Feeling Pretty

7649F721-B49B-4F73-A1DF-42407E40AEBD

I posted this photo to Twitter on Sunday saying simply, “feeling pretty.” And I did. I felt so pretty and confident and capable, and loved. I don’t often feel either of those things. So why did I feel this way now?

My friend G had been over. Friend. I guess that is what you would call him. We aren’t a couple. We don’t date. We are never going to move in together or get married. We do very little outside of my home, and when we do it usually involves him looking at something on my car or sitting and chatting with the neighbour. But for all of this, he has been my only partner for nearly three years.

There are times we see each other several times a month. Other times we may go several months without seeing each other. I don’t like the months apart, especially when he is on his extended trips to India, but they don’t negatively affect our relationship. I am still always here when he returns and I can always reach him when I want, even if he is on the other side of the planet. We enjoy the times we are together without any pressure of it having to be more than that.

G has a way of making me feel pretty, confident, capable and loved. He just does. Not that he says he loves me, though the words have escaped both our lips on occasion. He has never told me that I am pretty, or any of the other things for that matter, but I know he thinks they are all true and more importantly he wants me to believe they are true as well.

From day one he has remembered that I like earl grey tea, with one sugar, and always brings me one when he comes by. If my son is here and it isn’t too late at night, he will also bring him chocolate glazed Timbits (donut holes for the non Canadians in the room), because he knows that is what he likes. He laughs at me when I mention the tea because to him it is such a small thing. Small doesn’t mean insignificant. It means that he pays attention. And if he pays attention to the little things he will also pay attention to any big things.

He doesn’t just listen to me. He hears me. When I tell him about my stressful week at work he listens, then he massages my shoulders and back. When I say I have a problem breathing he asks what he can do to help, where is my medication. When I say there is a problem with my car at 2:00am he asks for my keys and goes to take a look at it. Then he either fixes the problem or tells me what I need to do to fix it. When I say my knees are bothering me he changes positions so I am more comfortable. When I say I need an orgasm he gives me more than I can count. He pushes me to do more, to do better. And even though he does not understand my depression, he never makes me feel bad about it or the mess of a house I have because of it.

I also do things for him when I can. I made coffee for him last weekend. Coffee. In my house. Made by me. This is a big deal folks. I don’t do coffee in any way, shape or form. I am allergic to the stuff and have never kept any in the house. I now have a tiny percolator and coffee. I even had milk. (You should be duly shocked by both of these things.) I make sure my bra is off when he is coming over, and take it off when I walk through the door of his place. The only rule he has. No bra. And I will always suck his cock. Always. Unless there is some medical or physical reason why I can’t (hello asthma and bronchitis!).

Above all else, we have fun with each other. We genuinely enjoy each other’s company. For as long as we have whatever it is we have, I plan to keep on enjoying it.

 

IMG_0686.PNG

 

 

6 thoughts on “Feeling Pretty

  1. This sounds like a very special relationship and something you should definitely hold onto. He sounds like a special man!

    Rebel xox

  2. He sounds lovely 🌷

  3. That sounds like a wonderful and fun connection that the two of you have with each other!

  4. It is brilliant to see the connect and care that you describe. It is so important to be there for each other.

  5. Graham

    You sound like you are missing him deeply

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *