Faithful readers of this blog may have been wondering what has been going on since my first encounter with Rule Breaker – you know, the married guy that I work with that I started fucking? Yes, it’s still going on – and in full force. I wish I could say that I had taken the high road and stopped it before things got complicated. But as I believe I may have mentioned, RB is human kryptonite to me – his mere presence makes my clothes fall off and a simple text from him can cause a full-body reaction. So no. I have not done the wise thing; I continue to take the lowest possible road in letting our affair continue. He is gorgeous and smart and funny and confident and soulful. I AM NOT MADE OF STONE.
I am not going to share with you with the details of the weekend he came to stay with me during the Super Bowl. Because frankly, Reader, that weekend is mine. It was that good. I don’t want to dissect it, because it feels like if I do, the magic will somehow siphon out of it. So let’s just say, for the first time in a very long time, I let my heart open up all the way, and it was completely reciprocated. I would not change a minute of that perfect weekend. Not one. In those few days, I had an amazing lover, friend, and partner in crime. There was great fun, much talking, much drinking and hours of sex. That’s it. That’s all you get.
So.
RB came to town recently to take one of our clients out (and to see me, I’d like to think). He flew in and we, along with my boss and the client, went to a basketball game. I met him outside the bar where we were already posted up when he got to town, and he informs me that his hotel room has floor to ceiling windows that he will be pressing me up against later. Instantly, I’m wet. FUCK. We had a few drinks and then walked over to the basketball game. My boss, who is lovely but a bit of a straight arrow, leaves in the middle of the game to handle a family issue. This is great news, as the client that we are with is rather like RB and I in his proclivity for extreme fun. So my boss leaving pretty much sounded the gun as the three of us were released from the gate.
After some drinks at the game, I suggested, as classy girls do, that we go to a bar called the Tilted Kilt. If you’re not familiar, this is a slightly upscale version of Hooters wherein the wait staff all wears short kilts and have their tits pushed up to the heavens. The guys are thrilled by the idea, until they see the clientele – all men, of course. It is a total dick farm, and if there is anything that you know about Rita and Stoney at this point, it is that we are straight up agriculturalists.
At the behest of the client, we start to do grape vodka bombs. This seems like an excellent idea for a Monday at 10:30, right? We get trashed there, then head to another bar that is too quiet. So I suggest going to the one strip club downtown – it’s been there since the dawn of time and is sort of quasi-respectable, as it mostly sees a clientele of businessmen from out of town. And goddamn it if I’m not going to cement my reputation for being just one of the guys.
Of course the two of them appear pleasantly agreeable to this suggestion though I’m sure they want to fist pump and high five me. The place is comprised of three round stages in the middle of the room, with seats right up against the stages and seats around the periphery of the room. The guys choose a seat on the periphery and we sit down to watch. I don’t have to tell you I’m not a prude, so I’m really enjoying myself. I particularly like watching the men watching the women.
RB buys me a lap dance, as I was hoping he would. I choose a very cute girl with great boobs – hey, I have small ones so I’m sort of fascinated by the big ones. RB and the client watch she and I with great interest. Then RB gets a dance for himself –as one does at a strip club. He chooses a girl and she beings to rub on him while I watch. And suddenly my chest starts to burn, and I can’t breathe. I am overcome with an intense need to get away from them. So I stand up and stride to the bathroom, where I pace and stare at myself in the mirror, willing myself to pull it together. What the fuck is going on here, Rita? Why are you jealous of a stripper? I wait a reasonable amount of time to go back out so that they are finished. “Are you ok?” he asks with the hint of a smile. “I’m ok.” I reply. He knows what just went down.
We are smashed at this point and it’s late, so we walk the client to his hotel and then head to RB’s hotel. I have a sort of vague recollection of us touching in front of the client at some point during the evening. Which is stupid as fuck, I realize, but the client works in another state all week and apparently has figured out what is up with RB and I anyway. Not that it would take a rocket scientist at this point. And as a pretty much golden rule now, I trust who RB trusts. But it’s risky, I know – and I don’t have nearly as much to lose here. RB sometimes slips into a lasseiz-faire attitude about us that I find interesting. But fuck, I’m powerless to act in any rational way when I’m with this guy, so I get it.
Per the seed he planted earlier, when we get to his room, I walk over to the floor-to-ceiling window. He turns me around and pushes me against it and starts to undress me. When I am naked, he yanks my ass toward him and enters me. Then it gets a little crazy. It’s intense with him anyway, but this night is even more so – it’s been too long since we’ve fucked. I let him put his dick pretty much anywhere he wants, and I do things to his ass that most guys wouldn’t probably want me to. There is a giant mirror on the wall by the bed, so I have the best possible view of us fucking all night - as we did, until the wee hours. It was dirty and it was amazing.
The next morning, we have one last round of sex (with me riding him and watching myself in the mirror - you're welcome for the visual). Afterward, he mentions my tantrum at the strip club again with barely concelaed amusement – he says he hadn’t figured me for the jealous type. I groan and crawl under the covers. HUGE TACTICAL ERROR. It feels like I blinked first, showed something that went way more emotional than I intended to go, ever intended to show to him. Sometimes it's almost physically painful to keep my emotions under wraps when I'm around him, and I couldn't seem to supress it this time. If there’s one thing that I am terrified of, it’s being vulnerable, and I feel constantly vulnerable around him because I'm so ridiculously crazy about him. He unseats me at every turn. It makes me want to punch him sometimes.
We go to breakfast and get some things done for work together. I enjoy doing these things with him just as much as I love his dick in my orifices.
And that, Reader, is that. For now. I continue to scheme for legit ways to see him and he makes it happen occasionally. It’s always a guessing game with RB, but it’s fun and exciting and hot, and I get what I need when I see him. And he leaves with a sore dick and a head full of things to think about when we’re on conference calls together. This works for me.
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