He Watched Me As I Came

Hundreds of miles away, yet in my bed, he watched as I removed my shirt, my bra, my panties. I moved the phone so he could see my face, my breasts, my joy at seeing him. He watched as I reached between my legs, so wet, so wanting from our long talk.

His voice coaxed and cosseted me, guiding me until I drifted on my cloud. The crescendo of my desire flew faster and faster toward the finale. Closer and closer. Almost there. Soaring. And at last, release.

Later he wrote me.

I just want you to know that seeing your beautiful face and hearing your voice made me very happy. More than I have been in quite a while. And if there were tears, it’s only because I’ve had to miss you all these years. Not because of anger… I love you. 

Darling. My sweet darling. I’m here. Not next door… but here. And I’m not running from you again. I love you.

With heavy eyes I look at my angel’s face… so far away and yet always near. Her image forever burned in my heart from nights filled with passion and love… so far. Yet always… always right here. 

You are a poet. Damn. Damn. Damn. And I’m just now really discovering this.

Poetry is not always in words. It can also be in how we love…

Through the Window

Tap. Tap. Tap.

His knuckles softly rapped against my window. I slid out from between the sheets, raised the pane of glass and peered out into the dark, starlit night. The eager, nervous sixteen-year-old who smiled at me had only been ever been kissed… once. The day before. By me. Though I was older than him by only a couple of months, I felt decades older in experience. Looking back now, I realize I wasn’t nearly as accomplished as I thought. He was after all… the second boy I had ever kissed. But what do we know at sixteen?

Oh so quietly, he put one jean-clad leg through the window, and then the other. The rest of his long, lean body followed. He stood there, looking down at me in my white eyelet nightgown, not sure what say or do next. I stood on tiptoe and kissed him gently on the lips. He was trembling all over. He smelled of pine and musk and woods.

I took his hand and drew him down to the floor beside me. We sat like that for a while. Side by side, our backs against my bed, whispering in the dark. He made the next move, more confident this time, opening his mouth as he kissed me. Our tongues touched… tentatively tasting the other. I felt his hand on my thigh, his fingers urgently working toward my panties.

“Whoa,” I whispered, breaking the kiss and grabbing his hand, “Not so fast.”

I put his errant hand on my cheek and kissed the palm, cradling it against my face before lowering it to my jaw, then my neck. Taking the direction like a willing pupil, he slowly began caressing my neck, working down to the little hollow at the base of my throat. I leaned back against him, inviting further, slow exploration.

When his hand slipped down the front of my gown and onto my breast, an electric jolt shot through me. He fondled my nipples slowly at first, and then began alternating between squeezing the entire breast and flicking just the very tip, gaging my reaction. Hormones raging, I grasped his erection through his jeans, and it became my anchor in a storm of swirling emotions.

So much of that first night is a blur, little flickers of memories teasing the outskirts of my mind. My gown was eventually discarded and I knelt on the floor in the moonlight, watching him absorb my nakedness. His clothes lay in a discarded heap as we experimented being skin to skin against each other.

His massive erection stood straight up and slightly to the left, bucking wildly for attention as my fingers traced invisible roadmaps on his body, touching him everywhere. Everywhere but there. Hours after he has slipped in my window I finally touched him. The virgin tip passed my lips and entered my mouth as my tongue tasted him for the first time. I looked up at him, savoring the moment. It ever only happens once.

Later, when he came with a shudder on my breasts, marking me with his passion’s fluid, I still had not taken his virginity. Not yet. Now—a decade and a half later—when we talk about those times and reminisce together it almost seems like two different people who lived those nights. Except that I want him still.

Bootie Call or Cuddle Call

It had all the makings of a traditional bootie call: arrangements made via text messages, meeting way after normal ‘dating’ hours, tit ‘n cock pics exchanged to whet the appetite. So what happened? How did a planned savage dicking turn into a full blown cuddle fest? And why do I feel completely satisfied?

It’s been about six months since we’ve really spent time together. Until earlier this week, when we mated like animals with complete abandon, our grunts and moans a symphony of fornication. And decided round two was in order.

But tonight the closest we came to sex was me lazily (yes, lazily! my head was on a pillow!) lapping at his cock while he gently stroked my back. Neither one of us orgasmed. In fact most of the evening was spent with me curled up on his chest while he showed me videos he’d taken with his new GoPro. When he put the laptop away, there was no reaching for little golden wrappers, no fingers deep in my well, no mouth latched onto my nipples. He simply pulled me closer, kissed me on the forehead, and drew a pattern of circles on my shoulder with his fingers.

We stayed like that for an hour, dozing in each others arms. A glance at my phone’s clock pulled me from my reverie and I unentwined myself from him, slipping back into my clothes before whispering, “Sweet dreams,” and leaving. I could have stayed the night. But sleep comes to me better when I’m alone, in my own bed.

As I drove home in the dark, I shook my head, trying to make sense of it all. If ever a bootie call took an unexpected twist, this was it. And the most interesting thing to me is my level of satisfaction. I’m in a state of calm contentment… without an orgasm.

I Didn’t Know

I forget sometimes that you weren’t able to read my mind. So you probably never knew the depth of my feelings for you. And gosh darling, I was so damaged. So very damaged. And I wouldn’t let anyone see that.
I still don’t.

I knew. That’s why I never hated you for up and leaving. I was just hopeful you’d be loved and cherished. I still remember where I was and what the weather was like the moment you said ‘I do’ to him. Funny how those moments stick after all these years. 

But you weren’t at the wedding…

I know… I couldn’t. I just watched the clock, sitting on my dad’s porch, in those jeans you liked so much. Just waiting… 

Oh baby… I didn’t know.

I Never Stopped

You know I never stopped loving you. I just had all these great big dreams. Gigantic dreams. Dreams that could make some people’s heads explode. And I didn’t feel like I could reach for them if we were together. In my young eyes I saw you staying in that little one horse town forever.

So I suppose you’re right, that it’s neither here nor there. Decisions were made. Paths set. Lives begun. And here we are now. But god I want to be in your arms right now.

It’s nice to know you at least thought about it way back then. I figured I was the only one. 

Thought about it? Darling. I wanted it. I wanted us. Badly.
I had all these beautiful day dreams about us building a little house down there… growing a garden… white linen curtains on the windows, fluttering in an early spring breeze while we made afternoon love.
But I couldn’t tell you that.
Not then.
Not with all those other, bigger dreams pulling me away.

We would have never stopped.

The Catch

Part of me would love to make your every sexual fantasy come true.
Including being one of two women who pleasured you from head to toe.
And the other part of me never wants to share you.

I think the catch for me is that I want to feel like I’m enough.
That me is plenty.
That if I’m in the room you wouldn’t see or want anyone else anyway.

I wants a foot rub

I’m feeling all pouty and needy today. It’s been way too long since I had some pampering. I desperately want a foot rub… a gooood one. And a cock to suck on. That would be just about the epitome of wonderfullness. My feet getting all the aches massaged out while my mouth and tongue lapped away at a gloriously hard member. Mmmmm. I’m licking my lips and bunching my toes just THINKING about it. 

If only one had a concierge who specialized in such lurid requests. Because if one looks at the human body, in order for what I’m wanting to happen… I’ll need two men. One at my feet, and one at my head. I bet the one up top would swing for a little scalp rub, trailing his fingers through my hair, while I sucked, slurped and sipped at his hard, throbbing masterpiece.

Just an idea…