Train sneakery.

Shayne: You off work yet baby?

Me: In 45 minutes. I expect you nude and in bed, face down, legs wide. Have yourself lubed. That means your ass.

Shayne: Want to honestly but i'll be on public transit still. Can i do somethin until i'm home for you? Spread my legs and reveal my cunt to the train passengers maybe?

Me: And a picture sent to me now. (She opens her legs while riding the commuter rail in her city, snaps a picture, sends it to me entitled "Train sneakery.") You bad grrl. Is this fun? ;)

Shayne: Yes ;)

Me: I'm going to blog you. Youve flashed the world.

Shayne: Haha! I tried to get my panties aside. I wound up giving myself a wedgie.



Shayne: I'll be home in 8 minutes. Still want me in bed?

Me: You want to play?

Shayne: Yeah. I'm in the mood to cum in your ears. Figuratively speaking.

Do we love one another? Yes, we do. Do we miss one another? Yes, we do. Are we still playmates? It certainly seems that we are. Are we still boyfriend and grrlfriend? Well, perhaps not, or perhaps not in the same context, or perhaps we've grown a little in our relationship, or perhaps it'll get deeper again in time, or perhaps this is exactly how it is and how it's ok to be, or perhaps all of these things. But Shayne and I have continued to talk, and recently we seemed to have taken a big step with each other, where we're a lot more relaxed in communicating. Some weight feels lifted, and while we're still feeling some things out, it's a lot better than it was two or three months ago.

I poured myself a shot of whiskey and gave her a call. She was already naked, she said, sitting on a chair in her pad with her legs across a table.

"I'm sitting here, relaxing, slowly sliding my favourite blue dildo inside me," she cooed. "I want to have your face at my cunt."

I lay back on my futon as I spoke with her, reminding her of how I adore her amazingly large and round clitoris. I reminded her of how I love to snake the tip of my tongue across its hood, how I like to probe her slowly as I suck her. When she told me how her ass hung over the edge of the seat she was sitting on, she gasped as I conjured the image of me gently pumping a buttplug inside her with my free hand.

I told her how I've changed the shape and grooming of my beard, how it would feel against her inner thighs as I enjoyed her. She started to lose control when I said how I'd love to straddle that chair she was on, reaching behind myself to slide a hand to her while stroking my cock directly in front of her face. That sent her over the edge, and soon she was crying out into her phone as she came convulsively.

When she came down from her high, we talked more. She told me how she had forgiven me, and of how she's begun telling family and friends that she's back to feeling close with me. We discussed her frustration in meeting queer women in her city, mutual fantasies, ideas of when we could get together again.

It feels good.