“I’ve been dying to do this,” he says, sliding his head down between my legs and diving into my pussy. His mouth is soft as he pushes his face and then his tongue deep into me, tasting me, touring me, reveling in me. His tongue makes insistent, indecent flicks at my clit. Ooohhh my. The intensity subsides into creamy pleasure, making me push myself into him, humping his tongue, his face, chasing that intense, insistent caress, riding it until I’m grunting, moaning, shoving my hips into his face, exploding in ecstasy
I have known him barely half an hour.
He was still hard. I asked him to give me a break, and he said, “yeah my endurance is a problem,” all chagrined, and I’m like, please.
So we talk. “What exactly do you eat?” I asked him, looking for the source of his stamina (Viagra didn’t occur to me until later). He laughed and said he eats a lot of vegetables. We chatted, he played with my hair, we made out. Then we did it all again and ended with a marathon missionary that got super-intense. As I thrust up to meet T’s thrusts, I closed my eyes and turned away because meeting his gaze was too much. It was sooo good the whole thing strained credulity. Imagine that. I was living it and even to me this whole “episode” seemed too good to be true.
Something funny happened. The intensity and connection between us was unreal. I thought to myself that it was like falling in love, but I know better, of course. It was just very intense. Between bouts, at one point we’re just staring at each other and I have to look away because it was too much. But he won’t drop it.
“What are you feeling right now?” he asks, as I stare out the window.
“Happy.” I say. This is true but not the whole truth.
The the radio starts playing “I Love You,” an old R&B duet that almost makes me laugh out loud. Terminator is watching me closely and I’m trying to not talk about the emotion in the room. We just met, this can’t be what it feels like. It’s ridiculous. I keep it together and then my phone starts ringing. My ringtone is Now that We Found Love, by Third World. I jump up and shut my ringer off. Enough with this love crap, please, I pray silently. And the fucking continued…
Barely 15 minutes after my last (extremely frustrated) post, I received a text from a very cute very horny guy in Brooklyn. I had responded to his ad looking for a casual hookup a few days ago on craigslist (crazy I know, but I was sooo horny). He liked my pictures (fully dressed, nothing nasty) and got back to me and we made arrangements to meet. As I traveled to meet him, I texted his name and address to a good friend of mine in case of an emergency (like if I disappeared without a trace). I was so horny that the real danger of the situation didn’t occur to me until later. This is why I need regular sex. So I don’t lose my mind and do shit like this. It must be a combination of mid-life hormones and the roaring comeback from celibacy.
Despite the fact that my Catholicism lies in tatters, I will light a candle to thank whatever guardian angel was watching over me yesterday.
There is no sleep like the sleep of the thoroughly fucked. No, not the post O coma that is so restorative, but the sleep that overtakes you after you’ve spent hours being tended to by a man with the equipment and the know-how to turn you to jelly. Nite-nite.