On any other day, this drive is your time to disconnect from the office, ponder the day that’s been, and ease into your evening of well-earned solitude. During the day, you’re very personable around the office but at night, you just need to be left alone to decompress, de-stress, and relax. Forced to be around people all day in the name of making a living and being an unwilling participant to their office politics, personal drama, and hidden agendas is a daily trial, so your down time is cherished. Living on your own has many benefits, the least of which is sanity preservation! Some days you wonder if you had to come home to the same level of confusion and chaos how you would cope. Husbands, k**s, and pets all demanding your time…. not for you! How do others do it?
Pulling into the driveway of your home and bumping gently over the curb, you pause to press the button on the visor that opens the garage door. You take in the surrounding sights briefly as the door slowly rises to reveal your nearly empty garage. A red road bike, ridden on weekends, is propped up against the right wall. A rake and shovel stand near the door. An empty box full of assorted rags at the back wall. At least you’ve unpacked everything since your last move!
The fading light of the setting sun shows a neighbourhood settling into a quiet evening. With the driver’s window slightly ajar, you feel the warm summer breeze and inhale the sweet scent of a neighbour’s freshly mowed lawn. The leaves of the neighbouring trees gentle rustle while the last of the songbirds chirp their songs before roosting for the night in the trees outside your upstairs windows. Somewhere in the distance a dog barks twice, possibly disturbed by the newly-arrived car on the quiet street.
You slowly ease into the garage, glancing around and reminding yourself you might need to tidy up yet again. Everything is in its place; you just like to rearrange things to make them more functional. The motion sensor, now aware of your presence, bathes the garage in a bright, white light. It’s almost too much for your tired eyes. You press the remote again and the door closes slowly and securely. The ambient light from the front yard dims, then disappears as the door stops its descent and the motor of the opener clicks off.
You reach down to the right, glancing downwards towards the buckle as your hair falls forward and fumble with the seatbelt. You find the latch and while freeing yourself from the belts with your right hand, you swing open the door with your left and slide out of the car. Standing up and stepping back, you close the door with a solid thud. You pull your skirt down slightly out of habit and smooth your white top, now bearing the wrinkles and marks of the day. You wish there was a way to keep that crisply-ironed fabric perfect for at least a few hours; by the time you get into your car the first creases have already appeared.
You open the back door of the car and retrieve your handbag and insulated blue lunch container from the seat then gently push the door shut, closing it firmly. With your left hand occupied, you fumble one-handed with the remote to lock the car, finally pressing the button after your third attempt. The indicators of the car briefly flash amber and red with the door locks clicking shut. The faint “tick, tick, tick” sounds come from the car as it cools down, hot from the seemingly endless drive.
You walk to the inner door, stepping up a single step to the landing and insert your keys in the lock. With a short, counter-clockwise twist the lock clunks open. Opening the door, you are met with the warning chirp of the alarm system. You quickly close and lock the door behind you and quickly enter the code in the panel to the left to silence it with lots of time to spare. The last thing you want right now is the hasty arrival of the local security monitoring company and their overly-ambitious guards!
You toss your keys onto the shelf to the right of the door and set your bag and lunch container on the end of the kitchen counter. The kitchen and dining room is softly illuminated by the setting sun. You look around and u*********sly note everything is where it should be. You smile to yourself. Who would move it? You exhale calmly and find within you one more reason you love living alone.
Popping off your shoes one at a time and letting them drop to the floor, you note how good it is to finally get out of them and feel the cool ceramic tiles below your feet. You walk to the fridge and open it, peering inside. Glancing around you feel glad you did your grocery shopping earlier in the week as after another long day at the office, the last thing you want to do is go back out for food or must order take out and then wait for its delivery. Ugh, some of those delivery drivers creep you out as you can feel their eyes checking you out when you take the food from them.
You grab a bottle of water from the shelf on the door, closing the fridge with your other hand. You unscrew the cap and take in a few good swallows. Setting the bottle on the counter, you exhale, relieved to be home. The bottle plastic snaps back loudly from where you had squeezed it. The wall clock near the stairs ticks rhythmically as you exhale another time, still so glad to be finally home after such a long day. People are relentless when pursuing their own ambitions but so distracted when you need them to help you with yours.
You return to your handbag and shuffle through the letters you retrieved from the mailbox up the street that morning as you left. Bills. Flyers. Junk mail. Nothing that needs your attention at this moment. You drop the letters to the counter with a soft “plop” and walk out of the kitchen towards the living room. You briefly think about turning on the TV to see the news but think better of it, enjoying the peace. You’ve had enough of your own drama for the day; you don’t need anyone else’s, let alone from some far-flung corner of the world. You muse over how we, as a society, seem so intent on staying connected 24/7 but complain about never being able to disengage.
Turning to the right, you begin to ascend the stairs to the bedroom, grasping the smooth wooden railing with your left hand. The carpet feels good on your feet, akin to a gentle massage upon your soles. Your footsteps are soft as you slowly pad up the stairs and turn right toward your room. Stepping into the room, you push the door wide open after partly closing it in the morning to retrieve your handbag from behind the door. It hits the stopper and softly clicks into place.
Your blinds are open but due to the row of tall trees, no neighbours can see inside. They gently sway in the breeze, leaves rustling as you pull the sheer blind closed. It flutters slightly from the window you left open in the morning, so you pull it closed for the night. You think to yourself that you need to get into more comfortable clothing before thinking about dinner. You reach down towards your skirt and begin to tug out your top. Left, right, left, and it falls out of your skirt freely, hanging down over your hips and behind. You quickly unbutton all eight buttons and pull it off, tossing it onto the bed to your right. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the full-length mirror beside the ensuite in the soft light.
You admire your figure in the reflection as you’ve long ago accepted yourself and love your body exactly as it is. As you gaze upon yourself, you think about the constant bombardment of what others perceive as beautiful or attractive and how the market is skewed to profit from our unhappiness. Even one of the flyers among the junk mail just then was for a new fitness place nearby. You sigh. Even for yourself it’s been a long journey to shut out the chatter and accept yourself.
Your thoughts temporarily drift as you admire yourself. Nearly in a trance at the sight before you, you think of some of your friends and colleagues. “Alpha” males (whoever coined that term, anyway?) focused on who can lift the most, sharing their “conquests” with all their back-slapping bravado. The young ladies, scantily clad and fearful of even so much as five extra calories, desperate to maintain the form that gossip magazines say they should lest they end up alone their whole lives.
Then you think about the older, more mature men, appearing quietly confident but you’re never sure if that young Alpha male ever really grew up and is simply looking for their next adventure. No thanks! Not for you. Ah yes, who could forget the working mums and older ladies with c***dren who’ve long since left home but seem desperate to regain some element of their youth they think has been lost. Then there is you, an island, seemingly content exactly as you are. Hell, even you still have your days of self-doubt! You can be your own worst critic, but at least you’re also your biggest fan.
You slowly scan the reflection. Dark brown hair, straight, just a little longer than your shoulders. Brown eyes that appear mischievous yet insightful. Soft lips that form a sly smile even when you are relaxed, always making others think you’re up to something. Soft, gentle curves, so sensual in your femininity. Your black bra holds your breasts well, accenting their contours with just the right amount of cleavage. They gently wiggle as you step to the side to look at your right profile.
You admire your midsection, smooth, not perfectly flat, but you’re more than happy with it. Unwilling to spend all your time in pursuit of someone else’s idea of perfection, you’re pleased with the way you look from running and yoga. You exercise on your terms, for your own goals. You enjoy these activities and they often have a pleasant side effect. You feel excited, flushed, even a little tingling after a strenuous session. Your libido spikes, but you’ve enjoyed being alone for so long you know just what your body needs and when it needs it.
Your rear is just right, snugly contoured by your knee-length blue skirt. Your legs have a pleasing definition through the calves; not overly defined despite all the running, but smooth and supple. As you move, you can gently see your calf muscles ripple, illuminated in the pale light. Sometimes you turn yourself on from just the sight of your own naked flesh. You smile to yourself when you think about all those videos and pictures you have taken of yourself over the years but have never shared with anyone. You delete most of them, but save a few in a safe location, away from prying eyes. You think you may need to look at them after.
You reach down below your navel and pop open the catch of the skirt, then gently slide down the zipper to its stopper. You feel the release of pressure on your hips and reach down to grasp the fabric near your thighs to tug it off. It pulls slightly on your underwear but then falls freely to the floor. Stepping out of the skirt, you pick it up and toss it beside the top on the bed. Returning to your reflection, you admire your thighs and how they curve gently from your waist to your knees. Again, perfection in your own eyes and that is all that matters. You wonder if it’s wrong to turn yourself on just by looking at yourself!
You gently tug up at the waistband of your black underwear after they fell slightly from taking off your skirt. You catch a glimpse of a few stray hairs protruding from the side. You smile as you’ve not thought that constant trimming is necessary and shaving yourself completely bald makes you itchy. You wonder why the obsession with being hairless. Even your friends prattle on endlessly about their hair removal. You spend plenty of time focused down there as it is and the thought of sharp instruments so close to your sensitive bits is unsettling. Imagine cutting yourself and not being able to enjoy your own touch for a few days or, gasp…. weeks!
You remember that time a few years ago when you agreed to accompany a friend on a backpacking tour of a few European countries. The first few days were busy, distracted, tiring, but then you began to feel the need for yourself. There was no privacy. The hostels were always busy in the shared dorm rooms at all hours. The bathrooms lacked the quiet and space you craved. Just five minutes, you begged yourself. s*******n long days you went, sacrificing your daily ritual. The thought of missing out for a few days is unbearable. Unacceptable. The hairs shall remain for now!
It’s been a stressful, tiring day and you contemplate getting dressed to go for a run, but you feel too tired to drag yourself back out again. You think about making dinner but are not yet hungry. What do you even feel like eating, anyway? If you must ask yourself, you know dinner can wait. You turn to face your reflection again but suddenly you realise you left your phone in your handbag downstairs and quickly shuffle back to the kitchen to retrieve it, padding softly down the stairs like how you would sneak around trying not to make any noise when visiting others overnight.
You quickly glance out the window of the living room as you pass, hoping nobody happens to be looking in at that time. You don’t want to be seen running around with the blinds open in your underwear! Occasionally, late at night you visit the fridge to get water fully nude, and always wonder in that moment of having yourself exposed in the light of the fridge if anyone could see.
Surely it wouldn’t be very graceful to be seen running, breasts bouncing wildly, through the house back to a safe spot, hidden from view. Sometimes the thought of being seen naked excites you, though. You’ve recorded yourself on your phone during intimate moments but would never share them and almost always delete the videos. Those videos. Those pictures. Hmmmm, you think to yourself…. I really need to look at them after. You snap yourself back to reality. Your phone, remember?
You quickly fumble around and retrieve your phone from the handbag and look at the display. One message. It’s from him. You smile as your mind wanders to thoughts of him and how he makes you feel. You’ve always been so guarded around men, but he’s different. He’s not like the typical young Alpha males that turn you off, and he’s not like the older males either. He’s unassuming, quietly confident, yet humble. It was a chance meeting at a coffee shop near your office when he politely smiled and allowed you to take his place in the line while he studied the menu. You couldn’t stop looking at him and when he abruptly left, you thought you’d never see him again. The twinkle in his blue eyes as he smiled at you? His smoothly shaven head? That well-tailored suit and polished boots?
A few days later, you again met him at the same coffee shop and struck up a conversation about the weather. It was so cliché, but it got him talking. The tone of his voice, his mannerisms were so unlike other men. You watched how he interacted with the staff of the coffee shop, treating them as equals and not subordinates. How he held the door for complete strangers and offered up a smile to all that intersected his path. You were certain he was married. He had to be! He didn’t wear a wedding band but how could someone like this be single? It was impossible. You imagined him and how he would be so loving and intimate with his wife or girlfriend. It was disheartening, and you’d sigh at this thought.
Days. Weeks. Months went by. Occasionally you would meet at the coffee shop in passing and one day when the rain began to fall heavily, you both sat together at a table inside, waiting for the weather to pass. A conversation started that became a dialogue over the next several weeks. He was indeed single, having ended a long-term relationship a couple of years ago. You thought to yourself that it was his ex’s loss but wait…. was it really your gain? Was there something wrong with this guy? You get suspicious when something seems too good to be true. Was it all an act?
You tried to look him up on Google. Facebook. LinkedIn. There he was, nothing unusual. A simple lifestyle with leisurely pursuits. A career. Many friends. Positive words. A sense of humour. A sense of family as he appeared in pictures with his relatives, always smiling. There was something genuine about this guy and he began to consume your thoughts. You took the plunge and, breaking with tradition, asked him out. He eagerly accepted. Then came the first date. A quiet dinner without expectations or pressure. Then a second. And a third. You began to wonder if this was a great friend or something more. You hoped there was something more. At the same time, you were content in your single life.
You’ve told him to come over sometime as you always meet elsewhere. Restaurants. Bars. Parks. At the beach. At the marina. Over the past months, you’ve shared hundreds of messages. Dozens of stories. Many glasses of wine. Millions more glances and smiles. That tingle you feel when he looks at you. You gave him a key once to check on your place while you were away and know he still has it. Maybe he will use it. He is always welcome in your home and you wonder when he will visit.
You’ve traded selfies, pictures, and all kinds of intimate details but no nudes and the texting, while flirtatious, has always been reserved. You know that when things go badly in a relationship these intimate details always come out at the worst time in the worst way. You don’t think he’s like that. You hope not, but you know what it’s like to have your trust betrayed. He’s said he feels the same and has had the same experiences. Sometimes in a moment of weakness you feel like sharing something intimate, but you hold back. You have a moment thinking if he were to ever see those pictures and videos you made of yourself, for yourself. Oh my! What would he think? Aroused? Disgusted?
Snapping back to reality, still standing in your underwear in the kitchen, you enter the PIN on your phone and read the message. You smile and catch a look at yourself in the reflection of the phone’s display. You quietly laugh and sigh at the effect he has on you with a few simple words. A dreamer. A romantic. Intellectual but with the right balance of humour. You feel a warm glow inside, tingling all over as you slowly walk back up the stairs past portraits of family and friends. You speak of him to them but they’ve yet to meet him. He is an amazing friend and you secretly wish for more. Maybe. One day, perhaps. Maybe even one day you will share those pictures and videos. Maybe he had some of his own he will share with you.
You re-enter your bedroom and snap on a lamp beside the bed, bathing the room in a soft yellow glow. You pull the blinds fully closed. Your room is simply decorated, but calming. Pale coloured walls but for a textured wallpaper on the wall between the wardrobe and ensuite doors. Dark timber furniture. You’d only recently moved in and quickly made it your space. You toss the phone onto the bed, landing on top of your top then sliding just to the side, ending up face down.
Your thoughts drift back to your needs. The stress of the day on top of thinking of him and looking at yourself has aroused you. Your tingle has intensified, and you know that running and yoga will not give you the adrenaline and endorphin rush you so richly deserve. Your mind and body need more. You stand before the full-length mirror, admiring your curves and contours. You place your hands on your hips and turn slowly side to side, admiring your profile. You’ve seen him looking at you, only to quickly avert his gaze, trying to be a gentleman. You wonder if you’re in his thoughts as much as he is in yours.
You quietly murmur to yourself and you slide your hands up your curves, past the sides of your breasts, feeling the smooth fabric against your palms. You slide your hands forward over your bust, then slightly drop your fingers to cup your breasts. You can feel your nipples start to harden as your pulse quickens. With your index fingers of each hand, you gently flick back and forth over your nipples while they press at the bra. In the pale light, you see the shadows of their excitement.
You must be careful as you find yourself often laying on your couch watching TV, u*********sly running your hands slowly back and forth over your breasts. They’re sometimes quite sensitive and you’ve often wondered if you could simply climax from playing with them alone, but you never find out as you become impatient and go back to your tried and true methods. Sometimes thinking about the act is as pleasant as actually doing it.
Just the thought makes your nipples even harder, more sensitive. They need to be released; you’ve keep them stuffed inside a tight bra all day. Even the temptation at work is strong as you sit alone in your cubicle. You think of taking a few moments alone at the office in the private bathroom you have access to, but resist. When home, you may pleasure them at your leisure.
Reaching behind you, you fumble with the clasp of your bra and pop open the hooks. You feel the freedom as you slide it forward, off your breasts. The fabric gently slides down, briefly pausing on your erect nipples before falling to the floor. Your breasts gently sway as you turn left and right, admiring their shape in the mirror. Hard nipples accented by small pinkish circles. You cup your breasts, gently squeezing them. Soft, with the right amount of firmness, and all natural. You are very happy with them and have never felt the need to make them any bigger, laughing at those shallow types that seem to never leave their bodies alone.
Pinching your nipples, you feel excited. Just a tinge of pain with a lot of pleasure. You feel yourself becoming warm and flushed and you feel the excitement building, becoming wet. It’s only been a few hours since your last release. Just that morning, in fact. You often rise early to run in the quiet streets of your suburb, free of traffic and the usual frenzy of the morning rush. Returning to your shower, sweaty but satisfied with your run, you feel the need to complete the cycle and go to work with a clear mind. You’re very aroused at this point and it takes only a few minutes. You know later that night you can enjoy yourself for hours if you feel like it and do it over and over. Maybe it’s time to make a new video of yourself for your private stash.
You release your breasts, allowing them to drop slightly and settle with a gentle wiggle. You slide your hands slowly down your sides, hooking your fingers inside the band of your underwear. You slowly slide them down over your hips and firm buttocks, exposing yourself fully to the soft light from the lamp, shimmering slightly upon your dark pubic hair. The material lingers slightly, damp, and pressed to your labia. You pull the black fabric away and a long, thin strand of your excitement hangs on for a second, then breaks and sticks to the inside of your thigh as a thread.
Your underwear is wet where it touched you, and the juices reflect slightly in the light as you drop them to the floor. You straighten up, now fully nude before your mirror. You gaze at yourself and the dark bush of hair, slightly damp from your excitement, curly and unkempt. Your soft pink lips protrude from the hair and you can feel your clit stiffening. Your excitement, as sweet, sticky nectar, begins to appear and trickles slightly down your inner thighs.
You often spend time laying on your bed on those lazy mornings, the covers thrown away to expose your naked body to the pale morning light. You place a small mirror between your thighs as you spread your legs and admire yourself as your touch every small detail, fold, ripple, and bump. You’re fascinated by this part of your body and how much pleasure it brings to you every day. Your clit is but a small part of you, but takes control of your mind, begging to be touched. It takes control of your body, making your tremble in anticipation and quiver in pleasure. You love to watch how you can squeeze your muscles and make it clench and release. Every day is a new experience.
Long ago you discovered this part of your body but never felt any kind of shame for doing so as you knew to keep your private time private. As you’ve grown older, you’ve learned to take your time and experience true pleasure from your body. The frenzied rubbing of your younger years has turned into a whole-body sensory delight that can last hours and can consume most of a day when you choose to. Even still, sometimes you need a quick release and sometimes can reach climax in less than a minute. Today is not one of those times. You have time and you plan to enjoy every second of it.
You slowly run your right hand down over your belly, feeling the smooth, damp hairs. Your fingertips brush against your labia and you can feel the gentle, rough texture of your fingers as they glide slowly over. You are very wet. So wet. So aroused. Your fingers quickly become coated in your excitement. You raise your hand to your lips and taste yourself. It’s divine. Your taste is amazing. Sweet, sticky, warm. You return your hand to slide your fingers down beside your labia. Your right index finger slides down the left side, enclosing them with the middle finger on the right. You gently pull forward, lightly tugging your labia which slide between your fingers, slick from your juices.
You hear the soft sounds of the wetness squishing against your fingers. You slowly spread your labia to expose your stiff, throbbing clit, and gently pull back the hood to expose it. It is trembling in anticipation. Your breathing is becoming faster and shallower. Your pulse increases and you can begin to feel your heart pounding. You need this. You want this. You must have this.
Even when you do this a dozen times in a day, you relish the next time. You just love pleasuring yourself so much it’s hard to imagine a day without doing it. You feel so much calmer, productive, and positive. If only the rest of the world would indulge, you muse. What if everyone on earth gave themselves just one orgasm a day? You smile slyly thinking about how anyone would react if they knew your secret. What about him? What if he knew? Maybe he indulges himself…. The thought is powerful and erotic for you, thinking of watching him in his private moments.
Standing in front of the mirror, naked, your left hand upon your right breast, gently caressing it and teasing your nipple. Your right hand slowly strokes yourself up and down. Every so often you quiver involuntarily but keep the agonisingly slow pace upon yourself. You reflect on the silly little games you play with yourself. Closing your eyes, you think of all the times you’ve tried different things that others may find strange.
One time you kept a calendar for an entire year and noted every time you masturbated. You’ve tried to see how fast you can reach climax, and how long you can last without hitting that plateau. Edging has become one of your favourite ways to tease yourself. You occasionally enjoy porn but are very selective about it. Most of what you enjoy most comes from deep within your mind. You begin to feel your excitement building with all these thoughts. You need to get comfortable and enjoy this thoroughly.
Opening your eyes, you quickly step beside the bed and sit down, pushing the clothes out of the way and swing your legs up onto the quilt. You slide your butt up a bit and prop yourself up on a few pillows. Your breasts gently jiggle as you settle in for a well-deserved session of self-loving and appreciation. You enjoy your body and the orgasms you give yourself so often keep you grounded, focused, and energised.
You spread your legs, pulling your feet up halfway. Licking your fingers, you return your right hand to yourself, cupping your breasts in your left hand alternating between them, playing with the nipples, pinching them, squeezing them a bit more. You tilt your head back into the pillow, feeling it press against your ears as you sink in, and close your eyes as you begin to slowly stroke yourself with a bit more focus. It’s heavenly. The feel of your soft, warm stickiness and stiff clit against your fingers feels otherworldly.
Your mind begins to wander. You’ve always considered yourself straight and have never been with another woman but, yet you enjoy watching them in erotica. You especially love them when they’re alone, pleasuring themselves just as you are now. You’ve only ever been with a few men and have found the experience so far to be unfulfilling. Your thoughts drift to him again. Maybe he’ll be different? You hope he is. If he could touch your body the same way his words touch you. He doesn’t have to agonise over his words because he just knows, but better still, you can tell it’s not an act….it is just the way he is. You couldn’t possibly imagine him with someone else, only with you.
You’ve come close a few times to enjoying the soft touch of one of your best friends. A fiery, petite redhead you’ve known since c***dhood. She doesn’t hesitate to share he most intimate details with you and you always listened intently. She’s long since accepted her bisexuality, and you’ve never seen her as anything but one of your closest friends.
One night you kissed her after one too many bottles of wine, but never felt any regret and neither did she. Another time she began discussing her self-pleasuring habits and sex toys which led to you both masturbating to orgasm, watching each other but not touching. Not yet, anyway. You’ve caught her masturbating at least three times when she stayed over when she thought you were asleep. All these thoughts and memories flood your mind when you’re being intimate with yourself.
As you probe yourself with two fingers, you begin to breathe heavier but don’t hear the phone buzz on the bed beside you and don’t see his message. He’s thinking of you but right now, you’re only thinking of yourself and fantasising about him. You imagine what it might be like, could be like…. will be like. Your fantasy begins to consume you like your incessant desire for self-pleasure.
You are in your own world, stroking yourself, teasing yourself, and caressing yourself. You need that orgasm. You must have it! Your mind wanders further with these fantasies. You think of him and how you want to hold him, pull him close, whisper in his ear. Tell him all the things you want to do to him. He’s a gentleman. You want to know what he looks like naked. You want to show him what you look like naked. You want to lay in bed slowly caressing, kissing, and holding each other. Bare skin on skin. Feeling each other’s body heat. Warm sweat. Hearing each other breathing. Exchanging glances, staring into each other’s eyes. Feeling your hearts beating.
You’re undressing him in your mind, but the details are fuzzy. You’re fixated now on his groin and seeing his erection pressing against the material, begging to be freed by you, held by you, and tasted by you. It’s been so many years since you’ve even seen one in the flesh, ready for you to take only to be let down by the selfishness of the man to whom it belonged. You wanted to linger upon it, tease it, and pleasure it as it pleasured you. No matter now, as all you can think of is him and his hard, throbbing, dripping, oh my….
You briefly think of getting your toy from the drawer, but you are too far gone now. Your pace quickens and you softly moan. Every stroke makes your breasts wiggle, rhythmically. The bed gently creaks as you move, and they bounce. You want them gently caressed, your nipples licked, feeling his tongue, rough and textured, gliding over them, tasting them. You imagine him tasting you, probing you with his tongue, caressing your labia with his lips as he looks up at you, past your wiggling breasts as he reaches up, holding them, flicking his fingers across your nipples. Making eye contact with you as every movement is dedicated to pleasing you, making you feel amazing. You moan a little louder as your pace intensifies.
Oblivious, your phone again buzzes. His second message to let you know he wanted to drop by and see you, maybe take you out for a coffee and dessert, go for a walk or anything that suits you. You’re unaware he is just a few moments away, parking his car up the street, walking towards your house. You’re lost in a moment of your own making and one that you relive several times a day, every day. He sends a final message to let you know he remembers you saying your doorbell wasn’t working and he’ll let himself in, if that’s OK. You’re too busy to see the message and reply.
Your fingers are moving very quickly now. You feel the orgasm building, twitching involuntarily as it builds deep inside. You feel yourself begin to tense up. You want to show him how you masturbate, forcing him to sit there fully clothed, unable to touch you, unable to touch himself. You want to make yourself come over and over again as he watches and, when you tire, you want him to take over and give yourself to him. You have a moment of panic at the thought of masturbating before him, but the excitement of showing him your most intimate, personal moment is exhilarating and overwhelming.
Unbeknownst to you, he has reached your house, knocked softly and waited patiently before knocking again. He inserts his keys in the lock and quietly steps inside, calling out, “Hello? Are you home?” which goes unheard by you upstairs. You start thinking about him inside you, moaning in pleasure, oblivious to the fact he is just meters away, downstairs as you lay upon your bed masturbating furiously, frantically, almost now with a sense of desperation.
Your legs stretch out, feet straight, toes curled. You’re nearly there. You let go of your left breast and reach down with your left hand, gently pulling back on yourself to fully expose your clit. Your fingers are a blur now, mouth open as you breathe fast and shallow. You feel a warm flush coming over you. You briefly open your eyes and look down. Your belly and thighs are dotted with droplets of your juice. Your hand is moving so fast it feels like it’s not even yours.
Often, you masturbate for hours to countless orgasms, cumming over and over but this time is different. It’s only been a few minutes but it feels like your orgasm has been building for hours. You feel yourself starting to tense up. Your fingers fly over your clit even faster. You feel your muscles begin to tense. You pull your feet up and your sweet, firm ass rises off the bed. You can’t breathe. Your heart pounding is deafening. For a brief moment, the only sound is the wetness of your fingers. You can’t take it much longer. You begin to moan loudly. Your eyes close tight. He’s heard you now and starts to make his way up the stairs! You still have no idea he’s even there!
And then it hits. Wave after wave of pleasure wash over you in a sea of ecstasy. You feel some of your juices spray outwards and hear them land on the bed. You contract hard and you feel the muscles tensing and releasing. Your clit throbs as your hips thrust upwards twice, three time, then holds briefly as you drop to the bed. Your breasts quiver and the seemingly endless orgasms contractions force your abs to tense up, nearly into a crunch position. Your legs scissor closed, your hands firmly pressed to your crotch. Wave after wave and then you collapse back onto the bed, exhaling loudly with a loud exclamation.
You feel the last of the pulses deep inside as you begin breathing again. You feel yourself oozing out, the creamy goodness pooling near your ass but right now, your mind is elsewhere. You want to rest for a moment, but you want more. You know today will be one of those days you can’t keep your hands off yourself. But then….
You open your eyes and freeze. He is standing there, just meters away, smiling at you passionately. He saw you masturbating, cumming, squirting and he’s never even seen you nude before. Now you lay there naked before him. He can see your breasts, nipples still erect. Your legs are still slightly spread, and he can see your wet, matted pubic hair, your glowing labia, your clit peeking out, your juices leaking out. You’ve never been caught while masturbating before and now he has just seen you at your most intense and intimate moment. Eyes wide, mouth agape, still breathing heavy, you don’t know what to say. You don’t need to say anything. He knows.
It is not just him, but it is me.
I enjoyed watching you. Please don’t be embarrassed. I’m the one that should be embarrassed. I thought I’d be the one to surprise you and now I’m not sure what to say or do. I don’t even know how to describe what I just watched but I couldn’t look away. I thought about leaving but I was in a trance watching you. You’re beautiful, so intimate with yourself, open, vulnerable. My god, how much I want you…have always wanted you but could never say the words.
You look at me. I am smiling back at you. We don’t need to say anything; we know what we want. You gesture for me. Silently, I move toward the bed, your eyes fixed on me, locked to mine, wondering what I think, what I am about to do. I place my hands on your thighs. Your skin is so warm and smooth. I gently part your legs and position myself on the bed between them. Never breaking eye contact, I lower my face to your sweetness. The tip of my tongue grazes against your labia and I flick my tongue up and down.
I shiver. You taste heavenly. I flick my tongue across your clit and it sends a shock through you, making your entire body tremble. Watching you make yourself come has been so exciting. My heart is pounding and I feel myself becoming very, very erect. I need you in every way possible and I need to pleasure you until you are completely satisfied but then, I want you to come once more after that.
It’s been years since I’ve enjoyed the sweet embrace of a woman and never with a woman like you. Others I have been with have been shallow, only seeing me as a convenient accessory when I wanted more. If you stimulate my mind, you also stimulate my body and until now, I’ve been missing that. You’re different. You’ve challenged me, stimulated me, provoked me, soothed me and so many other emotions have been brought to the surface I never knew I had. I was afraid that our friendship had progressed so far that we’d only ever be just that…. Friends. And now I am becoming intoxicated in you.
I begin to pleasure you with my lips and tongue, probing you, licking you. I smell your scent from your hairs and the pheromones are so enticing, eliciting a deep desire within. I look up and make eye contact with you. It’s lightning. Electric. You’re breathing heavy. Your chest heaves. I reach up for your breasts, gently caressing them, pinching your nipples, still stiff. I feel you twitching against me.
Suddenly you get a look in your eye of determination. You begin to sit up, pulling yourself away. You lean in towards me and begin pulling at my shirt. I quickly pull it over my head and cast it aside. Now bare chested, you push me backwards onto the bed ad I swing my legs on top. You position yourself between my legs, hands pressed to my chest, your breasts gently swaying. You lower yourself onto me and our lips meet. Soft, sensual, gentle. You pull back and smile, knowing what comes next.
Without breaking eye contact, you move down and begin to undo my belt. You gaze down at the bulge, wanting to free it for your own exploration. You bite your lip as you pop the belt apart, then the button and pull down my zipper. My erection presses at the black cotton and you quickly run your hand across it. I jump in eager anticipation. I’m throbbing. Excited, Nervous. You quickly step off the bed and pull off my socks and pants, throwing them on the floor beside the bed. Climbing back onto the bed, you position yourself between my legs, pushing them wider, eyes fixed on the excitement begging to be released by your touch. You glance up at me, eyebrows raised, then slowly put your fingers under the band of my underwear and pull them down……
Until now, and until this very moment, I had resigned myself to a life of self-pleasuring to satisfy my urges. I couldn’t bear the thought of casual sex or the hook-up culture that seems to dominate the dating scene these days. Some days I would embarrassingly spend hours masturbating over and over, sometimes rubbing myself raw to get just one more orgasm. I would masturbate so many times in a single day that my orgasms became dry but for a tiny dribble, long having ejaculated all my semen earlier. Today, for the first time since I can remember, someone else wants me that way. You now want me that way and knowing this is euphoric. Inside, I am ecstatic!
Slowly, you release my erection from its fabric prison. The foreskin is partially withdrawn and a small bead of liquid drips from the tip. Pulling them the rest of the way off, then down and off my legs, you focus in on my throbbing erection, gently bobbing up and down with my pulse. You gently caress my balls with one hand. It feels amazing. So good to be touched by you so intimately. You grasp my erection and slowly stroke it downwards. I groan softly as you retract the foreskin fully, exposing the tip.
With your squeeze, a little more of my sticky juice oozes out and drips onto your hand. Without saying a word, you lick your fingers. I can tell you like my taste. Brushing your hair back to the side, you grasp my erection with your right hand and lower your lips to me. You flick your tongue across the tip and I twitch. Slowly, I watch myself disappear into your mouth, watching your lips slide down the shaft. We both moan as you now take me inside and begin to pleasure me, stroking gently with your hand and caressing my balls softly.
I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I’ve fantasised of this moment u*********sly in my dreams. You’ve been in my thoughts almost daily since that day we met so long ago. When you discovered I wasn’t either married or dating anyone, your face lit up despite your attempts to remain straight faced. I couldn’t believe you were single either. We’re both a bit older and mature now, but the youthful enthusiasm and tense desire for each other has been hard to ignore. I’ve been taking my time as I know you have, never sure when to make that next step. Why? Fear or rejection? Maybe you felt that way as well. Maybe one day every one of our secrets will emerge but right now, I cannot believe I’m laying here being pleasured by you!
Waves of pleasure come over me and I look down to see your breasts gently swaying with every movement of your head, up and down on me. You’ve moved your other hand back between your legs and are beginning to pleasure yourself. I want to taste you so bad. I only had a little sample. I express my desire to you and you just tell me to lay back and enjoy; there will be plenty of time to taste you. This isn’t a one-time thing; we’re not like that. This is simply the start of something bigger.
In my mind I replay the scene of you masturbating, of your orgasm, of the sense of satisfaction you realised in the instant before you saw me. I imagine you doing that to yourself over, and over, and over. I picture you rushing home from a long day at the office, stressed, perhaps a little angry only to quickly undress and release all those tensions with the tip of your fingers. I’m jealous of those hands and all they get to experience upon your body. That taste. Those touches. It’s almost enough to make me explode but right now, you’re using those very hands upon me, focused on pleasuring me rather than yourself.
I want to cum so badly, but you won’t let me. You pull your sweet, soft lips away from me and move up on me, embracing me closely. I feel your breasts pressing into my chest, your hard nipples poking me. I want so badly to play with them but you hold my arms back, laughing softly. You tell me to wait. I feel the warmth of your sex against my erection. Sweet, hot, sticky. Your hair down there moves over my shaft with every movement. You sit up and then rise up, straddling me. You reach down with your right hand and grasp me. You press my stiffness to your labia, stroking it back and forth, teasing me. Our eyes are locked together.
I’m thinking about every detail I’m now experiencing. Your eyes are captivating. Your little gasps and moans. The gentle creak of your bed. The scent of our sex lingering in the air, blended with the remnants of my cologne and your perfume. The rare sight of a lady not actually bald and smooth down there, which really turns me on. The soft light from your lamp. Our breathing. All of it screams desire for each other without a single word being spoken. The only think that has kept me from exploding all over you is nervous tension. We’re about to make love for the first time….
And then, you slowly lower yourself onto me. I feel myself sliding into you. Words cannot describe how good this feels; it has been so long for both of us. I’m now all the way inside of you. You are moaning softly as you move rhythmically up and down, stroking me with that body. The desire is not for part of you, but all of you, mind, body, and soul but right now, its raw sexual passion. Your breasts sway in my face as you ride me. I thrust upwards, matching you. I reach up and hold your breasts, caressing them softly. You put your head back and close your eyes, hands on my chest as we make sweet, passionate love.
In a few moments, you want me to take you from behind. We change positions and you position yourself before me, head down into your pillows. I take a second to admire you and how you have given yourself to me. I guide myself into you from behind, holding your hips. I don’t know how I can last much longer. You are moaning as am I. The thick, sweet smell of sex fills the air more intensely and it’s intoxicating. The gentle sounds of your wetness and our skin contact is the background symphony to our pleasure.
You suddenly pull away and flip over onto your back, reaching up for me. I re-enter you, watching my erection disappear inside of you, watching how your labia move along with the shaft. I lower myself onto you and we embrace, kissing, breathing heavy, eyes locked. You begin to tense up and I feel your muscles begin to grip me. You wrap your legs around me, pulling me in even tighter, moaning loudly. I feel your grip and release my shaft as the orgasm comes over you. I feel your whole body tense up and quiver.
I can’t stand it any longer and I explode deep inside of you. Your eyes widen. Emotion begins to grip you and you tear up. Everything is coming out of you now with such a sense of emotional release. Your orgasm, followed by mind and the close bond was enough to tip you over the edge and you begin sobbing uncontrollably while I embrace you closely. It’s a strange yet all-consuming sensation with every contraction gripping me tightly. I want to hold you like this for eternity. Can I? May I?
After a few minutes, we’ve regained our composure and release each other. I slip out of you, still partially erect. Our juices, combined, come flooding out of you, but we don’t care. You reach over to the night stand and turn on a little soft music. Spooning you from behind, you pull up a blanket and we fall asleep in each other’s arms, naked, sweaty, but happy. So many years of life between us and yet this has been one of the most powerful moments ever. I hope you feel the same way. I need this. I need you.
I visualise a large table with a massive jigsaw puzzle upon it. In the centre, there is a blank spot where the final piece will go. Hundreds of hours, thousands of pieces have come down to this moment. I’ve been staring at this gap for years, like a metaphor for my life. Nearly complete, satisfying, but something has been absent. From the darkness you appear. In your fingers is that missing piece. Silently you extend your arm, gesturing for me to do the same. I grasp the other end of the piece with my fingers and, with our eyes locked on each other, we lower the piece to the awaiting gap and gently push it into place, completing the masterpiece.
We sleep through the night, only getting up with your alarm. Instead of a sense of panic, we decide to call our respective employers to let them know we’re not well and won’t be in that day. You look at me and we just know how the day will unfold, snuggling close into me.
To be continued….