The Big Chill: The Return of My 'Mr. Big'

My Mr. Big is back in my life. 

I’d more or less left him by the roadside for a bit.  First of all, spring was fast approaching and I wanted to concentrate on being outdoors.  Secondly, I’d been pushing away for a bit.  Did he make me feel cheap?  Did his actions confuse me?  Was I simply a fish out of water?  Not sure.  But, yes, I pushed back.  And pushed him away.

Yet, he kept pursuing me.  And pursuing me.

That surprised me.  I’m pretty sure I’m not his only plaything.  Not that I mind. But, when sex becomes perfunctory, as in, we do A, then B, then C, then…. boom goes the dynamite, thanks a lot, see you soon, buh-bye.  When that rut begins to form, I tend to head for the nearest exit. 

It could be a matter of social standing and class.  He is class A, while I am struggling to maintain a C average.  It doesn’t bother me that much (in fact, I find it mildly exciting), but it’s always there.  He simply moves in different circles.  That said, I don’t think he’s a snob about it.  He’s very earthy.  Very real.

And he’s a sweet guy.  Handsome, too.  There’s a twinkle in his eyes that hits me right where I live.  I appreciate his body; it’s muscular, beefy, and sturdy, while his skin is smooth and unmarred.  Yes, his dick is, well, on the small side, but it’s adequate, gets the job done.

Dominant personalities are sort of a turn-on for me and My Mr. Big sure knows how to push my buttons.  He calls me ‘boy’, which is a bit, well, ridiculous, though that is the role I play when we are together.  I would love the opportunity to admire and worship his magnificent calves – to have him stand over me, looking down upon me – but he’s always in such a rush.  “Get on the bed,” he orders, and I comply, feeling as if he’s shoehorning me in between conference calls.

As fall approached, I realized that I had done nothing to secure a sexually active winter.  I’d deleted all my hook-up profiles and accounts on various sites, including the two where My Mr. Big would contact me.  After a brief reconciliation with Grindr, I deleted that app for a second time, convinced more than ever that it was not for me.  But I did renew my account on one site, a site that caters to My Mr. Big’s pervy interests, and, sure enough, he hit me up almost immediately. 

Oh, don’t get me wrong - he had my phone number.  But after a point, I’d stopped responding to his texts until he got the message.  

Wisely, he gave me the distance I needed.  But, here he was again and, with the numb of winter facing me, I thought, sure, why not get reacquainted. 

We made a date for a late Friday afternoon tryst.  I was to show up at his condo, and I did, right on time. He’s big on punctuality and has threatened in the past to punish me if I’m ever tardy.

I’d been careful to shave everything that morning, moisturize, etc.  Even my work out that day and my choice of clothing had been a little more inspired, with My Mr. Big in mind.  It had been awhile since we’d seen each other and I wanted to look my best.

With a small case of nerves, I rang the doorbell and waited.

And waited.

Panic immediately filled me.  

This was unusual. Typically, My Mr. Big was always waiting on the other side of that door, opening it immediately.  I grabbed my cell phone.  There was a text.  He was stuck in traffic.  His driver had been late picking him up at the airport.  Can I wait?  Well, I could.  My dogs would have to wait for dinner, but I could wait in my car.  As I’m walking back to my car, I get another text.  Should we reschedule?  I consider it.  It’s an out, and I take it. 

This was not the reunion I had envisioned.

The following Monday, same place, same time, he opens the door as expected and ushers me inside.  He’s dressed in a beautiful, perfectly tailored, black suit; the kind I could never afford.  As he removes his jacket, my eyes take in the gleam of his pristinely pressed white dress shirt.  Impeccable.  The best money can buy.  

He looks good; as handsome as ever.  He pulls me in close for a kiss, a kiss which I manage to extend for a few moments longer than usual.  Then he pats my ass and tells me to run upstairs and get ready. 

As I remove my boots, a feline presence is noted, one quick to ingratiate himself on me.  It’s My Mr. Big’s newest acquisition.   I’m kind of thrown by this.  That makes two cats.  One of the last times I saw him, he’d adopted his first kitty, a female, a move that surprised me, because, well, My Mr. Big just doesn’t seem the type.  This latest one?  It strikes me as even odder.  Perhaps it’s their aloofness and independence that appeals to him, but, in my presence, he truly seems to dote on them. 

I move up the stairs quickly, slip into our usual bedroom and strip down; poppers and cock rings at the ready.  My Mr. Big slips in and kicks out the male cat.  The cat claws at the door a bit before giving up.  My Mr. Big is in his underwear, black socks and dress shirt.  As he removes these, he orders me, “Get over here.”   I go to my knees.  I want to look at his legs.  But no, it’s the usual, “Get on the bed.”

The bed isn’t made, which is also odd.  I climb on top of it, as he slips under the sheets and comforter.  This is his M.O.  He likes to create the illusion of ‘sleeping together’.  I cuddle into his right side, lightly humping his beefy thighs.  Resting my head on his chest, I toy with his nipples.  It’s nice, this feeling, of being held.  There are a few light kisses, but it’s not long before I’m told to massage his feet. 

This is something I get off on.  His feet are as manly as the rest of him, but, unlike my own feet, his are well cared for.  Moving his right foot so it presses against my dick, my fingers begin to caress and knead his left foot.  I love that feeling, of being underfoot.  I thrust slightly into his foot, my dick quickly responding to the pressure. 

But this is all foreplay, a bone he throws this dog.  Looking quite pleased with himself, My Mr. Big tells me to get on his bone, pronto.  I take him in my mouth and breathe life into his cock, careful to avoid his balls – “They’re sensitive”, he reminds me. 

Moving me around, so he has access to my hole, he begins to play with my ass.  This is his favorite thing.  

In the past I’ve had to reprimand him and even deny him this pleasure because he has a tendency to be too rough.  And today is no exception. 

He’s brutal, hurting me.  A part of my brain wonders if he’s punishing me, taking out my absence on my ass. I take a hit of poppers and try to relax into it.  Somehow, with ample lube, he manages to open me up.  He likes a sloppy cunt, loves the suction sound that occurs as he works three, four fingers at a time in and out of my hole.  I whine a bit, my mouth full of cock, whenever he gets too rough or goes for something too deep.   He responds by backing off for a few moments.  It’s uncomfortable, but nothing I can’t manage.

Obviously, based on how hard his dick gets, he loves having this control over me, inflicting just a bit of pain.  I manage and maintain until he orders me to sit on his dick. 

Facing him, I lower myself down until my ass meets his pelvis.  Bouncing, lightly at first, I build my assault, until I’m slamming down onto him.  He stops me. He wants something more subtle.  I begin again, this time taking my cues from him. 

It’s fun to watch his face.  I play with his nipples.  Instead of bouncing, I’m now, more or less, rubbing my ass on his pelvis.  It’s a smaller movement, but seems to be taking My Mr. Big where he wants to go.  Soon he’s urging me to ramp it up.  The intensity builds.  The crescendo begins on his face before taking voice – it’s guttural, earthy, nasty.  When he cums, I feel as if I’ve relieved him of a great burden.  He rewards me, pulling me down for a kiss. 

I roll off him and begin working my dick for him.  He gets off on watching me.  Or at least I imagine he does.  Otherwise, there’s no way I could get off.  It doesn’t take long.   Ropey streams of pearly white grace his thigh.  Instinctively, I press into him, as he pulls me closer.  We end as we began, lingering in this faux repose for a few moments, basking in the afterglow.

But the idle is short-lived.  Out of bed he jumps; busy, busy.  He says something about a phone call.  It’s always a phone call.  A phone conference.  A flight.  A meeting.  Time is money.  Busy, busy.

He opens the door, and the new cat, whose name I can’t recall, slides in past him.  The cat watches as I dress, alone. Nothing’s changed.  And why should I have expected it to?  I did nothing to alter the flow of events in any way, content to let him call all the shots. 

I go into the bathroom.  There’s only one large bath towel, and I feel guilty using it to clean up.  Once dressed, I creep down the stairs, cat in tow.  His cell phone is glued to his ear.  He’s busy retying his tie, suit pants and shirt on.  He asks the caller to hold on for a moment.  Moving  to me, he thanks me, we embrace, a brief kiss and…

Buh-bye. 

This is normally the time when I learn some new tidbit about his life, but there’s no time today, no new information forthcoming.

As I’m walking out the door, he asks that I not make it so long in between times.  I promise to do my best.

Walking to my car, fall’s heavy hand can be felt everywhere.  There’s a definite chill in the air and…

…a chill in my heart.