Cat in the sack
I took off my boots and crawled onto the bed with my head facing the window
January 3, 2007
I received a late Christmas present today, from a friend with a good sense of humor: a silent, fully submersible, German-enginered vibrator. I think she is worried about my increasing sexual malaise and knows I act stupid when I feel lonely. Unfortunately I don't have the tiny batteries my new "boyfriend" requires, so the test-drive will have to wait a day or so. Thankfully my fingers don't require batteries.
My drought was over shortly after I wrote my last piece. I did it with Mark. He wasn't so bad in the sack, and actually a little better than I expected. He was good at following directions, which is supremely important. It's nice to have an improviser but they're so rare, and a guy who will rub right when you show him how will do just fine.
He gets high a lot and the night we did it was the first time I saw him sober. He was so animated and fun that I decided to go past making out. "We're going to your place," I told him, "and we're only going to make out." (I lied, of course, though I was lying to myself also.) He was shocked: "This is awesome," he said. "There's usually so much more cat-and-mouse involved."
"Maybe I'm the cat." And in the car I put his hand between my legs as I pressed my tongue in his ear.
At his apartment, I straddled him on the couch and he kissed me as I untied my halter top and gently let my breasts fall out. "These are perfect," he said, right before sinking his teeth into my left nipple. I felt myself get wet and so stood up and led him to his bed. I pushed him down on the bed, took off my shirt, unbuckled my belt and dropped my jeans to the floor, stepping out of them with my boots still on. I stayed standing and asked, "Are you right handed or left?" Staring at my panties, he slowly moved his right hand toward me. I took his wrist and put his index finger in my mouth and sucked it slowly. The bulge in his pants was almost throbbing as I moved his hand down the front of my body and down into my underwear. "That's wet," he said. He's not the brightest of guys but his finger was inside of me and I was past the point of clever retorts. "I want you to fuck me," I said.
I took off my boots and crawled onto the bed with my head facing the window. It was a beautiful night, almost glowing with the light of the full moon outside, and I could hear the sound of crickets under all the layers of traffic and people. I closed my eyes as I felt his dick against me, one hand going between my legs to guide him inside me, to control his pace at first so it wouldn't hurt. He fucked me slowly and evenly, predictably, until I asked for more, more, more, and he gave that to me, too. "I want to be on top now," I said after a while. I sensed he was going to come soon and I thought I'd try to make it to orgasm, at least giving myself half a chance. It felt good, but it wasn't enough, and as I rode him slowly he came. He told me again that I was perfect as I leaned back with his hand on my breast.
It was late. And just as quickly as it happened, I got dressed and left, walking in the night with all those layers of sound as my company, missing my drought and yearning for myself. Comment