When I was younger I had a very vivid fantasy life- I’d daydream for weeks about the same scenario as whole stories played out behind closed eyes. Some of these were used for the purpose of masturbation, while others were simply to make my dull life a little more interesting (to me, at least). I could lay in bed and imagine myself nursing an injured knight back to health, or mingling with the gods of ancient Greece. In retrospect, my fantasy life was just about as nerdy as it gets, and occasionally it still is- I have a real fetish for the Greeks.
It sounds incredibly lame to say, but ever since I started fucking on the regular, I find myself fantasizing about my partner more than anything or anyone else. Even lamer still, most of these “fantasies” are just actual events replayed in my mind’s eye, ones I can rewind and play back whenever I please. Truth be told, it is just easier for me to summon up an actual event, rather than having my mind invaded by worries or random (unsexy) thoughts. I am so easily distracted.
The most recent event I find myself reliving is from a few weeks ago. I’d been prancing around his room, showing off my new (matching, for a change) lingerie set under a snug-fitting sweater. After I’d finished smoothing and inspecting everything in the full length mirror I found myself turned and pinned, my hips hugging the edge of the bed as his hands slid over my breasts, waist, and ass. We unbuttoned and undressed only as much as we had to, pants hanging in limbo between my hips and my knees.
He fucked me then, urgently. That is typically how we find ourselves in the beginning, frenzied in our need to please one another, to please ourselves. It is not often that we take things slow. As his cock slid in and out of my dripping cunt, my body pinned to the bed, his husky whisper of, “I can’t wait to come inside you again,” left me spinning.
(Note: We’re sticklers for birth control, after an incident last year that I may write about at a later date. As I’m not on the pill/shot/etc. at the moment, condom-free fucking is a brief and savored treat, lasting only long enough to:
a. lube him up enough to fuck my ass or;
b. bring us back to our senses.
I fucking hate condoms.)
After he pulled out, both of us gasping and eager for more, I was about to suck him off when he told me to turn over. The urgency dissipated, for a few minutes at least, as his cock slipped into my ass and his arms surrounded me. As we drew closer to the climax, our bodies sweat-slick and tangled, he asked if he should slow down.
My reply was wordless, a gasp and a match of pace.
It was one of the first times in a long time that we’ve laid there for a few minutes after the fact, curled up together and content. Usually we’re too busy busying ourselves with other things.
I think I’ve gone soft.
