After Othello on Thursday night, Seabiscuit and I drove back to San Francisco. I kept one hand on his lap the entire drive back. When he was able, he would rub my head or back. It was very soothing and sexy.

We found parking relatively easily. Then it was up the stairs to my apartment. Once that door closed, we could hardly keep our hands off each other or unlock our lips. Clothes came off, and no matter how cold it was, that night was certainly heating up.

City lights illuminated my room in the dark. 

“God, you’re fucking sexy,” he said.

It was the first time anyone has ever told me that. Why have nine of my other boyfriends ever said anything like that?

And later, as he looked into my face, he moved his hand to my face and said, “You are so beautiful. You have three smiles. Here,” he said touching my face by one eye, “and here” by my other eye, “and here” as he brushed my lips.

It was very sweet, and I don’t think I’ve ever been told anything sweeter in person.

How lovely it was just to lie in bed while holding each other. And how terrible it was that his work rescheduled a conference call to 7am Friday morning, so he would have to leave by 5am. We made the most of our few hours of bliss together, but in the morning, all I could think of was wanting more.

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