by Hart, Romi
It’s hard to maneuver around when he’s so hungrily kissing me and fingering me…but I want him so bad. I spread my legs, signaling him to penetrate me deep, almost so deep it hurts!
But just enough so that it feels right. Mmmm the deepest I’ve ever felt. I don’t want him to pull out, just stay inside me. I love the feeling, like being trapped and lying helpless as he pounds and thrusts against my intimacy.
I clutch the bedsheets as he begins shifting and pushing into my pussy, filling me with his cock. I clench myself tighter so it will feel twice as intense. So good and tight…as I spread my legs farther apart, I feel them kicking and jumping around all over the bed. We both start hollering as we approach orgasm so soon.
He’s still deep-thrusting and getting excited, grabbing me by the head and pulling me in closer, as if he could barely contain himself from exploding into thin air.
I groaned loudly, unladylike, but still fucking goooooood to release that energy out of me. He thrusts into me at a faster pace, moving hard and rhythmic like a machine.
My breathing races as my heart pounds hard. I kick my legs up and farther apart so he can ram it in my cunt like the nasty fucker he is. I almost laugh…it feels awkward and weird, but my orgasm is still imminent.
I finally cum and unleash this guttural and uninhibited sound. My body writhes so bad I feel like I pulled a muscle this time. I wiggle and squirm underneath his body and kick with all my might, resisting the urge to cum even harder than I am.
He’s getting more turned on by my orgasm and so he grunts, breathes faster, coming to a climax. He looks at me and smiles, admiring my body one last time just before he unloads everything. My body and my curves, dancing in front of him and flush with ecstasy.
His own legs kick and spasm as he loses control, thrusting and then backing up. He moves fast to withdraw and takes his penis in hand just as he ejaculates fucking long and clear, a warm load all over my belly. We’re both surprised…giggling and so turned on.
He sees his mess and orgasms doubly hard, loving the site of my belly covered in spunk. He marks his territory and makes sure he spills more on my breasts and neck. I love the sound of his voice as he stares into my eyes still grabbing his hard dick and shaking it clean of any more drops.
I keep gazing at him, loving the sight of my man losing control and delivering his seed all over my bare body. The same body that he lusted after for twelve years. The same body he wanted to fuck for ten painstaking years…Oh God!
This was dirty sex, yeah, the kind he always fantasized about with me.
Darkness again. We fucked all day long and it was great. I pulled a muscle but my orgasm couldn’t have been harder or more difficult to endure. Now we’re sitting in silence as I try to think of something to say…something cool or sexy…and not just awkward. It is a little awkward…since we’re both lying here naked and thoroughly spent. We ate…and fucked again…and now we’re all out of conversation topics.
I can’t help but wonder if this really is just a fuck-buddy relationship thought.
“Hey…do you think this is all about sex?” I ask him. I’m lying against his body, back to his chest. Still naked, freshly showered, and too tired to fuck some more. But I can’t get enough of his mind.
“I don’t like to put labels on things,” he said. “We’re just here in the now.”
I shrug. “I think we’re okay. I like being with you. Maybe we don’t have to talk so much…if we understand each other.”
We start to get up and get dressed, still carrying on like teenagers. It feels silly to be naked all day long…maybe we should get dressed like the working pros we are.
“Can I ask you something?” I say.
“Okay.”
“Do you worry that…this may be too good to be true?”
“No,” he answers. “I don’t see it like that.”
“I feel like a lucky girl. Like I’m still waiting to wake up and realize this is all a dream.”
“Why?”
“You’re a gorgeous guy. You’re also loving and generous. I keep looking for something wrong like…I don’t know.”
“No one’s perfect,” he grumbles in reply. “One of the many reasons I like you and proposed to you, way back when. Because even your imperfections make you gorgeous and sexy and desirable. You’re like an addiction I can’t quit.”
“Is that all? Isn’t like, addiction a bad thing?”
“What are you getting at, Denise?” he says, a bit annoyed.
“I don’t know! I’m sorry…I just…I don’t know.”
“No, tell me,” he says, now in a shirt and shorts, as if hiding his naked soul from me. I’m also wearing a shirt and underwear by now.
“What I meant to say was…sometimes, you know, I think it’s all about sex to you. Because I don’t want to say it’s love. And I think it feels too good to be true. And I keep thinking well that’s just sex. Sex always feels really good…because it’s short lived. It’s not…you know, the rest of our lives or anything like that.”
“Oh god,” he mumbles. “What are you talking about?”
“Just humor me…tell me…you know, what this is.”
“What this is?”
“What are we doing here? No wait…let me rephrase that. I’m not, you know, pressuring you for a commitment.”
“Well I hope not,” he says sarcastically, “since you basically talked me out of my first proposal.”
“I didn’t talk you out of it!”
“You know what I think?” he says with a laugh. “I think you just really enjoy arguing, Denise! Why is that?”
“I do not! I was just asking…”
“Asking what? If we’re getting married? If I’m thinking about anything ELSE at the moment, rather than just your fantastic tits and ass and how lucky I am to be with you in this moment? Why is it always worry with you? Just learn to be, learn to take pleasure in the moment.”
“That sounds like a kiss-off speech.”
He sighs and stares at me in disappointment. “Look kid, here’s what’s going on. I just fucked your brains out and you feel so good right now that you’re panicking and thinking if all is going to turn to shit. You know what that is? That’s MICKEY. Mickey’s baggage talking. Just chill the fuck out and slow down.”
“It’s not Mickey, I wasn’t even thinking about him!”
“Then what? You always just argue and battle the guys you ride and cum on? Is that what makes sex good for you?”
“No! Maybe…fuck! I don’t know…”
“Now what?” he says, folding his arms and definitely getting the impression it’s not safe to stay here tonight. Damn…he may be right. I don’t know what I’m feeling. I can only assume it’s some weird allergic reaction to too many orgasms.
Or maybe just panic…realizing I love him more than he loves me.
Chapter 10
Simeon
I’m not quite sure why great sex always has to turn into explosive vulnerability…nor am I quite sure why such vulnerability has to rot and turn into hate. Denise has distanced herself, yet again, not in the “official way” as if to break up with me or friend-zone me, as she often likes to do.
But rather, this time, she had a much more creative excuse. I was “surpassing her limits”. She doesn’t “trust HERSELF, with me.” She feels that I’m getting bored with her. I can’t help but wonder what in the hell she senses from me that makes her so paranoid. Can’t a man just enjoy sex once in a while? Can’t a single man live in peace, and in passion, apologizing to no one because he seeks to offend no one?
I would expect this if I were dating a girl 15 years younger than me. I thought she understood the rather tranquil and simplistic existence a man over the age of 35 likes to live. I want peace. I want predictability, you know, predictable vacations in Europe. Predictable sex on a plane. Predictable fucking and predictable caring about each other. Why is that so wrong? Why is that the end of the world?
God, you spend your whol
e childhood regretting everything. Making mistakes. You finally get it right in your thirties. Or at least that’s what I thought would happen. Only to find out, no, you know…they’re still all the same way. They all just have to play mind games so that they win, and we lose.
“Oh come on. All women are the same way? You don’t believe that, Simeon. I know for a fact you don’t.”
Doctor Branfield smiles.
I suppose it is rather pathetic of me to go back to therapy. Especially considering I’m only attending therapy in spite. Because I recently found out from Denise’s friend Chrissy that SHE has been going back to therapy. Really? Because of me?
“Anyway…I suppose talking about this, and about her in this manner, just exposes my own immaturity, right? Isn’t that what you’re going to say?”
I slouch back on the couch, trying to relax in Doctor Branfield’s office. But for some reason, I can never just lie on the couch. Always protected, always on guard. Even though I’ve known this guy for twenty years. Hell, probably one of my best friends…not too proud of myself when I realize that!
“Actually talking things out is the mature thing to do,” he says. “Good for Denise that she sees the value in therapy. Why don’t you, Simeon?”
“I dunno. Just covering over old territory. Old news. Old conversations we’ve already had. But you know, I guess you sure don’t mind since you charge me so damned much.”
“And you can certainly afford to pay it,” the doctor snaps back, with a smile.
“True. I dunno, I just think, honestly, she has sexual issues. She doesn’t really want sex. She said it herself, she’s vanilla. She doesn’t enjoy it, even though I do.”
“You mean your sex games?”
“Well doctor…” I laugh. “I don’t think sex is a game. I mean…it’s not like I have a dungeon or anything.”
I laugh…and take a gulp. Actually I do, but I probably shouldn’t tell him that.
“Well…from what you’ve told me, you know about airplanes and…about the hate-fucking as you describe it…it sounds like you do enjoy the sport of sex and not necessarily the love making aspect of it.”
“Well…I mean everyone loves sex. But…you have to admit, doctor, a little spice makes the stew amazing. Not that I want to share every detail with you, since your bearded, aging face isn’t exactly an aphrodisiac.”
“Yes, but you realize, Simeon, and you of all people should know, that sex is a form of communication. That’s all. It’s nothing so intellectually rousing, I’m sure you would agree. So if lovemaking is a form of communication, why don’t you enjoy it? Why are you afraid of tenderness, of gentleness? To me, that seems like the primary reason why a man would want a relationship.”
“Yes but…” I laugh again. He’s obviously not getting it. I mean, yeah, maybe I have issues or whatever but she’s the one that’s brought me to therapy!
“I’m just saying…no, sex is not a sport. I don’t play games. I just don’t think she enjoys it.”
“The question is, Simeon, do you trust her?”
“Of course I trust her. Trust is all that matters.”
“Well that’s quite the statement coming from you. I admit, son…oh…I’m sorry, Freudian slip there.”
“No offense taken,” I say back to him. “I’ve always thought of you as a father figure. You know, in the sense that you were pretentious, old and had no sense of humor.”
“I was going to say, I admit that I’ve often wondered if you would be able to trust anybody ever again.”
A moment of silence.
“So the fact that you do trust this woman, even if it’s just a little bit, is a major step for you. I would even say…from the way you describe her, she’s a billionaire type of woman…one in a billion.”
“You think so? I mean yeah I liked her. I’ve always liked, you know, loved her. Hell, I proposed to her. But…one in a billion?”
“Of course she is, Simeon,” he replies. “She’s the only woman you’ve ever allowed yourself to feel connected to emotionally. Even after…well, all your billions of flings.”
“Not quite billions. I mean…writing is hard work. Takes up most of my time.”
“You have a certain ‘air’ when you speak of her. I would say without a doubt…you’re in love.”
Doctor Branfield smiles. A little bit of a devious smile. “With the idea of Denise.”
“What?” I laugh heartily. “Now who’s playing mind games, doc?”
“Well we’re out of time…”
“No, no, no,” I say with a pointed finger. “I don’t care if I have to buy your whole practice. You explain yourself.”
“Are you sure you want to hear this?”
“Yes. What…you think I’m not really in love with her?”
“I think you are in love with her, most certainly,” he says seriously. But I think it’s also possible that you want to trust, you want to be in love, and Denise fits your idea of someone you SHOULD be in love with.”
“So you don’t think I love her. You think the proposal was…”
“Your attempt at communicating, at trying to love someone.”
“What…you think I’m Frankenstein? Or, or, Dracula? That I’m some heartless ghoul that can’t be trusted or loved by anyone?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Well what are you saying?” I lose my smile. The conversation is actually hurting me. The idea that I am, in fact, the monsters and the horrid villains I describe in my book, is distressing.
“I’m saying that I’m not entirely sure you know who the real Simeon Hollock is. I think you are…attached to old ideals, old fantasies. Not that there isn’t great value in we ‘old things.” He laughs. “But you have to live for today.”
“So what it’s all a delusional fantasy in my mind?”
“Or perhaps in Denise’s mind.”
“What?”
“You once told me, son, that she was every man’s fantasy. Any man could fall in love with her. Because she is an expert at giving men what they want. Sex. Worship. Allegiance, loyalty to the extreme. Even at the expense of her own heart.”
“You’re saying…she doesn’t know what she wants? And neither do I?”
“I’m not telling you anything. I’m merely opening your mind to the possibilities.”
“God. How dark. I do have to admit…I wonder obsessively what she’s saying about in her therapy sessions. What do you think?”
“I think she’s looking into the abyss just like you are. As we all have to do. Perhaps wondering why she is so unhappy, if she is, in fact, in a happy relationship.”
“Huh.”
Another moment of silence. I blink away all my uncertainties and irrational fears of fictional monsters.
“You know, Doctor Branfield, the kinkiest most depraved sex fantasy I’ve ever had?”
“I don’t…particularly see the need to discuss that…”
“Yeah but…you want to hear it?”
“No.”
“Okay so there’s me and this chick, right?”
He sighs.
“And we’re about to do horrible, terrible things involving chains and whips and blindfolds and the whole nine yards.”
“Hmmm,” he replies in annoyance.
“And…then we head over to the bed…and I’m as hard as a rock, you know. And then…”
I remain silent.
“And then she just holds me. Holds me for a long time. And I say, what are you doing? Let’s fuck already. And she tells me ‘Not until you give me what I want, bad boy.’”
I laugh hard. “And I say, ohhh you filthy, dirty girl! I know what you want. I’ll give you what I want. And…and…and…I just start crying into her arms. Crying on her shoulder. Big cumshot of tears.”
Doctor Branfield stares at me in solemness.
“Explain that, doctor. It’s not even a dream, it’s just the kinkiest fantasy I’ve ever had. Damned if I know what it means.”
My next
date with Denise is a more controlled one to say the least. She smiles less. She looks into my eyes, deeper than ever before. She flinches a lot, even in regular conversation.
We decided to try a new Mongolian restaurant. Not even sure what Mongolian food is, except that I’m already feeling as pissed as Genghis Khan.
I stare at her in mild amusement, only half smiling, admiring her conservative but still very cute outfit. A patterned green blouse that stretches all the way down to her hips. Short sleeved, but definitely covering up her natural curves. Her black pants only seem to reemphasize to me that though she “trusts me” she’s still not ready for whatever THIS is.
“So…what do you think?” she asks me.
“Tastes like chicken and steak. Oh wait it is chicken and steak, just with a lot of Mongolian spices.”
“Yes it does,” she says with a cool nod. “Good observation.”
“So…I don’t want to be a downer. But maybe we should talk about what happened.”
“Okay,” she says, staring into my eyes and adjusting her face and posture. “Let’s.”
“So your friend Chrissy says that you’ve gone back to see your therapist.”
“Yes, I have.”
“She says I put you there.”
Denise laughs. “Chrissy is just playing mind games with you. I wouldn’t take anything she says so seriously.”
“But you are in therapy again?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Wow. That’s great. I mean the worst thing I could ever imagine happening to someone is being forced to take my erection. I mean you poor, poor kid. No one deserves such a cruel fate.”
She laughs. “Is that what you think?” she asks caustically. “That I’m so insecure and nutty that I need therapy to recover from all our hate fucking?”
“Well…” I shrug.
“Oh my God!” she laughs spitefully. “Get over yourself, man.”
“Then what?”
“For your information, Simeon, I was going back to therapy because I happen to like it. It calms me. It helps me figure out what I’m feeling and the best way to handle it.”
