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A Slick New Land

I wasn’t a model. There was no Nicole Richie, Stephanie Seymour, or Keira Knightley begging to emerge from my near forty inch hips with just a *little!* more working out. In fact, I was lower middle-class in the looks department, with the blue eyes and blonde hair that genetics commonly liked to deal its European subjects. I also graced the “endowment” of a backwards-for-Hollywood body. What this meant was, my tits were about five-sixths the size of my ass and a small C-cup (on a good day). Refusing to abuse my feet, I liked well-balanced knee high “Docs” with steel-toes or chunky heeled sandals.

“Man-hater” was one of my ex’s most favorite insults. He even had a song to go with it, a parody of the 80s hit “Man Eater,” which he threw back his shaggy football mullet and sang at regular intervals while ballerina twirling on his size nines. Before I had a boyfriend, “lesbian” was my more common slight. This was, perhaps deserved, as I was the desire of most of the bisexual and lesbian women in my social circle. It would have been easier if it was fitting, but I remained in lust with the sleek taper of a furless man’s naked back and infinitely teased by the faintest prod of tiny hipbones over low belted jeans.

As I looked upon tiny, petite women with envy, I referred to my preferences as “downsizing the genetics.” Alternately, my next explanation was that I simply loved playing with a tart little ass and everything in between.

God, I loved a man on his knees with his nuts in my hand. My fantasies revolved around widening the soft cleft of that skinny toy’s sexy ass and slowly milking his eager button to the “oooooo, ohhhhh god”s of my little solar system. I loved the wink and flutter of that tiny pulsar as my long fingers fed it. I loved swollen balls bouncing with pent up sexual frustration. I loved cock rings and spankings and long steamy blowjobs that bordered on torture by orgasm-deprivation. Most of all, however, I loved a man’s nuts in my hand.

The hardest part was finding one comfortable with that proposition. I developed a theoretical test, through the ballerina’s failure of it. It involved a hard bite to the thin-skinned, tightly nerved throat. Of the popular reactions, I reasoned that silent endurance garnered a gentle throw into the “passive but friendly” category. A reaction that included an aggressive behavior, such as slapping or other tantrums earned a whip into the “hostile un-dateable morons” category. A firm discussion of biting boundaries allowed the man to remain a remote possibility, while a throat-tilting, cock-hardening reaction branded him mate worthy.

I wanted and needed my appropriate reaction, or so I thought.

~ * ~ ~ * ~ ~ * ~

I met Sean Strikkuj on the internet while I was still with the aforementioned ballerina. Ballerina whined about his cheating girlfriend (even before I cheated!), and purists encouraged the whirling, whining guilty-go-round. I felt worse for what it did to Sean, who was mostly a warm guy, a puppy with a lustier side that extended further than my personal imaginings. I squirmed, crossing and uncrossing my legs then rubbing them together when he mentioned his cock’s reaction to our teasing. Some nameless person kicked me in the lower stomach one day when he asked, “Do you ever wonder how long it is?” Of course, I had, but I wasn’t rude enough to ask. He was six inches and cut.

I was shocked when he shyly admitted to being a virgin and in heaven when he said he wanted to be with me. Every time I neared leaving, Mr. Macho whipped out the “poor-me-raised-in-a-foster-home” card or the “I-broke-my-leg; don’t-you-feel-bad-for-me?” card, and I stayed. He rarely said a word to me, except to comment on and condemn logs of Sean and me talking. Every statement, every flirtation was cause for some jealous rant. We had separate rooms, and I told him pointblank, “Please date.” He had “game nights”; I had my computer and Sean.

As the screaming escalated to physicality with Mr. Macho, I knew that Sean had to go too. I couldn’t let him stay, but telling him to go proved harder than making the ballerina move out. In the first grainy picture that I had of him, his hand turned and opened like an offering to me. It was so underexposed that it swallowed his dark hair. In the next, his high school graduation photo, he gazed at me with a squared, slightly goateed jaw but with grey-woven green eyes begging to laugh. He was so good, and I wanted him so bad.

After leaving Mr. Macho with the apartment, because he refused to LEAVE the apartment, I waited to say anything; truth be told, the process took several weeks, and Sean and I weren’t talking at the time. I had no idea how to broach the subject. I hung out with people, but it left me feeling empty and disconnected. Some people drew the conclusion that we were “dating” and began acting that way without notifying or even asking me out! This was too confusing and frustrating, and that made my reactions erratic and hostile.

I made pleas to mutual friends casino şirketleri to reveal how Sean was. Nobody seemed to know. It was as if he fell from the planet or was some dream that was so wonderful it turned horrible for its disillusion. Moving again and looking into re-starting college, I found him.

He was wary. I didn’t blame him. We visited this hopeful place tens of times before, and it became a hellish disappointment. I told him that I had a bad habit of expecting people not to change. I gave him his ‘out,’ but he seemed silently perplexed. In fact, he didn’t say anything for the longest time before murmuring something that made me cry like a child.

“I still love you dearly. I know that hasn’t changed at least,” he said.

The words pulled a six-ton weight from my chest. If I could have reached through the computer and hugged him, I would have hugged him so hard he might have stopped breathing. Instead, I sat torn between gratitude, love, wanting, relief, happiness, and giddy fear with the Nile River leaking from my eyes. We had no plan to meet. We were thousands of miles away, and I should have hooked up with someone locally (my parental warning voice blared).

~ * ~ ~ * ~ ~ * ~

It took three more years to happen, but finally, we met. Out of the throngs of people streaming through Newark Airport, I knew Sean as soon as he swung through security. He was walking sunshine to the glare of over-bleached snow colored walls, like a dash of the warm west coast stashed in a carryon bag. Unfortunately, I was a frozen girl-sickle in the “Not my President!” babydoll t-shirt that I promised I would wear. It didn’t matter. He saw me, a little smile creeping along his lips but not breaking them. He crossed the airport. I crossed the airport.

His gray Airwalk sneaker bumped one of my steel-toed Docs.

“Hi,” I stammered awkwardly while my brain screamed every random thought from ABANDON SHIP! to OHMYFUCKINGOD I NEED TO HUG YOU!

“Hi,” he answered, smile finally breaking.

“So did yo…,” I started tentatively.

“How are yo…,” he answered at the same time.

“Sorr…”

“It’s okay,” he said as a big skycap shouldered past him with bags.

“Go ahead,” I urged quickly.

Never a big talker, he went silent.

We were as awkward as teen-agers, and I couldn’t stand it anymore. My arms shot around him, and I crushed him against me. I have no idea how long I stood there holding onto him with my heart throbbing in my ears, but I couldn’t have let him go if the world was imploding. I hid my face against his shoulder as urges to laugh and cry battled. I inhaled his scent. If I could have burrowed under his skin, I might have done that. Instead, I settled on gently raking his back as we swayed.

“God, I’m so glad to see you,” I choked out against his neck. He smelled perfect, just the right balance of clean with the mostly-natural hint of disappearing cologne.

“Nice to see you too,” he answered, and I grinned, hearing the smile in his voice. He wanted to tease me about calling him God again, but his fingers were too busy rubbing the base of my neck.

“I uhm… never flew into Newark before,” I confessed apologetically, trying to hide the shiver snaking up my entire spinal column. My hands slid through his long dark hair, half-afraid that touching any other part of him would prompt me to maul him. My head felt heavy, and I was dizzy. “I have no idea where your bags are, Mr. God.”

“Don’t care,” he murmured lazily. “We’ll find em sometime.”

~ * ~ ~ * ~ ~ * ~

I tried so damn hard to be good and not rip his clothes off or confess how much I imagined him without them. I couldn’t stop LOOKING at him, as if to remind myself that yes, he was really there. The purple and white lace thong I selected that morning clung uncomfortably. It was soaking wet as we shoved open the room that he rented, his bags and my backpack in tow.

I told myself on the way to the Airport that I would remain respectful and get to know him face to face, but my very good intentions died the minute our lips touched in the parking lot. His clothing definitely looked VERY unnecessary as I nudged the door closed behind us.

He put his things down and came back to me for another kiss.

I stroked his jaw, tongue probing his bottom lip with gentle flickers.

“Mmmm baby,” I sighed appreciatively, and my arms wound around him, my lips ruffling his hair. He’d worn it bound, and I gently tugged the band away and put it on the pale mahogany message table beside us.

We curled our fingers together, and I rested my forehead against his.

“Do you want to…,” he started.

“Are you hungr…,” I said over him.

Another set of shaky chuckles followed.

Despite it being early afternoon and his traveling on various planes since predawn, he shook his head slowly.

“I almost forgot to remember this,” I finally managed, lifting my face and removing the translucent fire engine-red Bic that I stashed in casino firmaları my pocket before heading to the airport.

He shook his head at me again and smiled warmly, depositing the lighter beside his hair tie. I tightened my fingers around his.

“We could always get naked,” I offered, less coyly than I hoped, but it needed said, or I was going to lose my mind.

“Could,” he drawled, pressing against me.

I kissed his ear, the warm wet flicker of my tongue gently exploring the hollow behind it. A layer of goose bumps prickled his light skin.

“I want to see you naked,” I finally whispered and curled a hand against his lower back. “I keep thinking about you naked, and it’s making me crazy.” In a vague moment of mortification, I realized what I advocated. My hate-hate relationship with my body reared like an iron horse on speed. I went cold, terrified, but proud of my honesty.

Sean’s khaki-incased hips tilted into mine with a low moan, and his head dropped back.

Startled from my self-debasing musings by a well-timed truck horn on the highway, warmth rushed back into my body. I kissed and licked, my lips caressing his working throat muscles.

His hand curled against my hip and squeezed gently.

The entire throat biting idea abandoned, I tilted the back of his skull. I crushed my lips to his again, my fingers inching up under his long hair and massaging behind his ears. We groaned together. I never thought I could like kissing, but my mouth and tongue wouldn’t stop seeking his. My stomach fell away with each stroke of our lips like an immense roller coaster ride.

Speaking of stomachs, his rumbled, and I snapped my teeth near his nose playfully.

“Liar,” I teased.

Sean flashed a silly, drunken grin. “Maybe a lil hungry,” he answered.

I sat on the bed and pulled the menu directory card from the table. Unlike most hotels, our card featured the best non-chain creations available locally. I’d been threatening his skinny California ass with pizza grease and cheese steaks for years. I glanced at him. Maybe, it was time to collect.

“What do you want to eat?” I asked.

His smile unnerved me, like he knew some secret code to a game we played and refused to tell.

A few strides later, he put the card back on the table and nuzzled against me lovingly. Hot flushes ran up the back of my neck as his lips gently stroked. God, I wanted him so bad.

I shifted on the bed, moaning his name.

His hand flattened across my twitching stomach then lifted my breast.

“Mmmm,” I huffed, my nipples already peaking the lettering through my shirt. “Harder please.”

He turned his hand and coaxed each nub tighter with light strokes from his palm. My breath was one long moan.

I didn’t care about trying to behave. I raked his black t-shirt off and threw it on the floor. With a ‘you started it’ look, I lowered my head, engulfing his nipple in my hot mouth while I rolled the other between my fingers.

He arched his back hotly, and I wrapped my arm around him and curled my fingers under his bare shoulder blade. Through light grazes of my teeth and harder nibbles, he slid down on the pillows for me, occasionally releasing little whimpers. He wiggled then one thud followed another as his sneakers fell to the carpet.

His nipple escaped, and I gave a little pout. “I’ll get back to that later,” I promised. My tongue traced his jerking ribs, across the hollow of his shoulder, down the twitching clench of his bicep, and over his forearm.

I licked his fingers lovingly then bit at the pulse in his wrist, to which he gave a shaky little gasp. Kissing my bite, I lingered against the racing thrum of his heartbeat before slowly lifting my head.

“Your chest is so unbelievably hot,” I sighed finally, dizzy again and utterly unable to keep my mouth from saying whatever came to mind.

“Thank you, angel,” he murmured as one hand circled the back of my neck. He pet the top of my chest with his other, his light kisses feathering across my collarbones as I pressed against his side tightly.

“I want to try everything we talked about,” I whispered, tracing the wispy dark trail below his navel.

When I looked up, his heavy eyelids shaded glazed eyes. I knew from his pictures that they were beautiful mint silver and green when he wasn’t hot, but when he was hot, they sent shivers from my chest to my clit, which throbbed dully.

“But I want to hold you too,” I finished, swallowing hard. I was in deeper than I ever imagined.

“Do both?” he reasoned softly, wiggling while his hands pet my hair in long strokes.

I shrugged, gave his khakis a glare, and shoved them down. His green boxers escorted them, and I kissed his lips slowly again, climbing on his thighs.

“Allright?” I asked tenderly. My fingers laced his, my forehead resting against his again.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “I’m okay.”

I drew back and gazed into those wonderful eyes. “I love you very much,” I murmured, güvenilir casino tenderly kissing his temple. “We can stop any time.”

“I love you too,” he groaned, and a warm feeling tingled from my chest to the tips of my toes and scalp. “Please don’t stop.”

His eyes held mine only a moment longer before they slipped closed. I nodded and lifted his hand, gently kissing his palm. “Did you bring your toys,” I asked as I rocked my weight against his stiff exposed cock.

His breath caught. “S…omewhere,” he answered, wet kisses slipping hotly down my collarbones. His fingers scraped at my back and hips.

“Later,” I groaned.

His hands shoved my shirt up and off, before his lips attacked my purple half-cup bra. Tatters of white lace trimming an uneven line across the center displayed my nipples. His teeth flashed for little bites, and he gently tugged.

I held my breath as he pulled me lower, my tits pressed against his face. He nudged my scant cleavage together then worked the bra’s front clasp. I shuddered.

My boots tightened against his calves, rocking nervously. It took every ounce of effort that I had not to go mechanical and mindlessly carry out what would make him cum. If I could fight that down, it would be the first time I ever made love. I forced myself to focus on the rush of his breathing.

…inininin…ouuuut. …inininin…ouuuuut.

I gazed into Sean’s eyes, and he propped himself against the wall headboard, wrapping his arms around me.

“Do you want to keep your clothes on?” he murmured tenderly against my ear.

I shook my head, nuzzling against his neck. His cock still straining, I rubbed it against the soaked folds of my thong, bringing another moan. “I want you to take them off,” I whimpered.

Sean’s fingers trembled around the clasp of the skimpy see-through bra, and he made a little frustrated noise at it.

I lifted my arms high in the air, back arching slightly as he slid the lingerie over my head, still buckled and threw it on the floor. His nails traced my bare waist, playing with the band of my black skirt then nudging its snaps apart and yanking it down with my thong.

“Yeah clothes, fuck that,” I joked.

He smiled.

I lay across him, enjoying the warmth of his body. Now that I was naked, I wasn’t as scared of his reaction. It had already happened. His fingers stroked lovingly up and down my back, and I nuzzled against his neck, kissing him and biting only gently.

The room grew darker, and honks and shouts from rush hour infiltrated.

I was about to get up and definitely suggest we order some food. Hours from the car, I knew that Sean would want another cigarette, and I knew what cigarettes did to an empty stomach, AND I knew that Sean got sick when he didn’t listen to his body and eat. As I arched from his chest, his hand pressed gently against my lower back.

“Had something,” he said slowly, as if he’d read my mind, “yogurt and goldfish. I’m not THAT hungry.”

I started to settle back down on him, when his lips surrounded my nipple. He sucked it slow and deep, stroking it with his tongue, his hands fanning across my ass and kneading lovingly. A long string of moans crept up my throat, and I squirmed instinctively toward his cock. It was hard again, and I never dried for him.

His finger slid inside me from behind, and I bucked against it, hips arched against his stomach hard.

He flashed a mischievous grin at me and slid it most of the way out, tickling the very inside of my slit.

“God, when I find your toys, I’m going to fuck you raw,” I groaned. Of course, I’d never talked dirty to anyone except Sean, so I wasn’t sure if it sounded good, but he moaned and kissed my nipple several times.

“Couldn’t you fuck me raw right now?” he panted.

My hot liquor overflowed from his fingering and crept down my thigh. “If you’d let me,” I groaned.

Ever the tease, his thumb drifted against my clit.

I squirmed and pressed my boots to his calves, nails scraping his nipples.

“Give it to me,” I finally whimpered, my clit throbbing under his finger and my cunt literally aching.

We gasped in unison as he inched inside me. I bit my bottom lip and tried to hold Sean’s gaze, but my eyelids dragged with my long pleasure-filled groans.

“Ohmmm,” I gasped as the ridges of his pulsating cock teased my twitching walls, “that feels sooo-damn good.”

He arched, and his lips touched my ear, hotly panting inside, “Don’t stop, angel.”

I curled my nails against his shoulders, digging them in at various times while bouncing hard short thrusts that teased my clit against his pelvis. My moans grew contagious, and soon his little cries kept pace with mine. “I don’t… want you to cum,” I gasped, my boots digging his calf again to try to stop myself.

Sean gazed at me with one part frustration, two parts adoration. His breath escaped in rapid loud pants.

I kissed and sucked on his nipple, rocking against his cock again and soon working back up to my tightened rhythm. My hands lowered to his hips, and I held them down, even as he unconsciously struggled to push himself deeper. My body began to throb slowly, hot velvety contractions squeezing his hard heavy pole.

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