The Holey Trinity – not a typo, I mean all my holes PART I

I love the new, but I love it from the familiar.

I hadn’t planned on ever seeing him again. He has royally fucked me off like only someone you really like can. And god did I like him, The Yorkshire, as he is known (by no one but me, cos I just called him that, right now)

We won’t get into why he was banished but banished he was. And I no longer had any appetite for anything he had to say. Also, just to clarify, he does live in England so it was easy to never have to see him again – banishing was going to work out in my favour, without me actually having to adhere to anything. I could refuse to talk to him, my limits had been reached and breached.

 

But of course I did see him. He showed up in Dublin. (On purpose mind, not just randomly here on a stag do or for the rugby. He showed to get me to talk to him)

 

It’s Saturday morning and I’m in IKEA with my brother in law. That’s what happens when you don’t have a car of your own. But I knew what I was here for and I wasn’t about to have any surprises, nothing I didn’t want was going to come home with me. I was better than this place and its cunning. Nothing I hadn’t planned was going to happen. But you can’t ever account for phone calls, can you.

 

My brother in law is at the returns counter, returning something before we start the dash, I’m sitting on the returns couch waiting for him and congratulating myself on being out here so early and having had a breakfast cooked for me. The day couldn’t have been going more to plan.

 

Then the phone rings and it’s The Yorkshire. He wants to know if I’m in Dublin.

I am.

Will I be in Dublin for the rest of the weekend?

I will.

And if he got on a plane and arrived in Dublin would I talk to him?

…..

Would I?

..

“Ok, if you show up here, I’ll talk to you. But I don’t believe that you will. I think you’re just trying to get me to talk to you by demonstrating will. I don’t think you have an actual ticket”

“Abbi, I swear to you I have a ticket, I just need to know if I should get on this plane – it’s one thing flying over but it’s another thing flying over just to have a door shut in my face”

 

 

At this point I realise he has no idea what weekend it is. It’s the 6 nations and Ireland are playing England – in Dublin. I’m not sure there’s a seat on ANY plane to be had? There certainly isn’t a hotel room to be had. The city is packed. Is he serious? Is he just trying to get me to talk to him? I can’t tell. I inform him what weekend it is, the penny drops as to why the tickets may have been an extortionate price and somewhat hard to come by.

Even though his credibility is shot, I  do think he’s telling the truth, I think he does have a ticket?

But even still I am so tempted to give him nothing – to not engage at all until he’s here. I love the idea of him showing up and not knowing what response he’ll get. I don’t want to give him an inch…

 

But I do.

Of course I do. I listen to him, I tell him I will hear him out, I promise that I won’t shut the door in his face and leave him in a city he doesn’t know. And then I make a mistake. I get excited. I’m only human and I have an ego like you all do and the thought of someone going to all that trouble? The thought of someone I really liked going to all that trouble? The thought of someone who was particularly good in bed….. going to all that trouble? For me?

I was flattered.

I liked it.

I felt better than I had in ages. I felt like maybe I wasn’t as stupid as I had been making myself feel. That there was something between us and it wasn’t only me who felt it. And that that something, was worth chasing?

 

So I conceded, and I went to the airport to meet him.

And.

 

As you can guess we didn’t talk about anything. I kissed him, he asked was I glad he was there and I was honestly the gladdest I’d been all year.

 

So, what I hadn’t told him was that I was staying with my friend that weekend, I’d rented my house out on Airbnb. But it was fine, I had my own bedroom in her house and it was ok. Or it would be ok. We got a cab straight there and I let us in. There was no sign of the BFF or her boyfriend, they were out. (God she’s cool, and she reads a situation well) Because of course there was no chance in any way this could have played out, that we weren’t going to do anything but go straight to bed.

 

I think he feared that my ‘bedroom’ was going to be like Harry Potter’s under the stairs, or some half used laundry room with a sleeping bag in a corner. Which is isn’t, it’s a lovely room with a good double bed, most importantly.

We dropped our bags and he kissed me again. I’m going to say this now because it’s true, he is the best kisser of my life. There’s contenders, there are others that are spectacular also but I think, and I do believe that he is the very best.

I’m not sure what I’m hesitant about or at least I didn’t at the time, I do now. I think I’m wary of falling into his arms again and never wanting to get out. We haven’t talked, I don’t know what he’s here for, I don’t know what he’s offering. But I couldn’t have articulated that if my life depended on it – at the time.

‘Look, I know you write about sex but it doesn’t have to be spectacular every time. I’m not expecting something outrageous  – we can just .. have sex’

It’s a lovely thing to say but it wasn’t what my trepidation was about. I didn’t know what it was about. But I did want him. Jesus Christ did I want him.

 

In our half conversations I’d inferred that the sex would be happening BUT it was to be sex that was exactly how I wanted it. And as usual I didn’t want to have to ask for it. I’m difficult like that.

His starter for ten was way off the mark ‘I’m going to eat you out for ages’  – yeah. That’s nice, but ….. I want the sex that I want. The stuff that I really like. The ….. attitude that does it for me.

I wasn’t sure if he was getting this. And I wasn’t helping. I was just hoping.

 

He pushed me on to the bed and climbed on top of me. And out came the words I wanted to hear: You’re going to do what I tell you and when I tell you. Now shove up on that bed and turn over, I want that arse in my face in ten seconds.

Oh jackpot, Yorkshire. And I didn’t have to ask.

 

‘You’re going to suck my cock how I want it, you’re going to give me your cunt to eat when I want it and you’re going to raise those hips higher and give me your arse, like a good girl. I’m not asking again’

All said in that calm, polite tone that makes my cunt tighten and ache. He could be talking to anyone, it’s so measured, light –  as if what he’s asking for is a triviality, which makes it’s reality so dark. It’s the tone I imagine an emergency call handler would have; even, un-panicked giving serious instructions but never demanding, just getting the right result. Always.

 

It was exactly what I wanted to hear. I wanted to hear that I didn’t have to do a thing, that he was going to take care of the pleasure, I just had to surrender and he would give me exactly what I wanted. And not only that – it showed he knew me. He knew what I wanted and that this was the make-up sex that would placate me.

I wanted to be taken and devoured.

 

I wanted him to eat me for himself, not for me. In a controlling ‘look what I can do to you’ way – in a ‘look what I can make your body do’ way, owning me, owning my pleasure.

 

He started off with my face in the pillow, hips in the air, grabbing them and pulling my arse close to his face. He slaps my arse and tells me not to move to keep my arse up so he can get his tongue where he wants.

I couldn’t have designed this better. He has me where he wants me, directing everything. Eventually, knowing that he’s not going to get in there properly to make me come he tells me to get on my back. He comes back up and kisses me, so I can taste my cunt from his lips and tongue. Then he tells me not to move as he goes back down between my thighs and gets back to eating me. He has the longest tongue that I ever had the pleasure of meeting and he’s actually able to get it right up in me. But like anyone who knows his stuff he goes back to where it should be, pressed against my clit, flicking off my clit and sucking on it.

 

We are stone cold sober, we haven’t seen each other in 2 months, I’ve been on the verge of hating him – yet within less than an hour he has me almost coming around his mouth. That’s some feat. I didn’t actually know if I was going to be able.

He licks his fingers and slides two into me, keeping the attention on my clit too. I lift my hips up to meet his mouth, I am writhing and aching to come. But he’s not going to let me press myself against him. He’s controlling this. I am so dying to come that I almost don’t feel him slide the little baby finger into my ass. My juices and his mouth have made it so easy to slide in, he goes so slowly that it’s the undoing of me and the arrival of my orgasm. And it’s as expected, huge and forceful and fucking delicious.

He doesn’t ask me, he just flips me over and gets his throbbing cock into me. And I keep coming. He pushes my face into the pillow and fucks me hard and I beg for it.

It couldn’t be more perfect.

 

But it could.

 

Clearly he was getting off on the control he just wielded, he was as turned on as me, he fucks me hard for a while and when he gets close to coming he stops. I beg him to continue but he doesn’t he goes slower and makes me beg some more. Jesus I love this.

And it builds up again, steadily getting faster and harder and this time when he’s about to come he pulls out, stands up, gets me to sit on the edge of the bed as he finishes in my mouth. Shooting hot come down my throat.

 

 

And I didn’t ask for any of that. That was all him. And yet….. it’s exactly right.

 

Hole one; came in my mouth.

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