Jensen
Leaving Ireland at the airport was the worst feeling ever—I hated to say goodbye, even if it was only for a relatively short time. Every day without her was painful; I ached to feel her back in my arms again. I couldn’t believe how excited I was to drive a rental truck to Boston to pick her up…to bring her home. We waited until the coast was clear, meaning her parents were out of town. She didn’t want them questioning who I was and why Montana wasn’t helping her move out as planned, before I came into the picture.
I was fine with keeping our secret as I had yet to tell anyone outside of our Vegas party of four. Eventually, we would have to confess to our parents but in the meantime we planned to get adjusted to living together. I had never lived with anyone other than my parents. I didn’t even stay in a dorm room or frat house during my college days since I went to school within walking distance from home. I certainly never thought about living with a woman since I preferred a dip my dick, love ‘em…fuck ‘em—no love involved—and leave ‘em approach. Having male roommates was not on my list of things to tryout either, so I waited.
When it finally came time to leave the nest, I had no desire to live in the same style as I had grown up in. My parents preferred to be in a stately prewar building by Central Park, complete with a doorman. Ultimately, I longed for something homier…like a brownstone. However, it wasn’t in my budget—it was in my parents’—and I wanted to buy it myself when I found the right one. Another preference was that it be in Brooklyn away from my parents’ crowd. Mr. And Mrs. Pax Callum are truly wonderful people, but I wanted my own life. Working in the family business kept me connected to them enough.
Brooklyn was exactly what I was searching for—to be part of a neighborhood. I met far more people living across the bridge than I ever did living by the park. Starting in the heart of the action, living in a two bedroom walk-up apartment a couple floors above a business, I learned the neighborhoods. I strolled each block, checked out streets that were close to restaurants, essential markets, and other handy shops. I wanted to live within walking distance of places that would add to and compliment my social life. The only need for an additional means of transportation was to get to work.
Eventually, when the time was right—my bank account was nicely supplied—a few places came on the market. Unfortunately, it wasn’t quite as easy to procure one as I had hoped. Ones I wanted were being snatched up quickly at a high price that often included crazy as fuck bidding wars. I finally got my foot in the door when I came in at the right bid on a brownstone not far from my apartment on a great tree lined street. The fact that it was a wreck may have been in my favor as well, but it had potential and a great little backyard.
My parents thought I had lost my ever-loving mind—it was definitely a project. The previous owners had been down on their luck and used the wood in the walls to heat the house. A plus was that I knew all of the fireplaces were fully functional. The walls that were still partially intact were covered with torn wallpaper—apparently the paper worked well to get the wood lit. Another bonus, thanks to a home inspection that told me that the bones of the house were sound, the plumbing and electric had been updated. I loved it instantly and saw it as a forever home with room to grow. And though it was a challenge to get the house repaired and the yard that was a mix of trash and weeds cleaned up, it was an enjoyable one.
I took pride in what I accomplished with the help of a contractor and his crew—leaving them to the big work like reconstructing walls and remodeling the kitchen and bathrooms. Another thing I had them do was to incorporate a street level apartment to the house since I had no desire to rent out the space, so why not use all four floors. I loved the change as it made accessing the yard easier without stairs and it eliminated walking up several steps to get inside the house from the street. A feature that could come in handy with the addition of children and strollers—thinking way ahead.
After the major work was complete, I found that I was pretty good with a can of paint and brush and not too bad in the gardening department. I even built raised planter boxes and laid down square paving stones with crushed granite between them for a patio area. The only thing missing once the fantastic shell was ready to be inhabited was furnishings as I wasn’t sure what I wanted. Nor did I want my mother’s fancy, in-demand decorator invading my space—having parents contribute to a few construction fixes was enough and luckily they were to my liking.
As I drove Ireland to her…our new home, I hoped that she liked what had been accomplished so far and I looked forward to her input. “Did you just move here?” were the first words that she asked once we had stepped inside after I had unlocked the front door and set her bags on the foyer floor, next to the staircase. Besides a pale brown sofa, two gray, tan and black striped chairs, and a pretty good size flat screen TV on a table in the living room, there was no other furniture visible.
“I’ve lived here about two years,” I answered with a laugh knowing that I basically used three rooms in the entire house. “What you see is a showroom set that I bought to replace folding beach chairs and cardboard boxes…and in the master bedroom I have a box spring and mattress to sleep on.” Literally, there was nothing else in that room—not even a bed-frame, nightstand, or a set of dresser drawers since there was built-in cabinetry in the walk-in closet that I had added.
I may have sounded and looked like a typical bachelor, but my lack of decor turned into a great thing as Ireland and I spent hours making the…our house a home. Within the first two weeks of her moving in she had me popping in and out of unique stores to furnish the entire place, I loved every minute of it. I also enjoyed breaking in every room and several pieces of furniture, keeping the local pharmacy in business with my condom purchases alone.
Celebrating our accomplishments, I took great pleasure sliding into her warmth. We moved perfectly in sync until we had each reached the point of no return and called out each other’s names or just moaned because we couldn’t form real words. I had to commend her on all fronts—both in the sex arena and with her awesome decorating skills.
Ireland had reconfigured the living room furniture on either side of the fireplace to be a quiet socializing spot—sofa and chairs facing each other with a coffee table in between—or as we often used it, a reading room where we cuddled up on the sofa. Another place we lounged in each other’s arms was the street level room off the yard where we had a large sectional couch in front of an oversized TV mounted on the wall. It was also the space where we lost all focus on the movies playing and took great pleasure in each other.
She made the house into a place that I could hardly wait to come home to and rarely wanted to leave…especially on mornings after she had awakened me for work in the sexiest ways. Sharing our four poster bed could be very dangerous to my prompt work commute since Ireland had a habit of sliding her soft, naked body over my morning erection that was always eager to engage. Not one to rush in the pleasure department, I took my time—fuck being on time—they could write me up, complain to management. It might’ve also been the fact that I was my own boss that kept me from worrying about going in late and leaving early.
Either way…any time, I wanted nothing more than to have Ireland wrapped around me and to feel our ultimate connection, physically and mentally. There was no denying it, we were an incredible match. I couldn’t have asked for a better partner and to be honest we still barely knew each other, but I looked forward to years of learning everything there was to know about her. Not to mention, the joy of experiencing new things as we moved through our life together.
We had already started some new traditions such as our silly Friday night feast or famine. On those nights we selected unknown restaurants and different cuisines, asking the person who took our order to provide us with dishes that were popular. Then one or both of us went to pick it up or we had it delivered, but we always ate it at home. Most of the time we sat out on the back patio at a funky old metal table and chairs set that Ireland brought in from the curb and spray painted bright orange.
Thankfully, most of the food was enjoyable and on one occasion that it was not edible—too spicy for us—we boiled some pasta and threw in veggies from our summer garden. I was not sure what we would come up with to amuse ourselves when wintertime rolled around, but I wasn’t worried about anything with Ireland in my life.