I can’t sleep well until I get this off my chest.
In my defense, he never wore a ring. The man who was always available for video chats and consistent days of messaging never showed me any sign of being taken. His words confidently assured me of the opposite, and as I crawled on top of him I had never felt this selfish, entitled feeling like no one had ever and no one could ever belong to me more.
He knew I was more passionate than the women of his past, and I knew he was larger than the men in mine. We didn’t consider condoms, not tonight. Not in our fantasies over the past 1,000+ days. I wanted to feel all of him. I wanted him to know as my nails gripped the one shoulder that wasn’t injured from his heavy camera equipment, I was responding to all that he is. And, I wanted him to know I never lied about believing I would be the tightest he had ever felt.
I still vividly remember that moment. The look on his face, I imagine it would be comparable to a the first sign of cognizance of Christmas for child. But, there was also patience and caution as I took in every inch, each slower than the last. He cared to make sure I wasn’t in pain, but as I leaned down to kiss him and my whimpers vibrated between our lips he would thrust ever so slightly. That is, until I playfully groaned that we need another position that we can move more freely in.
Full of exploration, we began the “mane” event. If you ask people what my best physical trait is, well, if they arent being sexual they start with my eyes or smile, and if they are they certainly mention my ass or breasts, but my hair will rarely go without mention. I never had a man to properly utilize it in bed until… we will call him “B”. I was kneeling on the couch at the end of the bed, never more proud of my dedication to leg day. His hands grazed over my curves before he pushed himself into me – I wish I could have the sigh of pleasure he released as my ring tone. He didn’t need to say anything for me to know this feeling exceeded both of our expectations. Now it was his turn to be motivated by my sounds. He was picking up on what I liked, teasing me with slow, hard thrusts. Gently slipping his hand into my hair before pulling me back against him. I didn’t know i craved to feel him moving into me like this. My body pressed against his, his hand giving just enough force to let me know I wasnt going anywhere, one hand on my neck that moved to my mouth when I clearly forgot that the boss of this video project for the 233 billion dollar company was in the room next to us. He finally let me go when he got close, taking the time to place a few playful slaps on my ass.
I crawled over the couch to lay on my stomach in the bed, confidently aware that I was giving him those eyes again. It wasnt long before i felt his weight on me again, pushing into me and finding his rhythm with no hesitation. This has always been my favorite position, even with smaller men. I had been satisfied to completion by men who just hovered under 6″, but this man who had a more noticeable girth and 2 additional inches I hadnt experienced – it didn’t take long for me to finish. I loved that he slowed down but never stopped as I writhed beneath him, gripping his dick as my orgasm washed over me. It wasn’t until I finished that he asked if he could as well.
Does anyone else find the sound of a man finishing irresistible? It is so vulnerable, when the pace quickens until he releases, those few forceful pushes as they lose the ability to speak but try to convey their emotions through a series of moans or groans or grunts. He made the best noises. He felt incredible against me, finishing in me like we talked about and dreamt of. I didn’t even shower that night. I wasn’t going to let years of sitting, waiting, wishing wash away down the drain. Instead, I hopped along and brushed my teeth alongside him. Cuddled up next to him only to fall asleep on his chest mid-conversation, in record time.
The morning, I woke him up with another blowjob – this time finishing him off in my mouth and he stayed as late as he could before heading off to work and eventually back to the Midwest.
After this, my friends found out his wife wasn’t locked away in a mental institution but thriving- probably living with him, along with his age being 10 years off the truth. In February, I felt bamboozled and hurt and told him I needed to keep my distance. We haven’t talked since. It is going to be the first birthday in years that he isn’t in my life, sending me gifts and happy birthday videos from him and the kiddo.
But I’m not the person I wanted to be in February. I thought the marriage mattered more to me than it does. I wish I could say it’s just because of my friend, but that was the absolute best sex I’ve had. And, here I am months later looking for men like him. Successful, filled with adoration of me, sensitive, intelligent, witty, fucking great in bed. And, married.
What is wrong with me?
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/ebf625/what_is_wrong_with_me_pt_2_fm