I didn’t have to come with Mason when he insisted we go on a ski trip together. He can barely ski. But I went along. I try to humor him. He thinks if I’m there, too, that we’re together. That’s never how it really is, though. He’s so into himself. He takes himself really seriously and thinks he’s some kind of athlete. It’s funny.    

I just am who I am - how I look - if he doesn’t notice, well, other men sure do.

Mason insisted we do lessons all day and then only get on the slope after that, and then only the beginner one. I’ve learned to ignore him. I can ski just fine. He’s the timid one. Usually, he doesn’t even notice me when we’re together. He just talks on and on about his technique, or whatever, and what I should be doing differently. I got tired of hearing that pretty early and called it a day. I like the bar and the fireplace in the lodge. I’ve been skiing before. I know where the guys are. 

Maybe I’m lucky compared to some women. I don’t know how it seems to guys, but to me, it seems my chest is like a magnet. I pull off my coat, tighten my sweater down a bit, and just sit up taller. That really highlights the twins. In cheaper places, men start hovering like mosquitoes around a kid at summer camp. I could tell this place was nicer, though. I saw some eyes moving, but the guys had enough restraint to stay put for a while before moving in.

My favorite drink’s a vodka martini. I actually like the glass better than the drink, that pointy cone shape. I like holding it out in front of me and looking just nowhere in particular. Don’t laugh! I don’t know, it’s just how I put my energy out there. Like, “Look at me!” Maybe guys start thinking in pointy shapes when that happens. Who knows?!

Before I went for a drink, I freshened up. I was ready for someone to pay attention to me. It’s harder to meet people on the slope, but with a martini in your hand, that makes it easier.

I do wear a ring - it’s mostly for Mason - but I make it clear I’m available. It’s in how you look, how you act. They can tell.

What I like is a guy who knows what he wants. There was this taller guy, maybe ten feet away. I thought he was the type. He was maybe forty, built though. He wasn’t too old for me. He came up next to me at the bar and gave me just the nicest smile. He was all flannel shirt and pine scent and had the largest hands. I started wondering how it would feel to have them on me. Turns out I didn’t have to wait long to find out.

As soon as he said hi, his hand was on my back. It felt good and he started moving it around as we talked. I started tingling and it showed through my sweater. I’m pretty sure he noticed. I don’t know how it happens, but every time the right guy comes over to me in a bar we end up in bed pretty quickly.

He sat down next to me, we were talking about nothing really, about the fireplace maybe, and then he slid his hand over my thigh. By this time, he knew I liked it. I love it when a man can read me quickly. He waited just an instant to see my reaction. It all happened so fast. I took in his touch, his voice, his smell, the size of his hand, how he was dressed, everything. I don’t really know how it works, but I can pretty much tell right away when I want to fuck a man, and I could tell with him quicker than anything. He knew it, too.  

I need men who can read my mind. I don’t want to have to say everything. Like with Mason, he’s always, “Do you like this?” Or, “How is this?” Or, “What do you want me to do?” I mean, who has the time or energy? If a guy gets it, he gets it. And if he doesn’t, well then he never will. 

His name was John, and John had the strongest hands I’ve had on me in quite a while. We went to his room. He was a bit gentle when we got there, I have to say. I’m always ok with the “I’ll rip your clothes off” kind of guy. And sometimes the slow-goers work for me, too. John was one of those. He slid my sweater up so slowly I thought he was teasing. And then his hands just replaced my bra which somehow disappeared as he undressed me. Then they started massaging and pinching and twisting.  And getting me all poky. That’s when it got really good. 

It usually doesn’t take me long to be ready, and when he stretched me out on the bed and started sliding his torpedo of a cock over my mound, back and forth, I was slick. He rode over me like that until we just meshed and it was in all at once and, oh, was that different. Talk about stretching. He took his time and wanted to linger in me with every stroke, sliding his hands over me on the way out, like I was something new for him that he wanted to explore. Um hmmm.  

I can take a pounding. I mean, I’m not a doll and won’t break if you handle me, but I did like to feel him drawing it out, too. The whole time he was going so slow, like he was in no hurry at all, slowly stroking way in, and then almost all the way out. 

I’m glad I can come from just the fucking. A lot of my girlfriends say they can’t. It wasn’t that long before I had to close my eyes because it felt so good. It got to be too much. For him, too, I guess. I felt him get really hard like they do, you know, and then he tensed up and kind of shivered. I just love that moment.

Mason tried texting me a few times while we were together, like, Where are you?! I heard my phone pinging and chiming. He kind of knows what’s happening, but I never answer him. I don’t want to hurt his feelings too much.

When we came back to the bar together, John’s arm was around my waist, guiding me to a seat. Mason was already in the bar by then, at a hightop. He looked upset when he saw us. He had a drink, though, and I thought that would help him pull through.

Mason gave me an angry look, but I knew it’s all show with him. He’d accept everything eventually. I looked at him sort of blankly, and said to him, “John was just showing me around the hotel.” Mason knew we’d fucked, though, and that bothered him.  

“I’ve been texting you for over an hour!” He was grimacing and waving his phone at me, as if that proved something. Poor guy, he needed someone to blow his little head of steam at.  

When he feels diminished, like when I go with another guy, he gets loud and argumentative. He saw a waitress just then and got up and started lecturing her, about something not right with his drink. “Hey, wait!” he was saying. “Can I get a straw?!”  And when she didn’t pay attention, then he kept on. “Hello? This drink comes with a straw!”  She didn’t want to listen to him and walked away.  

Mason was infuriated that he was ignored. The waitress was shorter than him, though, and he must have thought he could get away with bullying her. He got up and chased after her and grabbed her shoulder. When she turned around, he yelled again about the drink and started pointing at her.

They were right next to the bar by this time, and one big guy, he looked like a lumberjack or something, took notice, and after Mason started pointing in her face he got off his bar seat and got in between them. He didn’t say anything, just slowly shook his head at Mason, put his big hand on Mason’s chest.

I don’t think he even pushed him, but Mason stumbled backward and then tripped and fell.

Mason was even more upset by then. His jaw was trembling. The big guy stood over him to see if he’d get up and do something.

Mason’s such a wimp, though. He won’t stand up to anyone. All of a sudden, he started in about how hurt he was. Maybe he landed on his arm because he started holding his wrist and raising it in the air when it was clear he wasn’t going to get back up to challenge the guy. It was like he wanted to show everyone he was too injured to fight.

John pulled me in by the waist and told me Mason would be ok, not to worry. I thought so anyway, but that made me feel better.

A manager came out then and asked Mason if was he okay, and he said no, he had to see a doctor. I think he just wanted to get out of there, and he started saying he wanted to go to the ER. He was almost crying by this point. I think he was just embarrassed, poor thing. 

When the manager helped him up and started him toward the door, saying they’d find a car to take him to the ER, Mason looked at me and said, “Aren’t you coming?”

On another day, I might have gone over to him, but just then I felt John’s silky gift running out between my legs and down my thigh, and I just wanted more of it.  

I shook my head. No, sweety.  But I didn’t say it out loud, just thought it to myself.  John’s hands were getting a bit more active right then, too. And, truthfully, it only encourages Mason to be more dramatic if I go along with him, so I sat back and let him be.  

“You’ll be okay,” I told him from my seat. “I’ll wait for you to get back.” And I really wanted an excuse, too, to get away again with John.

I was out late that night. John wanted me again. I swear I wanted it too, after all that. Mason can make things so stressful. I do get turned on from seeing one man dominate another, but it can be so embarrassing with Mason. 

We got back to John’s room right away and he was not gentle at all with me this time. I guess he was ready, too, because when his pants came down the tip of his cock was pointing right up at the ceiling. He just used me, standing next to me on the edge of the bed, my feet up at his shoulders, and he shook the bed sideways so hard fucking me that I thought we might get a complaint from next door. I was still plenty wet from the first time. And he lasted longer - second time, you know. It took him a while, but this time he was plain loud when he came. I love it when men don’t hold back. We lay together for a while, and then I could feel him getting ready for more. The night just got away from us.

When I got back to my room that morning to pack up for the flight home, it was almost daylight. Mason was asleep like a baby. He had had a rough day.

It was a quiet flight back, I can tell you that. Mason’s so grouchy when he knows I’ve been with another man. But he can’t bring himself to say anything. The poor guy, I think part of him likes it. He always gets over it eventually. He acted kind of huffy with me on the plane like he didn’t want to talk. He thinks he’s punishing me for something when he does that. Then when we got home, I held his boy parts for a while - in my hand - and we had our little talk. 

Sometimes he likes to hear about what happened and even asks for details. He’ll get all hot when I tell him how it was, and will ask a question or two in this breathless voice, like about how big the other guy was, or how turned on I was. I don’t want to tell him everything. I’m worried he’ll take too much to heart and will feel hurt. So I just tell him a story I think he can live with, and then he’ll get really firm - for him, I mean. I like to feel that when he gets stiff in my hand. Then he’ll close his eyes and hold his breath. It seems like he’ll really be bearing down. I’ll give him a stoke or two and tell him I can see how excited he is - it usually doesn’t take much - and then he’ll make his little white puddle in the cup of my palm. That seems to make it all better for him.

He knew when we got together that I had more in me than he could handle. I never promised him I wouldn’t see other guys. I think at some level that excited him and he wanted to be close to my sexual energy, even if it’s not for him.  

Mason’s a sweet guy. He has a good job and takes care of all the bills. We get along well in a lot of ways, but he just doesn’t do it for me sexually, at all. I’ve been honest all along that my needs are more than he can meet, and he seems content with our arrangement. We’re good friends, that’s how I’d describe it - when he doesn’t get too jealous.

And that’s ok with me, for now. I’ll keep living my life, and let him be himself if that’s what he wants. I’m in no hurry to make changes.