So, funny story. I wrote this 36,000 feet in the air and rather intoxicated. Go Bailey.
I’m gonna be honest. This post when I land will get posted without editing for a good reason. I had a good weekend. And I have multiple reasons why.
I left Friday morning for my coast to coast flight (one that I’m becoming more used to). My fear of flying is almost totally gone (save for serious turbulence). I arrived in Boston on Friday evening and met Sir. We took the shuttle back to his place and had a nice, relaxed evening together. Saturday Sir let me sleep in a bit, though to be totally honest I wasn’t sleeping. I really just didn’t want him to let go of me. It was so nice downstairs with his arms wrapped around me while we slept. We had some fun playing and grabbed lunch and generally were rather tame for the rest of the day. Sunday we picked up the rental car and I drove us to the hotel where we would be staying in Maine. The point of the trip was for an interview and as with all my interactions with Sir, I was a bit nervous. I had packed gear, he had packed gear…I was pretty stoked (especially since he had me in chastity for over a week at this point, even our previous two sessions hadn’t allowed me to finish. Papa finished and it was good). I say that not with any negatvitity. There is something VERY erotic to me about Sir getting his rocks off and me still being whimpery and horny.
So even though we had two very fun sessions with Sir getting off, Sunday in Maine didn’t turn out like I had hoped. I had wanted (like the previous two sessions) for Sir to mount me and he had certainly planned on it. My health and body was not cooperating and so I was honest with him and explained things. He was so understanding, and we still had a fantastic time. It was the first time I had ever seen Papa in FULL leather gear. Leather boots, chaps, bluejeans, vest…cap…flogger, gloves…and he flogged me. I swear to God, keeping my face towards the door was so difficult…I just wanted to drink that image in. Right there in rural Maine. It was fantastic…if I wouldn’t have had an interview the next morning I would have loved for him to have torn me up. As it was, he left considerable bite marks, bruises, and my nipples feel rather raw. It’s a great feeling. At one point I was prostrate at his boots licking them, kissing them….and then looking up at that face. Damn. Does a boner at 36,000 feet at least get me admitted to the lobby of the mile high club?
Papa kept the interview in mind and had me in bed by 1145pm but I couldn’t sleep. I was so anxious, my skin was itchy, and I didn’t want him to sleep. It sounds odd but when I’m with him I don’t want to go to sleep….because I know sleep brings about the morning…one morning closer to me leaving again :( The interview went well I think. I could totally see myself living there, working there, and driving down to visit him on weekends when I could and for holidays. The interview also exposed me to a long term trip with Papa out of his element (his home). While driving, Papa saw a deer carcass in the highway (it’s rural Maine) and alerted me…and I swerved and everything was fine. It was then though that I saw his concern for my safety, that protective part of him. I took him out to dinner and he mentioned the deer a few times and how he was happy to have been there. I was happy he was there too…not just to warn me of the deer, but to hold me, to kiss me, to tell me I looked great and that I’d do great. We drove back, dropped the rental car off and went out to dinner with his husband. That’s when the subject of me leaving the next day came up and suddenly I felt very sad again. It had been only a brief trip, a vacation, a minor excursion into the life I want to have. I could quote 10 country songs off the top of my head that deal with that same topic. Sir doesn’t care for country music but regardless, it’d still be true.
I have this love/hate relationship with Logan International in Boston. On one hand, it’s where I fly to when I’m visiting him. But I don’t associate HIM with it. I associate him with the train station where he picks me up. I associate Logan with me leaving. With spending time in tears, sucking down Dunkin’ Donuts Coffee, local craft beer and crying. This time wasn’t really any different. I had a few beers and looked at the pictures I had taken. I texted him, I drained the battery on my phone doing all of this. I’m looking out the window right now, at the lone star visible from my jet…a small town full of lights below me, and wondering what he is doing right now. I’m now longer in his time zone, but if I was, it’d be 7:20. He’d be eating supper with his husband and relaxing with his cats in front of the TV. He’ll be barefoot and his paws are sore. And there would be an empty space in front of his chair….a space I was honored to fill for another couple of days…a space where I could give his paws the attention he deserves. He’d have a cold drink in his hand that I’d make sure never ran out, and I’d still be able to feel his legs wrapped around me.
End – 1-10-12. – somewhere over the rocky mountains.
No comments:
Post a Comment