This article contains mature and graphic content.
I can do without sex for an extended period of time, and I don’t mean one week—even though one week does feels like a really long time. And I will begin to feel virginal.
I’ve gone many months, maybe even a year. I’m pretty sure I’ve never gone beyond that. I pretty sure I don’t want to.
So here I am, horny. I’m horny every day, all the time. Thing is … I know where to go for great, mind-blowing sex. All I have to do is pick up the phone and drive twenty minutes.
I can only think of one reason why I shouldn’t call Kenny … he likes me … for real. And when I think of it, I laugh. What the hell kind of a reason is that? The guy I’m screwing, sex-buddy or not, should like me … for real.
I can think of many reasons why I should call him …
We’re both horny. We have amazing, passionate sex. We’re going to enjoy ourselves. He’s going to get his penis devoured as if it were a banana. I love bananas. He has permission to take me anyway he wants me, anyhow he wants me. I am willing and eager.
I’m going to get my pleasure spot ravaged, my breasts caressed, I may even demand hair-pulling and a spanking.
We’re both adults. We know the rules of this game, and we’ve agreed to them. So why not?
I said I was going to stop having sex him, but well … um, I can’t promise anything right now. I’m horny, he’s horny, and the moment is ours for the taking. Why not?
I dialed his number. I know he’s home working. He answers the second ring.
“Hi lover,” he said.
“Hi baby,” I croon.
“Come over,” he said. “And wear the black boots you had on last time,”
“Are you going to spend the night?”
“No. I have to be back home.”
“What time are you going to be here?”
“Twenty minutes,” I said.
He chuckles. I have never showed up for sex in less than pristine condition.
I show up in my boots and my little black dress that he peels from my body the moment I walk in. And for the five hours that I had free to feed my desires, I fed like a starving woman. I touch and kiss and hold this man with such tenderness he surrenders to me.
My body is his playground and he plays like a child left to run wild unsupervised.
I refused to entertain thoughts beyond his bedroom walls. Beyond his thick pulsating manhood—beyond his lips on my flesh, his fingers, his scent. Beyond the arms he wraps around me, his pelvis slapping against mine, his thighs trapping me. Beyond our grunts and groans and screams. Beyond our thrashing, sweating, ravished bodies.
For five hours we were lost in our own little world. And it was pure bliss.