Poker Face

I wont tell you that I love you
Kiss or hug you
Cause I’m bluffin with my muffin
I’m not lying, I’m just stunnin’ with my love-glue gunnin’

It was a song that got played a lot on the radio that weekend as we lay in bed and talked it all through.

Could we make it work without the added extra of the secrecy? Could we maintain the fun factor? Continue to feel the same desire? Was it possible for a proper relationship to continue when its protagonists were based in two different cities, separated by several hundred miles? Would our lust be doomed to sputter out and die?

We even mentioned the M word.

Sure, part of me would love to be his wife.

But I’ve already made a hash of it once so there are a lot of mental and emotional complications to dismantle. I know he worries that if I move to be with him at some point in the future, I will miss my children too much for our relationship to survive.

Yet, despite all these pros and cons, the relentless soul-searching, it is the laughter that I remember. I cannot hear this song without remembering Ruf standing over me stark naked; all hair and dominance, his cock still semi-hard and covered in the spattered shiny globules of my appreciation. And then this song came on and he proceeded to wriggle his hips and dance like some kind of pornstar, gyrating and waggling his giblets as I dissolved into helpless giggles. It seemed so very appropriate since he very much enjoys playing Poker.

It is premature to be talking about a long-term future together but we still have a fabulous past and one hell of a present to enjoy.