This was the weekend of concerts, as I had plans to see another show on Friday night with the Diplomat. The venue was near his work south of town, so in the interest of not backtracking a zillion times to meet up in town, I instead drove to his office and we went together to the show.
Unfortunately, I'd been having stomach pains all day. I don't know what's causing them, but they're becoming more frequent. I wouldn't go so far as to say that they're debilitating, but they're definitely distracting and painful. I didn't want to miss the concert, though, so I sucked it up and went anyway. Plus I was really looking forward to seeing the Diplomat.
We found seats and sat through the first two acts, with the Diplomat continually checking in to see how I was doing. I could tell he was worried about me, but I was really enjoying the show. I stayed seated while everyone else stood for the big act; I was worried about making my stomach worse and ruining the entire night. By the very end I was feeling about 90% better, though, so I jumped around for the encore.
The Diplomat offered to let me drive his car on the way home; it's a manual, and though I learned how to drive one years ago, I'm worried that I'm forgetting. I figured the crush of post-concert traffic was probably not the place to refresh my memory, though. We picked up my car, and we both drove over to his house. Parking was TERRIBLE. He found a spot, then got in my car with me to help me find another. He lives in a part of town that is really old, so it's all parallel parking on the street. I'm not the greatest parallel parker to begin with, and when the only spot I can find is less than a foot longer than my car, I'm screwed. Thankfully, I was able to ask the Diplomat to do it for me. He squeezed in, and made it look so easy!
He had dinner all but ready at home, and whipped together a guacamole to finish it. It was so good. I would seriously not complain about eating guacamole every day. He'd also made more butterscotch mousse for dessert.
We were completely exhausted by the time we were done, and went up to bed. We had nice, sweet, slow sex, and fell asleep tangled up in each other.
I had to work the next morning, so the Diplomat set his alarm for us to wake up. He didn't have to do that- he had nothing to wake up for- but he wanted to get breakfast together in the morning before I left. When the alarm went off, I made some pitiful excuse about not wanting to wake up yet. He told me to go back to sleep, so I did.
An hour later, he woke me back up. “I got breakfast,” he told me. And he did. He'd gone out to a local pastry shop to pick up fresh croissants, and he made cappuccinos. I've had guys do sweet things for me, but letting me sleep in on a Saturday morning and bring me breakfast on a day when he didn't even have to be up definitely takes the cake.
We went back to his room after breakfast, and let's just say I was late to work that morning. There were no toys, no handcuffs, no kink- just good sex. I can't think of a better way to start the weekend than cuddling with him in bed, his hands running through my hair and feeling his warmth. And if he keeps up the breakfast in bed, I foresee it happening a lot.
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