The Second Story
In this story: A story of being human, and needing comfort b/c of companions.
It had been a long day at work and I came by after. We would've walked, but the thunder was rolling in and finally, finally, he opens his arms to me. I knew something magic would happen. I don't waste a moment. I turn in, rolling on to straddle him, curling my hips in as I tower over and peer down at him, reaching my forehead down to tap on his navy bandanna. His face reads as mischievous.
He looks up at me through those big doe eyelashes. He doesn't move. He peers up at me, and freezes. I reach down and pause. I feel him tense with unease at my hesitation. "The guy who ALWAYS has the hottest girl at the party on his arm is worried that I--of all people--would reject him." He more than perturbedly presses his lips together and looks at me sideways. I pull up short. My face reads almost nothing but compassion--there is a hint of ...hope? Scared, but brave, I reach down to his jaw line. I know he wouldn't hurt me, but I'm scared of him, anyway. In a moment of vulnerability, he grabs my hands with both of his. I see the deploring look in his sweet eyes. Here we have the two eternal victims, too worried of getting hurt to approach without fear.
I lean in. "It's not like that," I say. "He's gone. You can come over any time you like. But...right now...can we do this?" He pauses, thinking. I wait. "Yes, we can do this." He actually, genuinely smiles at me, not a usual occurrence. He lets go of my hand and runs his hands along the lip of my shorts at my waist playfully, as I trace my fingers around his jaw line.
--Okay, writer taking a break, here. I just want to point out that THE MAIN sexual draw of me to you is not JUST the pheromones and your experience/sexual maturity. It's actually the fact that, at least in my VERY limited experience with you, all the everything, from a nervous first kiss, to stroking my back when I'm supposed to be asleep, is done with such tenderness. THAT is the selling point for me. Nobody (eh, maybe Twitch...?) has CARED before. Those are LOVING caresses, and I don't ever get those. It just now occurs to me that the way most boyfriends try to touch me feels just like the Strip Club--taking what they're after, NOT communicating passion. Fuck. So. Thank you for that, but you've ruined me.
Back to the Erotica.
I'm so relieved to finally be able to physically be as close to him as we both want. It's hard for us to negotiate closeness. But this, while potentially frightening for both of us, is the one thing we couldn't imagine with anyone else. I know he can't make any promises, but I also know that, while too afraid to utter the phrase, he really does love me--probably the most frightening of the whole ordeal for both of us.
I slide down and lean in close, cheek to cheek, to the side of him. Oh, I just want to soak him up, but the limits of physical science permit only a snuggling hug, in which I produce a liberal set of cheek and neck kisses. He lets me.
The ability to feel comfortable enough with a partner to freely give of affection is not a skill I've been able to enjoy before. But he makes it easy, because he's so earnestly appreciative. At first he seems...resistant. Btu this is also a man who could list, "Hobbies: Reading comics, sexual exploits, theatre, yoga, and jogging. This is part of what he does. I divert his attention from the non-sexual tension to inquire about more practical matters, including, but not limited to, "Do you still have the ridiculous amount of condoms and lube that made it to and from Myschievia?"
There are just some people that I want to be connected to--so much, so--that I even don't realize the little things I do to feel that way.
The irony here is actually, despite all the hurt we’ve mutually inflicted, there’s nobody else we trust more. I’m the one person in his corner that he can consistently trust to be there, to help out, and to no freak the fuck out. And he’s one of the few that I trust not to be using me for anything other than reciprocated companionship, affection, and support. Folks, I don’t care what you say, THIS is real love.
At any rate, he’s still got the tube of condoms and the lube.
I halfway want to starts with the lube, in my enthusiasm to get things in motion and I mention this to him. He’s blatantly surprised at my eagerness. I drive home the point by removing my tee-shirt, revealing my favorite lacy gray bra. He runs his fingers along the trim. “This is nice…” he sings at me. “Yes, there’s matching panties!” I exclaim, quickly removing my shorts, standing up, one hand on the hip, the other running an index finger along a bra strap, coyly, back swayed in a pose. “Ta-Da!” I proudly state. He laughs, playfully. “Come here,” he says, whipping his shirt over his head and off. I take a moment to take the scene of him calling me-my friend whom I never get enough time with-in. It’s really nice.
I fleetingly worry if I’ll be merely a trophy-the token Christian Conquest, where his sexual talent cured the averse. But! I think not. I jump to the bed and straddle one of his knees with mine. Before I can get a chance to lean in for a kiss, his hands have found my shoulders. He quickly leans up, firmly kissing the side of my neck as he traces my straps down and undoes my clasps.
As my bra falls off, his hands pull my ribcage into his chest, as he tosses it side. He needs to get my panties off, and QUICKLY. So he slides them down on me and gives my ass a good double-squeeze. “Let me take them off,” I say, doing as such. In the interim, he’s managed to practically shuck his jeans and boxers. He barely has time to roll on a condom before I’m climbing on top. I mean, it’s seconds. I can feel my whole body relax. OMG, fucking-finally!-after almost a year and a lifetime. There is SO MUCH that I want to appreciate in this moment: the Feeling of his chest, the scent of his skin, his hands, lightly resting on my hips…his dick in my snatch.
I lean in to hold him, and he cradles me as start to rise up and pump down, nice and even, no stopping the sex, no awkwardness. It gets good, very quickly. I lift my chest up as I want to press his dick deeper into me. “Oh, good girl,” he croons up at me, closing his eyes and resting his head back. I can tell he’s taking the same moment to just soak ME in, as well. He finds my hands, interlacing our fingers.
We stay in this rhythm for awhile, just doing THIS together. He takes my hands to his chest, pausing us for a moment as I lean in attentively. “I love you,” he says, clear enough for me and God. “I know you do,” I reply. “I love you, too,” easily planting what I think will be only a quick kiss, but he utters an exasperated, “Hey!” and I come back in for a long, slow kiss that takes its time. I feel his ring between my lips and run my tongue over it, as I pursue an intimate exploration of his barbell. I fallow the close of the kiss with a quick smooch that catches him by surprise.
He grabs the lube and gives a good twist of it on his fingers around the base of his cock. He pulls me flat to his chest and starts to thrust into me, double-time. It takes a moment to collect myself and relax into it, repositioning and moaning happily as he strokes the side of my face. “Let me take you from behind,” he whispers. I’m nervous, but want him to come so bad with me, I don’t care refuse.
I get up and position my hips across his not-quite-so-kama-sutra-exactly chair, in the center of the room, ass bared up. He draws both hands around my full backside, then reaches to the front to grant himself easy access. To my relief, he starts nice and slow, like a flipped version of the first erotica I wrote for myself, about him. Slowly in, less slowly out, but slowly in. He strokes my back as he starts to accelerate.
He’s really pumping me, hard, but it doesn’t hurt-although it does feel like I’ll lose balance and go flying over the front of the thing. He leans in and wraps my shoulders in his forearms. He takes me so that I can take him. I relax and gasp as he beats harder and a little faster. “Oh, God, keep going,” I moan. He pauses, unable to resist the opportunity to act contrary to a request and kisses the nape of my neck in one loud smack. He leans me back toward him, pumping into my snatch so intensely that I can’t catch my breath. “I’m so close,” I manage to whisper. As he keeps going, we start to come together.
For a moment, he is almost caught off guard, but continues, slowing, as we both take in all of the shared experience. He pulls out, pulls off the condom, and tugs at my hand, pulling me to wrap up in the fur on his bed.
“I am SO serious about you, about us, but I know I’m not capable-at all-of being much of what you want. Are you SURE this is what you want?” “This is what I want,” I say. “No, you aren’t and never will be perfect, and I’ll always tease you-fairly-about packing. But there are good things. Things that are important to me, that you have with me. Sex, for one thing. Nobody beacons his pheromones at me like you do. But you are one of the few people who can make me laugh until I can’t breathe. You aren’t and never will be prefect, but you ARE enough, as you are. You are enough, and I want just you.”
“Good, then can we make it official and exclusive? B/c I absolutely cannot and will not put up with ANY of that “Poly”/”Open” shit.” “That’s what you were worried about? OMG. This much we can do. Gimme your phone…” And with that, it is done.
It had been a long day at work and I came by after. We would've walked, but the thunder was rolling in and finally, finally, he opens his arms to me. I knew something magic would happen. I don't waste a moment. I turn in, rolling on to straddle him, curling my hips in as I tower over and peer down at him, reaching my forehead down to tap on his navy bandanna. His face reads as mischievous.
He looks up at me through those big doe eyelashes. He doesn't move. He peers up at me, and freezes. I reach down and pause. I feel him tense with unease at my hesitation. "The guy who ALWAYS has the hottest girl at the party on his arm is worried that I--of all people--would reject him." He more than perturbedly presses his lips together and looks at me sideways. I pull up short. My face reads almost nothing but compassion--there is a hint of ...hope? Scared, but brave, I reach down to his jaw line. I know he wouldn't hurt me, but I'm scared of him, anyway. In a moment of vulnerability, he grabs my hands with both of his. I see the deploring look in his sweet eyes. Here we have the two eternal victims, too worried of getting hurt to approach without fear.
I lean in. "It's not like that," I say. "He's gone. You can come over any time you like. But...right now...can we do this?" He pauses, thinking. I wait. "Yes, we can do this." He actually, genuinely smiles at me, not a usual occurrence. He lets go of my hand and runs his hands along the lip of my shorts at my waist playfully, as I trace my fingers around his jaw line.
--Okay, writer taking a break, here. I just want to point out that THE MAIN sexual draw of me to you is not JUST the pheromones and your experience/sexual maturity. It's actually the fact that, at least in my VERY limited experience with you, all the everything, from a nervous first kiss, to stroking my back when I'm supposed to be asleep, is done with such tenderness. THAT is the selling point for me. Nobody (eh, maybe Twitch...?) has CARED before. Those are LOVING caresses, and I don't ever get those. It just now occurs to me that the way most boyfriends try to touch me feels just like the Strip Club--taking what they're after, NOT communicating passion. Fuck. So. Thank you for that, but you've ruined me.
Back to the Erotica.
I'm so relieved to finally be able to physically be as close to him as we both want. It's hard for us to negotiate closeness. But this, while potentially frightening for both of us, is the one thing we couldn't imagine with anyone else. I know he can't make any promises, but I also know that, while too afraid to utter the phrase, he really does love me--probably the most frightening of the whole ordeal for both of us.
I slide down and lean in close, cheek to cheek, to the side of him. Oh, I just want to soak him up, but the limits of physical science permit only a snuggling hug, in which I produce a liberal set of cheek and neck kisses. He lets me.
The ability to feel comfortable enough with a partner to freely give of affection is not a skill I've been able to enjoy before. But he makes it easy, because he's so earnestly appreciative. At first he seems...resistant. Btu this is also a man who could list, "Hobbies: Reading comics, sexual exploits, theatre, yoga, and jogging. This is part of what he does. I divert his attention from the non-sexual tension to inquire about more practical matters, including, but not limited to, "Do you still have the ridiculous amount of condoms and lube that made it to and from Myschievia?"
There are just some people that I want to be connected to--so much, so--that I even don't realize the little things I do to feel that way.
The irony here is actually, despite all the hurt we’ve mutually inflicted, there’s nobody else we trust more. I’m the one person in his corner that he can consistently trust to be there, to help out, and to no freak the fuck out. And he’s one of the few that I trust not to be using me for anything other than reciprocated companionship, affection, and support. Folks, I don’t care what you say, THIS is real love.
At any rate, he’s still got the tube of condoms and the lube.
I halfway want to starts with the lube, in my enthusiasm to get things in motion and I mention this to him. He’s blatantly surprised at my eagerness. I drive home the point by removing my tee-shirt, revealing my favorite lacy gray bra. He runs his fingers along the trim. “This is nice…” he sings at me. “Yes, there’s matching panties!” I exclaim, quickly removing my shorts, standing up, one hand on the hip, the other running an index finger along a bra strap, coyly, back swayed in a pose. “Ta-Da!” I proudly state. He laughs, playfully. “Come here,” he says, whipping his shirt over his head and off. I take a moment to take the scene of him calling me-my friend whom I never get enough time with-in. It’s really nice.
I fleetingly worry if I’ll be merely a trophy-the token Christian Conquest, where his sexual talent cured the averse. But! I think not. I jump to the bed and straddle one of his knees with mine. Before I can get a chance to lean in for a kiss, his hands have found my shoulders. He quickly leans up, firmly kissing the side of my neck as he traces my straps down and undoes my clasps.
As my bra falls off, his hands pull my ribcage into his chest, as he tosses it side. He needs to get my panties off, and QUICKLY. So he slides them down on me and gives my ass a good double-squeeze. “Let me take them off,” I say, doing as such. In the interim, he’s managed to practically shuck his jeans and boxers. He barely has time to roll on a condom before I’m climbing on top. I mean, it’s seconds. I can feel my whole body relax. OMG, fucking-finally!-after almost a year and a lifetime. There is SO MUCH that I want to appreciate in this moment: the Feeling of his chest, the scent of his skin, his hands, lightly resting on my hips…his dick in my snatch.
I lean in to hold him, and he cradles me as start to rise up and pump down, nice and even, no stopping the sex, no awkwardness. It gets good, very quickly. I lift my chest up as I want to press his dick deeper into me. “Oh, good girl,” he croons up at me, closing his eyes and resting his head back. I can tell he’s taking the same moment to just soak ME in, as well. He finds my hands, interlacing our fingers.
We stay in this rhythm for awhile, just doing THIS together. He takes my hands to his chest, pausing us for a moment as I lean in attentively. “I love you,” he says, clear enough for me and God. “I know you do,” I reply. “I love you, too,” easily planting what I think will be only a quick kiss, but he utters an exasperated, “Hey!” and I come back in for a long, slow kiss that takes its time. I feel his ring between my lips and run my tongue over it, as I pursue an intimate exploration of his barbell. I fallow the close of the kiss with a quick smooch that catches him by surprise.
He grabs the lube and gives a good twist of it on his fingers around the base of his cock. He pulls me flat to his chest and starts to thrust into me, double-time. It takes a moment to collect myself and relax into it, repositioning and moaning happily as he strokes the side of my face. “Let me take you from behind,” he whispers. I’m nervous, but want him to come so bad with me, I don’t care refuse.
I get up and position my hips across his not-quite-so-kama-sutra-exactly chair, in the center of the room, ass bared up. He draws both hands around my full backside, then reaches to the front to grant himself easy access. To my relief, he starts nice and slow, like a flipped version of the first erotica I wrote for myself, about him. Slowly in, less slowly out, but slowly in. He strokes my back as he starts to accelerate.
He’s really pumping me, hard, but it doesn’t hurt-although it does feel like I’ll lose balance and go flying over the front of the thing. He leans in and wraps my shoulders in his forearms. He takes me so that I can take him. I relax and gasp as he beats harder and a little faster. “Oh, God, keep going,” I moan. He pauses, unable to resist the opportunity to act contrary to a request and kisses the nape of my neck in one loud smack. He leans me back toward him, pumping into my snatch so intensely that I can’t catch my breath. “I’m so close,” I manage to whisper. As he keeps going, we start to come together.
For a moment, he is almost caught off guard, but continues, slowing, as we both take in all of the shared experience. He pulls out, pulls off the condom, and tugs at my hand, pulling me to wrap up in the fur on his bed.
“I am SO serious about you, about us, but I know I’m not capable-at all-of being much of what you want. Are you SURE this is what you want?” “This is what I want,” I say. “No, you aren’t and never will be perfect, and I’ll always tease you-fairly-about packing. But there are good things. Things that are important to me, that you have with me. Sex, for one thing. Nobody beacons his pheromones at me like you do. But you are one of the few people who can make me laugh until I can’t breathe. You aren’t and never will be prefect, but you ARE enough, as you are. You are enough, and I want just you.”
“Good, then can we make it official and exclusive? B/c I absolutely cannot and will not put up with ANY of that “Poly”/”Open” shit.” “That’s what you were worried about? OMG. This much we can do. Gimme your phone…” And with that, it is done.