I'm blown away by swimming and gymnastics which took priority over work today. Amazing.
But, to business: while still reeling from NBC's tear drenched gymnastics coverage of yesterday (never mind the assy and asinine comments about Gabby Douglas' beautiful hair from barely earlier), and the pasta bake induced food coma that followed her into Wednesday morning, the Manhattan Cupcake struggled in the subterranean world of the New York metro once again, and came across the Co-Worker once more at work. We agreed that we might hang out in the evening, dis any more sappy commentary that came our way on the TV, grab some dinner in the evening after work. I joked even at the time that we were starting to get a little serious - sex wasn't even mentioned at all.
So the time of joyful departure from a certain well-known city landmark came at last, and the CW suggested we might go to his place (a lack of embarrassing roommates; plus he has surround sound which of course makes all the difference watching when swimming semi-finals). So we trundled through the subway again, we cooked together (so couple-like, eugh), and flopped down in front of the delightfully-delayed broadcast.
Then, his arm around me, he leaned across, half squinting at me with a look that said 'I want you but I don't know about it tonight.' So, twisting on his couch, I made the decision easier for him, and soon clothes were piled at each end, and lying back on the couch his face was clasped in my crotch, tongue trickling down from high to low, even - delightfully naughtily - reaching a little round the back from time to time, while I rested my legs on his shoulders to pull him closer..
We banged in the living room, but it was a bout that lasted only a short while this time. He took me while I knelt on the cushions, my boobs pressed into the back of the couch as he stood behind me, and I felt his head enter me, and it was delightful.
Am I getting less detailed and marginally more poetic here? :s We fucked, and his efforts on me before helped to bring me to climax just the once, but powerfully, just as he came too. Sweaty in the humid room, we lay, our skin cold in a sheen, on the couch, while he doodled shapes with his finger on my stomach, which I loved and squirmed and giggled.
We didn't do it again that night, but I stayed over, we slept naked together in his bed, and in the morning on Thursday we woke, spooning and I felt his half-hard sleepy excitement pressing gently but earnestly at my butt. Turning round - he was still pretty much asleep - I remember grinning at his dreamy dozed expression, and I gently wriggled down the bed between the sheets, and woke him up in what (I hope) was the sweetest way.
We had a long breakfast together (I had woken up at about 5am). He even poured the milk in my bowl (which was a gesture that I didn't miss; and no matter who did it I'd hate it!). During eating, he asked me, "Would it be an idea to leave a few things round here for the future, just in case?" He was smiling, but looking tentative. He knew all about my current thoughts on the general state of American manhood (in terms of their ability to faithfully commit to anything, anyway).
"I'll think about it." But I've not said no, and I don't think so. We left earlier than we might have done for work, as I had to go to my own room for new clothes. It is frighteningly possible that I feel for him something more than his beautiful capacity to fill and fulfill me in multiple ways. But in my mind, my stomach filled with cereal and coffee, juice and cum, he was receiving a field promotion from the anonymous co-worker to the new official title by which herein he shall be named (and with no discernible clue to his address, naturally): the Upper East Sider.
