Monday, April 20, 2009
It really had nothing to do with sex. Sitting there in the front seat, windows down, tearing down the highway naked -- damn, what a feeling! She’d never done this before. Something (or someone) told her that it was bad, or dangerous, or illegal, or all of the above. She was nervous, at first. But, when he so easily stripped off the laundry and relaxed into the drive, she felt encouraged. She took off her shorts and underwear. “Underwear, schmunderwear,” she said, with a smile.
Wow, that felt good! The air rushing in through the windows caressed her bare thighs and pussy, like a warm comforting hand. She felt a familiar tingle coursing through her body, but this had nothing to do with sex. He looked over at her, briefly, and smiled. He was so happy that she felt secure with him, and willing to take a step toward sensual liberation. He put his hand on her bare leg and traced its contours up to the delta of the river of her body. She parted her legs, wanting. But, this had nothing to do with sex.
A few miles went by before she realized that no one was really going to see, or notice, if she took off her top. The wind through her hair felt like tiny fingers. They brushed her bare skin. When she lifted her top over her head, they cupped her breasts. She felt so exposed and so free so fucking confident! She was swimming in a sea of sensation, suddenly diving and floating and skimming along like a dolphin. He reached out and stroked her hair.
They rolled along in silence. The sun melted against her skin, pressing into her. She closed her eyes and just felt and smelled the sweet air. He nipples seemed to fly away from her with each breath. Her mind raced. This was not bad or dangerous. She didn’t care if it was illegal. When his right hand touched her chest, she involuntarily exhaled like the wind had been knocked out of her. By the time his fingers fell into her opened crotch, she was buzzing in her own molten liquid. He touched her clit and the world narrowed into one sensual point of light and gravity. This had nothing to do with sex, but she exploded anyway, not caring if the world watched her do it.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
“Pudendum, P-U-D-E-N-D-U-M,” he said with a grin, as he carefully placed the wooden squares on the board. This was naked Scrabble, and he just moved ahead. It was a double letter word, worth 28 points. The stakes were high. If she lost, she had to go out on the porch and make herself cum as the rush hour traffic streamed by. If he lost, he had to run out and jack off. But, that was hardly fair. After all, he could whack off in about two minutes. It took her a little longer. She was somewhat titillated by the prospect. Still, she didn’t really want to lose. Her letters sucked.
That’s all she could come up with. She spelled it out… a big 5 (big deal). He was 20 points ahead of her, and they were running out of letters. She took a swig of absinthe and ran a finger along the folds of her pussy. She was still wet from their late afternoon love-making. It was so fun, to sit there nude in the living room, listening to James Taylor and the birds outside the windows, playing this game. She really wanted to just be fucked, but the anticipation, spiced with the language of the Scrabble board, was a nice little break. Without it, they would have never left the bed. She took three of the squares, an “A,” another damned “P,” and a fucking “U.” She groaned, inside, knowing this was going to be difficult. He was gonna win, dammit!
Happily, he took the bait. -R-G-A-S-M was tacked on to the “O” in “PROP.” It wasn’t a big-value word, but it made him smile. He took a swig of his absinthe and grabbed the hair on the back of her head and kissed her hard. They both giggled like high schoolers at a “spin-the-bottle” party. He took the last of the letters. There were only two left.
It was then that the universe opened up and the future became clear. She could see it all. Suddenly, she could see him beating off on the porch. She had never been able to do this, to fit all of the letters into one glorious word. Her toes flared, she twitched inside, her nipples stood out just a little harder. She placed the letters carefully, so as to relish the moment. It was a double-word, triple letter, word. It ended in “M.” One by one, slowly and deliberately, “P…R…I…A…P…I…S.” She looked at him, “It means a ‘persistent erection of the penis.’”
The word was worth 34 points! She was out of letters. She won!
“I wanna watch,” she growled.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
He remembered her sweat, how it beaded up between her breasts in the sun, how it ran down her back as she straddled him, how it dripped off of her hair and splashed onto his face. It was animal. It was her. It was passion pouring on him like warm honey. How he longed for that, now, as he sat in his truck, making the run from San Francisco to Seattle. He was hauling 70,000 pounds of lettuce, listening to the cackle on the CB and the pounding of the windshield wipers. He sat high above the four-wheelers that whipped by him. In the city, he would have been worried about how the bastards cut him off, and how they paid the inertia of his load no mind. Out here, on the long stretch between Shasta and Eugene, he had plenty of room. His thoughts wandered.
The air was cool, but not cold. It was almost springtime. The rain poured down in fits and starts. Sometimes, it would beat down ferociously; other times, it was a mist. The heat in the cab was comforting. Before heading over the Siskyous, he had stripped off his clothes. It was how he liked to travel. Especially during the summer, he could open the windows and feel the warm air rush over him as he drove. It was sort of like flying inside of the head of a whale. He sat there, looking at the passing scenery, barreling down the highway at 70 miles per hour, naked as a baby. There was something exciting about that juxtaposition of power and vulnerability. He often thought of her.
On those long stretches, in the winding darkness, he remembered her. How pretty she was, in her cotton dresses or her ripped jeans or her thick sweaters. Nothing could hide her beauty. Her eyes were enough to make him hard. They were like onyx against her vanilla skin. Her smile tore him apart. Her hair was a cage that captured him like a fly in a web. But…it was her scent, her smell, her aroma, her sweat that drove him like a bull elk through the deepest of forests to her. When he thought of her…her back arched in orgasm, her eyes closed, her mouth open and loud, her sweat coating her skin like a thin gauze…he could not control his feelings. How many times he spilled the contents of his balls upon his belly and bare legs he could not begin to count. His chest would heave, his stomach contract, and he would roar above the drone of the enormous Peterbilt engine that hurled him down the highway. For spasm after squirting spasm, 70,000 pounds of lettuce would plummet toward the markets in Seattle.
Do not look directly into the eye, that small hole into which the colors and borders and character of you get sucked. Look away, be shy, think of how your body is being gazed upon, stroked by light, touched by want. Breath quietly, feel the press of air against you like the soft breasts of your lover. Move your muscles to her sighs, the slow scrape of her nails. Listen to the language and rhythm of the voyeur, the shuffling and dancing around you. Throw back your shoulders, daring the touch, baring yourself to all possibility. This is a piece of you that no one will know, because they do not know you. As much as you reveal, you hide. Expose yourself to that eye. Let it absorb who you wish to be into it. Allow it to tell you who you are. Surrender.
It had to be the wickedness in her quirky smile, or the lazy invitation in her gaze. The voice, like dark red wine, was not expected from a woman so petite. Clearly, I was prey. I felt exposed; she had me backed against a stone wall. She had me stripped and delirious with passion, and I didn’t even know who she was. Her toes caressed the wood floor and made it a lover. I wanted to spread my arms, become an angel, lift her up into my heaven. But, it was she who had wings. She flew through me like my body was melted butter. Every nerve, muscle, sinew that was touched hummed in harmony. If she had ordered me to die, I would have done so, instantly and without question. When I reached out to touch her, it was with fear, but familiar. Her small earthly body drew my fingers like divining rods looking for blood and life and love. My mind was rolling like beads of mercury, scattering in all directions, longing to flow together in her. When I did touch her, she disappeared. She became me, filling every blank space inside the skin of my helplessly captured body, cradling my soul in the terribly gentle palm of her hand.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
The sun licked me clean. I was a kitten at the end of its rasping tongue. It fed me the milk of its shiny power and I fell fat and sleepy against its belly. I woke to the sweat of my dreams, the mud of the earth on my back, and the rising pillar of my lust deep within her mouth. Above my face, the soft folds of life rocked, hanging like the last drop of water on earth beyond my thirsting lips. I touched her. It was morning. Small bumps of cool flesh fell into the slick creases of my tongue, mixed with the sweet scallop-scented liquor of her. My fingers, the nerve endings of my brain, ran along her back, following the crease of her arching muscles, digging into the dents that forced her hips onto the paper-thin membrane of my lips. The slow creep of breathing earth crawled like ants against my nakedness, each small quivering hair feeding on invisible insects like the waving tentacles of sea anemones. Her muffled, stuffed, groans washed over my saliva-coated balls. A gentle, insistent, pressure grew within my depths. She had me where she wanted me. I was caged beneath her golden body. She took my full length into her throat and held me there. A small trickle of piss dripped upon my chin, then became a torrent as she coated me with her essence. I drank her and lapped her up like a puppy. I was hers. I was her territory. I belonged to her. My face was covered with her urine. My shoulders and hair sank into the mud of the playa, as I sank into the depths of her throat and further into the rocks and trees and sky of her world. She settled into my mouth and offered the soup of her body to me. I ate until I was full, and until I filled her with my own life.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
They had never been to such a place, she and Billy. She was nervous and excited. Her stomach felt tight. There was a dampness to her whole body. Her introduction to this world happened so fast, so innocently and delightfully fast. Billy parked the car about a block away. They walked along the dark, rain-dampened, street and entered through the solid wood entrance. The outdoor lighting was stark, white, neon. There were no windows. Inside the door was a small room. A scruffy college-aged kid sat behind a ticket-taker’s cutout in the wall.
“Good evening. Five dollars a piece. Have you ever been here before?” he said.
“Nope,” Billy replied.
He looked her over. “Do you have any ID?”
She dug around and came out with her driver’s license. He glanced at it and handed it back. She felt a jolt, suddenly knowing that she was going to enter into a world she’d never seen and had only fantasized about. Billy handed the attendant his credit card. After the transaction, the kid said, “Go through that door behind you, and I’ll meet you and show you around.”
They walked through the thin, plywood, door and were met by the attendant. Past the door was another small room. The walls were lined with porno flicks and magazines for sale, along with an assortment of condoms and dildos. The college kid escorted them through another door and into the theater.
On the large screen was a jumble of naked bodies, gaping holes, long cocks, cum-coated faces. The sound system blared the liquid sounds of impending orgasms, the “ohm’s” and “yes’s,” the dick-muffled groans and squeals of young women with too much make-up on their faces.
Billy held her body close to his, as the attendant led them down the aisle of the theater, past a small corral to the right. In the corral was a woman who seemed to be mimicking the sounds emanating from the movie screen. She was bobbing on one cock, while gripping another one. She was in heels, stockings, garter…the stereotypic fashion of the whore at play. Men, semi-turgid dicks in their fists, stood outside the corral wall and watched the woman as she moved from one fleshy pole to the next, waving her naked ass in the air.
The attendant led them past the corral to another on that had a bed and night stand and lamp in it. “If you want more privacy, you can rent this room out for an additional $5.00,” he advertised. “The sheets are cleaned.”
The kid continued, “In the back is the ‘couples area,’ and you can use that without any additional cost.”
All of this was swimming through her head. She really didn’t hear what the attendant was saying. She was in a room full of strangers, most of them men. She was in a room where women were sucking cocks and men were beating off. She was delirious in the sensations of the place, the darkened room, the soft smell of liquid sex, the sound of her own thumping heart. She was afraid but confident in the presence of Billy. She was willing to follow his lead. She felt safe in this bubble. Billy’s deep voice stirred her.
“We’ll just head up to the ‘couples room,’” he told the attendant. They walked up to the gated space. It was fully open to onlookers and was spacious enough for at least sixteen lovers. The area enclosed long vinyl-covered benches where couples could watch the movie and each other. Two people were inside. A woman was sucking the cock of a large man. They looked up, briefly, as she and Billy entered the space, then went back to what they were doing. The attendant hooked the chain gate and left.
She and Billy sat on one of the benches, their backs along the wall. She felt a little confused, at first. She didn’t know that live sex would be going on right next to her. She thought they were going to a movie theater. The confusion gave way to electric knotting toe-curling lust when Billy turned to kiss her, running his hands over her breasts and down into her crotch. Her knees spread, instinctively. On-screen, the orgy continued endlessly. One after another, faces were coated in cum, assholes were plugged with thick cocks, lips were open and wanting. Next to her, a woman in heels and garter was sucking on her lover’s (or john’s) cock.
Billy undid her pants. He had her stand and he yanked her pants down. As ordered, she had worn no underwear. Billy then reached up and pulled her top off. She stood naked, in this strange place, in front of total strangers, with the sights and sounds of sucking and fucking going on all around her. Billy pulled her down onto his lap and engulfed her nipples, one at a time, back and forth, in his warm lips. He pulled at them with his teeth, while his hands cupped her ass and pulled her body against him. She felt safe and warm and free and so shamelessly horny.
Suddenly, Billy flipped her around and laid her, sideways, across his lap. She lay back, fully exposed, Billy kissing her, probing her, spreading her naked legs, exposing her to the men who stood just outside the “couples room,” slowly masturbating. Billy looked into her eyes, and rubbed her engorged clit. “Spread your legs, baby,” he urged. “Show off that beautiful pussy.” He shoved his tongue into her throat and his fingers into her cum-slick hole. She spread her legs and pushed her hips into the air, inviting everyone to see how lovely and wet and lusty she had become. Billy’s fingers danced lightly, then roughly, then feather-like, then hard, bringing her closer and closer and closer to the teetering precipice. He teased her, prolonging the show she was putting on. Men in the shadows watched as her hips started to buck and shake, and her legs tensed.
Billy gazed into her blue eyes, and licked the edges of her lips as she released the tension in her body with a wracking orgasm that made her feet and legs flail, her stomach gripping and releasing in spasm after glorious gut-wrenching spasm. Billy’s hand was soaked with her liquor. He cupped her pussy in his hand as her pulsing subsided, her breathing eased and she opened her eyes. She pulled his mouth to hers and kissed him long and deep. She wanted to crawl inside of him and become him. She forgot about where she was. She was his, only his.