Happy Birthday To Me! (Director's Cut)

Or: "When The Cat's Away, The Mice Will Play"

My other, happy to-be-me, bestest-birthday-present ever was . . . Mr. Smoochy.

Yes, that's right. Birthday sex for the Spinster.

Dear Reader, you might be wondering now just how such a thing came to be, given that Mrs. Smoochy has pasted her own photo into the dictionary right next to psycho hose beast. Well, see, it just so happens that she has been gone all week to a pagan fuckfest in the boonies and left poor Mr. Smoochy all by his lonesome. She must have been having a Very Good Time, because she made a phone call home on Sunday or Monday and basically released him for the week to play with whomever he wished, apparently including those of us not in The List. (For the record, I am not altogether convinced that Mrs. Smoochy's permissions were meant to include myself. Right or wrong, however, Mr. Smoochy interpreted their conversation that way, and that is good enough for me.)

Immediately after this miracle conversation, Mr. Smoochy called me up and we discussed the whole situation in depth. He struggled endearingly with assuming Full Speed Ahead and remembering that I too have some say in the matter. It was one of those all-night, intimate, naked-in-our-own-beds phone calls that make friendships with the opposite sex so satisfying.

Mr. Smoochy came over late Wednesday afternoon. We hung out while dinner cooked (roast lamb, steamed asparagus, and french bread). I usually dislike cooking intensely; it is a lot of work for little reward. However, I do so love to cook for Mr. Smoochy -- I find a very primal satisfaction in watching him eat food that I have prepared. For dessert, he had made a Black Forest Torte that was out of this world.

After dinner we put in a movie and snuggled on the couch, although truth be told, we paid very little attention to the movie. It wasn't long before he began to nibble my ears, and with my first moan there was no turning back. On the couch in the dark, his expert touch primed my body thoroughly. His tongue caressed the back of my neck while one of his big, strong hands held my throat; his other hand roamed my body until it found its way down to my wet pussy. Starting lightly, he teased and tortured my clit (his other hand choking off my moans) until I came in his arms.

After a short cuddle, we adjurned to my bedroom for reasons of space and comfort. Once there I was happy to fill my mouth with his cock. I have not always been the most enthusiastic fellationist . . . but this man, this cock, I couldn't get enough. I loved feeling him get hard against my tongue. I loved looking up at him, straight in the eye with my mouth filled with him. And I sucked him greedily until he filled my mouth with cum. My god, did it taste good. I could have that man in my mouth forever.

He floated down from his orgasm, then went to work again on my pussy. Flicking, tickling, rubbing, fucking -- his hands were magic. I reached for his cock and stroked him as he stroked me. Occasionally he would pause and swat my ass. Sadist that he is, my yelps would make him harder. Eventually he reached for a condom and put it on. First we fucked doggy-style, but when he wasn't getting the reaction he wanted from me he asked if I would be on top. We switched positions, and Oh My God.

I don't always enjoy being on top, but this time was spectacular. I have often had trouble providing a pace that can get a guy off -- it was completely gratifying that I was able to get Mr. Smoochy off this way. It also just so happens that we came at the same time, which was a first for me in any position with any partner.

Sex with Mr. Smoochy was completely different from sex I've had with anyone else. For one thing, I have never been friends with any of my previous partners. Because we've had over a year of sexual communication there was none of the blind fumbling and bad assumptions that some men bring to bed. He mostly already knew my body, that that made things so much better. And trusting him as much as I do, I was able to relax and enjoy myself more than I have with anyone else.

I would definitely have sex with this man again. I think (hope) that he would return to my bed, if given the chance. Mrs. Smoochy returns home tomorrow; I have no idea what that will bring. He may opt not to tell her outright what he's been up to. He may tell her, and she may be ok with it. Or she might not. He and I both agreed to approach this as a one-time-only deal.

But I sincerely hope that it is not.