I am always fascinated by women whenever I am near them, as an observer, a friend, or a lover and companion. I do wish I could change one aspect of their style. Just one. I do wish that women would constantly have, live by, and act upon, a large sexual appetite entirely open to new people and new experiences. The social sparring necessary to become a woman's lover is sometimes fun for me, but often is a process whose progress is measured in inches. How wonderful it would be to simply make eye contact with an attractive woman, smile, and approach her. And shortly thereafter, to take her to bed and enjoy our mutual pleasure together.
I sometimes fantasize about disseminating a specially formulated mist which has that desired effect. Then an attractive woman, having breathed just a little of the mist, would wake up the next morning with a raging and insistent desire for sexual pleasure. She first tries to seduce her sister, who visits in the morning.
She greets her sister Mae at the door, kisses her cheek, lingering there a little too long and with a barely perceptible lick with the tip of her tongue, and embraces her, letting her hand stray to touch Mae's breast, then stands back to drink in all of Mae's curves. Mae is 5'4", an athletic 123 pounds, firm, toned arms and legs. And freckles, an uncountable number of tiny decorations on her skin. Erin saw patterns in their randomness and was fascinated by them. She wanted to count them, kiss them and taste them. She hoped they covered all of Mae's body.
Mae typically wears red lipstick, chosen from the entire possible span of red, from deep explosive red, like a fresh coal in the fire, to a shade of teen virgin pink, signifying a maiden who has never had a man, and has to pleasure herself with her fingers, which she wears today. And it all works, with her smile, her eyes, her long hair, congenitally curly, framing her face in billows of light brown. Short, tight, shorts. Tight, but perfectly clinging to her ass and her thighs, like a second skin made of the vaporous denim. Erin touches Mae's thigh, and through her clothes, she is as warm to Erin's touch as if Mae were naked there. Body-painted, not dressed.
The sight of Mae makes Erin's breath catch. Blushing, momentarily confused, Erin gestures to the living room, where there is a long and wide couch, big enough for two.
Mae plays the role of an inexperienced virgin, blushing at Erin's touch, with her eyes cast down, and at the desire shining from her sister's eyes, and moves submissively toward the couch as directed.
Erin feels herself changing by the heat of her insistent desire. Her nipples swell and become firm. She walks more rhythmically, with more energy. Her breasts stroke her blouse, and she undoes the last two buttons and pushs the separated sides apart to give her breasts more freedom, and more for Mae to see.
Mae looks at Erin as she unbuttons her blouse and reveals more of herself. Mae's mouth is open in a little O of curiosity, excitement, and incipient desire for what Erin will require of her.
Still standing, Erin turns to Mae, puts her hands on Mae's arms, and slowly, insistently, pulls her closer. She encircles Mae with her arms, feeling Mae's body melt into her, and feels Mae's arms come around her completing their now mutual embrace. Their faces are so close they breathe and exchange the same sweet air. Erin begins to lose consciousness of herself as a singularity. Now she and Mae, like streams of hot wax from two candles poured together, bubble and mix until they have created a new potion.
Erin lightly brushes back the hair from Mae's face. She uses her fingers as a comb, drawing the strands back. This delight her mom used to give her when she was little, lying in bed next to her as she cooed and soothed her to sleep.
Erin looks into Mae's eyes, and sees a kiss of infinite tenderness and pleasure coming.
How long do you spend looking in your lover's eyes? How much can you see in them? Can you see joy? Can you sometimes see bitter anger? Do you see love? If it exists, it is there.
Erin holds herself back from that kiss. She can see the same struggle of will in Mae's eyes. She looks at Mae's mouth, but quickly looks back up at her eyes. The quickest way for Erin to destroy her temporary control over her desire for Mae's kiss was for Erin to see Mae's lips, and imagine breaking Mae's virgin's oral hymen just there, in her mouth, with Erin's tongue. She even wishes to draw a drop of Mae's blood at the deflowering of her mouth.
Mae opened her lips, and the pink tip of her tongue emerged, sliding over both lips, making them glisten with her saliva. A single drop of which fell onto Erin's breast.
Erin gave in so completely that, for an instant, her knees buckled. But she clung to Mae and did not fall. Her mouth opened as she stood again in Mae's embrace, and found Mae's. They kissed as couples who love one another kiss. As if all the cool sweet water in the world were there in your lover's mouth, and you both were dying of thirst. The stream of sweet water flowed from Mae's mouth into hers. Erin held it there, palping it with her tongue. It was impossible for Erin to describe the taste of Mae's mouth in mere words. It was not like candy, overpoweringly sweetened. Spices, yes. Something more. A trace of the essence of her. Erin swallowed the sweet liquor. Their tongues played together. Their hands touched and caressed and explored.
Kiss. That word, which matters, encompasses an infinity of pleasures. Soft or firm. Lingering, or following the shapes of your lover's curves, Or following the changes in the colors of her body, light, pink, red and brown. Or the textures of her skin, as silken as the flesh of her cunt, as firm and decorated with very small brown cobblestones as her brown nipples.
Open, sharing each other's wine.
I love how women can express their urgent desires slowly and lovingly. This style does have its opposite in terms of its pace, lovingly quick. D. H. Lawrence explains in Lady Chatterlee's Lover:
"She was nearly at the wide riding when he came up and flung his naked arm round her soft, naked-wet middle. She gave a shriek and straightened herself and the heap of her soft, chill flesh came up against his body. He pressed it all up against him, madly, the heap of soft, chilled female flesh that became quickly warm as flame, in contact. The rain streamed on them till they smoked. He gathered her lovely, heavy posteriors one in each hand and pressed them in towards him in a frenzy, quivering motionless in the rain. Then suddenly he tipped her up and fell with her on the path, in the roaring silence of the rain, and short and sharp he took her, short and sharp and finished, like an animal."
This does have its place in a sophisticated pantheon of pleasures.
Many women know how to love, in all its senses. It takes men a while to learn. For some of us, a long while.
Women evolved to preserve their loved ones. To give to them. If you have ever had a woman, you know this. I was married to three women. The third I am still so in love with that I don't sometimes remember who I am.
I understand completely how a woman can desire another woman. Almost all women are gardens of sexual pleasure, erotic playgrounds. Men, not so much. Women invite leisurely exploration. Men, not so much. I believe a woman's sexuality is vast, perhaps even unlimited, even if she doesn't recognize it herself. It just needs to be awakened. Whereas a man's sexuality is often concentrated and, in the moment of abandon, discharged, and has to be recharged.
I have explored my mental reaction to the idea of sucking a man's cock. I'd like to experience it at least once. Being sucked is familiar territory for me, owning a cock I'm very fond of. Groucho: My brain is my second favorite organ.
I think I'd be good at sucking an attractive cock.
I love the way a cock responds to the first signals of pleasure. Often these signals are only mental, a creative sexual fantasy, nothing physical. The cock swells and straightens, asking for more. I bend close to the swollen cock in front of me in my imagination, closer, until I can lick the head. There is a drop of pre-cum there. I absorb it with the tip of my tongue. Waste not. Want not. I put my hand around this beautiful cock, feeling the girth of it, rubbing the head with my thumb, circling the head.
I open my mouth, not straining or uncomfortable, just relaxed and wanting to suck this beautiful cock. I am determined to swallow it all, down to the curly hairs at its base, and hold it there in my throat. I lick the head, repeatedly spreading my saliva over it. I explore the very tip, the tiny slit through which a powerful stream of cum will enter my mouth. I take the tip into my mouth, and begin to lick all the surface, using all my tongue.
