Confession

There is something comforting in seeing something old and making it new again.

I have this thing about bringing married men into our world. Not for the ethical reasoning you might expect ... I have been there and understand what it can be like to live in a world with limited possibility. I limit it purely due to selfish reasons. I hate the logistical gymnastics of figuring it all out. The hotel rooms. The lost messages and looking over the shoulder.

But there is always an exception to the rule, now isn't there?

And in a world where I only break a few rules, I broke all three. Over forty. Married. Hotel room.

And ask me, would I go back?

Absolutely.

I wish I had written about first meeting him. Before J. Six years. It was shocking realizing that. Six years have passed and although I have made one feeble attempt to contact this other J, nothing came to fruition. And then recently I logged into an account I hardly use and there he was. Something old, new again.

I am a woman and have certain cravings. I am not alone in this and even my craving is a bit pedestrian. But please, cut me some slack. I am a lush for a suit encasing a lovely scented man. There is that rustle of cotton and wool. The silk of a tie. The little buttons. The reveal of chest. The scraping away of the fabric, dropping it off shoulders to hit the floor.

Men who live in suits have habits that other men who do not wear them don't. They hang their jackets up, or fold them in half, collar side up and lay it flat. They pull their tie in a slithering flick off their necks. The must have good finger skills to slip the buttons from their cotton cages.

The second time I met J it was on a dark and wet country road. I wore a slip under a wool coat and heels. Dressing outside I was overcome with lust and crouched in the mud (and cream coat) to take him in my mouth again. Blame it on the suit.

Reconnecting with this man in a suit who plays with other men who have after work drinks (he called them "Money Men" in one of his messages and then laughed at me for using the term) and wear similar uniforms of dark blue, charcoal and black, reminds me how much I miss his breed. They shift around their corporate worlds like sharks. I like that image of them, sharp and quick witted. I am not niave though... I know the majority of them are harassed and tired, no longer hungry for what they first thought it was all about. Anyway, I digress... So reconnecting with this man I was struck with how lovely he was. How he does not offend my prudish ways but yet thrills them at the same time. The perfect balance of naughty and downright sinful. It was easy to say yes. It was easy to break my rules.

And he looks just like I remember him.

And he feels just like I needed him to.

We made a mess. Or rather I did. Like a little puppy too excited for the commotion.

When I first met this J I was looking for something he obviously could not give me. And one night standing in the snow after high geared fucking in a steaming car, there was this easy grace between us. What I did not tell him was I understood then that whatever we did share had the potential to hurt. Married men. Taken. And so I met him one more time to make sure I was right and then we drifted away. Me to other pursuits that were closer and more available. Him to other adventures. The night in the snow stands out still. If I close my eyes, I can see the light now. Hear the car behind us defrosting. See the snow in his hair.

And now I have borrowed him again. And this time it feels safe. We are both in the same situation now. With love at our backs and understanding between the sheets.

It helps that we like one another. The breaks in fucking are filled with words and perspective. And I always love that. It is easy. Easy. And then... there are the moments when he grips the hair at the back of my neck and thrusts into my body. The thrill of that moment reverberating into the days that follow.

And so I will break more rules.

Yes.

Please.


G.