This is so true…and so sad. And while we’re on the subject, why can’t we all just enjoy ourselves without worry, whether we’re with the same gender, or the opposite one?
Today’s Six (seven) Sentence Sunday is an excerpt from the forthcoming ‘The Bucket List (Part Two) – Caught’, soon to be available from SteameReads.
Amber and Lucy are caught in the bed of a department store by a security guard, who immediately threatens to call the police. Quick-thinking Amber offers him a glimpse of her body, but the guard is greedy for more.
At this point in the story, Amber has submitted to the store guard’s wishes and is partly undressed, having removed her blouse and her bra. BFF Lucy watches in horror as Amber is molested by the guard – his reward for not making the arrest official.
After about thirty seconds of fondling Amber’s breasts, the guard straightened up as if he’d made a decision.
“Stand up!” he snapped.
Amber’s shoulders sagged minutely, but she rose to her feet and faced the big guard, who was now standing right in front of her.
“Take off the skirt,” he said.
Amber complied, moving deliberately slowly, pulling down the short zip and shrugging the skirt off her hips where it slumped to the floor to pool around her ankles.
“And the knickers – drop them.”
“Amber…” I whispered, my heart sinking into my shoes.
This weeks Six (sorry, seven) Sentence Sunday is an extract from ‘The Bucket List (Part One)’.
Amber has volunteered her BFF Lucy into playing the ‘Kitty’ at an adult toys party – which means that Lucy gets to have all the toys demonstrated on her.
At this point in the story, a large strap-on dildo has been pulled from the demonstrator’s suitcase and a rather shy young woman called Honey has been volunteered to be on the receiving end of the toy.
A dozen women watch as Amber fits the dildo to Lucy, who takes up the story;
Within thirty seconds, the strap-on was fixed around my waist; the heavy testicles swinging between my legs, their weight feeling very peculiar.
“What’s you favourite position, Honey?” Amber asked.
“Ah…it’s usually missionary,” she said quietly. “But that’s with a man…”
Her eyes glanced up and down my body and I knew that she felt uncomfortable at the idea of having a near-naked woman hovering over her.
“So, doggy-style, then,” Amber smiled, but Honey shook her head as she seemed to reach a decision.
She lay back on the carpet, sliding her skirt up over her thighs to expose her neatly-trimmed pussy, which by this time was glistening with moisture.
“No, not doggy style,” she said, then smiled nervously, “Kitty style…I trust you.”
It occurred to me the other day that we enter into a sexual relationship with very little idea of what lies ahead of us. For the guys, their hope is for a thoroughly satisfying orgasm. For ladies, the same would be nice, but add to that some respect, tenderness and hopefully a dash of fun too. Sex doesn’t have to be serious…
No, when we close the door (in most cases, but not all) we cross mental fingers and fervently hope that the evening won’t be a total disaster. Orgasms and fun would be nice. Erectile dysfunction, puking and unsanitary messes are not on the list, thank you.
That’s all expected – and sometimes it goes almost to plan. But what of the route to that final, satisfying sigh? What of the methods used to bring each other to that happy non-faked place?
If we’re assuming two complete strangers at this tryst, then only fumbling, trial and error will establish each other’s roles and preferences. But what if the guy is on the submissive side? What if the dark-haired, black-outfitted woman who agreed to come home with him isn’t the handcuff-packing dominatrix he visualised, but a meek librarian (no disrespect to librarians) who only wants a father figure to seduce and use her? Can you picture the scene where both await the touches of the other – but nothing happens? Such a let-down.
And even once the clothes do come off, who agrees on the oral fun? Who goes first? Foreheads could bruise if both parties drop to their knees at the same time.
Have you ever had one of those encounters where the guy just won’t go down on you, no matter how much pressure you apply to the top of his head? Or where he’s determined that missionary is best, even though you desperately need to be taken doggy-style?
I know that many of you will say that communication is the key here, but unless you are the assertive sort, it may be felt that to insist (i.e. hint strongly by tweaking your lover’s ears – or genitals!) on something will upset the other party. Gentle ushering, begging, making doe eyes and saying ‘please lick me…for at least eight to ten minutes and only then may you enter me using position B’ is one way, but it’s a tad clinical, wouldn’t you say?
Another useful method is to coo into his ear that you are loving what he is doing (still trying to get his socks off), but it would just be so HOT if he would just do one little thing (get on the same side of the sheets as you / insert favourite pleasure here).
It’s obvious that working everything out beforehand isn’t feasible (or sexy – unless you’re an accountant or a quantity surveyor) but we stumble into new clinches with very little idea of what we’re doing – or how the other person is wired up.
Anything could happen!
But, then, isn’t the thrill of the unknown all part of the fun? 😀
Recently, I had my first cybersex experience.
I know, what’s taken me so long? Why have I only plunged my sticky little digits into it now?
Well, to be truthful, it never really appealed. It seemed a bit like watching pornography, but without the images…or the sound. And there was the trust issue too. How on earth do you know that the other person is really doing what they say they are doing? As far as I know, they and their twenty drunken friends could be sitting in the pub with a smartphone winding me up as I typed out my gasps and moans.
As for the pay off…it’s still a lot like masturbating to a magazine article. I’d rather lie back in my bed, spread my legs wide and conjure up a fantasy involving sixteen firemen…
But late one Wednesday evening, something extraordinary happened. I was chatting on Facebook with a lady friend – someone with whom I’d exchanged sexual experiences via email when the urge just came upon me (pun intended). I was still feeling horny from my latest MFF short story and as per my ‘get it done, girl’ rules, I do not allow myself to jill off until I have closed down my laptop and retired to bed. Otherwise, sheesh, I’d have carpal tunnel syndrome and some very chapped lips.
But on this night, my friend and I were chatting privately and the subject got a little steamy…starting with the weather in our respective parts of the world and what we were wearing.
I was still in my light weight bathrobe which hides almost nothing; she was in her jammies. The chat went from there. I told her how horny I was feeling and why and she encouraged me to go right ahead and have some fun. I was so wet that I could barely resist. But once those two favourite fingers touched my slippery flesh, I was lost. Legs parted, my robe fell open and I pinched my nipples mercilessly until I squealed. My fingers circled my nub, slipped inside several times until every digit was shining with wetness.
And during all this, I was relating what I was up to across the world-wide web…one handed. Now, I know that there is a certain element of trust required here, but she told me that she was so turned on by what I had just typed that she had slipped off her jammies and was following suit. She even asked how I was touching myself and did the same.
Masturbation for me normally consists of privacy, a warm bed and my eyes tightly closed as I conjure up a scenario that inevitably ends up as the plot for my next short story. But to touch myself, eyes wide open, whilst typing? It just didn’t seem practical with two (then three) fingers buried inside my intimate parts. But it turns out that my orgasm was probably delayed by several minutes as a result of the constant tiny interruptions – and was probably twice as nice.
And so, after about fifteen minutes, I had a sticky keyboard, legs in different time zones and a burning need to come. I tried to delay my approaching pleasure, but my fingers paid me no heed, circling and pressing and slipping across my lips until I could stand the denial no longer. Something kicked off deep within my body and IT WAS HERE!!!
I did the unforgiveable. I went off-line for about three (maybe four minutes) as I finished off with several bucks, my fingers well up to the third knuckle by now and a deep almost cramp-inducing shudder that left me panting and wheezing. ‘Wow’ was the only word I was capable of forming at that point.
The laptop went ‘plink’ as a new message arrived and I realised that I’d been unforgivably rude towards my distant friend. But she laughed, well aware of why I’d disappeared, referring to it as ‘mopping up time’. She continued, with my encouragement, to have fun at her end, using her fingers as I guided her. She found a new way to touch herself in the process and…suddenly went off-line. 😀
I have to admit that it was a novel and heartwarming experience, sharing something like that with a distant friend. We’ve done it once more, but since the second time didn’t have the same forbidden naughtiness as the first, we both felt that there probably won’t be any more.
But I do feel a lot closer to her as a result, because of that shared and unique experience.
PS Isopropyl alcohol works wonders on sticky keys – it’s available from Radio Shack as wipes or a spray.
I don’t know if it’s just me, or if anyone else can relate to the unfairness of sex. I spent last night in the pleasant company of two bisexual guys and we all had a great deal of fun – three ways.
This experience was partly research for a new short story idea, and partly to ease an ache to be filled (you know what I mean, right ladies?). No-one can say that I’m not committed to my art. 😀
I wanted to get the low-down on how guys fuck (each other) and I was surprised by a couple of things that I thought I knew – but clearly didn’t!
At some point during their demonstration I found that I was so turned on by their fucking that I couldn’t help but gravitate towards the bed – and found myself getting fully involved with both of them.
Anyway, to get to the point, I was appalled to find that an hour or after having had a thoroughly pleasant time with these guys (and reaching the point where I had to wheeze ‘stop – please!’) that I retained no sensation of the evening’s activities at all.
Nothing. Even the warm glow in my tummy had faded.
Sure, this morning my thighs and my butt cheeks ached (I was trying to be uncharacteristically flexible in order to try out ALL the positions), but if last night had been a drunken haze, then this morning I could NOT have been certain that anything other than some light gymnastics or some over-enthusiastic dancing had taken place.
What the hell? Where’s the lasting afterglow? Where’s the week-long ‘ahhhh’ that should follow sex? It’s as if my body has just shrugged and said ‘right, now let’s get on with the day.’
What am I doing wrong? Am I being too vanilla (Hello…threesome? Bi-guys in all three…ahem…too much info)?
No, I’m sorry, it’s just not good enough. Mother Nature, I want a word with you! I want a memento of last night’s undignified hammering where I got nailed…um…damn it, I can’t even remember how many times!
STOP PRESS; I was showering a couple of hours later and realised that my nipples were unusually tender from the rough treatment they’d received.
BIG DEAL! I could’ve gotten the same sensation from jogging round the park in a cheap bra…
A few weeks ago I told you that I’d put my foot in it by erroneously assuming that the ‘gay’ requirement for a short story contract meant ‘lesbian.’
I didn’t check my facts and ended up being contracted to write a 5,000 word piece on gay (guy) lovers.
Well, I decided to dive right in and emerged rather breathlessly at the other end having completed a nice little piece about the blossoming romance and subsequent bedding between two workers on a building site.
My gay (male) friend agreed to read it through for me. I spent a nervous evening, wondering if I’d just spouted inaccurate drivel like I used to do in my early puberty. In those days, my knowledge of male anatomy was rather sketchy and what little I did know was second- or third-hand from embarrassed girl friends who had brothers or who had spied on their older sisters’ boyfriends.
When I saw my friend the next day, he told me that not only had I managed to capture the feeling of love between the two guys (one ten years younger than the other), but he’d become seriously aroused and even ‘lubricated’ by the time he’d finished the story. He actually asked if I’d ever witnessed two guys together, to which I said no, but his question assured me that I’d managed to get the anatomical details and sensations right.
After he left, my mind wandered a little (it’s dangerous when it does that) and pondered that if he’d offered to let me watch him in action, I might have said yes.
Just for research purposes, you understand. 😀