I was horny. Let's just be honest about that right now. I thought about cock a dozen times throughout the day. I would pass men in the street and imagine what their strong hands would feel like pressed against my body. I would watch them as they walked, or talked, or laughed, or casually lived their life doing a thousand different little things during the day that they figured no one ever noticed. But I noticed. I always noticed. And I always wondered if they knew just how sexy they were by default of being men.
I had had several girl on girl encounters in my past, but nothing quite satisfied like a big hard cock. I loved to feel it grow in my hand, or taste it as it painted the canvas of my tongue, slippery, salty or sweet. I loved to hear a man's gruff voice as he hoarsely instructed (i.e. begged) me to give him the pleasure only I could.
I loved to hear him lose himself to primal grunts and moans, until he couldn't even speak.
The only thing he knew in the world was how his cock drove into my throat, or squeezed into my tight pussy.
God, is there anything better?
There were times I wouldn't hold a man's gaze when we spoke. I feared he'd see through the casual chit chat as a place holder for what I really wanted to be doing: getting fucked hard and proper like any sex goddess should.
(Seriously. I think about it *all* the time.)
In-laws, old friends, good friends with girlfriends I loved like sisters... it didn't matter. I needed dick and I needed it bad. And everyone was mine to be had at one point or another. I just had to want you bad enough.
And lately, I had wanted nearly all of you. It was something that a friend of mine sniffed out one chilly afternoon in late December.
I should probably also explain that my friend is just as consistently horny as I had become. I had seen him on the prowl, although our libidos never quite aligned. He sang about strange and he joked about polyamory, but so far I had remained right dead center of the friend zone.
Perhaps that was why he felt comfortable bringing up such a sensitive subject, and of course he did it with all the grace and subtly I had come to expect from my Libra.
"Wow. You really need to get fucked."
My head whipped around to stare at him. "What did you say?"
"Seriously. I thought you were going to pounce the waiter just then. Jesus, how long has it been?"
"What year is it?" I pondered with a crinkled brow.
"Like I said, you really need to get fucked."
"Tell me something I don't know," I said with a roll of my eyes. "Since I hit my 40s, I've been a raging hormone."
He toasted me with a glass of tea. "You should embrace it. Go crazy. Fuck every guy in sight if you want."
"Been there, done that. Most of the time it's not worth the trouble."
Oh, but to have a hard, throbbing cock in my hand... like, right now...
"What you need is a plan," he informed me. He flipped over a paper mat and gave me a pen. "Write down all the names of your fantasy men. Who would you fuck if you knew they wouldn't say no?"
I filled the list before he finished speaking. His eyebrow arched. "You really believe in the A-list, don't you?" I shrugged with a grin.
"I tell you what," he said as he folded the list and put it in the pocket of his leather riding jacket. "I'm going to help you. We'll make it a project." He thought about it for a moment before he blurted out, "Twelve months, twelve signs... one solid year of fucking. Let's plot it by the stars."
"What are you talking about?"
He bent closer. "Every month, I'll set you up with someone on your list here. You'll use what you can research about seducing said astrological sign of the month, and land your dream guy. Or girl. Whichever. One hot night of pure, guilt-free fucking. By the end of the year, you'll be a changed woman."
I would love to say that I forgot my Libran's plan and never gave it a second thought after we parted ways that afternoon. Fact was that I was online the rest of the night to ensure I had plenty of options, just in case I needed relief pitchers. I sent my Libran email after email, and only started to panic when he fell out of touch for a week. I didn't hear from him again until he pulled up to my apartment on his motorcycle, ready to escort me to an industry party for the new year.
I barely had time to throw on some makeup or change into something appropriately sexy before he was pulling me right out the door and positioned me on the back of his bike.
Less than an hour later, we came to a stop in front of huge beachfront house in Malibu. "You ready?" my Libran asked with a grin.