Sunday I will drive to Kevin’s place for a long-delayed visit.
Though it’s been a while, I think my relationship with Kevin found its comfort level before the pandemic kept us apart. As I go to be with him again, I am looking forward to it, not anxious. That’s because I know Kevin and he knows me and because I have a clear sexual role with him. We know where the relationship cannot go and where it must go, and in our times in January and February we got to a point of navigating that.
A key to it, I have found, is to realize he doesn’t want me 24/7. I respect that he does not want the responsibility of entertaining me, or occupying my time, or even paying attention to me. No matter — it’s my nature to be self-occupied. I have an inner life. I read. I write. I think. So I am not a woman who needs his time and focus. And he much appreciates that. There’s no obligation he has toward me, no requirement of him to attend to me. And I try not to impose on him in the house and the shared living space.
Even so, there are things he does do with me — besides sex, that is. He will take me out to dinner — usually with friends of his. Sometimes to a country music bar, which is interesting. The hot springs. He takes me to his workplace sometimes. By now, his people know what I am to him, which comes with a range of judgments, but that’s OK.
Of course, I need to be available to him for sex when he does want me. It has been nice that a lot of the times Kevin has liked making out, as on the couch in the living room or in his study or even in his truck. Touching and kissing and fondling, all like real foreplay (oh my!) leading into the sex du jour, whatever he wants. Afterward, he stays awhile, as he might with an escort — he’s actually a gentleman — but maybe that’s the one point of obligation he does shoulder, those moments with me coming down from coming, so to speak. Soon, we go back to our separate corners. Until the next time. Which is fairly frequent. Let’s just say Kevin recycles quickly.
He has done well to keep from falling back into his dom treatment of me, treating me as his slave. And that goes for me too. It’s hard for me not to be submissive — in general, in all of life, much less to a man who used to have intense bondage sex with me. So if he went there, I would follow him in little submissive steps. But he’s been great not going there.
The one thing, though, that he trotted out again was using my middle name “Maura,” which was a code word he had for me before, when he was my dom. You can read about that here and in some other posts of mine around that time. He spoke the word “Maura,” and I gave him a look as in you’re not supposed to do this, but I smiled, dropped to my knees, and opened my mouth. Just like old times.
When this was being set up last fall, I thought it was mostly an accommodation between Amanda and Kevin, visitation rights as part of the settlement, so to speak. It is that, all of that, but I wonder if Amanda didn’t know even then that Kevin would be good for me. She knows I need a man sometimes.
Of course, it’s a fine gig for Kevin too. Back in February I asked him, “Do you realize how good this is for you? You have me like this, no strings.” He was driving his Ford truck, and he got a big grin on his face. “Yup,” he said, “I sure do.”