Modern society is an odd development in human history. Think about it. Infrastructure, office jobs, cars, restaurants and processed foods. All of these things separate us from the Wild, make our lives simpler. We no longer have to creep about, always on the search for sustenance and tensed for life-threatening action. We can focus on nonessential enjoyments, like novels, clubbing, leisurely bicycle rides, fitness, and television.
And sex.
With so many elements of the Wild erased by our easy, no-longer-Darwinian existence, we have ever more time to focus on the most Wild impulse of all. The simple *availability* of good, no-strings-attached fucks has heightened our hunger as a species. Sex is no longer sprouted from a simple impulse to pass our genes on. Sex is an end in itself. The more separated from the Wild we become, the more we can focus on that most Wild of urges.
This is what’s been happening to me.
I’ve grown bored of graduate school. I always did well, from high school through college, but it was always *easy*. In college I had dozens of things besides studying to keep me occupied — varsity sports, partying, the on-campus magazine, guys — but now, much of that has fallen away. It’s just me, my coursework, the gym, and the occasional lay from men too nervous to really satisfy me. I can’t remember the last time sex didn’t leave me hornier than when it started.
The first time I saw her was at the gym. New York City has so many people I almost never recognize the same stranger twice, even in routine destinations like the gym or local cafe on the corner. She was different. Auburn hair. Tall. Long, firm legs that swelled with muscle in all the right places. A chiseled stomach and full breasts her sports bras could never really flatten. But most captivating was her demeanor. Her entire presence bespoke determination, drive, and poise. She was there to *work*, to move weight and push her body to its limits, not to bullshit with the trainers or relish the inevitable and not-so-subtle looks of admiration that came her way wherever she went.
I’d forgotten everything in that moment: the paper I was going to write that night, the tilapia filet I’d been scheming different preparations for, the first date scheduled for 9:00pm. I racked my barbell and watched. Her dumbbell rows were perfect. She flattened her back, kept her hips at 90 degrees, and pulled the 40lbs up and back, squeezed, and lowered. All the while keeping her eyes fixed ahead, never wavering. In some ways, she reminded me of myself.
That was the first time another woman aroused — really aroused — me. I’d made out with friends before, even fingered another girl my freshman year of college, but that wasn’t really a sexual experience. It was drunken fun that provided enjoyment because of its taboo nature. But this woman, I’ll just call her Auburn Girl, she filled me with a longing so palpable it made me hurt. My pulse fluttered and spiked, goosebumps rose all across my skin, my nipples hardened, and suddenly I was uncomfortably wet.
I abandoned my workout and drove home. *What was that?* I thought to myself, and as I pictured Auburn Girl bent over the bench, another wave of arousal coursed through my body. Gym clothes piled on the floor seemingly of their own accord, and then I was sprawled across the couch, one leg on the floor and the other bent up onto the cushions. My fingers pushed and played at the flesh, probed the entrance, and slipped inside. The scent of my own pussy wafted over me, and I moved faster, moaning despite the thin walls, and then the orgasm was approaching, enveloping me, bursting through my body just like the moans burst from my mouth, and I shook and spasmed and kept working my fingers despite that building need to pee, and for the first time in my life I squirted, onto the couch and even onto the coffee table’s glass surface.
I lay there, blissful and exhausted, until the hunger returned, and then I resumed. Wet smacks of flesh filled the room, and my second orgasm was so powerful I arched my back and stamped the floor.
That was two weeks ago. Since then, I’ve slowly worked up the courage to approach her. We’ve lifted together a few times. Every moment has been torture — all I want is her body under my tongue — but if I’m wrong, if I’ve misinterpreted the signs and my feelings aren’t reciprocated even a little, making a move could backfire horribly.
But I can’t keep up this routine forever. I’m too horny, too distracted. My fingers stave off the urge only she can truly satisfy, but sooner or later I’m going to have to make a change. Either get away from her or make a move and hope for the best. Today is Saturday. We’re going to meet at the gym tomorrow, Sunday. That’s going to be my time, and I can only hope for the best.
Oh, by the way, Auburn Girl’s name is Ashley.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/4e2ey3/the_power_of_curiosity_part_1_xpost_from