Tripp is sexy to me. He’s like porn. He truly can light the world up with his smile. Everyday, I think I love him a little more (except perhaps when he doesn’t put his dishes in the dishwasher). If I could, I’d have sex with him all the time. I want him. I want him very badly, but he’s broken.
Tripp isn’t mentally broken, although he does have one peculiar habit of getting wound up over something he imagines might happen before it actually does. He turns a little sun shower into a category 5 hurricane (Also, he’s a bit of a hoarder). He is physically broken. His body doesn’t do what he wants and he hates it. His medicine cabinet looks like a CVS. It’s all related to his previous bought with cancer. Of course, if he hadn’t done all that surgery and chemo, he’d be dead, so being a bit physically broken isn’t a bad trade off.
When we were dating, the first NSFW pic Tripp ever sent me was of him in his chaps in a sling with a very large dildo in his ass. That man looks good in chaps. He won’t wear his any more because he thinks they make him look like a stuffed sausage. His weight went a little haywire with his diabetes, but I could not care less. I want to see him in his gear, belly and all. He’s just as sexy to me now as he was back then. He just doesn’t feel sexy anymore. I’m certain if all his physical issues hadn’t arisen, my hand would be spending a lot more time in his ass than it does now.
Whenever we talk about it, it seems to depress him. I want him to know I don’t care about it, but talking about it makes him sad. Yes, I miss old Tripp, but current Tripp is still porn to me. I know he wants to do things, but he just can’t. It’s more than sex. We can’t go swimming , diving or skiing together anymore. Every trip through a security checkpoint requires a pat down and a wanding. Every time we travel (guess we don’t have to worry about that for a while), there’s a whole regimen he has to go through with all his meds. I get depressed for him. I can’t imagine how awful it is for him. Still, as I remind him, not dead is good.
I got him a personal trainer and, until recently, he has been going to the gym regularly, which is helping. We’re doing home workouts at the moment. I feel getting him in the best shape he is capable of is going to be good for him physically and mentally. I don’t care how he looks, I just want him to feel better and feel better about himself.
I wouldn’t trade him for anything (also, his blue book value is negligible). My desire for him seems to depress him sometimes though. I think he desires what we used to have but can’t anymore. I have little doubt that if his physical condition hadn’t changed, he’d still be my boy/slave/fuck toy. The silver lining is that our circumstances have given me the opportunity to explore my submissive side with him, instead of with someone else and that I finally was able to realize my dream of being permanently caged.
So Tripp, I don’t care that I can’t fuck you. I don’t care that you get tired. I don’t care that we can’t do the things we used to. I don’t care that I annoy you with my desires. I care that you are beside me in bed and in life and we will find our way, together. Now please put your chaps on and fuck me.