Featured in Fleshbot Sex Blog Roundup: Not So Careless Whispers and also in Sugasm #119
she let me in, easy – one, two, three? no. four fingers. dripping, but no lube. to my third knuckle. it could have been more, i could have fisted her, but it wasn’t on the menu last night. maybe sometime. if we ever do this again. i could smell her body wanting. pressing my fingers in, and learning how to position my thumb just right on her clit. this is the first time anyone has permitted me to touch back below the waist. a privilege. a treat.
I arrived on the scene at 10:00 not sure where I was supposed to go. Drove around a little while in the general vicinity of the neighborhood sports bar where she wished to meet me. 10:30 passed, 11:00 passed, I started texting a friend, “I think I might be getting stood up…” at 11:30, I was on my way to said friend’s house for a minute, I figured I’d wait until twelve and then leave – that’s when she called. Erin is 30 years old, turning 31 when Pisces season comes around again (soon). She is originally from Michigan, and moved here with her best friend (a brother figure, gay) four years ago. Not here, here. She lives in the beach towns west of me. I knew she wanted to meet me, so I was puzzled by the delay, but it was simply that she was working and couldn’t get out.
It was a very simple bar, filled with regular, uncomplicated people and I immediately felt at home. That’s what Erin is like. Regular, uncomplicated, easy to please. Her gender is lacking all the pomp and circumstance, the air of performance that many butches possess. To their credit, all of gender is constructed and performed, but sometimes I get the feeling that they’re trying too hard. Perhaps they just get all tangled up in that big bad word, “enough.”
Not Erin, nosirree. Erin is a simple. A teddy bear. All she has in her room is a little TV, her bed, and quilt that her grandma gave her. I didn’t see the blanket until morning light filtered through the hazy clouds of an early storm. I looked to the seams to confirm my suspicion – a handmade quilt. I told her how my mother had once made quilts and how a little piece of the person who makes the quilt always gets left inside it. They takes so long to make, cutting little shapes to sew into squares, sewing the squares together with borders, sewing a border around the edge, and finally putting the batting and backing on. It’s a very intimate process. And it is her favorite blanket. She doesn’t even know who made it – her grandmother didn’t.
We had a few drinks – I had an amaretto sour, a whiskey sour and washed it all down with a shot of goldschlager [the goldschlager was optional, I was already relaxed but I was not drunk until I had that shot).
Wait a minute. Pause the scene. I’ve talked to this girl one time on the phone, this is the first time I’ve ever met her. It’s that instinctive, incautious trust again that is probably going to get me in trouble someday… but is it really all that hard to judge character?
As we were paying our bills, she and the best friend (Matt) started asking me if I had called any friends to say where I was going to be. They offered to give their address so that I could text it to someone – so they would know where I was going to spend the night. I had already convinced myself that it was a good idea and that I should definitely go home with this big sweetheart of a girl and her weird old best friend.
At their apartment (above a garage) Matt went directly to bed and Erin left me on the couch to simmer while she showered. She was tired from a long day working at the hardware store so I was thankful that she took the time to shower. With her in PJ’s, we sat on the couch watching TV and I took the liberty of curling myself on the couch and putting my head on her lap. She reached down and was stroking my back, lifting my shirt to reach my soft back skin. yeah. I had already decided that I liked her face and I was started to like her personality so that was that.
I was very drunk (thank you goldschlager!) now and I took very careful steps to get into the bedroom. The details are lost on me at the moment… we lay down facing each other, talking. I don’t even remember about what. I kissed her first. The tongue ring. I completely forgot about the tongue ring! A nice surprise. I did a preliminary sweep, feeling for nipples and tissue in the dark. Her breasts were a perfect handful, and so soft. “Do you want to feel how much I’m enjoying this?” Erin took my left hand and pulled it down below her navel and in under the boxer briefs to her seething cunt. Seething like the sea – so wet. And here is where she opened for me. Freely, she allowed me, encouraged me to explore inside her. I’m spoiled now, because now I know how good it feels to be inside and I’m going to start wanting in more often.
“You’re sure you’ve never done this before?”
“Nope. No one has ever let me.”
We talked it over last week, when I was trying to determine her level of interest in a sexual encounter. I had already explained that I have strictly bottomed, although not without some accidental takeovers for which I had to be punished. After awhile of my four fingers and thumb getting acquainted with what goes where, we switched. I was just as wet as she and it felt so very nice. She sensed when I had been satisfied, and I enjoyed it, really, but then I started crying. I hate to say again, but it’s appropriate. Crying again. I’ve come to take this as my normal reaction to penetration. Also, I get so close to having an orgasm every time but it’s like a puzzle missing a piece, it’s like looking through a glass window at something that you can see but can’t touch. It’s like chasing the sun. I didn’t cry for long though. I apologized and she said it was okay. I said, “I just do this, I just cry…” gah. I was pleased though, and I took over the top again.
This time, with only two fingers inside, I worked Erin’s wet, open cunt and making things up as I went along – imagining rhythms and patterns to her delight. Swearing that I was not in fact a beginner, that I was indeed a seasoned veteran, she came, grinding on my hand and gave a hearty, healthy, “haaah” before she pulled my hand out, off and pulled me close to her, breathing. I sighed, “I love bodies. There’s nothing that makes me more angry than when people who have trouble loving their shape.” We agreed that was a travesty, and that we loved our bodies. They awoke me at 8:30 to take me back to my car so that I could make my way across the bridge and back to my warm bed.
I’m ever so delighted to have seen a stranger receive a gift of joy. I don’t know if it was well timed, or if it had been a long time since her last, but it gives me great pleasure to know that I have treated Erin to a little bit of sweetness and put a smile on her face.