Almost

I catch my mind wandering as I look up his unusually stout and thick torso. I bet he's not really 6 foot..well he does have that back problem thing maybe that's it. His knees are pressed to either side of my hips as his calves hug down my thighs, standing on his knees he towers over me. A brief flash of excitement shivers through my body and mind in response to the view of his arms bulging where they cross over his chest. My lips twist into a sensual grin for a moment as my eyes finish their path, landing on his face.

My mind starts wandering again, as my vision is now filled with his lips thinning out as he presses them together in that weird way that makes me think of a duck puckering up, his constant 'sexy' questions and affirmations become white noise to me as I take a mental journey.

Was this the same guy who walked in the rain to spend time with me? Walked with guitar strapped to his back to play and sing to me all night long in my tiny dorm room? My face turning skeptical, then the expression battling with another as I try to force my face into a mask of desire so that my thoughts remain my own. Was this the guy who talked to me about monogamy and jealousy? Was this the guy who so quickly and thoroughly swept me off my feet and charmed me- only to drop me from the height I was swept to? I moan convincingly as my mind answers itself: "Yeah."

He's telling me to punch his chest now. Alright I can do that. I hit his chest with a tight sound of knuckles to flesh, hitting as hard as I could. He laughed at me. Asshole. I hit again, and again and he just kept laughing. Finally he lowered himself with that winning smirked painted to his lips just after trapping my wrists in his much larger hands.

My brain continues to accuse him as he plays my body like a finally tuned piano. You crushed me. You cut me off, and turned me down just when I was going to give it all up for you. Worse, you did it for some short, sparkly, girly girl. It's like you ate up my deepest insecurities and spit them back out at me.

But that doesn't matter. Not really. This is about sex. This is about feeling good. This is about those bone liquefying orgasms I have yet to find with anyone else. It's okay that when we get together at first, it's awkward now, that the conversation is stunted. That all you can talk to me about is her, and how much you love her.... Just keep trailing those soft nibbles and kisses down my stomach, while I close my eyes as tight as I can.

OW! My eyes fly open with accusation, and real anger. He knows I hate being bitten that hard. He just smiles back at me, looking playful and teasing, laughing at me because he thinks it's all play. And it is. Bite me. Hurt me. Use me. Just don't leave me.

Finally, through all this emotional back logging, and wandering thoughts -- there right there. His mouth slides to my clit. Work me baby. Work me like only you can or have. Why is that? I moan softly as there is no time for my mind to answer that question.

His lips seal around my clit. Sucking. Licking. Scraping his teeth gently against the swollen little nub. Is that what he is doing down there? What is he doing down there? My back arches as my mouth opens into pathetic cries and whimpers. It's almost too much. It's almost painful- this tight ache, this pressure, this bolt of lightning centering on that little nub. My legs shake, my thighs tighten around his face, pressing to his cheeks- maybe to halt him, maybe to trap him. His arms curl around my ass, snaking up my hips with quick speed, his fingers dig into the flesh of my thighs to grip them tight enough that white marks paint in semi-circles around his finger tips. He pulls my thighs apart with his hold on them, the force of air filling the newly created space with its cold touch. I whimper again and try to squirm away as the cold air caresses my swollen, heated pussy. He pulls me back; the bed-spread piling under my ass as he does.

His tongue works and works. My back clenches and tightens painfully from the pleasure. My skin glistens with sweat, and my breath comes out in ragged pants. But somehow this painful pleasure isn't quite enough. It's not quite there yet. I just can't let go. I feel it there- this earth shattering orgasm, just on the horizon, cresting like a giant wave in the ocean threatening the shore. But most the time it stays in that hesitant state, that 'almost' orgasm that taunts and teases me constantly. Then men either give up, blindly hoping/believing that all that screaming and thrashing, all that natural wetness, was some earth shattering orgasm they bestowed upon me. I'll be fair. If I'm lucky, and they get the right angle, most the time that cock pounding me from above is enough to bring that wave to the shore after the foreplay, but it just slides up and paints over the wet sand when it does.

Not with him. Never with him. He slides one hand away from its grip on my thigh, while I am defenseless in my mindless state. No thoughts enter my head as it seems my life depends on reaching this pinnacle. His finger tips are a cool reminder of earth as they touch my feverishly hot pussy lips. They push. Parting my lips around their thickness, my pussy lips and inner walls catching at the sides of those invading fingers, forcing him to work into my tight pussy, even as I feel a puddle of my own wetness on my ass where I lay.

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding as his fingers finally hilt themselves inside me. Yes. Please. He spins his fingers around so that the pads face up towards my belly button. My expectations build, my breath catching again. Yes please. Please. So close. Finally those thick padded fingers brush my g-spot. My breath leaves me in a forcefully whoosh. Just in time for me to scream out my painful pleasure. His mouth stays busy at my clit as his fingers pet, stroke, tap, what-the-fuck-is-he-even-doing-in-there? my g-spot.

He pauses to look up at me. He asks like he always does in that girlish sex voice he gets, the one that almost has a whine to it "You like that, huh? Is that good? Ya like that?" Stop it. Shut up. You know I do. Please stop talking. Where did my orgasm go? Focus girl focus. There! There you are. Oh god please. That wave, that giant wave it's arcing and rising, blotting out the moon from reaching the shoreline below, the water sliding back to reveal the very beginning of the ocean floor as this monsoon gains momentum. Screaming. Begging. Whimpering. Crying. Please. Only you can do it.

I cum.

The wave hits in a giant crash to the shore, leaving a trench in the wet sand where it made first contact. Aaahhhh. Yes. All the tension in my back and thighs drains out of me. My muscles loosen and relax, my legs shake with the effort of staying bent and in the air. As almost a spectator from the side looking down upon our naked entwined bodies, I watched us in a detached fashion as he works me to flooding orgasm at least twice more. He finally looks up from between my thighs, wiping his hand over his glistening cheeks and lips as he smiles up at me boyishly- knowing his power over me. Tears run down my cheeks, but by now he thinks it's because of the intensity of my orgasms- which it usually is. But I look at that face. He's not beautiful, er well. Even all that attractive to me. But he's always had some sort of power over me as though he were the most beautiful man on earth. He keeps smiling, crawling up my body to press himself into me now, as things usually go.

I look up at the ceiling just before I close my eyes, I've never really been able to feel him inside of me anyways. But who cares when he can blow my mind like that? Those tears make little rivers down my cheeks, as I make obligatory moaning noise and whimpers, begging for that cock I can't feel. All I can think about is how much I will miss this when it's gone. How much it hurts when he talks about her, and his instant love and connection. I hate it. I hate him. I hate his sappiness. And most of all I miss him. I miss long walks, joking, teasing, flirting, cuddling, petting, kissing, dreaming.

But I'll see my other boyfriends later this week. We'll cuddle. We'll fuck. We'll remain aloof, detached and uninvested. I'll stay cold and withdrawn right up until they start to touch me, undress me. Then I'll go home and curl up with my body pillow...wishing it were arms holding me right back. But never wanting to be hurt again.