Inertia Creeps

(Or, Where Thomas Gets it Up the Ass)

When I returned from vacation Thomas came over. My house was a wreck, all my bedroom furniture shoved into the dining room for the floor guys. Thomas helped me move it back. We set up my bed, made it up with sheets and eiderdown like some married couple, had us a drink and fucked for several hours. I kicked him out at 6:30 the next morning. My mom showed up half an hour later. We went to garage sales.

Thomas went on his own European Vacation. He sent me a postcard from the Copenhagen Museum of Erotica. Awww.

Last week he wrote, complaining of jet lag and haunting nightmares. "Poor baby," I sympathized, "is there anything I can do?" We made a date.

On Thursday afternoon he texted me from the road, "On my way!"

"ETA?"

"35 minutes. OK?"

"Perfect."

It has been over a hundred degrees for the last ten days, and humid as hell. My air conditioner has been running nonstop, despite being set at 80 degrees. I turned on the fan in the bedroom and smoothed the sheets on the bed. He knocked. I bounded to the door and let him in, grinning when I saw he was carrying his gym bag.

"Working out tonight?"

"I dunno, I thought I might, depending on what kind of workout I get."

I smiled and kissed him.

"It's really hot out there," he apologized. His back was warm and slightly damp through his dress shirt.

"No air conditioning in your car?"

"I do have, but I try not to use it so much."

I said something about being turned on by his concern for the environment, asking if he was related to Al Gore or something. I stopped talking, convinced that it was, whatever IT was, pointless to share as I unbuttoned his shirt. He didn't pick up on that shift in the conversation and continued:

"Why is it that buttons are backwards for men and women?"

"So that it's easier for women to dress men."

"Hmmm, but I don't need anyone to dress me."

"It's not about need, baby, it's about possibility. Because it's also hot when I undress you."

I took off his starched white shirt, his plain white tee, his handmade black loafers, socks and grey dress pants, draping them on the back of the sofa. I led him, still wearing his boxers, to the bedroom and closed the door. We stood beside my bed and kissed in that slow, nuzzling way you do to prolong the anticipation, lips not quite touching, noses brushing necks. I like that kind of kissing.

I was standing just in front of the floor vent. The air conditioner kicked on and my slipdress billowed gently out from the cold, forced air. I sighed, "Oh, that's nice!" He took a pillow from the bed and dropped it on the floor in front of me, saying, "You can stay like that if you like."

Um, I like.

I'd told Thomas earlier in the day that, while I was looking forward to seeing him, I would not be dropping to my knees upon his arrival to blow him. It's become the predictable order of things, and it makes me nervous and bored. Greet at door. Take off clothes. Suck Thomas' dick. Sex from behind while bent over the couch. You know. Like that. Predictable.

I closed my eyes as he reached up beneath and slid his finger between my labia, and then felt them slicking up to my clit. I pulled my dress up and held it at hip level, steadying myself on the bedpost with my left hand. He pulled the fingers into his mouth and sucked them, exhaling so hard that the baby blonde hairs on my thighs tickled. I put my left foot up on the stool at the end of my bed. He traced the swollen vee, licking his lips, and bent forward.

Thomas gives very good head: slow and deliberate, moving up slowly to the point where my hands put themselves in his hair and my hips gyrate and thrust, my voice gets creaky and crackly and breaks mid-syllable, my breath catches and I come, grabbing his neck, arching my back and driving my head past vertical. He had a faceful of my come and I pulled him up to kiss it off. The insistent bonging of his cock against my leg was distracting.

I reached behind him and pulled the scarf from my dresser, tying it over his eyes. He smirked as I pulled down his shorts and pushed him back to the bed. I've never blindfolded him before, but I was feeling feisty–first I made him go down on me and now this–I had plans for the boy.

Thomas likes a finger in his ass during blowjobs. I quietly pulled a glove on and lubed it, all while sucking his dick. Soon my finger was moving inside him and he was sighing, pushing my head further and further down his cock. I guided a second finger in to join the first, sitting up and stroking him with my free hand, glancing to my side and gauging how long it would take me to slip the chrome bullet vibe, already wrapped in a condom, into his ass.

I replaced my hand on his shaft with my mouth and reached for the vibrator, holding it still against his hole and easing it in on an oustroke of my fingers. I pushed it up to the right spot and tossed the inside-out glove into the bin. His cock was throbbing in my mouth and he had a half-blissed smile. I took another condom and rolled it on, saying, "I'm going to fuck you now."

"What if I want to fuck you?"

"I think I'll be doing the fucking, but you're more than welcome to assist in fucking yourself."

I lowered myself onto him and pulled my knees in close to his body, squeezing my pussy while shallowly fuck-fuck-fucking the tip, then making a long stroke down and slowly up again. It was a huge tease. It was so hot.

And damn, it was hot! My skin was wet despite the air conditioning and the fan directed onto the bed and when I leaned forward in my favorite Lance Armstrong position, our bodies slid along one another. Once I got a good, solid rhythm and his hips were meeting mine, his hands pushing and pulling my body, I turned on the bullet. He jumped and moaned. I slowed down, keeping my pussy wrapped tightly around his cock and fucking him very slowly. It's the slower fucking which makes me come in the way I like. I grabbed his shoulder as I came, pressing myself down as if I could take more of him inside my tenselikewhoa cunt.

His hips were squirming then, as was his cock inside me. I know that feeling, that "this is so good I don't know what to do" feeling. That "I can't possibly sustain this without my body imploding" feeling. I turned the vibe up. I turned my fucking up. His mouth was searching me out and kissed me once I put my lips within his reach. He pulled on my mouth like he wanted to drink my blood. I ripped off the blindfold, face this close and slammed my hand onto his forehead, reaching back and pulling on his balls with the other. I licked the salty sweat on his neck and sat up, watching him watch me snake around on top of him, nipples small and erect, shoulders thrown back, stomach undulating as my hips rocked themselves back and forth over his pubic bone, picturing in my head the shape of his cock like an antenna inside me and the position of my silver bullet inside him.

I couldn't help myself; I turned it up as high as it would go.

His body was raising itself off the mattress, pounding into mine, sweat rolling from his chest down the sides of his body and over the slopes of his shoulders. He came, fantastically, with his cross between "Ohs" and "Ahs," completely uninhibited. Loud.

I gripped the rolled condom edge with my fingers and slowed the bullet down.

I looked at us, once I'd stepped off him and tossed the heavy condom from his cock, the one from the bullet and the squares of foil. Extending about three inches around his torso the sheets were a shade darker from our mingled sweat. He had a pool in his belly button. I gave him water, moving my cheek up slowly to his shoulder, content and in control and we were fucked but good.

Nightie

It was 5 AM. The grey light was just coming through the window in the adjoining room. Nobody slept there, my children had crashed on the couches in the main house last night. I know better than to move them. Never mind that I couldn't move Miles even if I wanted to.

Jason and Collie slept upstairs, sure to wake in about five hours if things remained quiet.

In my semi-slumbering, not wanting to be awake and gorgeously horny state, I closed my eyes, exhaled and pulled his arm across my body as I spooned my back up next to him. His hand naturally cupped a breast, flicking its nipple absentmindedly through the fabric of my nightie as he kissed the back of my head.

In a rare moment, I realized that, no matter how much I want to let him sleep–my Jefferson, knowing how many demands (self-inflicted or not) are put upon him in daily life, making vacation sleep a long awaited treat–I very much wanted to fuck him.

Here. In this bed which his grandmother had made up for us. Where his children lay within earshot and their clothes and swimsuits and hair ties littered the floor of our room–here, in white sheets smelling of Clorox and cool as the recirculated air, I needed to fuck him.

I was already semi-consciously pressing my hips into his pelvis, given my ass's advantageous position and the fact that I was naked under my white cotton nightie. He sighed, then inhaled. I knew he'd opened his eyes.

"Heyyy," I said.

"'Morning, love," he managed.

I flipped him onto his back and pinned his hands next to his shoulders, lowering my face to his. As I systematically avoided kissing him, but bringing my face thiiis close, I smiled and lowered myself to his cock, which was hard and receptive. I sucked him slowly and with real joy: I adore taking his cock into my mouth.

"Ahhh, honey, that's . . . perfect."

That was all I needed to hear. I wasn't sucking to get him off, I was sucking to get me off. The fact that he thought it perfection was a bonus. I sucked him long and steady, never varying speed or intensity. I reached into the pillowcase for supplies I'd put there the night before, so I wouldn't have to go hunting in the morning.

His hands were in my hair, stroking it, doing that thing that hands do when eyes are not probing other eyes for their mirrored adoring gazes. I pulled up and looked at him, gave him the glance and smirked. His dick was so ready.

After the appropriate preparations I sat up on my knees, lifted my nightie and lowered myself onto him. I rode him slowly up and down, watching his mouth open and close with the sensations, feeling his hands sliding across the thin fabric of my nightie over my hips, around my waist, up to my breasts.

I leaned forward, taking his hands in my own and pressing down, down on his cock, giving myself a shallow fucking with it, squeezing my pussy around the head on its exit and reentry. He liked that. I decided I didn't want to finish just yet.

I slowly circled his dick with my pelvis and he pulled down the shoulder of my gown, exposing a breast.

I took my hand to the back of his neck and pulled him up to suck and bite it as i rode his cock, bringing his upper body toward me as I rocked my cunt onto his cock at the perfect angle, not wanting to let go, coming in gasps and staggered whispered "oh, oh, ohs" and finishing with a shallow ride on his dick, my body covering his, kisses dotting his face, my hips moving in small and deliberate arcs.

He came shortly afterwards, silently, grasping the eyelet trim of my nightie, which had never been pulled completely off.

Handy

"I want you to turn toward me," I said, my voice husky with sleep, "I'm cold."

I buried my face in his chest, and scissored our legs. Our arms thrown over each others' hips, my fingers running lightly along his spine.

I traced up and down, swirling fingertips in lazy circles. I'm tactile, I touch--sometimes without even realizing it. His breathing changed and became deeper as my fingers stroked absentmindedly. That's when my breath caught in my throat and I felt the heat rush to my cunt.

I shifted, letting him roll onto his back and slid my hand down to his dick which was, as I surmised by his involuntary grunts, already hard.

"Nice," I said, running my fingers from behind his balls to the tip of his cock. I rolled over to the night stand, flipped the lid on the massage oil and poured a bit into my palm, grinning as I returned to my place. He hadn't moved and he had a goofy smile on his face.

Last night I had come to bed, crawling toward him in my bra and boyshorts. "What's all this?" he smiled.

"This is me, and this is what I've been wearing under my game day shirt all afternoon."

"Goddamn, baby. You look gorgeous," he was staring at me, looking me up and down. "This is all for me?"

"Of course, it's for you. But these panties aren't coming off."

I was sitting above him, his hands were on my hips and he sat up halfway, tracing the top of my black demi cups with the crocheted lace. I put my hand behind his neck and kissed him.

"Why not?"

"Girl thing," I whispered. I kissed his mouth, sliding my thigh between his legs.

We don't have sex, Joe and I. I mean, we have sex, but there's no penetration. Okay, his hands and tongue penetrate my cunt, but his penis has ever only been inside my mouth. We have dates, we go out, we stay in, cook and watch movies, I always sleep over, sandwiched between him and his cat. We like each other a lot.

But for whatever reason, we don't ride the wild pony.

It's cool. It's great, actually. So many people think that fucking is essential. I happen to find it very hot that we don't. Fucking can get boring, and my standards are very high. It's rare to find a person who's good at it all. And Joe's good at making me come without his dick.

He lifted each of my tits out of their cups--"like dessert cups," I'd laughed--licked and sucked and bit them in turn. I moaned loudly, that direct connection between my nipples and my clit brutal and excellent.

He threw me onto my back and kneeled above my chest. I raised my head and sucked while his hips thrust into my face and he came on my belly.

He washed me. I let him. I smiled at how much fun I was having, but it was 4 AM and I needed to sleep.

"That was awesome," I said.

"You are an amazing woman," he sighed.

The next morning as I massaged his hardening cock I thought about that comment. Am I "amazing" because I enjoy blowing him? Because I don't expect anything from him emotionally? Because I come like a flood? Because I like smoking his cigars? Last night my focus was him. The last thing I'd wanted was to be concerned about myself or how I could get off. I'd had an insanely busy day, been awake for 24 hours by the time we went to sleep and all I really wanted was to do something nice. To me, that's hot.

I was grinding my panty-covered pussy against his thigh, hot and swollen as I jerked him. The harder he got, the wetter I got. He would come soon, and I wanted his dick in my mouth before he did, wanted to close my lips around it and pull on its hard smoothness with the spongy strength of my tongue.

He came, silently this time.

I showered. He made coffee.

We watched SportsCenter. I drove home.


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Non Li Amo

You call and ask if I’m free tonight, “…a long shot, I know.”

I’ve just been fucked like a bitch by my love as three others watched and came, their come swirling together, homogenizing in a pool at the small of my back.

I do not return your call.

I return to our bed where life is still and time is heavy haze, where cunt swallows cock. I breathe the air from his mouth, making it mine. When he dies I will pull his last breath deep inside me, imprisoning his soul within my ribcage.

He fits me. Loves me.

Quietly rocking, writhing, bending, pulling, stretching, gasping, squirming. Content. Senza voce.

I do not love you, because when we fuck, I am discontented. Impatient. Growling.

When we fuck, my hand does not move to your cheek, tracing its thumb across your brow. You do not shut your eyes and turn into it, kissing my palm.

Because you do not love me.