It's not the first picture I have been sent by a randy guy who's online with nothing better to do but try to get a response of any kind, preferably favourable and with a happy ending. And I am not typically visually keyed, being female and more moved by the written word, or at least the spoken one. But damn. Is that what it is like to be a guy? You see something and immediately your unruly body is telling you it WANTS and you had better be seeing to it tout de suite. This puts lie to every instance where I have been unmoved by random body part pictures sent over the interweb to my inbox. I admit it has been a while, a very long while in fact, since I have even thought about sex; having it, wanting it, doing it, anything related to it. And even longer since I have been willing to phone it. It surprised me, the strength of my response.
My hands were shaking, my knees were weak, and my pussy so fucking wet I was amazed I could still drip like a damn faucet having written those days off several years ago now. Is it true that years without sex makes us virgins again? I swear I felt like one, alone in my room with the phone (sadly camera-less) clutched in one hand. The other was busy, yes I admit.
Oral fixation has always been my friend, and my lovers' as well. I like to taste; I like to lick and nibble and suck and swallow and experience the world between my lips. I will also admit it is a bit of a power-rush, to have my lips clamped around the most important thing in a man's world, his cock between my teeth. Oh, I only bite if asked very nicely. And I have been. You can imagine my wicked grin here.
What I wanted, what spun through my brain when I saw the picture, surprised me with the visceral power of it. I wanted that musky taste on my tongue, wanted to feel the strong throb of pulse against my fingers as I stroked and guided that cock into my mouth, wanted to suck that suddenly beautiful cock until I heard breath catch and felt fingers fist my hair and tug me off so you could kiss your taste on my tongue and fuck me hard and hot and unstoppable until we both came so hard we saw stars from lack of oxygen and sheer overwhelming greed of wanting to erase the rest of the universe except the sensation of skin on skin and hands stroking and mouths tasting and pulse pounding in time with the slap of flesh against flesh.
In calmer moments I might want smooth, silky movements of bodies and a slow sinking in of sensations as we explore and experiment and discover. But not in that moment. In that split second I was reminded that I am in fact younger than I feel most of the time and still have blood pulsing in my veins, and it is hot with want again, as if the hiatus of years was wiped out by one picture, such a simple common occurrence in this age of instant communication and even more instant gratification.
