Breaking Those Old Rules

What's that movie line from Rocky?

Women weaken legs.

Did the same thing apply to me? Was a good, vigorous romp the day before my race going to affect my ability to run at my intended race pace? Or would the, er... injection, of testosterone enhance my race?

This called for some hands-on research.

Aiden arrived at my hotel just after I checked in. I was ready for him. Music playing, lube set on bedside table, bullet armed with fresh batteries. Pillows fluffed, sheets turned back, bottles of water chilled.

A short ride in the elevator brought us to my floor, a quick dash down the hall, the snick of the keycard in the door, and we were inside. His hands were on me immediately, pulling at my shirt, tangling in my hair. I was pressing as close to him as I could get. We only had a few short hours, and we intended to make the most of them.

But first, we had to talk.

Every time he and I are together, we break down another barrier. Sometimes it's sexual; sometimes it's emotional. This time it was the latter.

As you probably recall from my last post about time with Aiden, there was another family emergency that cut off our time together together. It wasn't the first time it had happened, and I wasn't entirely sure I bought the story. Either he was the unluckiest guy on the planet, or he was trying to distance himself. It didn't really matter to me which, I was just puzzled by all the drama.

I've mentioned before that I'm probably the ideal mistress. I might insist on a connection - that we actually like each other - but I will never demand more than you can give. I'm not clingy or melodramatic, and I will never, ever talk about us to anyone other than us. I have, of course, explained this to him. I don't think he had ever really taken it in before. Maybe there's been a bad experience, maybe he's even more paranoid than I am.

This time, I told him while straddling his chest, naked.

This time, I think, I hope, he took it in. This time, I think, I hope, we built real trust.

The family drama? It was, in fact, real. No, I'm not going to tell you what it was. It wasn't catastrophic, but it was bad enough. I'm glad I never refuted the story. As I said, even if it wasn't true, I have no right to interrogate him. He owes me no explanations. He felt very bad, and apologized yet again.

And then flipped me to my back and apologized again. Actually there were several apologies, in varying positions, and with varying degrees of vehemence. I, of course, accepted all his apologies gracefully. Especially when he apologized long and slow and deep while talking very dirty in my ear. That man does have a way with a sweet, dirty apology.

Oh, and my research project? I'd say that we proved the old warning against sex before competition as baseless. I beat my projected time by ten minutes.

Maybe it was his legs that were weak the next day?

I'll have to ask him...