Crimson Crossing – Stories in Erotica


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While She Sleeps

Twilight is an invigorating period of the day for me. For the past two decades it has proven antidote to the anticipation of her sight. She’s long in repose upon my late arrival. Yet never once I’ve missed the tokens of her affection left about disclosing she’s missed a kissed goodnight. I haste through musts and what-nots as not to squander precious new memories. See, for the past two decades I’ve engaged in nightly explorations of her sleeping body, admiring the very same lines, curves and shapes as if the very first time… enjoying the obstacles and chances presented by moonlight creeping through the window. She’s become an alluring stranger I must revere while asleep. I cannot and will not stop looking at her. I have, too, in as many nights as I’ve spent staring at her, wondered if she would scare off knowing I struggle to move my away from her? Would she sneak away during daylight were she to learn about my nightly debauchery?

A smile, there is no time to distract… my sight follows her flanks down to the pelvis where her obliques turn inwards into the lines that meet her privacy. She sleeps in the nude: a pledge she made long ago to always be there for me if so I wished to feel her embrace.

Some nights she mumbles requests to shut the curtains to prevent direct moonlight from interrupting her sleep, which I refuse with fear that the darkness will steal memories meant for me. She too, talks in her sleep. Something to cherish because of the reaction of her skin contracting around the trajectory of my finger from her navel to her inner thighs. A strategy that soundly hushes her back to sleep.

Where I a lewd man, more than just crafting memories through the darkness she’d feel. Perhaps a night or two, admittedly so, she’s felt the wicked of my actions when I’ve dared to do more than just memorize the details of her physique.

She wasn’t made like the rest of everyone else. No, sir no. Dare it be said that she must have been crafted by my very self. She is to me what colour is to flowers, to roses, azaleas, gardenias, lilies: all giving sight a reason to see.

Some nights, a double of Gorge T Staggs accompanies me for an hour or so until I savor every last drop of of whiskey while standing at the frame of the door enjoying her silhouette. Most nights, the nights that have come to consume all reason, she sleeps on her side, back facing the door, right leg bent over and across her left leg. Curves from her shoulders down to her waist rise again towards her hip… ah, but I’m no musician that obstructs emotions with aggressive overindulgence. She, she’s to be consumed with the dexterity of time and patience. Someone who can understand the contours of her body strumming together endless riffs and melodies of lust.

She lures me into journeys that shape into lines, mounds, and valley of the sun with each pulse within her chest. I’m as eager to awaken her as I am to watch her peacefully asleep. So I watch her; I watch her sleep night and again, more times than not until the sun comes up. I don’t miss a breath, yet during weakened moments I purposely awaken her purely to watch new shapes emerge from her body.

“Please wake up… share a drink,” I request.

It’s past midnight. Go to sleep. Please honey, I have an early morning,” is her response.

Quickly falling back asleep.

Is it selfish to wake her? To wake her just to watch the slow ascent of my friend Staggs towards her lips? To watch the three finger tumbler surrender upon her touch? Her head tilt and the liquid poor gently into her mouth?

At night sounds grow louder than any other time. I hear her lips grasp the glass, the rush of liquid spill into her mouth, move about her tongue, to quickly descent into her stomach after which she’ll press gently against my chest, steals a kiss, turns and returns between the sheets.

So I watch while she sleeps. Every night I watch her sleep, listening to air escaping her lungs as well as hustling in… wondering if I’m in her dreams.


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For These Times

I’m inherently aggressive. I excuse it as living for these times.

There is no better indication of my exuberant masculinity than my dark ages appearance: pepper beard, un-manicured chest hair, a rough foreign accent and protruding veins running down from my shoulders to my hands. Even from the distance it’s apparent that a no frills attitude, one that takes without remorse whether impacting someone or not, resides inside. I spit on faculties or any variation thereof.

Where should there have been a reason to think otherwise… it would be more of the same indulgences when she agreed to bring me back to her flat.

During the drive I told her all about my plans; that she had no choice like it or not.

She remained silent as if doubtful yet, made no indication to want anything else. Upon sliding the front-door key into the hole and, opening the door to a minimum; I pressed firmly against her. With my right hand pulling her pelvic bone tightly against my crotch.

“Feel that?”

There wasn’t a response; so I slid my hand down her jeans, reaching over with my left and tugging broken the binding button preventing my freedom to touch her.

“Off. take’em off!”

Anticipating that she’d delay as if her opinion was warranted, I drove her towards the opposite side of her flat where tapered glass floor-to-ceiling-height windows, covered the entirety of the wall. The tapered glass shook from our collision against it.

A faint sigh erupted from her slightly opened mouth.

“Take them off,” I commanded.

Standing with her jeans down to her ankles, facing out, fully exposed to the outside world; I took grasp of her mid-back in length hair, and quickly maneuvered her to a mouthful of me.

But, those weren’t my intentions. I wanted to give her what I imagined such a proper lady had never had. So, I shoved her face first against the cool glass once again.

Another sigh.

Face against the glass, pulling her pelvis away just enough to arch her back and raise her perky behind; I freed one of her legs from the jeans, then ran one of my digits through her, abruptly splitting just where I wanted.

The proximity to her persona revealed that she was enjoying it. Her scent reached deep inside me, inducing a relentless throbbing.

“Hands behind your back. Grab your elbows. Keep your face against the wall, and take a small step back. Spread just so.”

So there she stood.

Face against the cool tapered glass.

Pelvis away from the glass.

Legs slightly spread bringing into sight the entirety of her glutes, alluringly sculpting out from her lower back, down, finally meeting at her thighs; overtly exposing the saturation that notified me she’d done this before.

I drove a deliberate spank to her left buttocks, enticing further moisture to seep foretelling her desires.

This is the point in my life where I realized I had lost the dark of the ages, the medieval behavior that had stopped excusing how I lived in these times.

I ran my nose from her inner thigh, tracking upwards to her buttocks farther searching her lower back; again returning towards the separation between her thighs. At times with my eyes fully closed, concentrating solely on the smell; others with open mouth as if an explorer in virgin lands.

After a deep breath my tongue slide out to touch her. The shiver caused by her warm moisture touching my tongue nearly froze my actions. I thought of nothing, saw nothing, felt and smelled her.

Her hair stood stoically as she quietly moaned as if knowing she had won.

A gentle bite, a tender spank, half giggling, half moaning, she better adjusted her person to my touch. I concentrated on the sensation of her moisture transferring to my tongue, the resistance of her figure reacting to the pressure against it, her quiet lust announcing the experience.

Sitting here today writing about it reminds me of her scent once against my mouth, against my nose, on my hands.

Perhaps I gain some solace. A consolation in believing that by jotting it down, that part of her vividly residing in my mind, will remain behind pressed firmly between the white of the paper and the black of my pen.


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Say it once, say it twice

I’ll say it once, I’ll say it twice; I’ll continuously repeat it until undeniably understood… that I possess the extraordinary capability to detect the most of minuscule remnants of untamed desire. Much like a truffle hog able to detect the subterranean fungus three feet down impenetrable soil, I too parallel such olfactory vitality.

Neither sight or taste, even touch is required to know who has been fulfilled and to what degree. Inhaling subtly gives direction, purpose and arousal. Downwind is often suffocating. Not because of an inability to withstand the intensity of multi-directional and rapidly approaching saturations of scents, but because I know that I cannot indulge them all.

I don’t indulge anyone for their sake, nor for some sort of charitable cause that grants the needy, rather to feel my mouth overtaken by euphoria as aroma turns to moisture. To awaken in the morning with my lips, nose, and chin covered with dried saturation.

It is the smell, however, that draws me in. The scent that reaches me from the distance, foretelling the size, shape, suppleness, even wishes to be treated or mistreated. All is revealed by understanding the makeup of each molecule. They speak, they really do. Some say it slowly, others scream it out, many unable to restrain their frustrations launch into a furious soliloquy of submission to my whims.

Not knowing whether smiling, or daydreaming is more appropriate I simply respond by drawing as close to the subject as noticeable. I want to make it clear that any and all emanating aroma revealed through the weak blockade provided by cloth calls to me. “Feel me seep, feel me throb”. This one here, standing in front of me. I wish everyone possessed my abilities, that I could bottle it to uncap it for seconds at a time numbing all reason, arousing enough to grasp in public and rub.

It smells of not just one, but multiple scents as if this here got beaten for a long while yet desires a climax not received. Oh, I can smell the fight withstood, how invigorated it became by losing control and being made do things orthodoxy dislikes. Oopha, the aromas are neatly interwoven. It’s illuminating to experience such smell. Were it not because I’m standing here in public I’d blow a fuse to share with the rest of the smells.

Oh, I feel no shame to walk about in public where the bloom of spring gardens are opaqued by dripping molecules of unfulfilled. I bathe in them each day, purposely walking in and out, weaving through the strongest scents… and there you have it.

Be me for one day and see the joy I receive from all corners and all nationalities. I breathe to that.


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View Halloo at the Richmond

Few beauties opaque the splendor of dense flora during the peak of the spring, including the rambunctious endless imagination of a captive mind all winter long… as those of us in snow friendly geographies can assure. I recall walking into Richmond Park that early May day freshly escaped from a historically generous snow season in my hometown. The sensory overload from lakes and ponds lined with evergreen azaleas in a collage of purple, red, burgundy, even some hybrid colours that shouldn’t have been there, aroused my mind from a winter long recession. Bee on azalea flowerI looked everywhere, nowhere and saw nothing and everything. It didn’t seem fair that the world yielded such neglect during frigid weather. Why wasn’t it like this always? All day, everyday, from midnight to noon… this is how I wanted it to be. I wanted the see sights of red deer laying about, foxes peeking through the shrubs long having forgotten the “View Halloos” of Henry the VIIIs hunting parties; I wanted to experience women revealing that spring beauty wasn’t limited to the biosphere but too, to the recherché of dresses beating about firm bodies as if bees encircling azaleas.

So was the setting under which we met at Richmond Park moments shy of 9 AM. The plan was to elude the onset of the type of sun-rays that vanish the smell of dawn for another 24 hours, taking with it the early morning dew that soaks nature after a good night of sleep. The preconditions were simple. I, as the gentleman in a “Royal” park, would lead. Her, unable to resist submissive desires, wouldn’t say a word, wouldn’t reject my whims and simply be part of a “stroll through the park”. I was still somewhat incoherent, baffled by the irony of regional climate until I saw her.

Shortly after noticing this paragon of a person heading in my direction, the picturesque setting affecting all my sensory “paraphernalia” disappeared in favor of her. I felt as if inside a bubble where I didn’t look because of vision, didn’t listen because of hearing, didn’t smell because of olfactory, didn’t taste because of gustation, didn’t feel because of touch, nor perceived the eminent because of premonition but because there at that moment all my intentions augmented the world I was about to experience: I was being, zen if you will.

She walked slowly, left hand holding onto an exaggerated wide brim hat being pulled from time to time by a flirtatious breeze, long strap sandals on her right hand – I’m sure to feel nature’s night residue against her feet, and cotton floral summer dress exposing her shoulders while clinging onto her shapely chest. She smiled all along. Enjoying the movement towards a destination. I stood there in resemblance of the foreigner I was. Alien to both the nature and scattered crowd around. I belonged to a modern Victorian period –unknowingly paying homage to the past of the Richmond Park; a tall top hat, three rings shaped as such out of eating utensils on the my hands, a fitted faint-burgundy long sleeve shirt, a Steampunk corset, slim jeans and a pair calf-height boots strapped to one another by the laces hanging over my shoulder, revealing a set of super hero socks of various colours. Never mind my tri-colour beard alluding to infancy having been left behind decades ago. All I needed was a pipe, a piece of paper and a plume to create the next forgettable essay.

She waved from a distance acknowledging me. I smiled, tipping my hat in response.

I slide my right hand between my chest and laces of my boots, dropping them on the floor. She replied by dropping her sandals on the continued journey. Towards one another we pressed until I the distance was close enough for the back of my left hand reached her cheek… destined to the back of her upper neck where the head meets it. The momentum of our motion completed our union. A dainty collision met our bodies, thereby too, locking our lips. I pressed forward with my hand behind her neck fully notifying her that the wait was over. Her hands flat against my chest grasped alertly to my vest. The depth of exhalations filled the air… we were to move forward with my unquestioned despotism over her physique.

Button by button her dress gave to gravity. It nearly exploded upon impact with the floor, or so I felt by the near thunderous response of my beating heart as I realized little else but her skin tone resisted my desires. Kissing never ceased once, even when my jeans found their way around my ankles, freeing the invigorated body about to be appeased. Her hands easily slid down, grasping me, squeezing me, gently stroking me… “the girth made just for her,” I said within my mind. I laid her down on her back, kneeling over her hamstrings, staring down at her physique. Studying the shape of her eyes, the curvature of her lips, the perk of her chest, the soft of her stomach leading down to her supple self.

“Can the fresh of nature be said to be this nurturing,” I whispered softly.

Slow descent of my finger from her mouth -much after she gently aroused it with her mouth, touching the very same areas just enjoyed by my sight.

I spoke as she knew I would.

“Your lips will foresight to the cum spilling from your mouth, resting on your chin just before coming to rest on your breast.”

Nothing but an innocent glance back into my eyes was her response. With it announcing her favorable agreement to my disposition (I still see that stare at night when I close my eyes. I hear her revealing “I’m all yours”). I grabbed her hands to place them on my cock; with both hands on me she jerked, staring at me, repeatably pulling forward and releasing me to her the sound of my abdomen being smacked with myself.

I turned her around, spread her legs, she gasped. “Mhm, Mhm,” how sweet the sound of want emerging from her.

Laying over her body, I separated her buttocks to place myself between the cheeks, lowering my torso to meet her shoulders for my lips to touch. I swayed my hips accommodating myself in multiple positions searching to touch of her skin pressed against all of my cock, wrapping it, warming it like a woolen blanket in cold cabin. I maneuvered my way southward to where my mouth finally replaced the position my aroused self had been just moments ago. I squeezed her butt now and again, too spanking it loud enough to gain the attention of bystanders. Placing my legs in between her legs, I forced her legs opened wide enough to where the mist of the night was visible right on her pussy. I spanked, and again…. quick, anxious shallow breadths, she audible over and over. Her ass shaking in what I consider the resistance of her morality to what she was allowing to happen.

Lust seeped from her, the saturation of my hand was proof of it. She glistened like sin cared by angels. The colours, shapes, contour of all her glory begged to be attacked. I took a deep breadth, spanked her pussy on last time, then ran my cock from her clitoris upwards, splitting her beauty right through the middle, collecting on my head the allure of her aroma.

“Fuck! I am going to punish you for spreading out in the open with the public as alibi of your indiscretion. Sway your ass for me to watch the unrest of your pussy,” I commanded her.

I fully slid into her with a quick thrust to where my pelvis met her rear. I was all in to the harmony of my balls smashing against her. Thrusting, withdrawing repeatedly then… slowly out. I was soaked, wet, her whitish residue smeared throughout the full of my body. I walked around her face, adjusted myself, smacked myself against her face, “Open and suck, Clean your lust from my dick!” A tender slap to her face. “There, there, all the way in!” By the time I had return to a view of myself being swallowed by her pussy two officers stood above us. She look straight into the ground not moving the least of visible details as if an infant playing peek-a-boo under the impression that not seeing the person makes one too, disappear.

“Mate, it is illegal to fornicate in public. I fear this will cost you.”

I sat up on her hamstrings again. “Look down,” *SPANK* on her pussy. “Sway your ass for the officers, honey,” I requested. “See that? Now watch it swallow my Richard! Watch closely as that vibrant body spreads to the sides for me taste her glory.” I grasped myself with the left hand, spread her with my right and slowly slide inside of her. *SPANK*, *SPANK*, *SPANK*… “Officer, come down a bit and watch my hands mark against her ass, watch how I effortlessly slide in and out. Can you imagine how tight she feels? She’s supple, tender, a full accompaniment for a throbbing member.” The tall officer tried to touch, I smacked his hand. “You may watch but not touch!”

Sitting on her legs I moved my ass to and fro, causing myself to withdraw almost completely from her, just to insert me right back in. Her hands grasped onto the grass as if preventing herself from falling from great heights. She was panting, slowly and steadily… finally unable to remain looking down, she looked to the side, exposing her sculpted lips. The second officer noticed. “Oh, my. Let’s not arrest her,” said the guardian of justice. “I tell you what,” I said. I’ll have you witness her submissive desires. But, you’ll have to pull your cocks and cum for her.”

It took very little reasoning to be escorted into a more secluded area. There I squatted her, she dripped out… I stood in front of her, telling her to open wide. “Be a good girl, let the authorities standing here see the beauty of cum dripping from those lips.” She opened and I pierced her mouth, holding onto the back of her head to prevent her from freely reacting. I shoved in, she gagged; I shoved in, she coughed; I shoved in; her eyes teared; I shoved in; she struggled to breathe. The officers stood close to her face as if hoping to get into the action.

“Do you like what you see? Get closer, close enough for her to feel you near her face, near her mouth, to almost unload on her and if need be, your cum inadvertently smear about her face, her lips, her persona. The harder they beat themselves, the longer I held her with my cock fully immersed in her mouth… “See her lips tightly wound around me, see how wet she makes me!”

Woman walking awayAs we came is how we left… I stood back watching her disappear into the distance. Officers long gone… the Richmond Park again increasing in beauty the farther away she got from my senses.

When I breathe deeply, it is the aroma of her pussy during that May morning that I smell. When I day dream is to the vision of her ass staring back at me moist, tender, raw… ready to be consumed that makes me smile.


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Pool Side

I daydream for a substantial period of time everyday. And, everyday does include nights. See, it’s become increasingly difficult to sleep as I’ve aged. Being that I’m not very good at just about anything, daydreaming has become a hobby of mine. A world to which I can escape the insignificances of life: work, incapable friends, broken vehicle on the side of the street, sleepless nights.

That day I might as well have been dreaming because that sort of behavior doesn’t happen very much, at least to me it doesn’t, I might even guess it is the sort of event that isn’t well received by the puritan police. We all know them, the notable republican congressman condemning illegal immigrants while hiring one for over a decade; the married pseudo-christian bound to a bed while being flogged by his mistress just to repent during Sunday mass. The sort of folk who hide their human behavior while attacking another’s.

Any who, I was sitting pool side, feet dunk inside the water to stay cool in the heat of the summer, accompanied by a good amount of strangers, of course. Enough of them to maintain the many ‘proper’ facades we are expected to wear at different social gatherings, you know, the self-policing type of deal! So, I sat there with my usual daydreaming face: staring into space. I mustn’t been deeply in dreams because this particular young gal caught my eye. She was a young woman whom I had dated for a very brief period of time. It was very short amount of time. I had just gotten out of a long term relationship and thought the best way out of the downer was to hookup with a hot little thing. It proved too much, too soon for me as I skipped consummation day and never contacted her again.

Seeing her in cotton-wet-tight bikini sent waves of regret that caused quite the stir in the pool. I did my best to keep calm, to ignore that she was probably as physically gifted as a female or male can be. — Proportionate, symmetrical I believe are the fitting adjectives the fitness aficionados like to use — For every well placed drop dripping down her chest onto her navel was a perfectly tanned and crafted body part. I was an idiot but, so goes life.

She had noticed me long before I her… I came to learn after she approached me and were consequently physically removed from the premises. She advanced towards me from inside the pool, walking and swimming the length of its Olympic size. We had already began conversing by the time she pulled my legs apart, situating herself between my legs; her underarms resting on each of my quads. The memories of our conversation, well, her monologue, are vague. I paid more attention at her barely covered top, and did I the same to the shape of her mouth enunciating whatever it was that she was speaking.

One unheard, perhaps even purposely ignore, word after another had her hand through the left leg of my brief-style swim trunks. No, her hand wasn’t the reason for my invigoration rather, the shape of her nipples piercing through the sheer-cotton bikini top. I like to believe she reacted to me and went ahead to prove that my regrets would be a thing of the past.

The strokes were slow and steady at first, running her fingers up and down as her wrist moved likewise. It made it feel as if a continuous stroke, giving me absolutely no time to catch the daydreams quickly slipping away into reality. I was fixated on her hands, the feeling of soft skin up and down the shaft all the way to the head, back down to the sack, which she’d grasp with her thumb. A few times she squeezed the shaft so hard that it made me want to grab her by the hair and force her mouth on me from the desire to cum inside it.

Whatever little time we spent reacquainting with one another was just the exact amount of time required to rush through courting and romancing right into fornication. She pulled down my briefs by the front, securing them neatly under my scrota. She jerked me as if a chef preventing his dish from being ruined by high flames: hard, fast and relentlessly. It was enchanting to hear her speaking out loud about tasting her ass, the spread of her pussy wet and waiting for it to be tossed. I salivated from the thought of her moist self against my lips rubbing lust throughout my mouth. Had I been myself at that point I would have taken the time to imagine how shapely and colorful she must be. The world would have heard the revelry created by male against female under euphoric confluence, that’s the sort of dream I would have had.

Her breast came lose by the directed grinds of her chest against my legs. Just when I thought I was about to come down into the pool and feel more than her hand, her mouth engulfed me whole in one deliberate shove of her face into my crotch. I exploded like balloon over high flames, she came up with cum dripping down her chin and a cum bubble still expanding on her opened mouth. She was going to dive in for seconds when jealous bystanders rushed to pull us apart. She was pulled out of the pool with an obvious display of debauchery: cum against her breast and mouth, smiling at me as if she’d won some sort of price.

As for me, I was also covered in synergy of semen and saliva. I was still erect, still throbbing, totally unconcerned that I was being wrestled and shoved out of the grounds. My mind was fixated on my remains against her body… she, licking them from her lips and my cock still seeking further gratification.


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A Street’s Distance Away

She’d run the fingers of her right hand slowly down the window staring in his direction. She wanted to reach across the distance between their buildings to nurture him. She had never seen him looked so lonely, so overwhelmingly torn by the departure of a woman. For the past few years she had watched him from the safe distance of her bedroom window as he built a life with another woman. She had become emotionally attached to who she thought him to be, he who she had built in her dreams to be. He seemed not the typical guy. Especially so, in bed, where she watched them copulate time and again.

Those rainy days that he and his mate spent in bed switching from making love to ravages of the flesh, she stared at them in deep sighs of the soul. Tapping her bedroom window with her index finger saying to herself, “you are mine, and don’t even know it. But, why it hurts such that I’ve been here for so long and you haven’t even noticed my presence.”

Even the days when his floor-to-ceiling windows were opened wide and his mate accentuated pleasures of the self out to the world, he didn’t notice her watching them, watching him… even when staring dead straight in her direction. Sometimes she swore to have had a connection with him; to have caught a glimpse of interlocking eyesight. It wasn’t to be. He had little idea there was a world out there other than that with his mate.

These past few months however, he’s mopped around covered in obvious pain. He’s hurt more than at any other time since she began her distant intrusion of his life. Even the words she sent in his direction while leaning her forehead against the window didn’t reach him. Not one made it across the four lane street distance between her and his room. The wind blowing eastward deprived her consoling words from making it across the street. Her intentions washed away to nothing… diluted by the strength of the wind and opaqued by the noise of the city.

He sat awake each night until the early hours of the morning — just before the sun peaked out at the world — when it became time to walk his Rhodesian Ridgeback puppy. He would stand up, open the window, look east, west, but never north, he never looked north in her direction. He simply looked to the left, to the right and straight down as if hoping to see the figure of that woman entering his life again. From the distance, she resented that woman’s departure. She didn’t think it fair that he had to sit and agonize while his ex likely gallivanted the nights away.

One night, he had a terrifyingly difficult time finding peace. The usual spot that had provided him continuous soothing at the edge of his bed failed time and again to help him forget. He walked about the apartment fully clothed as if begging for the acceleration of time until time came to go for a walk. Unable to await the arrival of the sun, he grabbed the leash, the puppy and headed towards the front door. Upon opening the door, a note rested inside an envelope with a lili resting atop it.

His hopes flickered with excitement. For the time it took to smell the flower and open the note, his heart attacked him as if loved had struck his fancy. It wasn’t to be the case, the note read “If anything, I can make you forget. Look out your bedroom window. Not east, not west, not down, but straight ahead.” He was unmoved by the note. He closed the door behind him and walked towards the elevator. He pressed the down button but instead of releasing it, he kept it pressed looking down at the note and flower on his left hand. The elevator reached his floor, opened but, he didn’t go inside. He walked back to his apartment with a quicker glide than he used to get to the elevator. He opened his apartment door, unleashed little Ridge and walked straight to the his bedroom window.

Directly across from his window, on the very same floor in the facing building stood she. She wore a white silk robe down to mid thighs, opened straight down the middle fully exposing her. The burgundy belt hanging from her right shoulder. The slight drizzles did nothing to prevent the silence between them to hush. She looked at him with a warm smile. He at her as if he’d forgotten that not long ago he suffered mercifully. He slowly opened his window and stepped out to the ledge. She didn’t have the same luxury of meeting him at the ledge of her very own window. She could only watch him from behind her locked glass.

He looked at her for near eternity, so it seemed at least; fixated on the embrace of her smile. Even the beauty of her bare chest, stomach and femininity remained ignored. He simply looked at her smile, looked at her eyes, admire her hair curling down to the sides. She was audacious by removing the robe, letting it fall down to the floor informing him that she was his.

He looked up to the sky that had strengthened to a pour. Water running down his face, embracing the he meant to be embraced by her across the street. He removed all of his articles of clothing one by one, tossing them down to whatever whim the wind wished to cause upon them. She laughed, she got close to the window placing both her hands against the glass and driving them down as if touching his chest.

He too, laughed. He screamed out in her direction, elated in the finding, naked on a ledge. Then he stopped, smiled and simply stared at her. Rain covered him drop by drop, soaking his body with the very warmth he had forgotten existed.

She smiled, and with her finger drew a heart out of the condensation building against the window. He hadn’t a reaction. He simply watched… feeling the end of agony come to be.


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Wet Nurse

It was his idea. He came up to me, stared me down as if a beggar looking at royal buffet through a protective glass and said: “Honey, the debate of wet-nursing becoming increasingly open both here and overseas gave me an idea. I do hope that you are open to my suggestion. I know that in the past you’ve declined the idea but, we can not continue as we have until now. For your sake, for my peace of mind, I plead that you accept.”

He had spoken to everyone; to family members, to friends, to strangers. He nurtured the approach for months before presenting it to me hoping to deliver a convincing speech. I would have thought that the failure for support would have changed his mind but, a stubborn man he stands tall. He still thought the idea was life changing and assure we needed to undertake it.

I asked about his parents response… what his Reverend brother had to say. He chuckled, then broke into a nervous laughter. His family was short of dishonoring him, shunning him if he dare carry it out such evil. Unholy they said. The devil speaking through him, boiling in his veins trying to get out to affect innocent souls. Serves him right. The innocent fool he’s always been. His mother slapped him square in the face. Ha! Worse than he got when he and I met.

I was a call girl. He the happy recipient of a date his classmates had hired. I stopped my profession shortly after meeting him. Found an everyday job and set my life in a more appealing track to his evangelical upbringing. The basic flaw, his know-it-all older sister knew me intimately well. Let’s just say that I am not well liked by his family. Yet, he and I are bound to one another by this thing called love. His family can’t come between us. Even if we all stand on different sides of the fence of this issue of wet nursing.

See, libido flows out of me by the mere sight of a hot body. I have physical experience to lose and still have left over to give out to humanity. I’ve tried to entice him just about everyday since the prom night. Not a kiss that night, not even a little stroking for the virgin boy. And so on has been our lives for quite a while. He catches me late at night pleasing myself; watching the tingling type of movies that would make any other man smack into my cheese like a glass of wine looking for coupling. I sit in the bed soaked in desire, many times short of begging to be pleased. Most for nothing! He lets me down smoothly by stroking my hair, kissing me softly, telling me that soon enough upon our marriage it will happen.

So, my initial reaction when this “wet-nurse” idea first surfaced was to hush it despite the fact that it excited me. On the surface I played it cool, “hush, honey,” I said. “Non-sense!” It was brought up a few more times over the past year. All in passing, of course. I, for his very sake, never accepting it. I just didn’t want to introduce us, him, to a place where he might not have been comfortable.

But, that night something changed. He looked like he wanted me to take part in it just as much as I wanted to do it. He, well, seemed excited by the idea of someone else being balls deep in my mouth. “No more than sucking will you do!” he exclaimed. That was all the soothing he was going to allow. And His approval was required to select a wet nurse. And just one person. No more than one. Just that one until we are joined in matrimony. Then he’d take over the job. I was told I could perform oral however I desired. And, that he was to watch to maintain proper order.

For a few weeks we planned the event. We crafted quite the delightful plan. We agreed on a type of fellow, a place, a time, we thought of it all. We even engaged in innocent fun where I got to stroke him, he got to trace my lips, one time even getting to taste the sweet in me. The planning was exciting. I got to see him engorged, his veins wound around his girth begging for me.

The idea of something other than digits in my mouth was a pleasure. I welcomed being in the position. I didn’t sleep for weeks in anticipation. I wasn’t worried about myself, but was about him. How would he take seeing me at work? How would he react to another man thrusting his hips into my face? Oh, I didn’t care. I wanted the satisfaction I once had and for so long now have missed.

The first day we went out to choose someone one nothing went right. We bickered and argued all day long. He ended up sleeping at his mother’s. I went out with the girls, and drank myself to sleep. The next time it was smooth. We never spoke as to why we argued but, I think he was jealous that his “possession” was going to be possessed. I simply wanted some and I think he knew it.

We picked up a few guys at different places. I flirted with them, and made dates to meet them. A total of four guys we picked that looked healthy enough to give a dose of wet until my marriage. We had a six month screening period where I would meet the fellows, break the news and hope they’d approve. Two never went beyond the first date. They were simply blokes good for nothing but a fine lay. Not what he wanted so, I kindly skipped over them.

After the six months, two candidates were left. They had both met my fiancé and became rather friendly. Even meeting up to watch ball games on Sunday nights. Never did I catch them speak to one another about the arraignment. They were simply guys being guys. The first candidate, I liked him most. He seemed like a closet freak, while the other, he seemed less experienced and was the nicest of both. He took me out on purely friendly dates, while the first insisted on a view of the package he was never going to have. I gave a peek more than once; innocent fun it was all to me. I at least needed a look into the treasure chest with desire of taking it all.

The day we selected the winner it was so much fun. We all gathered at our house late at at time when all the neighbors were asleep. We sat on the couch talked and watch stimulating television. After raising the testosterone and estrogen in the room, it happened. My fiancé hailed, “WET NURSE” and we had them undress to inspect the packages. I was mightily disappointed by the one I liked the most. It would have been best to get a look at him early on not waste six months of thoughts of him in my mouth. The second fellow got both our votes despite him too, being less than I wanted to have. But beggars can’t be choosers, so I’m told… I went close to them, grabbed both in my hand, stroke them a little, asked, “what do you think, honey.” He nodded, I stroke some more then asked them to put their clothes back on and leave; that they would get a call in the morning.

We just couldn’t go through with it that night.

In the morning it was he who called the second fellow who’d we chosen to be our wet nurse. Told him that he would get a call each and every time I wanted some. All he had to do is come over, unzip, release in/on me and resume his day.

I still think of that period in our life. The time when I was nursed for the survival of our relationship. We wouldn’t have made it. I know we wouldn’t have. I am in too much of a need of adult play all of the time to have withstood two more years of solitude. We still see him in town, waving at one another from a distance. He turned out to be more than anticipated. At the end, he acted like my man wasn’t even watching. He’d grab my head and let me have it. Telling me how well I did, how well my mouth felt, how sweet a juice I received to drink… didn’t I agree…