Shared posts

22 Feb 09:04

Ben from cornwall

by benfromcornwall

Just looking at it and my body burns. She asked me out. I accepted, we talked richly and the ride was simply great. He and I are destined for friendship or oblivion, but my brain hasn’t explained it to my body yet.

We talked about their issues and the new morality in young people. I was attentive, but I couldn’t help but focus on those thin lips and that mania of moving his hands as if he were caressing something. It was cold and I wanted to get closer, but I didn’t, until a cat stood next to me and I ran; once again, like a morbid old woman, I looked at his crotch.

My mind and its evocations! Just seeing and hearing that voice triggered a deep, intimate heartbeat that didn’t leave me until I took a sweet, warm shower. Sometimes I want to believe that it seeks to provoke and raise the temperature of my darkest desires.

He kept talking, but my mind wandered. What would it be like to be the only survivors on the planet? He is a delightfully vigorous 52-year-old man with a commanding presence that has always been pleasing to me, both for security and strength.

It should be something like: say hello, cry, set up a work day to get food and build a house, promise us loyalty, company and sex, pure, energetic sex without prior permission – help our brain with all its neurotransmitters and chemical release.– to survive.

Any of the days or any of the nights, as a reward for fulfilling the planned tasks, she would walk towards him naked, in silence, turned into a female in heat; she emanating pheromones everywhere ready to give myself without reservations, modesty or taboos.

He would come quickly, with a sweet and deep kiss, he would go down to my chest and bite my nipples hard. He would see me burn, with his knees he would separate my legs and penetrate me gently, delaying his pleasure and mine in order to see me delirious longer. He would whisper in my ear because I am his and he would engulf me in a synchronous dance of wet bodies. With his magic inside him, he floods every available cell with energy, I see all the constellations and recite from memory that chemical table that I never learned. Perfectly dexterous front and rear thrusts would raise the pressure of him and with overwhelming force from the emission of his guts I would take to the sky to plummet at his will and allow him everything and more.

Sometimes I wish I was a saint, I admit it. However, other times I think about how enjoyable the pleasure can be after sliding my hand over my stomach and caressing myself, finger fucking myself, in the middle of a lonely night.

Sometimes I wish it was someone else’s cock instead of my fingers, I have to admit that too.

That irrepressible desire is capable of clouding your mind when all you want to do is release it.

So here I am, after sinning so many times. Although, is it a sin to want someone to make you moan, scream and writhe in pure, unlimited pleasure? Is it a sin to want to feel someone else’s warmth against you and slide your tongue over her skin? Is it a sin to feel so much?

I only know that I am here thinking about yesterday. I saw my best friend, whom I have known for two years. We talk about everything except sex. My confession? I wouldn’t want to tell him how much I want to bring him against me and catch him, I’d like to prove it to him.

Yesterday we were sitting on the sofa in his house watching a series. It was already night, early morning rather, and we were tired. We got closer and closer as the minutes ticked by, and being fully aware of what was going on at all times, I could feel the way his hand slid up my leg. I didn’t even look at it.

All she could think about was ripping off his clothes and riding him like she had never ridden anyone. To feel him fully and completely in me and hear every pleading sound that came from his lips before I kissed him and shut him up, swallowing every damn moan.

I’m crazy? Maybe. Probably.

But of pleasure.