Sinful Sunday: coiled

We had checked in not long before. The last place we stayed had a shower but I prefer to soak in a hot bath and I wanted to make the most of this one. The fact that I’d be getting dirty a few hours hence didn’t dissuade me from getting clean first.

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Boobday: mile high 9

Another day, another airport. At least, that’s how it’s been lately. I’m just coming home from a business trip, during which I was still tired from my Europe trip, where I had caught a cold. And then my period started.

I’ll be so glad to be home, I may not leave the house for days. I’m looking forward to having time to just sit and think rather than rushing hither and yon.

This photo is from the last outbound leg of the Europe trip – a month ago already.

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Boobday: home again

I touched down at my little local airport at an objectively reasonable hour on Wednesday evening after three whole weeks away. As I came into the public area my eyes scanned the crowd until they found Wolf, and then I developed tunnel vision. He was the only person I could see so how is it possible that he didn’t literally glow?

I’m not sure who said the first word or what it would have been because we greeted each other the way we always do: looking into each other’s eyes until we close the distance and can share a long and meaningful hug. Words aren’t up to the task so we don’t bother.

I returned home with groaning luggage and a phone stuffed with photos. My head is swirling with thoughts and ideas and memories. Also, a cold [cough, sniff]. It’s weird not being with Gawan – being reduced once again to text, email and FaceTime.

I had lots of amazing adventures, one of which was doing a shoot with the wonderful Nicolas Laborie. Here’s one of the photos he took.

Photo by Nicolas Laborie

Here is where I want to feel
your ephemeral breath
your delicate fingertips
your covetous mouth.

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Boobday: mile high 8

Still in Europe and having a blast. I’ve turned my computer on twice, just to write sone quick notes about my adventures. I’ve had neither the time nor inclination to do anything more than that. There’s too much ambience and scenery (and wine) to soak up to spend much time staring at my laptop, focused on my thoughts and memories.

This photo is from my second flight, the one I had hoped (and failed) to sleep through.



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sleeping together 3

On the fourth day, Gawan took me to the outlook he’d shown me the day before and went beyond for a proper hike, though there were paved paths and steps throughout.


He even brought a picnic: nice thick sandwiches and homemade pie for dessert, which we ate while looking out over a dizzying height. But we had mostly walked down to get to this particular height, and the return trip was up the equivalent of something like 40 flights of stairs. I would have eaten more pie if there had been any.


That evening, Gawan and his roommate’s boyfriend wrestled the soft office mattress upstairs and plonked it on top of the hard mattress in Gawan’s bedroom. It turned out to be just right: baby bear’s bed.

On the morning of the fifth day, we explored each other more, and this time it was not entirely vanilla. He visited the leather paddle upon me again (the first time for that had been at the hotel). We fucked again. He gave me oral, explored with his fingers, and wielded my trusty little vibe on me. Whenever I got close, he sweetly crooned “good girl” until I eventually came. He was unconditionally invested in my pleasure and happiness, and he swaddled me in a blanket of warmth and love.

In the afternoon, he drove me to a notable landmark, one of the sights you really should see if you’re in this part of the country, partly just to have a little outing and partly so I could say “Yes, I saw the famous sights”. I had travelled a long way to get here; if I didn’t see any sights, there would be some awkward questions when I got back home.

So by the fifth day we knew we had a bed that was comfortable enough for me and big enough for us both, but we slept on it only once more before leaving town for the first time, then a couple more days here and there. Otherwise, it was a parade of five different hotel beds over the next two weeks.


Throughout the trip, I continued to check in with myself, but less and less frequently as the guilt and anxiety failed to materialize. I did, however, experience some guilt for a while after I got home, in response to Wolf’s moods. He had been consistently supportive of me taking this trip and having fun but had nonetheless found it difficult with me away, and more difficult that I was with another man. This almost certainly hit him harder than it would have otherwise because of his depression and anxiety (which was finally diagnosed only a couple of weeks ago).

But he was still unhappy even after I returned. It pains me when he’s unhappy, so I have a tendency to take more responsibility for his mood than I should, but it seemed clear that the trip was the cause of his unhappiness. And this probably hit me harder than it would have otherwise because of my own depression.

Looking back, I suppose I was projecting my own fears: that non-monogamy would hurt him, and when I saw that he was hurting I unconsciously assumed that was the reason and duly felt guilty about it. While it was unresolved, I couldn’t face writing about this trip. We’ve talked about it many times since: he didn’t expect or want me to do anything differently than I had done, and I’ve let go of feeling like his pain was my fault. I think we’re in the clear now.