Category : Adult

Sub Category : Erotic

The first time we were at a hotel,  After a second date.  This was “faster” than was normal for me, but hell, people know when they want to have sex with each other, and  I wanted to with you.  I thought you felt the same way about me, but then…well, let’s set the scene first.
We were on the couch, the wine on the coffee table was barely touched, and your fingers were digging into the small of my back while I explored your mouth with my tongue.  It was exciting to find that you knew how to use your lips and that your tongue listened to mine.  I listened to yours, too, and its directions were clear and direct.As you let your weight fall onto me, I could feel that you were aroused.  
You were practically about to burst through your jeans.  Your erection trapped in there must be downright painful, I thought, and I actually imagined it tearing through your pants; it was cartoonish and I nearly laughed, but the image of its sudden entrance into the space between them, its dramatic thrust into my mind’s eye, was also sexy as hell and I felt myself getting wet.
Your other hand was up my shirt now, enjoying tbe feel of my skin and the lines my ribs drew to my breasts.  Your fingers traced the barrier that was my bra, while your first hand pulled me in closer to you.Then your goddamn cellphone rang.  
“Sorry,” you whispered, and you answered it.
You manage a small business–maybe it was a big business I didn’t know the details, it was only a second date, after all and the call had to do with work.  
You sat there, on the couch, one hand holding the phone, the other cruelly caressing my thigh.  And you talked, you bastard, for a good five minutes, putting out a figurative fire while i considered making decaf or taking a shower.  I watched the bulge in your pants deflate a little, and then completely.
You finally hung up, apologized (it was an emergency), told me,  you had had fun, and had to go, it was an emergency afterall and left the hotel.
On Saturday morning I went to your place after a simple text message invitation:
  “Let me make up the other night to you.  I have some time this morning if you’d like have breakfast.”
You had made a breakfast fit for the cover of a Good Housekeeping, but we never touched it.  We said “Hi” then we were at it again.  Finding our way to your bed, you kissed me just right, and touched me just right.  Yet only through my clothes; you made no effort to unbutton a blouse or unzip a fly.  This went on for five minutes, ten minutes…it felt like hours.
 Call me old-fashioned, but I liked a man who took control of situations like these, but I decided to be a bit more forward;  I would at least hint at what I  wanted.I let my fingers dance on your belly.  It was flat and firm and, thanks to your workouts at the gym,  my fingers found their way under the elastic waistband of your underwear.  You liked it, I surmised, because you were growing inches below my hand.You mirrored my motions, playing with my tummy and the lacy waistband of my knickers.  
We stayed like that, for some time, mouths tasting mouths, necks, and throats; fingers teasing pubic regions; both of us torturing each other delightfully, until…You look up at the clock, and whispered, again, “Sorry.”  you were meeting your friends for a run out in the country on your bike, you did it every Saturday and you were going to be late.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I thought.
But I just nodded, 
“Oh, that’s OK.”  I said, straightening my  shirt and that was that.
We met a third time dinner, movie, and back to the hotel couch where we began! I learned the movements and sounds of your body even better.  I ran my hand up and down your lean thighs until I thought i'd cry out in frustration.  You felt me up and kissed my breasts, but only the top part exposed above my completely-still-on-bra!  I liked what your tongue did, your hands too, and your scent and your moans were instilled in my memory.
Then it happened again.  The reason is of little importance Just know you said “Sorry” and we separated before an article of clothing could be shed.  I was angry at you, and I didn’t care if I had any right to be.  So much so that when you asked me out again, my initial reaction was to tell you unequivocally “No!”  But thinking better of it,
 I called you and I asked, point-blank, why hadn’t we had sex?“You don’t seem to be impotent?” I queried.  “Do you have a disease?  Aren’t you into me?”But the cool bastard, that sexy motherfucker you, just sighed on the other end of the line.  The sigh reminded me of your gentle gasps of pleasure made when I nibbled your ear.  
“The timing has never been right,” is all you told me.  
You said it without apology.  Without embarrassment.  And I found the answer, perplexingly, satisfying.  I agreed to go out with you again.  We decided to go dancing.The club was dense with people and the not-unpleasant aroma of sweat and spilt beer.  
Tonight, I wore more makeup than usual and the kind of tiny black dress that turns men into drooling dogs.  And damn it if you didn’t look especially good too, in an impeccably-fitting shirt and a day’s growth of stubble.
We had never danced together before, but soon I began to hope that the old adage was true when it came to you, that a person dances like they make love.  Your touch and the beat of the music guided our movement.  My arousal was paramount.  Shoulder-to-shoulder with dozens of other couples, here there would be no exploring each other with lips.  Instead we danced closer, and tighter, and when your hand pressed the small of my back, i remember you toying with the top of my knickers.  When the music drowned out all other sound, I remembered the tender sucking sound you had made when kissing my chest.Before long, my want for you was so great, it was painful.  
My desire to be undressed and unceremoniously fucked burned like an insatiable itch.Itch.Itch.The itch grew and simmered and burned, and then, somehow…passed.  Or perhaps not “pass,” because it was still there.  It may have instead transpired into something else.  Because an itch is something that demands to be scratched, just as hunger demands to be fed.  Food is the pleasure received, while the hunger is the pain that demands pleasure.  But here and now, in this loud throng of people, my itch stopped being the pain that desired pleasurous scratching;  my itch became the pleasure itself.  I slipped into a new plane of consciousness where the after-this-itch is never considered.  This itch was the End All and Be All.  I lived here, now, in that yearning and enjoyed it more than I had enjoyed anything before.You must have liked living there too, for at the end of the night, we kissed goodbye, and neither of us invited the other to come spend the night.
We  began to see each other more and more often, kissing and caressing like teenagers, never undressing, only building a greater and greater itch, illustrated by our wetness and hardness.This went on for weeks.We did little else.One cold morning, three months after their second date, we were in your bed, staying warm under the covers, and you did something I thought you would never do.  You peeled off my t-shirt.  And my bra.  I mirrored your action, and you wore a shirt no more.You removed my skirt.  I , your pants.  Done taking turns, now we worked together, an unconscious unit, and slid off each others’ underwear.  Simultaneously, both pairs fell to the floor.The undressing was new, and yet, it was not meant to achieve anything more than the grand itch we had become so damn good at creating.  
Our teasing sessions had lasted longer and longer.  This chilly morning continued the trend.  We began a motherfucking marathon.Naked.  We continued to explore.  Where those fingertips had danced under panty lines, now lips kissed and caressed.  Softly, on nipples, more lips.  Fingertips, yours,  I barely noticed, found the wet warmth between my legs.  You brushed the flesh there just like you had the rest of my body.  My fingers found your cock, and I gently, barely, stroked it.Our fingers found the want and the itch that we had built up for such a long time.
This went on for a long time.Every moment was delicious.Then you glided yourself into me.  Months of exploration and delicate meandering was replaced by gentle undulation.  Remember that the aim of our desire had disappeared long ago.  We had sought only the desire itself, and thus forgotten all about the next derivative of that longing.  So, like being given sight after a lifetime of blindness, your being inside mine brought us awe.The desire spread through my core and down my extremities. 
 You seemed to fill all the places that the desire touched.  Your moans that i’d come to know so well became loud and desperate and I loved you crying out to me.  I myself cried out as you pumped into me, slowly at first, then faster, The neighbours heard and the bed beat the wall.  It was hot under the covers and the sheets were soaked. Our  itch was satisfied.  Being fucked never felt so good.  Together, we came, and a long moment of bliss overtook us.Your weight on me.The stickiness of our skin.Your lips still on mine.Gratification and peace and all that is right.Stillness.But not for long.
For the itch…  The desire…  The want…  The need and the nagging…  The begging and the yearning…They all seep back to us.
“Again,” I says to you.  “Let’s fuck, like that, again.”
You nod, happy to oblige, knowing it will take another three months to fuck me, like that, again.