I started like many other evenings.
We alternated between chit chat, mindless banter and profound, mindful, philosophical dialogue.
Then something happened. A moment so pure it could never be manufactured nor induced.
She talked about sex. Casually. Shamelessly. She told me that she had masturbated earlier that day. I asked her, how? The usual way? Leggings half down, magic wand on panties? She said yes. Was your orgasm good? Yes she said. So was the second one. And the third one.
Hmm. This is turning me on I said. She said yeah? How so? I told her, well, I can feel my cock exploding in volume in my pants. I saw her hand immediately reach inside her pants.
I asked her, are you caressing yourself (deliberately asking the obvious, for the pleasure of hearing her whisper “yes”)? Well, *aren’t* *you* she replied? I’ll start right away, I told her, and reached for my cock.
We were on the living room couch, still fully dressed, but starting to come undone, each caressing ourself, locking eyes. After a few moments, we decided we would fuck.