After I woke up from my nap I was really horny. I giggled to myself as I thought that maybe I'd finally realized why I like to take so many naps - because I love how they make me feel.
I got into a steaming hot shower, indulging myself with a potent mixture of heat, slippery soap and the aroma of Wild Blossoms. Even without a nap my thoughts were never too far away from sex, and the shower was a place that I often let them have their reins.
My hands found their way between my legs and I mixed the soapy water with my own juices, massaging my pussy lips. They puffed out, crying little cum tears in the rain for more attention. I tugged on them a few times, I drew little circles around my clit with my finger. When I started to gasp for air I slowed down. The idea wasn't to get me to cum. The idea was to get me ready so that Andre would fuck me.
I stepped out of the shower and dried myself off, luxuriating in the scratchy-soft feel of the terrycloth. When I was dry I found my bottle of moisturizer and I rubbed the white goo slowly into every inch of my body from head to toe, paying extra attention to my newly-shaved slit.
I sat naked at my dressing table and dried my hair, combing it into a teasing style that I hoped said, 'wanton girl - come take me!' Eye shadow and liner, foundation and mascara, and just a hint of rouge applied sparingly - I wanted to look demure and not like a common trollop. Although the thought did occur to me that trollop might be a more appropriate look given how horny I was. I chose a sexy-sweet perfume and dabbed it in the usual places. After a hesitation of only a moment I gave in to the sexy self-indulgence of putting a little bit on the tops of the insides of my thighs, near my begging pussy.
I slipped on a pair of black high heels and primped myself in the mirror. I was tickled with how I looked - coiffed, perfumed and made up, languid and steamy from my shower, naked but for a pair of sexy shoes - the perfect picture of sin ready to be used. I started downstairs.
I knew that Andre would be sitting on the sofa, watching some dumb football game. Didn't he just watch one last week? Maybe it was the week before. Anyway I knew that he didn't like it when I interrupted his TV watching. But I was always hopeful that he'd choose me over the idiot box.
It wasn't as if he really ever ignored me. We had been lovers for a little while, and he was the absolutely best one that I'd ever had. He took his time with me, spending hours loving me before he'd allow himself the release of spurting cum inside me or onto my skin. He loved watching me play with myself, which was one of my favorite things. And I loved watching his eyes on my wet pussy as I tickled my clit and dipped my fingers inside. It made me feel wicked and wanted.
Andre somehow knew, even that first time, that I really liked dirty talk, and the things he whispered in my ears made me moan in pleasure. "God, I love your wet pussy." "Is it time to split your wet slit with my big cock?" "You have the most gorgeous ass that I've ever seen." Whenever I thought of him whispering dirty words it sent a divine shiver straight through me.
And Andre liked to cuddle, which always made me feel special. He didn't immediately fall asleep like the lovers I'd had before him. Instead he would hold me tenderly after we had made love, drawing little designs on my back or around my nipple with a light touch of his fingers. Then he would whisper soft endearments into my ear until I fell asleep in his arms. It was heaven.
Sometimes I thought that if we were given enough time we might even fall in love, but right then I was beginning to have my doubts. Our lovemaking was already beginning to become routine instead of ardent, and somehow we weren't connecting the way that we used to. I was afraid that the bloom was off the rose.
Our sex life had begun suddenly, a fondness for each other blossoming one unforgettable night into the most satisfying sex I'd ever had. But I was beginning to be afraid that our relationship didn't have the other things it would need to survive.
We had promised each other that we wouldn't become too serious, at least not at first. Andre thought he might still love his ex girlfriend. I wasn't near ready to fall in love with him, although I was open to the possibility if we could move past what I saw as a growing ennui.
The small signs were there and I was determined not to ignore them this time. I had learned the hard way about the heartbreak that ignoring little clues could lead to. I liked Andre a lot. He was really a very sweet man, gentle and demanding at the same time. I was very fond of him, and the sex was almost overwhelming. At least it used to be.
But more and more his attention seemed to wander when we were together. He didn't always bother to look at me when we talked, as if I wasn't interesting enough to hold his attention. When we first started dating he couldn't get enough of me, touching me, looking at me, listening to my voice for hours at a time on the telephone. But now his calls were becoming more infrequent, and sometimes his disinterest was almost palpable. I was sad that in such a short while he had moved from smitten to complacent.
Sometimes he was more interested in the TV than in being with me, paying more attention to Fear Factor or some football game than his new lover. It was enough to make me doubt my looks, my desirability, myself. Didn't I have what it took to hold a man's attention?
Let's get one thing straight. I had never had a lover as good as Andre.
But little things were missing, and their absence was beginning to cool my affection for him. His urgency to fuck me was waning. Just last week when I had practically thrown myself at him he'd refused to take me, claiming that he was too tired. I had hidden my disappointment. Maybe he really was tired.
The things that worried me the most were more fundamental than him not wanting me constantly. After all, one had to expect that our initial ardor would cool just a little. It's the way of things.
I was more concerned about the sameness that had insinuated itself into our lovemaking. My hunger to try new things and experiment a little bit was not being assuaged by my new lover. At first I was sure that he was going to find and fulfill my unnamed longings. Paddles? Public sex? Leather? I wasn't sure exactly what I wanted, I just knew it was something I wasn't getting. When Andre and I first started sleeping together I thought he wanted the same things. That someday we'd move on to search for new desires and new ways to satisfy them.
