On my actual birthday I was meant to see Jason, but postponed it due to feeling sorry for myself and the throbbing at the end of my leg rather than at the top. Hours later however, I was regretting the reality of not having a birthday shag!
Last night, drinking with colleagues and friends and friends of colleagues I receive a text, a booty text under the guise of a Happy Birthday text.
A week of painkillers (for sprained ankle) and too much alcohol, trying my hardest not to mix the two, I really wasn't in the mood.
I was horny as hell, but the practicalities of actually having sex, I'm still not back in heels, never mind having all-too-physical activities. I sent a text back with my location and instructions to be gentle with me.
Back at mine, we fell into the old routine, adapting one move to alleviate any pressure on my ankle. Kissing was lovely, but not great, the oomph that was once there seemed to be missing, or was that literally down to the volume of alcohol consumed?
I'm not sure if it is his natural talent in bed or that he remembers my body so well, I came nearly instantly, embarrassingly quick (or maybe the excitement that was had in the back of the taxi en route to mine?!). The sensitivity of carrying on post-orgasm was incredible, it was too good, very physical, so why did it feel like I was withholding?
Afterwards, he mentioned about getting breakfast the next morning and I said it was fine if he wanted to head home and not stay, the commute from mine would be horrid in the morning.
Eventually he left, and within minutes he sent a text "I would have stayed xxxx".
Something about the evening trouble me, I wanted to sleep alone.