I’m not going to tell you my name, has to be one of the weirdest sentences I’ve written. I’m not going to tell you my name but I’m going to tell you everything about my life that no one would ever guess, not the imaginary guy who is so deeply in love with me, nor the imaginary guy who fantasizes about me, not even my boss whose wife comes in once in awhile, the same wife who shares a striking resemblance to myself.
I’m not going to tell you my name, but I can tell you that I’m 5’6, I have chestnut colored hair that barley covers the top of my breasts. I get up in the morning and weigh myself, nearly everyday I look down and see the same 118lbs roll itself onto the digits of the screen. I cross my arms in front of me, hugging my breasts, as I sleep without a top, but my thinnish underwear hugs my hips. I turn to look in the mirror and my breasts are small, but enough to curve beneath my ribcage and fill one of my hands, they’re round and the nipples are pink. I turn to the side, and brush my hair from view, there’s a slight cup beneath my butt that separates it from my leg, but otherwise it’s not wide nor extensively protrusive. I flex my leg and stand on the balls of my feet; better, it’s a trick I learned from an article I read online some time ago.
I’m not going to tell you my name, but I am turning 24 today. I’m not going to tell you my name, but I’ve never had a serious relationship. I went through high school with a date to prom, there was a guy who always wanted to study with me in college, my mom has tried setting me up with a few guys, and her friends are always mentioning how I should meet their son or their nephew, good boys that they know in their life. Good boys that they want me to meet whenever they find out that a nice girl like me doesn’t have a boyfriend.
I don’t think I’ve ever had a real boyfriend. And when people find that out, they judge me. I’ve heard that I’m too picky. I’ve heard guys snicker, that she’s probably a closet slut. In highschool there was a rumor that I was seeing only older men. And the list goes on.
So if I’m not going to tell you my name, what can you call me? I’ve always liked the name Abelle (eh-beh-lee). If I’m not going to tell you my name, then I guess, there’s no harm that you can know one of my secrets. I’m a virgin, if you haven’t guessed.
It’s not as if I planned it this way, though my mom was one before marriage, and so was my grandmother. My older sister also waited, and my second oldest sister married the guy she lost her virginity to. I wouldn’t say that this affected my decisions with sex, but I would say that it has made sex less frivolous and indulging for me.
“Abelle! Happy birthday,” my best friend Shellie screams into my ear. My mother, my sisters, my brother, my dad, my grandparents, and a few other friends are gathered at my house. They’re all there as Shellie slams the obnoxiously wrapped present between me and the cake. It’s wrapped so tightly that there’s no mistaking what it is, my father groans and jokingly clutches his heart. My mother laughs as she’s always found Shellie hilarious.
“Now before you ask me what it is.”
As if I didn’t already know.
“It’s your first boyfriend.”
“Oh, ha-ha.”
A few of my friends can be heard laughing behind me. I’ve known most of them since college, one or two since high school, and it seems the running joke wasn’t lost on them.
“Oh come on, don’t be such a stiff.”
Stiff. This thing was sure was stiff, I thought to myself, after the party had ended. I was cleaning up the house, alone. I mean, who throws someone a party and then has them clean up after their own party? They should have just taken me to Olive Garden.
I throw the unopened dildo into a large box full of the things I had gotten. I told everyone that I would open them at a later point and time, then send out thank you cards. You should have seen my mother’s reaction when I told her that.
“This is why you don’t have a boyfriend honey, boys need clear open signals. They practically need a landing operator’s assistance to know that you want them.”
“I don’t want anyone mom, that’s so degrading.”
She smiles coyly, “Oh? I’m sorry honey.” She pauses briefly, and then pretends to nonchalantly bring up,” So that boy that came to the house last year, is he stopping by?”
“What boy,” my sister piped up.
“You remember, the Asian boy.”
“Oh, that guy that looks like Keanu Reeves? Yeah. He was so handsome.”
My mom adds, “And tall. I didn’t think his people got very tall.”
“Mom,” my sister said exasperatedly.
“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that. I was just making an observation.”
Story of my life. Story of my life…I bit my lip and thought about Jiasun. I hadn’t thought about him for a long time. I met him while backpacking southeast Asia after college. He was also from the states, California to be exact, we spent almost a week together before my mom called suddenly to tell me that my dad had a stroke. Which meant I was on the next flight home before morning came.
Jiasun had just graduated from UC Davis and was taking a break before pursuing his masters in engineering. I passed a mirror and caught myself smiling. He was tallish, about 5’11 or 6’0 barefoot. He was lean, I remembered looking at his calves as he walked in front of me whenever we hiked together. His arms were thick, and his eyes were large and black, his skin was perfectly browned from the sun, though when I saw him again it was smoother and white.
I met him at a company meeting recently, and we were both surprised. I was surprised to learn that he had accepted a job offer in Chicago without telling me, and he was surprised that I still never left home.
“For such a traveled girl, you’re secretly a homebody aren’t you?’
I felt the tinge of a familiar sting creep along my back, but then he smiled again and I realized that he meant no ill will, that he had no idea that this conversation path usually led to a sore spot for me. But then again, this conversational path was usually brought on by other women. So instead of ruining a reunion, I just grabbed his arm, I could feel his rippling muscles underneath his button up.
“So what brought Mr. California here?”
“Money,” he says with another grin.
“I didn’t take you for the type of guy to chase money.”
“Ah well, it’s also the only place where they’d let a guy like me chase a dream.”
“What are you working on?”
“Mmm, something boring. And I don’t want to talk about work, not when something much more interesting has come up.”
He handed me a flute of champagne and clinked the tip of my glass.
“I never said I was drinking tonight.”
He looked me in the eye, “Then we won’t drink.”
I pressed the flute against his lips and tilted it back for him. After he finished, he laughed and opened his mouth to say something. That’s when a tall blonde woman in a pencil skirt came to his side, her hair was pinned up as if ready to work, standing out in this party. She had green eyes, and strict pursed lips.
“Excuse me sir, the director would like to talk to you.”
He looked at her and she didn’t bat an eye, “It’s urgent,” she said quietly.
I looked at him and smiled, “Work.
“Work,” he says with a sigh. “But hey, listen, we should catch up soon. My purveyors are sure to let me off the hook in a few weeks. Dinner?”
“That sounds nice.”
That was a few weeks ago now, and I still find myself randomly thinking about him. By now I had mostly finished cleaning, I was to leave the rest for tomorrow. I was in the bathroom, washing my face when I looked into the mirror, I grabbed my hair and put it up in a bun, almost like the blonde girl that worked for him. I pursed my lips in the mirror and stared back at my own hazel eyes. I wondered if that’s the kind of girl he likes. I let my hair fall to the sides, I loved how the chestnut color of my hair stood out against my skin. Smooth and unblemished, white, and soft, my jawline dainty and sharp at the chin. I closed my eyes and pretended to wait for him to kiss me, then I caught myself again in the mirror. I couldn’t help but laugh. Why was I being so childish?
I took another look at myself in the mirror, the satin gown slipped over my nipples and hugged my body lightly. I put a hand on my hip and another on my stomach and watched them travel. My fingers traced the line along my hip until it gripped the edge, my other hand squeezed a breast as it traveled toward my throat. I could feel the fingers wrap around my neck as I took in a deep breath. I pressed a finger against my clit, and I backed up square until I hit the door, nearly flat. I let that finger slide between my legs as I teased the opening.
I spread my lips and rubbed my clit lightly. I realized that I was having trouble breathing, but that was mostly due to choking myself. So I used that hand to cup a breast and rubbed the areola with a finger. I felt my body tense as I put pressure against my clit. I stuck a finger in my mouth and sucked on it to the first knuckle. I used the lubricated finger and exposed my clit to the air. I rubbed it gently at first, then it grew faster, my right knee bent without permission so I leaned harder against the door. My hand that was caressing my breast found itself snaking its way back to my neck. The echoing effects of the bathroom heard my stifled moans and short gasps as I felt myself reaching orgasm.
I imagined Jiasun pushing me against the door at the party, he had taken me into the bathroom, his three piece suit still perfectly pristine as he forced me against the wall. He slipped his large hands underneath my top and squeezed my tiny tits in his hands, pressing his palm against my sternum as they found their way to my throat and clutched it, as he looked me in the eye.
He would stand there, perfectly dressed and calm, and spread my legs, they would go but at first a little bit of a fight would happen. He would press them open and I would let him. His finger would push aside my underwear and when they rubbed the opening he would find me wet, not just wet, soaking the panties I was wearing. I would ask him, “What do you think you’re doing?” And he wouldn’t say a word, instead he would push me harder against the wall and force my body to stand as he brought me to a leg failing orgasm. I imagined his fingers rhythmically rubbing my clit. I opened my eyes and watched myself pretending to be forced against the wall, my hand flicking furiously beneath my gown as I came. My body wretched and I hit the door with a thud, I shook, and nearly collapsed as another wave went through me, my legs were weak by now, and I found myself on the floor with my gown flowing around me. But still I wasn’t done, so with my knees on the cold, hard tiles, I rubbed myself between gasps. My hand struggled to finish myself off, each passover sending my hips rocking as I started moving them, pretending to be riding a stiff cock between my legs.
When I finished I could barley stand as I listened to the sounds of my moans still seemingly bouncing off the walls. I pulled my hands away from my clit and watched the sticky liquid spread between my fingers. I stuck them underneath the sink faucet but on second thought I looked at it again. It was mostly clear, and it smelled clean. It was sticky, and warm. I wondered what I tasted like. What he would taste when his tongue penetrated my hole. I looked around as if I wasn’t home alone. This is silly I thought to myself and placed my hand back underneath the faucet. But instead of washing my hands I pulled it back, “It’s just me,” I thought to myself. So I put the tip of my index finger on my tongue and tried tasting it, there wasn’t enough there to get a good judgement. I’ve come this far I thought to myself. So I put the finger in my mouth and pulled it back like a lollipop. I was sweet, musky, almost like a melon. I sucked on my finger again, my tongue flicked the edges as my lips popped as I pulled it out of my mouth. I liked how good it felt to have something so hard in my mouth, it turned me on. I could feel my body grinding as it began to come back to life.
I was going to rub myself to another orgasm when I remembered the present that Shellie had gotten me. I walked through my front living room and into the kitchen where the box of presents sat on the dining table. I rummaged through the pile and found it. The present was wrapped rather tightly as I tore through it. I was greeted with a hot pink phallus shaped bullet. It was about 6 inches long, or about as long as my hand. I gripped the end and popped in the included batteries. When I had finished screwing it together the thing came to life, it began to vibrate steadily in my hand. I quickly ran it under the kitchen sink and wiped it clean.
I went into my bedroom, holding this hot pink dildo in my hand and for the first time I felt a bit naughty. Here I was a grown woman, on her birthday, pursuing the one goal of getting off. Who was this girl? I didn’t know and I didn’t care. All I knew now was that I was laying in bed and I needed to cum. I had slipped off my gown and it lay on the floor at the end of my bed. The air bit my nipples and I could feel them hardening without touching them. I laid in bed and teased the opening with the tip of the dildo. I flicked the thing on and felt the vibrations against my clit. I used it to part my lips and traced the outlining of my pink interior. I wanted so badly to push it through, to feel myself being penetrated. But a part of me just couldn’t do it, so instead I settled for it to rest on my clit. The feeling was sensational, it moved faster than my fingers ever could, it was nice to feel something so hard against my clit.
Soon I found myself on my knees, the pink dildo vibrating flat on the bed, I climbed over it and let the sides split apart my lips, I ground down on it with my hips, feeling the vibrations shooting through my body as I rolled my frame back and forth upon it. My hips buckled fast, I knew I wasn’t going to last. My body was shaking as I came. It wasn’t as intense as before, but it was faster, easier. I reached my hand below, and rubbed my clit vigorously, there was nothing like the feeling of skin. I let out a moan as I felt the intensity heighten, my breaths came quick and short as I felt another orgasm coming, I saw the dildo laying there, barley vibrating now from the cheap batteries, and I stuck it in my mouth. It felt so much bigger than my finger, its vibration not even a gentle rock as I sucked on it. I could feel my tongue flicking over the hard surface as I sucked it as deep as I could, feeling it strike the back of my throat. I never came so hard in my life. I could have swallowed the damn thing and not have cared. My clit throbbed as I came all over my bed. The sheets were wet with lines of my juices and my skin felt raw from masturbating. I laid down in a small circle and fell asleep, still clutching the pink dildo in my hand.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/emeo89/the_discovery_of_abelle_pt_13_f