Love:Sex:Lazy Mornings

I love slow, lazy mornings. J didn’t have anything to do until later, and I blissfully, didn’t book any clients until sometime around 4 this afternoon as a result. We still woke up early, as we always do, grabbed a quick breakfast and went out for a run. J is a good influence in that arena; I feel better than I ever have and everything that is soft on me, are things that should be soft on a woman.

A joint shower later, thanks to this monstrous and wonderful shower, and we were back in bed just wasting away the hours. Sex, yes, the toe-curling sort that makes my nipples hard as I read the sentence back in my head. J’s lips on my neck, his fingers on my waist, his sexy tongue kisses make me think of him when he is gone and show my hand so that I am defeated before he ever returns.

I am his…terrifyingly so. He holds from me something that he knows I want to hear. I am not sure if it is to torture me or to somehow wait for the right, perfect moment. Both are in his ability, and part of his sadistic mind. I love it and in so, serve as his masochist, physically, emotionally, mentally. So consumed.

His actions tell me so much, and make my feminine mind leap here and there between telling myself what I want to hear, and telling myself I am a fool for believing it. Today, on this slow lazy day of conquest, when I kissed him goodbye, I felt him say it against my lips…I think.

I fancy myself on a precipice but have already long fallen. I am his…beautifully so. I love you J.

Raining:Food:An obsession with HGTV

It’s been raining all morning. When I stepped out the humidity screamed rainstorm like nothing else. My hair frizzed and since then I’ve been running errands in crappy spring-in-Texas rain, with frizzy, ugly hair. My vanity is in my hair. I love it, and when it looks bad, I am usually in a bad mood. Not, you know, in a pouting starlet sort of way, but I don’t feel confident.

In cold weather, my mom used to make us comfort food. You know the sort, cookies, muffins, mashed potatoes and a wonderful Étouffée that could knock your socks off. All of those things are great, not for your waistline, but certainly for your attitude after one of days like I’ve had today. So I whipped out a recipe my sister sent me from Ohio – white chili. It’s made with chicken, three kinds of white beans, green chilies, onions, white corn and served with sour cream and Monterrey jack cheese. I love the stuff and if you stick with fat free sour cream (I refuse to purchase fat free cheese) then it isn’t bad for your waist. J insists on cornbread on the side – my southern man.

All this done while watching HGTV and fantasizing about a time when I’ll want to do something with this house. There were a few things that J and I changed outside when he purchased this place, but inside its contemporary meets old world, and perfect for my girlie heart. I think however, I am going to paint something red. Chili pepper red. We’ll have to see how that goes over with the big man, but I think I’ve got the inside track there.

He should be home soon and we’ll head next door to watch movies with the group. I AM LEGEND is on the list I’m told, but I also purchased Enchanted while I was out today. If the girl ratio is right — it goes in afterwards. Zombie movie watching should be rewarded with a prize, right?

Fridays:Why we didn’t bother:Laying like broccoli

It has been one of those Fridays for both of us. Crazy lunatic people (my day) and his day of dealing with ‘inferior’ (translate: dumbass) people. We were invited out to go to a new club this evening. J didn’t like the idea, one because he would be surrounded by women whose obsession wasn’t cock. I loved it and was excited about going… all up until 3 pm. Sometime during the hours of 3 and 7 (long window) my energy level went from perky (translate: I can take on the world) to ‘I hate this place and want to blow it up.’ The last thing I wanted was to stare at the people who I work with….drunk.

J who isn’t the master at dealing with changes of plans, and who had expected me to go out with the ladies this evening, altered his plans and decided to make a home night of it. We never, ever, do this. J has the energy of five men, and for someone who is wholly incapable of sucking down an energy drink, coffee or a power shot, this is amazing. It’s almost a freaking natural health commercial in and of itself. I’m digressing here.

So we stopped by the grocery store, picked up a ton of food and brought it home and have been doing nothing more than vegging all night long – between bouts of unadulterated sex. (I don’t know how people with kids keep a constant schedule – it would drive me batty!)

It was a refreshing change of pace. I didn’t have to pick out skimpy lingerie that matched what ever obscene thing I chose to wear (I dress fairly outlandishly – at the club). And with the bar here a drink or two doesn’t require a trip to the store. (Don’t even attempt to open that bottle of dusty brandy he’s got. Expensive something.. blah blah blah.)

The latter comment which I uttered outloud earned me a fairly brutal whipping (sigh), which he told me I also needed to add to this post lest his image as a bad ass (OW!) errr… Lord of all things good and yummy (OW!) errrr… the greatest man all all the Earth (Whew) be altered.

If you’ve followed me thus far, you’ve kept up with my scurrying train of thought and have earned a prize….

Pick it up at the following address:
OW
OW
OW
(Omitted per the harsh task Master next door)

Kisses,

Angelique

Space: Fill in: One point, women

So we’ve decided to move in together. It’s a huge move for him, Mr. Non-commitment, but I think he forgets that it is a huge move for me too. I’ve never lived with someone before. Me. I’m all about sex and whatnot, but when it comes to ‘my space’ I need ‘MY SPACE.’ So I carved a little niche for my girl things in his bathroom. Score one for the women.

Obviously we didn’t decide on sharing my cramped apartment in the city, but rather his new house out in the middle of nowhere. IT has the room for me, obviously, and next door is S and C which I’ve decided isn’t so bad. They are like a fill in for J when J is out of town or what ever. All the sarcasm a girl could ever want all bundled up for my convenience.

I’ll write more soon, I got sucked into yahoo and chat and stuff, so no time to write and now J’s back and wants to go out. be good!

Scheduling: Time: Big Jerk!

He’s such an asshole sometimes too. Let’s take a break from our regularly scheduled starry-eyed adoration to allow me to scream out loud and pull my hair in frustration. BASTARD!!!!

The flip side of that coin, ladies, is that your plans depend on their plans. I feel like I have to book with his assistant to see him. His assistant, that woman, must have the patience of a saint. Thank God she’s old (I guess J picked up that tip from S). Otherwise, I’d hate her.

J has this habit of putting everything up. He uses a glass and when he’s done, he washes it and puts it in the dishwasher. His dirty laundry is organized!! His pantry, which is sparse by anyone’s definition, is neatly lined up, in order. He has about 10 million different protein drinks, and goes to the gym for fun. He wakes up and does 400 sit ups. I wake up and get coffee.

(Sometimes I count.)

What prompted this rush of annoyance? J snarked at me for not being available when he needed me. I made plans, because he hadn’t committed to shit for me. So magically, when he’s available, I am supposed to be as well. I have two tickets for Van Halen (I’m reliving my high school/Jr High days) and was planning on taking my favorite gay hottie, Carmen. I should have said had two tickets.

If I didn’t know any better, he orchestrated this cancellation. When my concert conflicts with his plans suddenly the damn thing is postponed? What???!

A lady doesn’t curse, I’m told, but that mother fucker….

Sigh. Guess I’m open for dinner after all, babe. To which you will undoubtedly reply – ‘I’m busy.’

The Boys: Jealousy: Love

I’ve never seen men behave like they do. It’s the closest group of men I’ve ever known. They are closer than brothers, closer than I am with my girlfriends. I am jealous of their relationship, how well they know each other, how much they share between them without even talking. In their world a glance does say everything. With my friends, and I’m not knocking you girls, sometimes its just sooo much explaining that goes on about why. These guys, they already know why.

I know I never told you about my Valentine’s day, but it was amazing, AMAZING. J is such a romantic. I love how he cups my cheeks when he kisses me. I love how he slides his fingers along the back of my neck.

I am totally getting off track. I’ve watched them, their relationship, in full force since we’ve gotten back. S has been sick, really sick since returning from their boys’ week off trip. He’s been down with a hell-bent strain of Bronchitis (did I spell that right) and made C move over to J’s house until he got over it.

J visited him about 10 times a day. C and him took turns going back and forth. I watched C and J plot about getting him to go to the doctor – hell, C’s a fricking ****** (changed by order of the privacy God). The other J even drove down from a few hours away to see how he was doing in person. That’s one network of men mothering better than I ever could.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen J upset. He’s got this unflappable way about him. He just doesn’t get upset, usually. But he was upset. Really upset after S was carted off to the hospital.

I’m so jealous of how close they are. Women would, I don’t know, be more emotional, but I don’t know if I love anyone like that. Even with J, I don’t have to worry because he’s frickin indestructible. Still if he was sick, I’d be beside myself too. I just want someone to love me like that.

I say that, but, I think I’ve already found that for myself. I just don’t want to get sick to prove it.

And S is better now. Tess, he asked me to talk to you, but I sent J. Forgive me.

Sore:Because of J:and LaDeeDah

I still haven’t cut my hair. I’m such a goober and wanted the typical woman thing to parade in front of him and see if he notices. I’ll let you know.

He is back. And I’ve spent the last several evenings at his place. We are doing something this evening, but I’m not sure what so I’ll update you later. He did send me flowers… at work. I didn’t think I was the romantic sort to get all mushy and gooey over flowers, but, but I did tear up. His note: For my beautiful girl, XOXO, J

He wrote it in his handwriting and so that makes the flowers and the card something of a keepsake. You can imagine one of them is getting hung upside down – the only rose, I guess, because I don’t think lilies do well dried.

I purchased a dress a few weeks ago that I’ll wear tonight. It’s a burgundy color, and meets J’s requirements for a dress, short and low. He likes me to show off my stems – which his goofy way of identifying my legs. Those legs have been wrapped around him in every angle possible since his return which determined the ‘Sore’ in today’s title.

Gotta go. A woman doesn’t get hot without a little work.

J:Panties:MeMeMe & My Hair

I love him. I told him so over the phone when he called me at work excited about something he purchased for me. I am undoubtedly totally jealous that he is there in fucking LONDON without me, but it is tempered by the fact that when he calls me, and I can hear the smile in his voice.

He didn’t tell me what it is because he is – Hello – J -’nuff said. I ended up going to rest of the day without panties, because he loves to torture me. I can’t blame it all on him because I did bring it up – the fact I was wearing a skirt, the fact that his voice was turning me on. I could hear the shift in his tone, just bringing that up. I could hear that growl.

Depressingly enough, there was no time to indulge in any fun, and with his friends being in earshot, well I’d never live it down. Oh yea, I was at work too.

On another note of pure self-interest. I am going to cut my hair soon. It is currently down to the middle of my back, a little longer and I was thinking of just hacking it all off. J doesn’t care, just as long as he can get a good handful, he said. With his hands, I’m figuring that I’ll need at least a shoulder length style. Any ideas?

Cats & Mice: Phone Calls: Chores

Squeek! (Ugh! That sounded too cute, but oh well) Color me defiant, while J is out of town with the boys, I’m staying busy. He has called, of course, and we racked up what I believe will be a massive phone charge for about 45 minutes worth of phone sex. I’m not sure how it happened only that by the end I was left with glazed over eyes and a sore right arm.

I’ve been left the chore of dealing with house sitting duties while they’ve been gone. Rough life, having two entire places to myself. The woman I’ll call Lucy is caring for the city place for the other J. Work and all keeps the days occupied and the evenings have been spent with massive amounts of self-pampering. My toes are now the perfect shade – OPI’s Jewel of India, it’s kind of a purple, red and pink color all blended together.

I’ve danced naked through both houses with some form of pop music blaring from their expensive speakers. I almost laugh when I picture their faces and then cringe when the amusement wears off. All in all, I want them to think I’ve taken care of their place, so I’ve been keeping up on those day to day tasks. S, however, has people to do most of those.

I’ve successfully kept myself from rummaging through J’s things. I think it’s rude to do that, but I admit the urge is there, but so is the knowledge that he’d 1. Show me anything I wanted to see on his own and 2. Be disappointed that I had violated his privacy.

So that keeps the curious cat at bay. For now.

Trips: J: Loves & Hate

The way his hand cups the back of my head is the stuff of memory. I love the way his fingers curl into my hair, just that little bit to assert his authority, but not too hard, not every time. I like watching the decent of his mouth onto mine. I like the way my lids close each and every time.

I like the way his body feels as he pulls me closer – his teeth, how they run along the muscle in my neck. I like when he calls me his bitch, but only when its right and never when its wrong. I like the way he feels inside me. I like the way he feels every single place in my body.

And I hate, how I hate…

How I feel when he’s gone.

Enjoy your trip, baby.