A Wandering Lust

"So, as my parting gift to you, why don't we get together to see just what I can do for you?"

He could see her eyes light up at the prospect. Those eyes were dazzling. They were like the sun reflected off the lake on a clear Sunday morning; like the deep, deep blue sky that stretched for miles over the prairies; the blue you could only see and hold and keep in your dreams. Her mouth just hung open, parted just barely, her breath catching in her chest. Wow, those sweet, thin lips, those cute lips, swollen just slightly from how her teeth had gnawed at them, top, then bottom, as she wrapped her mind around his offer. The tiniest puff to those lips, the sheen of saliva left on them when her tongue unconsciously drug across them as her reflexes responded to the way he stimulated her mind.

She was cute, so very cute, but not terribly interesting, nor particularly breathtaking. She was spoiled, and a bit immature, and constantly at arms with her boyfriend—shit, my girlfriend.

Reality jumped into my little fantasy and shook me from my reverie. It's so difficult to maintain a healthy imagination when reality is such a persistent little bugger.

That girl, the one I was drooling over just then, she's just a coworker. She's just someone I flirt with to pass the time during shifts, because goodness knows the actual job doesn't do that well enough. She's just a cute little coworker with a few nice pair of jeans, but nothing really stimulating to offer. But goodness, when she's the only one around, what I would give to have her!

These fantasies, these daydreams, these little vacations from my real life—they're entirely uncalled for. Sure, everyone likes to step outside themselves sometimes and really cook something up in the imagination, but believe me, I'm not wanting for anything in the bedroom right now.

The woman I'm with is a fox. She is absolutely insatiable. And she is willing to do what she has to do, when and where she has to do it, to have it. To have me. And, oh is it ever so good. So good that I should write a story about it; I should write four or five. But damn, sometimes the mind wanders, you know?

She was perched on his lap, straddling him just slightly, so that those glorious breasts—albeit, hidden behind who knew what kind of bra and a loose-fitting college tee shirt—were just centimeters from his face. She was smiling down at him with that same undisguised want that she had worn since they had discovered carnal pleasures back in high school. But, damn, they weren't in high school anymore; double damn, this was such an invitation! But triple damn all the other people in the room, gazing on with neutral faces, aware of his gregarious nature, of his free flirting, and even more aware of her passion for contact with any attractive man nearby. Triple damn them because they all knew about his girlfriend, all knew about the engagement, all knew about the baby on the way, all knew about fidelity, and character, and discipline, and all those other qualities he represented. And dammit all, they would not stop freaking talking about that girlfriend just because she wasn't at the party with him and they were all so excited for the next step he and she would take.

But no less, this old friend, this sensuous minx perched atop his lap, straddling him just slightly, with those glorious breasts just centimeters from his face, was gazing down at him with unchecked, uncaring desire for him and he so wanted to whisper in her ear all the things he would do for her.

'Wait for me when you go to your room.' 'One time, for all those years, one time would be okay.' 'Goodness, I want to give you anything and everything you want.' 'For one night, I can be all yours.'

But, of course, I didn't whisper those things into her ear. In fact, I was mindful of when she rested her palm atop the back of my hand; I was conscious of my inclination to let that hand wander up her side; I checked myself whenever I wanted to shift her weight so she could feel the unrelenting swell in my jeans that would tell her I wanted her as badly as she wanted me.

Of course, I played good boyfriend/fiancé/soon-to-be father that night, because that's the right thing to do. Because I am delighted by the woman I'm with. She is the single most supportive, engaging, talented person I've ever known. I am astounded how I got this far in life without knowing her, without cherishing her, without loving her as I do now. Jeez, I'm thankful every day that I have her, that I get to kiss her, that I get to have another moment with her. But sometimes the eyes wander, you know?

She was sitting right next to him, hand dropped loosely at her side, casually hanging there to any other observer. But he could see in her eyes how badly she longed for him to take hold of her. He could sense the urgent need, could taste that something, something palpable hanging in the air, the desire, the uncertain offer, the cry for approval, the blinding want to have him brush his fingers against her fingers and tell her that he would be hers, even if just in that moment. Goodness, how could he resist?

Seriously, her legs stretched on for days, beginning at those gorgeous, black, cross-strapped, 4-inch peep-toe heels, those heels that lifted her gently sloping foot at such an extreme angle that the cut of her calf could have been carved from marble. The line from the back of that delicate ankle, raked so enticingly, up along fair, soft, supple skin, up to that diamond-cut calf muscle, taut and strong, but elegant, and so very feminine. That curve at the back of her knee that led to an expanse of gorgeous, glowing thigh, the faintest line of definition along her quadriceps, an apparent ripple of muscle at the hamstring, those glorious legs smooth and endless, begging him to bury his face alongside them.

Those long, luscious legs that were gradually interrupted by the gentle lace that hemmed her black skirt—why was black on fair skin so damned sexy?—that skirt that formed itself to her hips, perfectly rounded hips, and drug itself upward with gentle, sweeping lines sewn into the pattern, drawing right into the mouth-watering swell of her small breasts against the tight fabric. The V-cut adorned with lace similar to the hem below, the V-cut that draped so low into that glorious cleavage, cleavage prepped and proudly displayed thanks to a stone-grey push up trimmed in a finer lace.

That V-cut line just drew one up, up along the curve of her gorgeous mounds, up to and along her dainty collarbone, barely visible, and just so, because of her small frame, that then led up her swooping neck. Her neck had grace and elegance comparable to a swan. A standalone beauty, the line of her neck, that led into the sweetest, gentlest curve of a jaw line, which traced its way around from ear-to-ear, almost imperceptibly flushed cheek-to-cheek. He could see himself nuzzled into the space beside her ear, planting wet kisses on every patch of bare flesh, streams of warm air slithering between his teeth, tiny shivers coursing through her body as she responded to his feather-light contact.

He watched himself descend along that glorious neckline, kissing and blowing so softly, desperately aware of how fragile and beautiful it was, treating it like the finest porcelain or ivory, cherishing its richness, its warmth, and its grace. Descending, slower than sand trickling in the tiniest hourglass, savoring her moans and the ripples of pleasure he sent through her with every brief contact of his wet lips against her soft skin. Descending, methodically like the swan rising in the waters to beat its wings, letting his tongue flick across that delicious collarbone, feeling as much as hearing her breath and her words catch in her throat, her eyes shut tight as she shivers in ecstasy beneath him...

He could see all that as he caught out of the corner of his eye those slender fingers, dangling so invitingly, so precariously at her side between them, crying out for his touch.

But I didn't take her hand, despite how everything within me screamed out—cried out so desperately—for me to hold her gently and promise her the world, so long as no one knew, so long as we kept it between us. I didn't succumb to those creamy, endless legs. Because the legs of the woman I'm with now are fine, and soft, and petite, and so very sensitive that even the nearness of my hand to them causes her to shiver and writhe for me. Because the dexterous fingers of my girl now are also slender, and are piano-trained, but also strong enough for climbing, as well as raking marks of pleasure in my muscles during prolonged sessions of lovemaking.

The girl I'm with now is a wonder to behold, talented in so many things—riding, climbing, speaking, writing, leading, creating—and even more talented in more personal things. I have experienced with her feelings, responses, and performances that I would have found hard to believe outside of cheap romance novels and teenage magazines. Goodness, I can't imagine things being as good as they are now. But sometimes the heart wanders, you know?

He was pressed up against her now, the throbbing, pulsing head of his cock awaiting her final okay, the sweet scent of her sex wafting upward from where they paused, the air saturated with their desire. He was pressed right against her sopping, swollen lips, his member awaiting the final green light, his eyes fixed only on her eyes, those eyes that reflected all the colors of all the leaves in the forest, and in this moment, also reflected all the love and passion the world had ever known. Tiny rivulets of sweat ran across his tense shoulders, which were drawn so tightly because his hands were his only support, all the muscles of his abdomen, chest, shoulders, and arms flexed and at attention, awaiting his mind to command them to do other than restrain him.

Her body glimmered in the moonlight that shined through the window, the faintest layer of dewy perspiration spanning her ample, heaving breasts, the soft curves of her belly, the sweep of her pubic bone, the roll of her thighs. Her body glimmered in that moonlight and as his eyes searched her eyes during that moment frozen in time, frozen in his mind was the vision before him, this goddess laid out beneath him, awaiting his manhood and awaiting his divine pleasure. Her swollen nipples rode as a bottle in the waves of the sea atop her heaving breasts and she was barely able to catch her breath as he now stood poised to enter her and consummate the passion they had shared in the days before, as he now waited before completing the task he had begun with his trained tongue and lips.

All the wonder of the world was in those eyes, and he gazed at those wonders, and he waited for her silent reply to his silent question. Eternity was in those eyes, infinity, heaven, and the earth, and the universe, and all that Man had ever known, and would ever know, and those eyes batted shut and she mouthed yes to him, and he pressed forward into her enveloping warmth, and time became as nothing as they were joined together. He slid gently into her welcoming wetness, felt her lips roll against his shaft even as her wetness invited him in and consumed him. He pressed right in to the base of his cock, never having let free her eyes from his gaze, and he rested there, watching her, being watched by her, loving her and being loved. He saw in her eyes all the satisfaction, all the hunger, all the need, and all the passion that he could hope for there; it was all reflected in his own eyes.

Slowly he drew back, very nearly withdrawing from her, sensing the tension in her body as she wondered what he would do, then he slid back in, the slightest slurping sound as her cunt took all of him in. They were whole here. They were one here. They were lovers, they were best friends, they were instantaneous, they were eternal, and they were whole. He pulled back again, so very slowly, savoring the way he could feel every muscle within her clench at him and tug at him, and he paused just before withdrawing from her soft entrance, then slid back into her, pressing the base of his shaft against her vulva and feeling her convulse around him.

He had worked her into such a pitch before, a writhing, quivering, shaking, orgasmic mass, using just his fingers, his tongue, and his teasing, trained lips, that she was but a body of nerves beneath him now. The length of him overwhelmed her when it was immersed in her; it pleased her as it dragged outward; it teased her as it lingered, pulsing at the very doorway of her cunt; it surprised her every time as it pressed forward, spreading her from the inside, being wrapped by her wetness and her tension.

She came beneath him time and time again before she regained control and they settled into a slow rhythm. Soon, she grasped at his shoulders, drawing his broad chest down upon her breasts, increasing the pressure on their union whenever he pressed all the way in. His neck craned to bring their faces together and his teeth nipped at her lower lip, and hers at his upper lip, and their kisses were raw, animal, primal, and hungry. They kissed deeply and he paused, settled so far within her, his mind working frantically to steel himself against the incredible tugging of her around his cock, running through every form of meditation, distraction, and concentration that would allow him to prolong making love to her this way while their lips mashed together with fiery passion.

When finally he broke their kiss, feeling he had regained control of himself, they assumed a new rhythm, this one swifter, more aggressive, more animal, his cock pounding into her waiting sex, its full length being taken by her, inch by inch, again and again, their wet union causing all the slurping and popping of delicious, natural, mind-blowing sex. He pressed in and drew out of her, faster and faster again, his full weight still upon her, the pressure on her vulva driving her beyond her mind. She shivered and tensed; wrapped her legs around him; buried her short-trimmed nails into his shoulders; she stilled for just a moment as a pant and gasp were caught on her lips, and then she felt her mind go blank.

Beneath him, he sensed her tension, felt her moment of stillness, then knew from his manhood to his shoulders to his mind that her orgasm had begun, that the convulsions were ripping through her, that an electric current had forced her eyes to roll and her jaw to drop, and her smooth, wet cunt, before wrapped around him so tightly but still unrestrained, seized around his cock and she gripped and pulled at him. His mind finally relinquished control and the grip of her around him drew from him a torrent of his seed—he exploded within her, unleashing wave upon wave of his mighty orgasm into her as she caught a second and then a third front of her own pleasure. They groaned and were absolutely still together, their sweet, wet union mixing their glorious sex, intertwining them beyond any measure they had once known. For seconds, minutes, hours, days, and weeks they stayed like this, their minds lost in the thick fog of the passion in the air, all senses but one silenced and damped as their bodies slowly tumbled down, down from the height of their mutual passion.

Finally they found consciousness, and his lips found hers again, and their kisses were gentle, loving, thankful, satisfied, patient, happy, pleased. When eventually his eyes met hers, previous attempts at their first time together, attempts marred by his sub-par performance set in by guilt, were completely forgotten and all they knew was that blissful moment of rapture they had just known together. And when finally he withdrew from her swollen, full sex, they lounged together in a lover's embrace that lasted deep into the night, an easy, casual slumber enveloping them both and dressing their dreams in warm colors brought on by the pleasure they had created. Later, though, he woke with guilt in his heart, and knew that all that had happened, though the most satisfying moment of his life up to then, had been terribly wrong.

That had been my great failure. That had been my deep infidelity. That had been my moment of unfaithfulness. She had been my best friend for years, and I had waited to have her, had promised myself to her time and time again, and she had waited to have me. We had lived our lives, seen other partners, done other things, dated and been happy, and been involved in life, but always we had waited for each other. And when finally we were together, we were both deeply involved with a romantic interest. We were both committed to others—though I was far more deeply committed to my partner than was she.

And that partner is the woman I'm with now. The woman that I would give anything to have, completely and honestly and truly again and again; the woman that I do have again and again, honestly and truly. But I do not have her completely. I can't have her completely. Because of that sweet moment of indulgence, of fulfilled promise, of infidelity. And I have been sorry; I have been forgiven. And I look forward with delight; I am satisfied and pleased with my woman now.

But sometimes the eye still wanders, you know? Sometimes the mind still wonders. Sometimes the heart still cries out for another moment like that one above.

But you can't always get what you want, right?

You can't always act when that eye catches a pretty, new thing passing by, right?

You can't always move when the mind sees an opportunity to be another woman's everything, for just a moment, right?

You can't always answer when your heart begs for two contradictory things, right?

...right?