I’m up at 4, running. Up until 11, running again. I’m coping with the intense level of frustration I’m living with, but walking up the stairs to my office every day has gotten increasingly painful. My ass is looking amazing in my jeans and I have three months to go. Part of me really enjoys this epic remodel of the playground and I’ve started shopping for tiny things that lace up, unsnap or rip off easily.
I wake up to songs he wants me to hear as his text messages whistle their way into my phone, his gorgeous face pops up in a tie that I’ll be fantasizing about all day and the books he’s reading are showing up on my Kindle.
Plural. BookS. Be still my ever-loving geeky heart.
Also… let me just take a second to express my sheer gratitude for a well spoken man, because he sent me a couple messages as I walked into work today, and I was stunned silent for 5 hours. I finally read them to my coworker.
H- You’re as lovely as ever, Ms. *******
H- Aging is never kind, but it’s gentler on some.
He’s a very brave man for giving me three months to think. He’s smart enough that I know it’s intentional and I adore being underestimated. He can hear the edge in my voice and teases me mercilessly.
H- I’m not inflicting this sentence on you. Stop running and make a call. You need some sleep.
J- Oh ye of little faith. It’s natural to be afraid… I’m in training mode. You better start running again.
Also my FWB is MIA, so I do have a little added assistance in this outrageously tantalizing situation. Burning daylight and moonlight with headphones and my elliptical machine.
Trying on all my favorite garter belts and “evening wear” really makes me shake my head at myself. I packed this whole part of myself away five years ago, and opening some of these boxes is like seeing an old friend. I love being a girl. I love all the sexy details we have available at our disposal. Silk stockings, lacy garter belts, corsets, whispy bits of satin and lace and a set of real handcuffs. I’ve always loved sex more than I was supposed to. I just don’t apologize for it anymore.
He’s confident in the way I can’t resist and respectfully sweet to the point I worry about my long-term independence. I’d love to unwrap him, but I’m going to lock him down first because I’m smart and I know what a unicorn he is.
If you really like him? Don’t fuck him. Play hard to get. Be slow to respond to his texts. Be busy. Activate that hunter-gatherer instinct if you want more than one night. Be a trophy, not a sport fish.
Pump those breaks and run that ass off with me. The best things in life are worth waiting for, right?