There’s a naughty part of me, that escaped and turned loose two nights ago.
Young Mr K, showed up again Tuesday night, and well, we sat we talked some shit and watched some TV, as usual. We talked quite a bit again about life and such, but at some point the talk again turned to me and him. It was quite magnetic.
“So, you know I’m attracted to you, right?” I threw a side long glance at him as I said it.
He got real serious, and looked at me piercingly for a second or two, “Really? You just don’t look like the type.”
“What do you mean? ‘Don’t look like that type’? What the fuck does that mean?”
“Well, you always seem to look like you don’t give a fuck.” He kind of shrugged.
“Most of the time I don’t.” I shrugged also.
“Also, I thought I was too young for you?”
“That was a problem for a long time. I just didn’t know what to do about that, and because you said you had a girlfriend, but I thought you were cute from the very first day we met.” I said.
And our conversation went on. So we confessed our ‘curiosity’ and sense of ‘intrigue’ and our flat out ‘attraction’. We discussed it almost like a business deal. He flat out told me, he wasn’t going to make the first move. He said he didn’t want to assume anything. He wanted me to make the first move, because he didn’t want there to be any regrets later, or bad feelings about what, why, when or who.
So after another fifteen minutes had passed by, I asked him if he was going to do anything.
“Are you waiting for me to pounce?” I asked.
He giggled, “Well yeah, that might be nice.”
“No, no, no.” I said, getting up, “I don’t pounce. Guys pounce on me.”
I walked outside and looked for a candle. There was a yellow one already in my Tanzanian wood carved candlestick, the circular one with the elephant, so I lit it, and turned out the bedroom light, putting it next to my Egun’s shrine, and the room instantly took on a ‘quality’. I told him he could take a shower if he wanted, “You know how we living, and you and me could go down like that baby.”
So he took a shower. After the water was running for a minute or two, I got up off the bed and went to peep. There he was, chocolate skin, gleaming in the bathroom’s yellow light, water running down in rivulets; his bald head shining.
“I’m looking at you,” I said.
“You find I’m taking too long?” He looked at me over his shoulder.
“No, no.” I said, eyeing him up. “I just wanted to see.”
Then I toodled back into the bedroom, divested myself of my short tights, and laid there in my long sleeved top, waiting, smiling uncontrollably to myself, like a little kid with a promise of candy.
When he came in, it definitely wasn’t a pounce on top of me situation. He sat on the bed, and in between the weaving conversation, he inched closer and closer. He’s so smart. Too clever for his own good.
“You aren’t wearing underwear,” he commented, after he reached over during our running conversation, and stroked my ass.
“I haven’t worn underwear since 1997,” I replied.
“Really!” He sounded almost shocked. I mean it.
“Why would I lie?” I asked.
He began to stroke my ass, “Your skin is so soft. But you look like that type.”
“What do you mean, ‘that type’?”
“You have good skin.” He replied.
“You know, people have been telling that all my life, but I never really understand what they mean.” I replied, since it’s one of those consistent things I’ve heard since my childhood.
“You have beautiful skin. Your skin just looks creamy and delicious.” He raised his hand and pinched my cheeks, laughing down at me “The skin on you face is like a baby’s bottom, you know.”
I had rolled onto my back, and he raised my shirt a little and was stroking my belly, my thighs, my arms. “I don’t know, it’s just so soft, and comforting somehow.”
There was a pillow between us, and he asked if I was trying to keep us apart.
“No, indeed not.” I replied.
“So what do you want?” he asked. “I mean, what do you like?”
He probed and questions for a few minutes, protesting that he didn’t want to do something I didn’t like, he didn’t want to overpower me.
By this time, ya girl done starting to get creamy and slick and just dying to hop on it. My god, intelligence and sensitivity! Even if it’s all an act, he’s very good. Too good to be so young.
Like I have said before, although I am a ‘liberal woman’, I just don’t like to take the lead in sex. I guess it’s because I take the lead in almost everything else, that it’s hard for me to take the lead in that area too. I understand this to be a common enough syndrome not to sweat it. I just accept now that I like the man to take control. I told him that, and added, laughing “Just, you know, kiss me you fool! If you do something I don’t like, I’ll tell you to stop.”
So he leaned in, and softly brushed his lips against mine, again and again until my scalp was prickling and goosebumps chased shivers across the surface of my skin. Did I forget to mention his lips? His thick, full lips, that up until two nights ago looked so soft and biteable? I am happy to report and can confirm them to be precisely that. I did it so many times, and his tongue… so naughty, so adventurous and thorough!
We just kissed for a long time, until he protested my shirt. “I want this off,” he said simply, and softly demanding. “I want to touch you.”
He grabbed the hem and I raised up, and off over my head it went, whipped by both of us. The kisses continued, and continued for a very long time, by now though we were arching and pressing into each other, hands roaming and my nipples getting attention as well.
Now obviously we did more than kiss. What I need to say is, he surprised the fuck out of me. How is it that he knows what to kiss and when, and where, and just precisely how much. Aren’t twenty-three year old men supposed to be inexperienced?
He was not. He was more experienced than my lovers who have ten, fifteen years on him, and even more in tune with the female body than PHG/Sweet Thing/ImFuckingFedUp. (That’s another story though… one’s I think has already been told.)
Young Mr K, shocked me. He started trailing his tongue down my body, pressing soft kisses in the most unlikely spots, massaging these unusual places with his tongue and fingers, pressing and rubbing the tension out all over my body, the shivers he incited were the thieves of breath, the robbers of rational thought, and oh yes, it was so delicious to just surrender to it.
He knew just how long to delay before touching his tongue to the hair on my mons, and how to slip away and kiss elsewhere, so the anticipation of his tongue started to make me feverish. He played with me, in just the right way.
He kissed down my left leg, and planted the dirtiest kiss on the back of my knee… then tongued it until I was squirming across the bed, completely unable to keep still. When he abandoned that knee, he worked his way across to the other, stopping to thrust his tongue between my labia and tickling my clit for a second or two.
I just don’t know where the fuck he came from? Oh dear, I know Mama Osun sent him for me, and I thanked her over and over in my head.
So he worked his way, back up to my lonely, longing, by then slick, and juicy pussy and made love to it, tongue and fingers, whole heartedly eating the full meal I know I provide. After he was satisfied that I had twisted and roiled, shivered and moaned, mewled and sang my way through three or four orgasms, he reached up to kiss me.
The heat and force of our kiss seared me right through, right down to my toes. I licked the taste of my pussy off his face, slipping my tongue into his mouth and sucking his tongue. He moaned and my pussy clenched painfully, needing more… needing to squeeze and massage… something… someone.
He very suavely sat up, and I whispered to him, “I have condoms there next to bed.”
He rooted around for a bit, and in the end, I had to fish them out, but we found a strip of three. On a side note, I have almost dozens of condoms, because they gave them away at work during Carnival, and because I always keep condoms in the house, no matter how long it’s been since I’ve had sex or how little of it I get on the regular.
By the time he slipped inside, I had to notice just how nice his cock felt.
What’s happened to me? His cock isn’t the biggest I’ve taken, not by a long shot. However, it was just the right size, which I personally think is more important. His penis was not big enough to overwhelm my mostly celibate pussy, but it certainly knew where to touch, what to thrust at again and again. I have always fancied myself a size queen, but again I have to reiterate, it’s the technique not the size that matters.
Young Mr K, knew what to do with what he has, and you know in my somewhat limited but qualitative experience, that is a rarity for me.
The sex when I actually got going, was thrilling. He found all the sweet spots, and worked them gently but with determination. Asking me, talking to me, spanking at all the right moments.
I came, and came, and came, and he didn’t give in and come with me, just kept pushing the orgasm higher and higher, relentlessly driving me on.
When I lay there bomb blasted, my bed a wreck and aftershocks zinging through me, I smiled to myself thinking, “Now that’s the way you end a sexual fast.”
So we progressed, and things progressed between us. We fucked over and over, just not able to stop or keep our hands off each other, kisses passing between us like air.
When I reached down, and took his nicely shaped cock in my mouth, working my tongue’s stud into my mischief, I gave back as good as I got.
When I raised me head, he kind of laughed, “You’re very good.”
“I know.” I replied, Cheshire cat sized grin across my face.
Then we had a sticky, honey-filled session. Honey was everywhere, and we drank it from each other, sucking it from our skin, him from my pussy, my nipples, my pierced belly button, my thighs and the back of my knees, me from his nipples and cock, and it was just that, sweet. We were drowning in honey at one point. I licked it from his face like a cat afterward, licking and sucking away all that we had poured over each other.
In the end, I lost track of my orgasms but it was a memorable four round, five hour, sex filled night. We took a shower together after, and we idled, talking while he dressed, and laughed quite a bit, teasing, teasing, teasing.
He kept asking me what I was thinking. I’d say things, but the one thing that kept reverberating was, “That’s the way you end a sexual fast.”
PHG/Sweet Thing/ImFuckingFedUp, who?