Do You Want To 4

[For over twenty years, I have been considering, thinking about, wanting, really wanting, to write and submit a story to literotica. But, I have not - until today. My page remained blank, and I kept wishing for a future that never arrived. Did I really want to write a story? I think part of the problem has been that I felt like it wasn't really appropriate and that perhaps something was wrong with me. I am probably not the only one, but I confess to having read and enjoyed stories from all 32 categories over the years - yes, there are 32 categories, I just checked again now. I didn't really feel comfortable reading many stories, but I think it is important to step out of your comfort zone and to feel to fantasize, even if there is no desire for reality to reflect those desires, says me, from my straight vanilla life. My path has collided with many characters over the years, and one man, I will call him E, left a mark. Note that this is fiction and the first person is just for fun.I plan to expand and refine this initial draft, but I am worried that it may take another twenty years.]

"Do you want to fuck?" E was short. He was fat. He often described himself as ugly and broke. E was also on the high side of 30 - his days as a young buck were long gone. I don't know if he was a good man, and he most certainly was often inappropriate, but he was a man that knew what he wanted and how to get it. E also often bragged about his small penis and joked about his terrible stamina.

"Do you want to fuck?" was his catch phrase, his sole pickup line, and his mantra in life.

It was a hot day. Humid. Sweat everywhere. E had been working all morning, and he knew that he was going to have to go back to work soon. But, sitting at a cafe, sipping his tea in the shade, E knew that his real work was just beginning.

E was a driver for a company, essentially a taxi driver for the top executives. E lived in what was essentially the garage of his parent's house, but he had a bed and a bit of privacy. E loved sex. He loved to fuck, he loved to talk about it, and he knew how to have a lot of it.

Everyday E set a goal of asking 100 women if they wanted to fuck. Yes, he was that crass. Yes, there were many days where he did not meet his target. But, he tried, and he tried, and he kept on trying.

E was also special because he didn't really have any standards. E liked women, and he made sure that his partners were over 18, and that no kinds were in earshot, but nothing else mattered. Not at all. It was simply magic to watch, especially because he had a wonderful smile and laugh, and allowed women to think that he was joking. He was not. He was absolutely sincere.

To the svelte business executive rushing to a meeting: "Do you want to fuck?"

To the sweaty sports enthusiast jogging down the street: "Do you want to fuck."

To the overweight grandma probably pushing 80: "Do you want to fuck."

To the underweight twenty-something: "Do you want to fuck," and, indeed.

To any female walking down the street: "Do you want to fuck?"

His pleasure was in the consummation of the act, and he certainly didn't have sex every day, but he asked and asked and kept on asking for it.

I am also grateful to E, because he was willing to help out a friend.

Today, E was asking, "Do you want to fuck that guy." I was that guy, and it was my lucky day.

I was embarrassed and I knew that I also had to get back to my desk soon. I confess that I was also worried, thinking that maybe some hideous ancient creature would agree - I was playing by his rules, and a yes meant that it was go time.

There had already been 10 strikes, but it was a busy street and another woman was walking our way. She was perfect. Beautiful eyes. Beautiful walk. But of course, after glancing at me, she said, "hell, no."

And, again. I tried not to watch, but another woman, perhaps 50 years-old, and not pretty, and not ugly, was the next opportunity.

She responded with a smile, and I started to get excited. E pointed out his garage, which was only 200 feet away, and gestured for both of us to go in that direction. I was also clueless as to the local language, and she also didn't speak any English.

E herded us down the street and ushered us into his garage. He smiled, pointing out the clean sheets and turned out the lights just before he closed the door with another smile.

Even though I had seen E at work for months, I didn't really think he was serious, but I looked at the woman now just a couple feet away, and thinking of E, I smiled and started to unbutton my shirt. I really don't know what she was thinking, but she smiled back. Then all of a sudden she lifted off her plain blue dress, and her silhouette was illuminated by the bit of light shining in through the door. She was a woman, and she wanted what I wanted.

My slacks were soon undone, and I approached her in my boxers trying unsuccessfully to undo the clasp at the back of her bra. She let out a little moan as I stroked her back, and she then reached down to grasp my penis. She actually then pushed me down onto the small bed, as she pulled down her underwear, and then quickly yanked down my boxers.

E had pushed a condom into my hand as he closed the door, and it was soon enclosing my member.

As if attracted by magnets, we were soon joined together. There were no kisses, but there was a lot of movement, as she first rode me, and then I soon flipped her onto her back. She started panting loud, and almost before I knew it, I was climaxing and then it was over.

Still with no words of communication, we both slowly got dressed, and then she smiled again and went out the door.

I felt satiated, but I knew that I wanted more.

[To be continued.]