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A summer experience
It’s a hot summer evening and I need someone female to bring my love to.
This first time I meet you, you’re wearing a nice summer dress. You look polite and proper, and very agreeable. I’m not sure exactly what I want, but I know it doesn’t involve that dress staying on your body for too long. You hug me; it’s friendly and nice. We sit on the couch and talk about how queer I am, but I’m in a hetero relationship at the moment, etc etc. You are interesting and interested.
Then I want to lay on the bed with you. Of course, you oblige. You say there are no concerns about consent for the time being. I don’t have to ask whether I could do this or that, you say. But there isn’t that much to consent about, in the end . . .
After talking horizontally side-by-side for several moments, I feel compelled to slide my hand along your side and feel your waist, your soft hip. I like the way your body moves, rises and falls and surrenders to my touch. You give way, and I can tell you like it. I play with the strap of your negligee, pulling it down over your shoulder, exposing it and the top of your arm, a yummy delicate curve. You smell quite wicked and beautiful, too.
There’s something in your combination of approachable reserve, genuine curiosity and sweet generosity that makes you just the right fit for me. As I suppose you are for others, as well.
You are attentive and also yielding. And, of course, you are greatly accepting. The best service providers make a person feel very accepted.
I want to bring you closer to me, there on the bed, and you yield.
Your lingerie is dark burgundy, the strap of your bra slipping down over your narrow shapely shoulder, which is light brown and speckled. It feels natural to slide the strap down your arm, my fingers, grazing the inside of your elbow.
I can feel a hard throb of arousal tightening like a knot in the centre of my body as I trace your skin with my fingers, listening to your breathing. I like how the little hairs rise on your body as I squeeze you to me. I know you like it when I take hold of your waist and pull you toward me. You breathe in a way that shows you liked it, and I like the warm scent of your skin as you let yourself yield to me. I nuzzle my face into your neck and you sigh.
Your body is warm, small, slender and languid, fit, supple. I think you smelled wickedly delicious and guess the scent.
Is that Vetiver?
You laugh. I feel it in me.
We are on our knees by this time, on the bed. My loins are alive as I hold you with my two hands, feeling you all over. There’s not a lot of your body left untouched by the time I’ve removed your negligee. I leave your panties on your body, just tugging at them gently and running a finger underneath now and then. Your ass is juicy, firm, and pleasant. I play with your flesh, feeling you all over and noticing how you melt into my hands.
I can tell you like it. I can tell you aren’t just pretending.
Eventually I take my clothes off, and lay on top of you, feeling you breathe under me. I guess most folks go see a sex worker to fuck. But for me, just feeling your body melded to my own gives me an all-over buzzing high that cannot be improved.
It’s something about the way you look at me, too: searchingly, like there’s an answer in my eyes. I kiss your warm cute mouth a few times, but we don’t have a wet makeout session, just kiss and part and look at one another. Our skin is warm, our breasts pressed hot and sticky against one another. I kiss you all over - your neck, behind your ear, your jawline, hot little kisses, the kisses of a hot girl. Your collarbone; the inside of your shoulder. You breathe.
For awhile I’ve been looking for a muse, the right blend of separate and available, dry/cool and warm/wet, approachable and distant, soft and firm, pliant and dense, near and far.
It’s you in my hands here. You, your soft body, your lush smoky sweet scent, and all the thoughts in your pretty head that had you wander unintelligibly into my waiting hands and heart just now.
I know you want me to do more, give you more pleasure, which I could, because you want it. You’re wet. But I’m just holding you, feeling you, nuzzling you in my own pleasure. Nothing more than that.
I enjoy how you enjoy yielding to me, and it makes me desire you even more. I slide my strong thigh between your legs and you writhe against me with a moan. I like making you feel good.
You tell me people must fall in love with me.
Right as I am feeling the weight of my body on yours, kissing your jawline, looking at you, beautiful delicate woman, you look at me searchingly and say:
People must fall in love with you a lot.
I think, Hopefully that means you, pretty lady.
I enjoy the quiet thoughtful look in your eye. I think, Maybe I have something to give her that she might need or want. You’re all up in my arms and I can feel my lips on your neck and my fingers curling around your toes, all at once, at the same time. This is the kind of experience I walk through life craving.
You are delicate and I like how you yield your pleasure to me, your breathing and the way your body moves and the hairs rising on your skin. My fingers barely trace the outline of your vulva through your soaked panties. I think, I’ll leave her wanting more for next time.
You tell me, You’re a tease.
Then again: You’re a bit of a tease.
But who is this for?
You are for me this time, and I know you like being for me. It’s nice to imagine you might want a next time with me. Yes, I part ways from you thinking, I would someday like to hold this beautiful, sensual faraway creature in my arms again. I’d like to bring her pleasure. I’d like to bring her more of myself. I’d like to bring her my love. I’d like to bring her to . . . Bring her with me . . . Bring her . . . bring, bring. Mmmm.