erotic detox therapy
April 05, 2008
There is a saying that goes something like this:
Erotica is what I like. Pornography is what you like.
I'm not usually one to give the down-and-dirrty details of my sex life, but lately as I struggle with myself to find peace within a healthy sexuality, I find myself thinking quite a bit about past sexual exploits.
And I've started writing about them. In blushingly graphic NSFW (Not Safe For Work) detail.
Maybe I'm just a closet exhibitionist and/or pervert. Maybe I just want to get this crap out of my head so it stops haunting me incessantly. I haven't decided yet.
That said, this story involves me and D. It is not finished, and it is pretty graphic. If you don't like graphic, then DON'T read it.
Just warning you, you know.
It was somewhere around 2am. I was out driving around aimlessly. I live in a rural community, and this is perfectly acceptable behavior. This isn’t like Britney Spears cruising aimlessly through the streets of Malibu. No one to object really, except maybe the cows, and they weren’t talking.
Anyway, D and I had been text-chatting on our cellphones for a good portion of the morning. He was out at some bar with a few of his buddies. He’d had a couple beers, but was now mainly subsisting on soda, since things were winding down and he had volunteered to be the designated driver.
After dropping off his friends and arriving home, he told me he’d be up for awhile and if I wanted to, I could drop by. So I did.
It was the beginning of August, and D had his air conditioning set to “glacial.” The lights were out, and the TV was on.
He was sitting on the couch in just a black tank top, orange boxers and socks. And he looked gorgeous. I wanted to nibble on him.
We yadda yadded for a bit while watching Wedding Crashers. I was on one side of the couch, tucked into a tight little ball with my knees up to my chest, and D was on the other side, his tattooed arm snaking over the back of the couch, ever-so-slightly within reach of my shoulders.
All of a sudden, I heard him ask, “Can this movie possibly get any more boring?”
Since I hadn’t been paying much attention to the movie, I didn’t say anything. He switched off the TV, and the room went dark.
For some reason, I’m braver in the dark. I pulled my little lacy shirt up over my head and threw it at him. I heard a muffled laugh.
“What the hell is this? I know this isn’t mine.”
“I hope not…or you definitely have some explaining to do, sir…”
I reached behind me and unhooked my little black bra, slid the straps off my shoulders and tossed it in his lap.
“I would hope that this isn’t yours either.”
“Certainly not,” he said, removing both my shirt and bra from his lap.
I quickly took their place, curling up against the flat plane of his stomach, and his arm went around my body, his fingers tucked suggestively into the waistband of my jeans.
He had a fleece motorcycle blanket draped over the back of his couch, which I pulled down around my shoulders.
“You can move up here further, you know,” he purred in his deep voice. “I won’t bite. As long as you don’t.”
“Have I ever?” I asked, nipping his neck.
We didn’t speak for the longest time, just laid there in the dark underneath the fleece blanket. Then his hand started to gently stroke my side, but I wasn’t really in the mood for gentle.
I whispered, “D…”
“Hmm…?”
I put my hand over his and guided it to my breast, giving a firm squeeze to let him know what I wanted. He let his hand lay limp for the briefest moment, and then began circling my nipple with his finger, and then he squeezed…soft at first, and then harder until I gasped.
He took his time then, going from one breast to the other…squeezing, circling, massaging with his sexily callused hands until I was squirming.
And, knowing what that meant, his hand glided down over my stomach, finger circling my belly button and dipping inside, then reaching lower to pluck at the waistband of my jeans and pausing there.
I knew he wouldn’t do anything without first receiving an invitation. It had always been that way with us, and this time was no exception.
With one hand, I unbuttoned the fly of my jeans and eased the zipper down. He pushed the denim lower on my hips, and I raised myself to wriggle out of the piece of problematic clothing. The jeans slid down my thighs, caught slightly at the knees, until I finally kicked them to the floor right next to my shirt and bra.
I was still wearing the sheer black panties. The ones I had bought earlier that week to match the black lace bra I had so recently discarded.
He picked delicately at the lace just below my navel but made no move to go lower. Instead, he rested his warm palm low on my stomach and stroked my belly with his thumb.
I squeezed my thighs together restlessly and found myself whimpering, wanting much more than what he was giving me. I could feel myself getting wet, could smell it…and just as I was wondering whether he knew, his fingers slid inside my panties and over my damp shaved mound. He found my clit already hard and started massaging with a painstaking slowness that made me grit my teeth and arch up against his hand. I trembled and whimpered like a little animal, my nails sinking into the flesh of his arm, the fingers of one hand finding and tracing the outline of his tattoo in the dark, my teeth biting into it…greedy…hungry…
The fleece blanket sank to the floor. Here I was on D’s couch, practically naked, wet and hot with his hand stroking between my legs. I moaned and heard his breathing become labored. I wanted him to know how much he turned me on…and I wanted that to turn him on. And it was.
When I came, I didn’t hold anything back. I clutched at him, my back arched, and I think I even screamed. I heard him suck in a sharp breath as my nails sunk into the back of his hand.
He rested his fingers just under the elastic of my panties and rubbed gently until my breathing returned to normal.
I pushed his hand away from me and rolled onto my side, nuzzling his stomach with my nose while I ran a hand up the inside of his thigh. My eyes had adjusted to the dark by now, and I could see that he was half aroused anyway.
But half didn’t work so well for me, so I dipped my hand to his crotch and rubbed him through his boxers. It didn’t take long for his cock to get hard under my hand, and I felt him twitch as I stroked lower to cup his balls.
The more I rubbed, the more excited he got, until I felt the wetness of his precum soaking through his shorts, and I wanted to lick it off him.
Might be continued. Someday...
