that little black dress..
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Posted:Nov 5, 2016 10:55 am
Last Updated:Apr 27, 2024 11:45 am
2770 Views
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when she stepped out into the moonlight I felt my heart race and my face flush. I was speechless for a moment. I had only seen her in jeans. Even though that had been enough to let me know how beautiful she was, there's nothing like seeing a beautiful woman in one of those little black dresses. Her red hair framed her extraordinary face. Her body was tall and her shape was as if it had been sculpted by an artist that could see into my soul, to know everything that was dear to me. I imagined that she had been shaped slowly, with care and with deliberation, so that no feature of was forgotten. In a single moment she was both someone to take out and share her beauty with the world and at the same time a vision that I wanted to keep solely as my own. She moved gracefully toward me and I wanted to know her more, to absorb every word she spoke and detail of her existence....in my life there have been precious few moments like this. Moments you know you want to hold in your memory like a precious gift. It's not always fair or practical to place such high value on these memories. Memories like these only endure if they are shared and I only knew how my mind and heart felt, but I knew I had indeed been given a gift. The gift of time, time with this special lady...we found our way to a sanctuary where we could be alone, be ourselves, explore our desires and explore our minds. As we sat and talked about life experiences I wanted to touch her, to know how the artist that tapped into my soul must have felt as he sculpted her body with his hands. I wanted to feel her shape, to kiss her long soft neck in one special place that might release her passion and enable her to give herself to me. I led her to my bed. There I began to slip the thin straps of that little black dress from her freckled shoulders. It slid slowly down her as if clinging to the mystery it hid beneath. The fragile fabric paused for a moment on her breast before continuing its fall to the floor. I watched as it settled at her feet and instinctively I wrapped her in my arms and layed her gently back onto the bed’s billowing piles of pillows...We lay together with our minds melded into the moment, seeking pleasure but also finding solace. A safe haven for our hearts...if a blind man sees with his hands I had been fully blessed because I could not have completely comprehended her beauty if not for my ability to feel her skin, to know the curve of her hip, the warmth of her thighs as they opened to my touch. The sound of her breath being drawn quickly in as I touched her breast and found sensations in her that had been more forgotten that were now made alive again. Her lips and mouth readily received me. My hands discovering all of her and yet she reserved a part of her mind and all of her heart from me. I found myself unable to maintain my balance. As I moved my hands over her back seeking every muscle in her I found myself longing to protect her, to shield her from the world and keep her as mine...Just as this time together has found a lasting place in my heart's memory, it is also fleeting. As I cling to those moments in time I know I must let go of the thing that has become most precious to me. The most beautiful sculpture in the world can only truly be relished by those who stand in it's midst, in the here and now. Like the blind man who can no longer enjoy the light of each day he knows when he is touched by the warmth of the sun and the light of the moon and stars each night, and that gives him comfort...Regardless where life take me, I will always remember that little black dress...
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forbidden moments...
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Posted:Nov 5, 2016 10:52 am
Last Updated:Apr 27, 2024 11:45 am
2928 Views
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I have long known that there is a place inside each of us where secret longing resides. It’s a place we go when we need to hide from our disappointments and our questions about the paths not taken. It’s a place we go when we need to let our imaginations loose to take us to uncharted environs and it’s a place we share with precious few, if any at all.
I hadn’t known her but for a short time. Actually, I didn’t truly know her at all except there was this connection, a meeting of the minds that wasn’t found in the boardroom. We met in a place we both had reserved…our souls.
She had asked me to come to her. I wanted to, and then again, I was afraid because sometimes the myth is more sweet and succulent than the reality. I didn’t know what to do first when I saw her just like she did not know what she would feel or sense about me. But I arrived at our appointed destination nonetheless. I slid from my car and stood tall. Straightened my hair and summoned all my senses. I walked through the portico and down the vine covered sidewalk to the room. The door was slightly ajar and it appeared that the room was dim. I pushed the door open slowly and stepped inside. She was sitting at a desk, writing. A tall yellow rose was reaching up from a small, clear unadorned glass vase on the desk. A glass of red wine was at her other hand, only partly full. She did not look up from her thoughts as I entered, so I quietly closed the door. There was only one light shining from the wall next to the desk. It cast a soft hue over the room. Shadows covered the walls and the many books lining the shelves and the paisley-covered chairs and sofa arranged neatly about. This was a studio, her studio, her special place. It fit her. There a seriousness and yet, a softness...I stood and watched her speechless yet moved by the scene before me. It seemed like a long pause for me. I rarely am taken so far aback that a minute or two would not be more than sufficient time to gather my words. This was different. I had no words to give at that moment. I had only sensations running through me that finally found direction and moved me to a place behind her, almost touching but not....She sat with one leg curled under her. Her dark hair was flowing down her bare shoulders and back. A white sheet was her only adornment, draped over her lap. Away from the light the shadows framed her shape and made her appear as a vision. Still with no words being spoken and no gesture of greetings having been uttered I placed my hands on her shoulders and moved her hair to the front of her. My hands touched her neck and then her arms. I bent over and kissed the back of her neck. She was ever so soft and responsive to my approach. My fingers explored her back, her arms and at last reached desperately around to touch her lips. She put down her pen, her fingers lay outstretched flat on the paper that was overflowing with her words. She rested her head back onto me as I pressed against her. Was this a surrender of sorts or perhaps merely an invitation? She allowed my fingers to trace every feature on her face. As I touched her lips one more time she parted them and took my fingers into her teeth in a playful way; but, in a way that told me she was not a toy after all, not a thing to be trifled with. ...I reached down to her lap and found her hand. I raised her up from the chair and turned her to me. The white cloth that concealed her thighs fell silently to the floor at her feet. She was even more beautiful in the soft light. I placed my hands on either side of her face, cupped, like I was holding precious gift. She looked in my eyes and I kissed her parting lips, softly at first and then firmly…deliberately. We both began to breathe heavily. Gasping for more air without loosing our embrace or our kiss. Our hands explored each other frantically. She undressed me while we tasted each other time and again. Our blood was running hot and as my last bit of clothing feel to the floor I picked her up in my arms. Her arms lay around my shoulders tightly with lips nestled firmly on my neck. Her legs dangled over my other arm. I left the light that had first shown her to me and walked us to the soft confines of the large sofa. I lay her down before me. She was truly a vision. Kneeling beside her I began a journey. There was no map, no compass and no guide. Only the rawest sensations our souls could conjure.
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Tropical Nights...
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Posted:Nov 5, 2016 10:38 am
Last Updated:Nov 5, 2016 10:47 am
2539 Views
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…the palm of his hand landed cupped against her belly time and time again. The rhythmic strokes preceding the calypso-like hard thrust accentuated the mood of the night. Soft strokes of his right hand led by the nimble fingers of his left hand running up and down her neck made our blood run to a fever. The sweat that rose from his forehead was matched by the moisture that made our bodies wet and uneasy. When he was done with her he gently bent down and kissed her, whispering "thank you Rosaria". The sounds that Rosaria emitted had aroused us. She was provocative. We stayed all night holding each other while the master and his Spanish guitar, Rosaria, churned inside our heads... The wind was blowing hard when we got back from the party. The boat that delivered us home was rolling on the waves and the night was full of life. Our senses had been jolted awake by the music and tequila we had shared. The night air was warm and damp. We had exhausted ourselves dancing to the Cuban masters as they relived the rhythms and sounds of the grand days that they knew in Havana so long ago... maybe it was the beat in our ears that drove the beating in our bodies, but I knew our course was set, and so did she... As she pulled her wet shirt over a head of silky red hair curled by the humidity and I felt my knees buckle. I caught my breath and moved toward her wrapping her in my arms. Her warm skin blended into mine and the night became ours together.
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Got back earlier than planned...
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Posted:Aug 17, 2016 5:37 pm
Last Updated:May 21, 2017 6:04 pm
5562 Views
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…I got back earlier than planned. It had been a long flight an even longer week trying to complete my business. The car turned onto the drive and came to a stop. I lugged my briefcase and luggage through the front door. There were no lights on in the house yet there were other cars in the driveway. I set my gear on the floor in the living room and walked towards the kitchen. It was then that I heard the sound. I wasn’t sure what it might be. It reminded me of the sounds make sometimes while playing and trying to be invisible to the adults. I knew there weren’t any around. As I followed the sounds down the hall it became easier to hear yet it was still muffled somehow. My ears led me to the master bedroom. I stood in the hall for several seconds, maybe even minutes. I had heard these sounds before. It had been a while but I was sure they were the sounds of my wife, Julie, breathless and gasping for air, whispering and moaning in ways she had only done when we were first in love. The sound was intoxicating me. My mind was running fast. Who was here? Did I know him? When did this start? What should I do? My thoughts ran wild and at the same time I had to remember that she had not had those feelings with me. Perhaps I was the problem here.
I found my arm and hand reaching for the door, pushing it slowly open. My heart racing and beating hard. There was Julie. She was completely in rapture and totally oblivious to my presence. Julie lay on top of the other person who I could not see but for the deep down pillows and soft white sheets were flung all around. Julie’s shoulder length blonde hair was dangling downward teasing her partner as she moved down for a kiss. It was a long, slow deliberate kiss that took forever to bring to completion. Then she ground her hips and thighs onto her helpless mate. I could only remember the feeling of her wet pussy grinding on my cock so many times. I felt myself growing and throbbing as I watched.
My hands gripped the chair in front of me as a crutch and as my cover keeping me from view. My initial anger was waning and my own appetite to taste Julie’s essence was growing. I was conflicted with my surprise and anger and my own raw lust. Clearly I was jealous that someone else could bring her so alive. Julie continued to touch and kiss and penetrate with her hands and mouth every inch of her prey. The sounds were getting louder, a harmony of gasps and moans. I shifted my weight against the chair and it moved slightly on the hardwood floor making a small noise. As I tried to restrain the chair Julie paused and looked up. She saw me standing in the corner with a bewildered look. I did not say a word. Julie continued to grind her pelvis onto her lover and struggle for breath. She just looked at me as if she were a lioness feeding at night and caught in the gaze of another passing lioness. Her face was flushed and red. Her expression was foreboding and serious. The seconds passed quickly and then Julie’s expression began to soften. Her eyes lost the predatory intensity and began to look nurturing and caring. As she continued to press herself to her partner she softly reached down for a pillow. She then laid a sheet down the side of the bed revealing the body of her lover. Julie bent down, her hair again dangling on the face of her prey. They kissed as Julie ran her hands down between the sweaty thighs and back up again to a mass of curly dark hair and wet pulsating pussy. Her hips thrust upward reacting to Julie’s hands finding her wetness that probe the depths of her senses. She screamed and Julie pressed her own wet body onto her, their breast and hardened nipples rubbing against one another, trying to the other. They kissed again. This time I could see the open mouth of Julie’s lover, her tongue waiting for Julie’s to find her. Her lips parted and seeking Julie.
My heart again raced and I could feel my groin bulge as I reached down to touch myself. My emotions were still confused and mixed but as I watched I knew there was beauty and simplicity playing-out before me, a simple raw beauty between two people. I had never acknowledged the possibilities before. I had never allowed room for discussion or an opportunity for Julie to share her feelings, her inhibitions and the primal sensations she must have been keeping inside her. In the midst of her longing and lust Julie found a kindred spirit to share the moment. The two lay together embraced in each other’s scent and their instincts. I had held myself for as long as I could yet I did not want to disturb their pleasure. I stepped cautiously from behind the chair and stood in front. I was closer to the bed where Julie and her lover were devouring each other. I unbuttoned my shirt, then released my pants and stepped out of my shoes. They knew nothing. I sat in the chair, naked and feeling myself. My thighs were spread wide and my cock was hard and dripping. I lay back and watched the beauty unfold before me accompanied by my stroking my cock and holding my release when the orgasms merged with the screams I heard from the two beauties. My own breathing was hard and deep and my groans were become audible. At one particularly intense moment I guess I exclaimed much too loudly and both women rose from their ecstasy and looked at me. Julies’ lover was gorgeous. She had long brunette hair, long legs, suntanned skin with dark eyes and full lips that would haunt any person’s night dreams. She smiled and whispered “hello” in a low raspy voice. Then she turned back to Julie, rolled Julie over and mounted her. Her dark hair now dangled onto Julie’s face and breast. She kissed Julie softly. Then Julie pulled her head down to her and drew her tongue into her mouth and the rapture started all over again.
When I once again became aware light from the morning sun was filtering into the room. I had fallen asleep. My first thought was that it had all been a dream. I was home. My bed was tossed from top to bottom. One thing I had not dreamed…I was naked and my hand was still clutching my manhood (albeit a much smaller version).
“Julie’?”, I whispered. “Good morning? Julie?”
A small weary voice spoke back to me, “Good morning honey”. “How was you’re trip?” Her head rose from between the pillows that had been her lair the previous night.
Then another head raised from the pillows and turned towards me, “good morning sweety, I’m Sarah. Have you made tea yet?
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the light
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Posted:Aug 17, 2016 11:24 am
Last Updated:Aug 17, 2016 5:32 pm
7154 Views
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When I arrived at the farm there was only a quarter moon. The fields were still and the night owls and whippoorwills were keeping to themselves in the wood that was all around. Junebugs and fireflies were the only signs of life as I stepped onto the porch. I opened the door and walked into the large and long hallway. I could hear music. It was low and the rhythm was slow. It conjured-up memories of the low country and blues from a slower and less complicated time and place. I walked farther down the hall and turned into the den. It was framed with brick walls and exposed timbers that had been hand-hewn over 130 years prior and ceilings that were 12 feet high. This was a man’s room. It had shelves lining parts of the walls with hard cover books, small and large statues of dogs pointing into the wood, horses posed for show and a pheasant on the wall looking as if it was taking flight just because I entered the room. At one spot on the bookshelf were two crystal decanters. Both were half full and both contained a dark reddish-brown elixir that shimmered in the light, no doubt aged well and inviting. There was an overstuffed leather chair by the French doors with an old floor lamp shining softly onto the seat. Even from across the room you knew you could melt into its arms and for hours enjoying the stories that lined the walls waiting to be experienced. There was a long settee covered in soft Victorian era cloth facing the stone fireplace. It had pillows with earthy paisley designs and fringe around the edges. Over the fireplace hung a colorful painting of men raising their shotguns about to harvest the main course for supper that night, their dogs ready to retrieve and be rewarded for their efforts. The floors in the room had seen better times. They were soft heart pine taken from the same woods that so many generations before had protected this house but which had themselves long since been harvested and sent to the mills to be turned into shelves and mantles and paneled doors.
I sat in the leather chair. The lamp shown down over me and I listened to the soulful sounds of the night. In a few minutes I was joined by a true vision. She had been waiting for me. Her red hair shined. She wore a thin white cotton blouse, the first few buttons left open to reveal the shimmering off-white string of pearls that surrounded her milky white neck and lay gently onto her freckled skin. The faded, yet neatly pressed jeans were accented by a belt clasped by a silver buckle. She wore high heels and a faint fragrance of lilacs followed her into the room. I stood as she approached and her smile made the room shine. She came to rest in front of me. I didn’t have words worthy of the moment so I simply smiled and let myself enjoy the sight of her. I raised both hands and cupped her face in my hands and bent down and kissed her lips, then her neck.
“Hello Sweetpea. You look fabulous.” I had to clear my throat as I spoke and even then all I could muster was a whisper.
“Thank you kind sir” she spoke with the pronounced soft southern accent you expect to hear from all southern-bred ladies. “Now, you may have your way with me. Just tell me what you want me to do for you.”
I had to pause for a few seconds to compose myself. Her words carried that trademark innocent southern tone, yet blatantly candid. It made me forget the role I was intended to play that night.
“Well, I thought we could begin over here, next to the bookshelf.” I stepped over to the bookshelf and reached for a stool that was pushed into the corner. “Let’s try this. You sit here and I’ll adjust the light,” whereupon she nestled onto the stool gazing across the room as I twisted and turned and adjusted the light from the lamp.
I went to the chest in the opposite corner, opened the burled wood drawer and pulled my camera from its depths. Tonight, we were the lady and the photographer seeking to immortalize her beauty for all time. It was a solemn moment for me, despite the playfulness that was inherent in the idea when it was first proposed. I had been a fireman, a businessman, a pip and a policeman in nights past. All had had their fantasy played-out one way or another; but, this was different somehow. To play a role one must be able to assume some element of the personality being assumed. The task for my character was to find the depth of her beauty. On the one hand it was easy because the subject was natural and known to me. On the other hand it was difficult to look at someone and see deeper than normal and capture that inner beauty. She sat quietly on the stool while I arranged her hair and positioned her arms and legs in what I thought was the correct pose. I snapped frame after frame from different angles front and back and side to side. I changed her position time and again her hair and her posture. The hours past quickly but I wasn’t satisfied that I had done her justice.
“Let’s take a beak Sweetpea, maybe I can find a better approach in a minute or two” I went to the bookcase, to the decanters and taking the crystal glasses from the silver tray I poured us each a bit of the reddish-brown elixir. The scent of the brandy falling into the glasses reached my nose and immediately revived my senses. I handed her a glass. We clicked our crystal goblets in a toast then turned to our respective corners of the room, she on the stool and I to the old leather chair. The soft sounds of saxophone, low country fiddles and piano still played in the night air exuding that slow bio-rhythm that runs deep into ones head. The only light now turned on in the room was the lamp next to me. My store-bought photographer’s lights and glare deflectors and filters lay in waiting on the floor behind the settee. She was lounging on the stool swaying slightly to the music and seemed to be lost in her thoughts. We hadn’t spoken a word since our toast. I nestled into the chair and watched her. Her eyes were closed and she found ways to curl up on top of the stool that only a feline could appreciate. I finished my brandy and allowed the warm rush drift down through my body while I watched her perched there. A moment later I stood and walked slowly to her with my camera in one hand and my empty goblet in the other. I sat the goblet back on the silver tray and proceeded to reset my camera for black and white images. It was after all a dark and still night in a house with an old soul.
The light from the lamp from beside the chair cast only on her body and seemed to fade immediately behind her leaving only a dark backdrop with little or no recognition of the books and statues and pictures. She was turned half away from me so that I looked at her back and a bit of her profile. Her head hung down and lay onto her left shoulder that same way she used to trap my hand with her cheek when I put my hand on her shoulder. The moment was now picture perfect, I thought. I clicked away at her once again seizing all the angles and capturing her beauty but I wasn’t yet satisfied. I put my camera down and walked back to her. She looked up at me and smiled. I kissed her moist lips and found the buttons on her blouse. My fingers meticulously loosened the buttons and drew the fabric away from her skin. As I revealed her breast to the night she gasped a breath of air, quietly though, trying not to be obvious in her arousal. My hands reached for the silver buckle that guarded her jeans and loosened that shackle. I reached down and pulled her left leg up to my waist and slipped her high heel off and let it drop to the floor. The right leg came more voluntarily and that black, leather strapped heel fell onto the hard wood. Gently I grasped each side of her jeans at the waist and began to slide them down. She placed both arms around my neck and braced herself as her jeans along with her undergarments joined the other accessories on the old, heart pine floor. All that was left was the shimmering pearl necklace that lay just above her soft breast and over her freckled skin. One thing had changed in the last moment however. Her nipples stood almost erect as opposed to the placid demeanor I found when I first removed her blouse and she grasped the inside of her thigh kneading it tightly.
She continued to follow my every movement with her eyes. Her lips were parted slightly. She had once again assumed the feline position on top of the stool. I stood back a distance and admired her. I retrieved my camera and began clicking. This time I knew that I was indeed capturing the beauty that was in front of me. I clicked from every perspective. She would move when I asked her to and each pose was better than the previous. Finally, I was done. But I was not satisfied.
My mind was exhausted from the task but I yearned for more. She looked at me and she knew it also. I walked back to her and she said to me “you played that role very well dear. It was all very professional of you.”
I looked into her eyes and wrapped my arms around her shoulders, “I stopped playing the role the minute you walked into the room”. With that I bent down and kissed her opening lips and allowed my hands to touch her hardened nipples. She moaned and I lifter her in my arms and moved us to the settee. The light from the lamp beside the old leather chair shown softly on her passion as I explored her body and soul with the slow deliberate rhythm of a dark, still night in a low country wood.
her story…
As he touched my nipples, he sent a wave that coursed straight from the fullness of my breasts to the sacred warm place that lay between my soft, supple and very white thighs. As his fingers lingered, softly, tenderly tracing the areola encircling my very erect nipples, the sensation only increased what lay between my thighs. The sensation of warmth and moisture, at first subtle, then becoming the feeling of pulsing and increased moisture that I was aware had slipped out of that most sweet place.
Now taking his hands, he began to caress the curves of my breasts, lightly at first, then more firmly. Taking both breasts, one in each hand, he fondled and squeezed, pushing them together, feeling the roundness and yet, making sure he continued to allow his deft fingers to make passes across the erect nipples. He knew that my nipples were directly linked to the place he wished to taste.
Tracing lightly with his fingers down the sides of my body, chill bumps formed and yet more moisture oozed out of what had become hot, no longer warm. As he began to run his hands up my body with his palms and his fingers, I shuddered with desire and hoped that he would continue the exploration he had begun. Reaching around my body, he ran his fingernails down my back with just enough pressure allowing for me to sit just a little straighter, arching my back.
Reflexively, I parted my now moist thighs slightly, allowing for the hint of invitation. Continuing his exploration, his hands made their way to the small of my back, lingering, sliding a bit lower with each stoke he made up and down my back, his hands moved toward the center of my low back. Without hesitation, both hands slid down the sides of what separated the cheeks of roundness on which I sat. First lightly, sensually, tracing the opening, up and down, each time with more pressure applied from his hands. I now parted my slick thighs a little farther apart.
Now, fully in between the roundness of my cheeks, his hands began to separate that which he continued to firmly spread. With a single finger, he slowly stroked all the way down the spread of tissue surrounding the tight little opening he longed to penetrate. Patiently keeping one finger over the tight little opening, the other hand reached for the bottle of oil he had placed within his reach. Still maintaining contact with that tight little opening, he allowed the oil to drizzle down the spread crevice until it reached his finger, making sure there was more than enough to accomplish his goal.
As I now had no shame, I opened my thighs, fully exposing the glistening honey that puddled and dripped from the opening of the secret place, now longing to be penetrated. Standing in front of me still, his eyes took in all that I now offered, with desire. In conjunction with the lust in his eyes, his finger began to slowly but surely penetrate that tight little opening. Oh so gently, but with great knowledge, he began to move in and out, sliding so easily, causing me to arch even more, allowing my cheeks to open wide.
He now commanded I turn around and bend over, holding onto the sofa, legs spread wide apart, all that lay between exposed for the taking. As I began to give way to the sliding in and out of the tight little opening, it was no longer tight or little. Now I felt more intense pressure, knowing that two fingers were sliding in and out. As that sensation grew, his other hand moved to that secret, wet, inviting place I so willingly offered for the taking. Easily sliding in two fingers, he stroked the inside of my wanton, sweet pussy, feeling desired, beginning to allow myself to be taken.
Pleasure streaming throughout my body began to give way to abandonment. I rocked back and forth, unable to control the movement of my pelvis. As he pulled the moisture, so slippery, covering the entirety of the opening toward the now erect place I desired to be stroked, my ass rose yet higher as my back arched into a deeper curve. Now three fingers in, what was once a tight little opening, relaxed and began to completely enjoy the penetration, all the while becoming harder and more prominent, my clit fully aroused, I began to ache for more.
His tortuous stroking, up and down, in and out, around and around, was driving me to the brink of a complete explosion of juices that I knew would drench us both. Just as I released and my pussy began to contract with wave after wave of pleasure, he drove his hard cock into the opening of my ass. Driving harder and with greater intensity, cum that poured down my thighs drove him insane. Finger-fucking me three at a time, I took over my clit, now resting for a few moments but still requiring attention. His cock continued to thrust harder and deeper inside as his balls hit my ass.
Losing all control at this point was not an option. I gave all to him, freely and without restraint. As his directive in a firm voice was, “Cum you nasty little girl. Cum hard. I want to feel you clamp down on my cock and my fingers. I demand you obey me if you want me to keep fucking you. You know you want it and want it bad. I am telling you to cum now.” Electric and erotic, I experienced a cum I’d never had. Stroking my now hard again clit, three fingers penetrated my pussy, finger fucking, fucking and fucking, I begged for more. “Please don’t stop fucking my ass. I want you to bury yourself deep within my body while I give in to the pleasure you so long to give.”
With that, you exploded, letting out a deep-throated, gutteral moan, knowing you just let go of your hot cum. I came again, harder this time, my clit contracting wildly with indescribable pleasure. Still not satiated, I begged for more. “Keep sliding your hard cock in and out of my ass and fucking my sweet pussy with your fingers while I continued to masturbate my hard clit.” I begged and you complied, giving it harder and faster, my stroking harder and faster. We both came at the same time. What an explosion of ecstasy it was. I screamed uncontrollably, you moaning like a wild animal. You pulled out and told me to be still while you grabbed your camera in order to capture the image of my smooth, white ass and your cum dripping down my crack.
The image is forever captured in your mind, buried in your soul and causes you to long for more of the same....
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first impressions…
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Posted:Aug 17, 2016 11:20 am
Last Updated:Apr 27, 2024 11:45 am
4960 Views
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…it seemed like a small thing, but it moved both of us to the next level on our journey to together. The day was cool and beautiful. One that made you want to be outside and soak-up the sun. This was to be our first meeting so picking the best spot for that first meeting was so critical. I thought about it all morning long. Maybe it should be a dark, off the beaten path café with slow music and red wine or maybe a picnic in a park would make the best first impression. After a lot of thought I determined that the best first impression was not going to come from a planned and calculated assault on the senses. It should and would come from an unplanned and unchoreographed script we would write ourselves, on the fly so to speak, natural and honest. We would let things between us unfold without pretense. She called me on the telephone and we agreed on the perfect spot for us to share those very first impressions of each other that would forever set the tone for our romantic and energies.
The time had arrived. We were together at last, in the parking lot of the local home improvement store. What better spot to be safe, unassuming and unaffected by an infectious setting than the middle of the parking lot next to the lawn and garden shop. Tailgate pulled down on my dusty old red pick-up, we just sat there and talked, trying to get to know one another. People came and went as they loaded their cars with plants, tools and lumber. If later we discovered that we really weren’t as compatible as we had envisioned we could not blame our early torrid attraction on the red wine or the quaint, romantic café with the jukebox playing low and slow. No, indeed!
Our conversation left the normal chit-chat and embarked on explorations of our collective mind about men and women, old and young, past experiences those yet to be discovered. We talked about everything and about nothing at all. She was articulate and smart, thinking before she spoke and not rattling-on about this and that. She captured my mind with her composure. We seemed at ease with one another from the start. I shared with her my belief that true intimacy was not attained by the physical and carnal acts of being together. It was attained by exchanging your innermost thoughts and feelings, those that you do not share with anyone else. In so doing you achieve true intimacy.
We created threads of that intimacy sitting there on the tailgate of my old red dusty pickup truck. In a while I noticed that I tended to look away when I was trying to articulate my story or share my fantasies and preferences about our planned journey. Normally eye contact was all-important to me. You know, “the eyes are the window to the soul” and all that….but as our conversation lengthened it had become more open and “matter of fact” about our sexual intents and interest but I couldn’t maintain eye contact. Could it be that the intimacy that we were sharing was distracting me?
When I studied her and listened to her words it made me want to touch her… to touch her face, to trace the outline of her lips with my fingertips and brush her hair off to the side so I could see her beautiful blue eyes. I wanted to slowly and methodically undress her and feel her creamy skin in my hands. When I looked at her I imagined myself exploring her body and seeking to arouse the essence of her womanhood and her passion. It wasn’t correct for me to have those thoughts but they were there nonetheless. The intimacy created by my mind was morphing into much more. It was a deeply felt need to touch.
I have a theory about the phenomenon of “touch”…it is that touching is an underrated form of communication not merely a physical act. A myriad of thoughts and feelings can be produced from one well-placed and gentle touch. A thoughtful touch to the arm while crossing the street can produce feelings of safety and oneness. A touch to the lower back as you walk through a doorway can tell her she is special and will be your first priority. A deep and slow massage of her shoulders communicates relaxation and opens the senses to accept more attention.
My mind was now making the transition from good wholesome intellectual activity to a new, more organic level that wanted very much to include ‘the touch”. Upon achieving this new level of reality I frantically looked around and discovered that we were not in the secluded wood having a picnic. There was no quaint café nearby. There was no red wine or soft and slow music playing anywhere. There was certainly no secluded backroom where we might steel away and let our senses run wild. Instead, we were sitting on the tailgate of my old and dusty red pick-up truck in the parking lot of the local home improvement store.
Damn
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