Running

To say my divorce was traumatic would be an understatement. The narcissistic bastard played me for years, and then stretched out the discard phase over months. The emotional abuse got more and more severe, the cheating more obvious, the lies more ridiculous. He went from passive aggressive to just plain old aggressive, and destroyed most of my life along the way. 

I can tell the story now. I know the terminology. I learned to call the patterns what they are, to look back over my memories and identify which part of the roller coaster we were on. But while it was happening? I had no fucking clue. I was confused, scared, hurting, and continually shocked by what the man I trusted was capable of. By who he really was. Most of all, by how blind I’d been to it all. 

So excuse me if I didn’t want anything to do with another man after getting out of that mess. Or a woman, for that matter. The idea of trusting anyone, getting close to anyone, being intimate in any way? Hell, no. 

I’d had plenty of sexual experience before marriage, then sex regularly with my ex for years… until those last few months. Even when he was being a total asshole, the sex was pretty amazing. I guess there’s something about being blamed and gaslit and deceived that leaves you a little emotionally insecure. And when you’re looking for security, sex can feel like more than it really is. It can feel like a connection even if the connection is shallow and conditional. It can feel like real intimacy even if it’s just two bodies. I hadn’t known the difference with my ex, and I didn’t trust myself to know the difference with someone new. 

I decided I could live without sex for a while. I needed to rebuild my life, rebuild myself. So I ordered a few more toys, took care of my own cravings, and stayed the hell away from dating. Actually, I stayed the hell away from people in general. Other than my few closest friends, the ones I trusted, the ones who tried to tell me, who helped me get through the worst moments and didn’t blame me for taking so long to see what they’d always known. I made my circle small. I moved to a new place and built a little nest. I worked and took naps, went on long walks and danced in my living room by myself. And I tore apart my memories looking for answers. I raged and screamed and cried myself to sleep. 

Then the bed started feeling spacious, instead of empty. Instead of crying myself to sleep, I’d open the drawer and decide which toy to use, which fantasy to explore in my head while I rubbed and touched and vibrated myself into blissful oblivion. 

There was only one problem. My ex was still the face that came to mind. His body was the one I knew best, so inevitably that’s what I would picture. Every fantasy I had, no matter where I started, would morph into him by the time I was about to climax. And I hated it. He was out of my bed, but I needed him out of my head. 

It was a problem I didn’t quite know how to solve, not without entering the world of dating and sex and men and I just didn’t feel ready. 

But my days had started to feel empty, so I slowly added back things I used to love but had lost over the years. I started reading again, but this time I didn’t focus on reading literary masterpieces or trying to learn something useful. Instead, I soaked up every story I could find about women being on their own, starting over, finding love again. And, okay, I threw a little revenge porn in there, too… and that led me straight into the land of smutty reads, which is a wonderful, wonderful place. It made the nights less lonely, for sure, and I got lots of inspiration for my toy collection. Then I started cooking again, gourmet meals for one. I signed up for an online class and started learning how to make fancy sauces and elaborate desserts from a dark eyed chef named Marcus whose voice dripped like honey. Sometimes, after listening to his sexy voice say things like Swirl the cream into the risotto for the entire class, I would be dripping, too. Slowly but surely, I was finding my drive, my zest, my hunger again. And I was starting to believe I might be brave enough to follow where it led, even if it still felt a little risky.

After my cooking class ended, I found a running group so I could explore more trails safely. The weather was warming up, and I wanted to get out there and enjoy every moment. Everyone in the group was friendly, especially Renod, a new member who’d just moved to the area. I kept my distance, but I didn’t mind at all watching his tight glutes and muscled legs moving in front of me.  

And one night, as I moved my new favorite vibrator in just the right motion and pushed three fingers into my pussy, groaning, wet, I didn’t imagine my ex. I imagined the fluid line of Renod’s body moving, the sound of our breath in the trees, the lift and fall of his legs, the movement of his shoulders and back under the thin t-shirt. 

Hell yeah, I could work with this. I imagined slipping his shirt over his head, licking the sweat off his chest, guiding his hands under my tank top, feeling his fingers push my bra up, pushing me against a tree as he rubbed my nipples and stroked my breasts. I imagined grabbing his arm, feeling his bicep tighten and relax, shift under my fingers as he squeezed me harder. I imagined slipping my hand into his shorts to feel what I knew would be an equally impressive muscle and that’s when I came, so hard, screaming, out of breath. 

I played with a few different versions of that fantasy all week and it was satisfying every time. I was excited for the next group run so I can “gather more material.” I made sure to position myself near Renod as we started on the trail. It wasn’t tough - we always seemed to end up running close together. Somehow, though, he ended up behind me. That wouldn’t do… I needed fresh images, a new set of mental pictures to get me through the next week. So I stepped to the side of the trail, pretending to tie my shoe, and let him and a few other runners go by. I could catch up, slowly pass the other runners until I was behind him. Perfect. 

I waited a few more seconds before I turned back to the trail, and there he was. Not running, just standing on trail, watching me and grinning. He didn’t say anything, but he winked before he turned and started running. What the hell? I shrugged and followed. I didn’t know why he waited for me, but hey - mission accomplished. I could admire his perfect ass for the rest of the run. In fact, it was making me wet. I’d created a lot of associations in the last few days, and my body was taking it all a little bit too literally. 

The other runners weren’t too far ahead but Renod didn’t close the distance. We ran another mile in silence before I realized he was slowing down, letting the gap increase. I could catch glimpses, a flash of color when the trail turned, but we were separate from the group. 

I cleared my throat. 

“Hey, don’t you want to catch up?” 

He turned his head just enough to catch my eye for a second. “Not really,” he said. “Do you?”

“Um… no. Not really.” What was I saying? What was I doing? I was sweaty, and turned on, and running slowly through the woods behind a man whose body made me care less and less about feeling safe and keeping my distance. 

“Actually,” he said, “I need to tie my shoe.” He stopped and turned to face me, but didn’t kneel to reach his shoes. I stopped, then took another step. And another, until I was inches from him, close enough to graze his shirt with my fingers if I moved at all. 

His eyes never left mine as I shifted one arm and then the other out of my Camelbak’s straps and let it fall to the ground behind me. I moved an inch closer. He smelled like trees and clean sweat and I wondered what he tasted like and I wanted to lick every inch of him and find out. His mouth quirked. 

“Your face says interesting things to me,” he said. 

“Your body says interesting things to me.” I looked at him and waited. His move. 

His hand came out and held my chin. “Can I kiss you?”

I opened my mouth, nodded. “Yes.” And both his hands were cupping my head while his lips fell onto mine, eager, gentle, tasting like coffee and bonfire smoke and ginger candy. I kissed him back hard, desperate, and he responded to my hunger, pushing his tongue into my mouth, groaning. I reached around and grabbed his ass -- it felt just as good as I’d imagined. My body was pressed up next to his, our kiss getting deeper and more urgent, our breathing shallow and quick. He moved his kisses from my mouth to my neck, whispering in my ear, “I want more of you, I want to touch you, I want you,” and as I murmured yes yes yes I moved his hand under my shirt. He wasted no time. Both his hands were under my bra in a second, kneading my breasts, his calloused fingers twisting my nipples, pulling, circling. I groaned and lifted my arms as he pulled my shirt and bra off, then took off his own t-shirt. I wasted no time, either, my mouth was on his chest, my tongue licking a trail over his muscles and down his abdomen and back up again to his mouth. He groaned as I reached my hand down, rubbing his cock through the thin fabric. He hooked his thumbs into my shorts and pulled them down, falling onto his knees, pressing his face between my legs, licking my thighs then up, higher, tongue moving, exploring, tasting. I stumbled backward and found a tree, leaned back, spread my legs, grabbed his head at the same time he darted his tongue inside of me. His hands gripped my hips as he angled his head, stroked his tongue up and down my labia and then pressed his lips on my clit, sucking and teasing with his tongue, flicking and circling like he’d been in my fantasies, watching, taking notes, learning just how I like it. I came in a rush, wet and shaking, gripping the tree behind me with one hand and his hair with the other. He held his face between my legs until I loosened my grip, then kissed his way up my stomach and between my breasts, sucking each nipple, kneading my ass with his hands while he bit me and licked me. I breathed deep, already gearing up again, turned on again, hot and throbbing. I pushed one hand inside his shorts and grabbed his hard cock, pushed his shorts down with my other hand and pulled him toward me. I let him rub against my wetness for a moment before I shifted a hip and pushed my pussy down on him; quick, ready, demanding. He thrust into me and I pushed my face into his neck, rubbed my breasts on him, ground on him as he moved into me, harder, deeper, getting faster until I felt him come, felt his shudder and release deep inside of me and I squeezed around him as he groaned, held himself close to me, pulled my body closer to him and kissed me again, this time slower, steady, but still urgent. Still hungry for me. I pulled back with a question in my eyes. 

“I could do that again right now,” he said. 

I smiled. “So could I. It’s been a while.” 

“Do you want to finish this run, or do you want to finish each other, again, over and over?” His smile was slow and wicked. 

I started pulling my clothes on and met his smile with my own. “Race you back to the parking lot,” I said. “Last one back has to wait ten minutes to come again, and I promise it’s not gonna be me.” I spun and sprinted, hearing him behind me, laughing and fumbling to pull on his shorts. He was really good fantasy material, but turns out, I was readier than I thought for something a little more real. 

Photo by Letticia Massari