go for softness and cushioning, except where a man is concerned.
I felt like I was watching an American musical, straight out of Rogers and Hammerstein. It certainly needed someone to break into song. She turned it over, slowly with a growing expressing of indignation. She actually (couldn't make this shit up) took off her glasses to announce "It seems to be lube."
Her frown and twitchy fingers told me it must have still been a bit sticky. I thought "There goes any hope of getting the ecovillage approved."
The faces on the other 3 at the table going through a rapid morph from politely curious to surprised then recognition that an appropriate facial expression was now socially expected. I was too embarrassed to appreciate the pure wickedness of the situation. Fortunately it quickly collapsed into guffaws all around and great laughter.
Even I laughed, although I could feel my face bright red. Jad's wink made me wonder just for an instant if he had left it there on purpose.
Jad entered my life neither suddenly or auspiciously. A name given to me in my search of a farmhand. I don't remember even registering an attraction when he first arrived in his truck. As he came up to the door, where I came out when I heard, I noted a slight limp, and maybe his easy smile.
I haven't been looking for another lover. I've sifted through a lot of men these past few years since my separation. It's been quite an adventure.
I've enjoyed the freedom and honesty of the swinger scene, especially the parties and Saints and Sinners. It seems another world, the sensuous and semi naked mixing and dancing and fucking, the world divided into pre and post pandemic, as it once was for pre and post world war 2, or the 9/11 attacks in New York.
Until Jad my womanly needs have been reasonably well catered for. I've got two more or less regular lovers and always a few waiting in the wings, or scheduling half yearly visits. Works for me, although it leaves me with just the cat in my bed more often than not.
Jad and I didn't start with fireworks. It was more casual, a few glasses of red on the deck, my other guests had gone to their cabin. We were looking at the moon and talking about the stars. Jad pointed out the usual constellations in a clear southern sky. So many stars, a glut of distant fire hundreds of light years away...a reminder of human futility and fraility.
I was leaning on the rail, enjoying a milder night at the end of winter. He was relaxed, his voice an intriguing hint of Irish, always a warning. Or should have been.
