Status: a continual Work in progress
The Real Story
Making Up is our Favorite thing to do...
July 5th 1:00 am (EST)
I was stuck in the hotel (that I insisted on getting my own room in), doing what I do best: Draw. I don’t even know what I was drawing. Part way through my sketch there was a heavy, stressed pounding on my door. I opened it, and within the same breath slammed it shut again. I wasn’t even going to bother. I walked back to my makeshift drawing studio and continued my sketch.
“Baby, seriously. Can you let me in, please…”
The rest was inaudible babbling laced with distressed tears. I growled in frustration and let him in.
“God dammit, Pete! Why do you always do this to me?”
“I’m just not used to being so needed…”
“Even after two fucking years?”
“I know it doesn’t make sense. I’m all kinds of fucked up. I’m really sorry, I really am.”
“Why was I wrong for wanting to show you affection, I mean come on, you are my ‘boyfriend’ aren’t you? Especially since it was an almost completely empty plane.”
“I don’t know,”
“I don’t buy it. I can’t keep doing this and wanting affection from someone who never gives it is not being ‘needy’. It’s wanting to feel love and wanting to feel wanted. You promised. I just want to feel wanted.”
I actually started to tear up a little. He swiftly moved over to me and held my frame close to his laying his head on my shoulder.
“I know, I fucked up, I’m sorry…. I love you”
He whispered, almost crying. I took his face in my hands, wiped away the tears and said:
“I love you too.”
From there we kissed, and kissed and kissed. Each one becoming more and more passionate than the last. (-If I loved anything about fighting it was definitely the makeup sex!) He quickly and expertly removed my shirt and shorts, I held on to his neck with one hand running my fingers through his hair with the other. He ran his mouth north and south of my torso, leaving a trail of kisses in his wake. He moved to meet my face, kissing me hard and biting my lip. With a little smirk and a returning glance from myself, he trailed back down my body until he reached my breasts. He massaged them and nibbled them, he really knew how to get me going. We made a quick sprint over to the bed where he further undressed me and left yet another tail of kisses, this time more so south than before. He expertly got me going before he readied himself for a further progression in our intimate encounter. With every pant, moan, push, embrace, and gentle touch, everything felt different. It threw me a little.
I'm still unsure what it was that I felt that night...
I was stuck in the hotel (that I insisted on getting my own room in), doing what I do best: Draw. I don’t even know what I was drawing. Part way through my sketch there was a heavy, stressed pounding on my door. I opened it, and within the same breath slammed it shut again. I wasn’t even going to bother. I walked back to my makeshift drawing studio and continued my sketch.
“Baby, seriously. Can you let me in, please…”
The rest was inaudible babbling laced with distressed tears. I growled in frustration and let him in.
“God dammit, Pete! Why do you always do this to me?”
“I’m just not used to being so needed…”
“Even after two fucking years?”
“I know it doesn’t make sense. I’m all kinds of fucked up. I’m really sorry, I really am.”
“Why was I wrong for wanting to show you affection, I mean come on, you are my ‘boyfriend’ aren’t you? Especially since it was an almost completely empty plane.”
“I don’t know,”
“I don’t buy it. I can’t keep doing this and wanting affection from someone who never gives it is not being ‘needy’. It’s wanting to feel love and wanting to feel wanted. You promised. I just want to feel wanted.”
I actually started to tear up a little. He swiftly moved over to me and held my frame close to his laying his head on my shoulder.
“I know, I fucked up, I’m sorry…. I love you”
He whispered, almost crying. I took his face in my hands, wiped away the tears and said:
“I love you too.”
From there we kissed, and kissed and kissed. Each one becoming more and more passionate than the last. (-If I loved anything about fighting it was definitely the makeup sex!) He quickly and expertly removed my shirt and shorts, I held on to his neck with one hand running my fingers through his hair with the other. He ran his mouth north and south of my torso, leaving a trail of kisses in his wake. He moved to meet my face, kissing me hard and biting my lip. With a little smirk and a returning glance from myself, he trailed back down my body until he reached my breasts. He massaged them and nibbled them, he really knew how to get me going. We made a quick sprint over to the bed where he further undressed me and left yet another tail of kisses, this time more so south than before. He expertly got me going before he readied himself for a further progression in our intimate encounter. With every pant, moan, push, embrace, and gentle touch, everything felt different. It threw me a little.
I'm still unsure what it was that I felt that night...