My lover has an Afrikaans accent. His breath whispers against my neck as he speaks gruffly in my ear, pinning me to the living room wall. I push my behind into his groin as he cups my tits, groaning he is "so glad he met me."
It's a rainy summer's night, all sticky and we're slick with sweat. We're both in singlets, he's in jeans and I can feel his thick length as he nestles it between my shorts clad cheeks.
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We'd met only a few hours before as we stood in the Sex Shop browsing over the assorted sex aids, magazines, videos and other interesting things. She was about 30 to 35, tall, blond and very, very attractive. Her breasts pushed attentively forward into her tight sweater and she obviously wasn't wearing a bra because her nipples were clearly visible. He was perhaps a few years older (about my age), slim, dark haired and, as blokes go, pretty good looking too.
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»Oh oh oh, you HAVE to tell me all about it!«
Nina's eyes got a twinkle as she rolled over in her bed on her stomach and looked at me.
»Tell you what?«
I acted stupid even though I knew exactly what it was she wanted to hear.
»You know,« she gave me a mysterious smile.
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I love touching my pussy. I love the feeling of my most personal effect in my hand. I love bringing myself to orgasm by playing with my pussy. I love the feeling of being in charge of my own happiness. I love feeling my silken gift at my fingertips, and the feeling of intimacy that it provides for me.
I've also had to learn to love all of those things.
I've come to love them over the last several years, as masturbation is my only true sexual outlet right now.
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"How long is it since you last had sex?" Sarah asked Rachel.
"Too long," Rachel replied. "It's a couple of years since I split up from my boyfriend, and I haven't gone out with anyone since then for long enough to end up sleeping with them."
"Well that's not a problem," Sarah said. "Just go out to a club, find a guy, take him home, let him fuck you. Easy."
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The RA’s jokingly call the bathrooms in my residence hall “gender blind”. In this case, I supposed that fits, because I never did see the girl. But in most cases, it just means that all the bathrooms are coed; don’t ask, don’t look, in other words. There are only 30 people in the whole hall making it more of a house, really, and 25 of them are girls. Yeah, a little lopsided, but who’s going to complain, huh? The guys? I’m the only male on my floor out of 15!
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"Hey Babe, have the kids gone to grandma's yet?" I asked as I finished whisking up the fresh whipped cream for our dessert. Dinner was spread out on the table –herbed steak and a garden salad – and the dessert was done except for the cream in the bowl. It needed to whip up and then chill.
You watch out the window as Jill and Sydney, our two girls meander next door to spend the night with their grandma.
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"Taxi! Taxi!"
Sabrina Kelley waved her hand furiously as the icy Manhattan wind whipped through and around her bones.
The New York skyline was rapidly approaching dusk and the evening forecast predicted a heavy round of snowfall in just a matter of hours. Though there was no one there to greet her or make her feel at home, Sabrina desperately wanted to make it back to her hotel room before the bad weather began.
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After two years of community college in my home town I moved 150 miles away to attend a large university. I'd been busy settling in and getting started in my classes and hadn't really had a chance to meet anybody. It made for some lonely times. Rather than sit around and feel sorry for myself, I flipped through the yellow pages determined to find something fun to do on a Saturday night.
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It was a stormy night in Atlanta. My bones rattled with chills as I struggled through sheets of rain that slapped against my body. My thin windbreaker failed it's only job, as I felt the dampness soak into my clothes which sucked onto my skin. It was a terrible night, but this struggle of the elements was worth it. For tonight, I would meet my angel, and nothing would warm my drenched body more than her embrace.
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