I told Jesse a thalidomide baby joke as an opener, and a few weeks into seeing him, asked him if he would make out with me, clothes on. Like most of my shit, it’s about me, and he knew to negotiate his own dress code. I got what I wanted, and had him in and out of my mouth, my hands most of the morning. Jesse kept at me, invading here and there, staying above my clothes. He clarified once or twice, and at the very end of my clothed morning, I saw him get flustered, “You’re not very good at this, keeping me dressed.” He ruefully said, “No.” and for the only time since I’ve known him, didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. Later he told me he was ready to be a make out partner if I needed one, and clutched his pearls and tsked his displeasure when I told him other men have turned down the offer.
I watch a little porn (just enough!) and I try to keep myself like one of those unexposed tribes in Borneo. I promise, I’ve been sexually active for years, and I can’t get over how rude and invasive some casual communication is. Why would I care about the size of a stranger’s dick? (Exception being that guy with a micro-penis from my 20’s. Steve, I wish you the best.) The ads I see, inquiring for female companionship, promising pleasure and attentiveness, then dictating to the quarter inch the state of my pubic hair. How are these things up to a vote?
If it’s a scenario, a juncture where I have to choose between assplay and quesadilla, I will choose quesadilla. Jesse knows this, and gently (ahem!) presses the issue. He picks his moments, when I’m clawing out of my skin, when I will lay down and die if someone doesn’t get his hand in my pants right away. I don’t care about anything, I’m close and I want someone to feel my pulse, and if a dick gets in the way, or is involved, whatever. There is an afternoon when I figure out to lick and purr against Jesse’s thighs, his pelvis, and I don’t worry about what he would want. He likes to fuck slow, to be sucked with deliberation, and he held me there as long as I could hold my breath.
In the very beginning, Jesse bit my ass like it was a poisoned apple and irresistible. That bruise healed, and I got my mind around how we like to talk to each other. I pressed my body against his, and nudged him off balance. I’m not Jesse’s usual type, I think. I’m small to medium sized and proportionate, and more damningly I am oppositional. I press my body against him, and tell him where to put his hands. I am so selfish, because I can only remember the versions of me I love. I’m in bed with him, and I’m so close. He tells me to cum, and I don’t have him help me. He has marched across my body with manifest destiny, but I cum bigger and harder and scarier on my own. I know what sexy looks like, and I don’t think what I do is fun to watch.
We had discussed this before and I had given my okay.
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Yes to rough, and yes to a robust examination of the power structure.
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No to name calling or anything that feels demaning.
So, Jesse gave an elegant hiccup when I was naked and blindfolded, hands out to be tied with his belt–he told me he was going to stick my panties in my mouth. I said “No Thank You” in an uptight and white voice.
I remember the belt, the weight and stiffness of it, he had me myself walk ahead of him through a living room and bedroom, and then asked me to stop by the bed. He was so slow and measured and I really am female. Oh holy shit guy I can do this more than once. I am a swollen piece of fruit and every filthy piece of nature. While he was behind me running his hands everywhere but my cunt, I angled my limbs for privacy, and put my hand between my legs. I thought I was supposed to wait for him to get me there, but the road ahead of me is so familiar and easy, and I wanted to feel my finger slipping around.
But when we’re in bed and he picked me up by the crown of my hair, and yanked me to the floor so I could suck him on my knees. That journey can be so good–he’s got me by my hair and I feel a column of want all the way through me. I almost check to see if he’s got a 9 foot arm and is holding me both places. I’m puffy and you can see my affection for tacos, cookies, and beer. I held him firm and got his balls in my mouth.
Another day, when I was laying on top of him I asked him to spread me nasty and wide. He kept with his hands and fingers, his cock bumping under me, not in me. He got me on my back and went down so softly, his hair was floppy, he licked me, and buried his face over and over, and never looked up, just tried to climb in. After he was done I realized I might have cum on his face, and he turned me over and had his way. I wanted slow and lick lick lick like a cat with cream, delicate. I felt 50 feet tall, and I wanted him to lick me for hours–to hear that soft sound for so long I don’t register it anymore. It’s unbecoming, I know, to think about this. I came hard three times in 45 minutes–but not the way I had thought about. I heard every sound.
Months later when I stop at his place, bare under my skirt, what he seems to like is me challenging in his ear, “I don’t know if we’ll have time for you today.”
I shifted against him and he tossed me onto my back and didn’t pay much mind to me pushing back. It’s glorious and physical at the end, I clutched the fabric and whatever else below me. I felt like a demolished city block, cleared of rubble.
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/3ngob8/f4m_im_not_an_easy_woman_except_when_im_an_easy
Always nice to see a lady get a proper diddling.