A lot of my stories involve work because that’s most often when I am out of town and this story is no different. What is different is the subject of this particular story.
Angelo was not a stallion. He could never be and that’s what I told myself. There was too much fire and fight in him for anything to last, let alone start. And what was this freedom I had to explore sex and love and romance if it didn’t conform to what I knew worked for me? Angelo had a self-confident kind of stubbornness. He was assertive; unafraid to argue a point. He had a quick wit and the ability to lead a room. Anyone who knows me might say I had stumbled into my own reflection, albeit a bit taller, tanner, and ‘differently equipped’.
Maybe that was part of the intrigue?
We challenged each other. Constantly.
And while most saw it (and sometimes even commented) on our playful banter and bickering, the surprising connection Angelo and I shared was undeniable. There was a spark between us, an energy. And I wasn’t the only one to feel it.
Instead of breaking down every nuanced, subtle instance of our interactions, I’m going to paint a broader picture.
Imagine a week-long training event. The hotel, buzzed with a hundred professionally dressed men and women broken out into small groups of a dozen or so. The air was electric with the busyness of small group assignments and networking. There was a constant thrum of muffled chatter, amplified lectures, and laughter. We were just two added voices in that mess of controlled chaos. And yet it felt like so much more.
I could feel the collective eye roll from our teammates as Angelo and I rolled into another verbal sparring match. Good-natured, of course; but also not lacking in our shared drive to lead and compete. This was a regular occurrence as we tried to complete our group projects before the set deadlines.
Ours eyes would meet. His deep browns tugged at the corners with a smile from his latest snide comment. My grey-green eyes narrowed with mischievous challenge. And perhaps sometimes my gaze would stray to those upturned lips, thin and warm and inviting. Perhaps sometimes my imagination would unwittingly drift during some of the more tedious Ted Talks to how those lips might feel against my own.
There was a war inside me to be sure. Angelo was one of the most frustratingly difficult personalities I had met. But a part of me could not deny the mysterious attraction. But I was too stubborn to allow it.
Mid-conference and we were all settled into a comfortable rhythm of formal expectation and personal acquaintanceship. Some had drifted off into easy friendships.
Not Angelo and Vixey, others might assume. Not with the way they squabbled in class. Even when groups met outside of conference hours for sightseeing and adventures in local cuisine, Angelo and Vixey were there, sparring away together.
And maybe that was the most important piece of information: we were there, together. Strip away the outward layer of sitcom-y banter and there were two people who felt that mutual tug of connectedness.
The question for me, of course, was if anything more might come of it.
Our communication eventually spilled over into text messages. In those times when we weren’t ribbing each other, talk turned to jobs and family and life in general.
On one such night of sightseeing, we wound up a dueling piano bar with our mutual group of friends. It was a fun night or laughing, drinking, and singing off key. Over the course of the night our friends decided to head home early, or go on to another bar that we were less interested in, so Angelo and I found ourselves alone listening to familiar songs and talking about randomness, surprisingly no ribbing, banter, or fighting in sight.
After a few more songs, we decided to call it a night ourselves. Angelo was my ride back to the hotel we were staying at and we started talking about dancing, one of my favorite topics. I offered to teach him a few steps sometime and he immediately offered I stop by his room and teach him that night. Apparently, Angelo just needed some liquid courage to drop the boxing gloves and make his interest known.
I accepted since his room was only one floor below mine. We started with some bachata basics and proper leading technique. Laughing as he fumbled his way through and lingering a little longer than necessary in each other’s arms. He said, barely above a whisper that I almost missed it, “I shouldn’t, but I really want to kiss you”.
I leaned my head up to give him full access and said, “you should”.
And then those lips I had imagined kissing pressed to mine.
There was a different kind of energy to our passion than I had experienced with others up to that point. By the way he battled me in word and the arrogance he portrayed, I expected Angelo to be wild, spontaneous, and intense. Instead, he showed a more vulnerable side; slow, methodical, almost unsure of himself. I didn’t have a read on where this might go but I knew I wanted where we were in that moment. Our kiss deepened. Our touch explored. He walked me slowly backward toward the bed barely breaking our kiss to see where we were going.
I felt a rush of desire that didn’t quite make sense. Unlike so many men, Angelo was not intimidated by my confidence, my drive, my self-assurance. The tension we built in class spilled over into a sexual tension in need of immediate release. Our clothes began to loosen and fall away.
I shut my eyes.
What I wanted right then was his kiss to travel the length of my neck, down the curve of my breast, to take in my nipple and expertly stoke my arousal.
Now, I have always promised to be honest with you, Dear Readers, and unfortunately, this story is no different because Angelo did not play our passions up to the heights they could have gone. He was not the most adept or experienced lover. What he did bring was a desperate and primal kind of desire.
All fuck. Little foreplay.
No problem. I had written this off as a one-time experience with no intention on him becoming a stallion or one who ticked multiple of my boxes to be in my life consistently.
I was flexible in more ways than one😘.
Now, normally when a man puts on the condom before sex, I barely notice or don’t see it at all until he’s removing it, full of cum. But Angelo fumbled getting himself situated. I’m not sure if it was nerves or that unsuredness I mentioned previously. Once he had it on, he laid me back and wasted no time parting the wet and wanting lips of my pussy with his rock-hard cock. Not the biggest I’ve had but big enough to do the job. I responded with a tilt of my hips to draw him in deeper. Our bodies tangled. Our moans mixed. We found our rhythm and rode it faster and faster until inevitably, and quickly, Angelo gave a final driving thrust.
He rolled to the side.
“Well,” I murmured, fully taking in this surprising twist to our relationship. “Was not expecting that…”
We had a few more days together at the conference. I’ll admit, the tension between us grew more layered. There were games of jealousy to compound the complex play of quippy banter. Whether intentional or not, we played emotional chess throughout the day and came together in the evening, though not in a blaze of passion and heat I was expecting. Most nights we simply lay together until morning.
I’d love to say this particular story with Angelo had a romantic, storybook ending. I think it deserved one. But I’m not here to tell you fairytales. Our last night together, we had another one of our fiery arguments. Instead of investing in resolution, Angelo ran away from it (almost quite literally as he backed out the door to my room). Maybe it didn’t click our time had come to an end. Or maybe that was exactly the reason he refused to sit down with me and work through our disagreement that night. Because maybe Angelo didn’t want there to be a nice, neat ending?
And now that I look back, maybe I didn’t want that either.
One way Angelo would banter with me was whenever I’d say, “if we ever meet at another training event again, we might kill each other” and he’d always respond, “or make a baby”.
Sometimes I wonder if he might be right.