I Love Men

I love men.

I really do. I have loved many different men. But I love them all.

Their smells and looks, the way they walk, the way they belch and holler, the way they will never admit how much they need us, and the way they never admit how little they do. They fascinate me these base and sensory creatures. A full belly, some sexual release and a few comfort items and most are content. They sleep the sleep of the dreamless, the sated. I love them in all their diversity.

They fascinate me. The egotistical male: who is striving for a perfection he will never find... and usually is hiding a unique and silent vulnerability. The strong man: who fears his own weakness, and who finds he is strongest not through his muscles but by protecting those weaker. The talkers: who if you listen, speak with their minds. The thinkers, the brains, and the nerds: whose strength lies inside them untapped. A little stroking, and they shine. The shy man: who when opened up by the right one is an exuberant conversationalist. Smart or dumb, tall or short, thin or fat, muscular or weak, hair or no hair... these are the men I love and have loved.

I remember him; tall and lanky... wickedly smart with a quick wit. He was a virgin. I spoke to him, and he made me laugh. No one seems to realize what a potent aphrodisiac laughter is. I spoke my intentions with my eyes. He kept us friends. I touched him, brushed against him, moved my face close to his to tell him things. He kept us friends. I realized I would have to be more direct. So one night in his apartment after a gathering of friends I stayed to help repair the damage. I lifted myself to sit on the kitchen counter... deliberately letting my legs open a bit in my short khaki skirt. He stared, but kept the conversation going. I had to admire him for this. I stopped him by calling his name.

I asked him directly... "Do you not find me attractive?"

He stammered a bit... "Yeah I do, but we are friends!"

I smiled my 'wicked me' smile at him slowly. "We can still be friends when you fuck me." I was watching his crotch at the time... and I saw a physical jump at my words. I held out my arms, asking for his help off the counter. He interpreted my gesture differently and yanked my knit top down below my leopard print bra.

He pulled the satin cups down and immediately engulfed my nipple into his mouth. He attacked them, filling every boyish masturbation fantasy he had ever had in those few moments. It was delicious. He moved his hands down and let them slide up my smooth thighs to my hips... he moaned as he did this. Such simple things... I had grown used to doing this for myself. It was nothing new to touch my own body, or to touch others. I felt humbled that my body was giving his this first taste of pleasure... this first taste of a woman's body. He was unbelievable that night fucking me from behind, my chest lay on the kitchen counter.

He walked behind me to his bedroom and yanked me to the living room table before we could get there. He laid me out as a waiter laid out a fine meal, spread, palatable, a sensual delight for the senses. He ate at me for 2 hours, learning my smells and tastes, the sensitive spots on my body. We made it to the bathroom next to clean off and had another round with me sitting on top of him while he rested on top of the closed toilet. The next three times were in his room... on the floor, on the weight bench, and finally in his bed. He came in my mouth when I gave him his first ever blowjob. He was one I loved.

I remember him; so big he scared people and had to have his shoes specially made. He had played football, and was a brawny construction worker on the team building my home. I liked to drive up to the site and watch them sweat. I would rub myself while sitting in my car dreaming of licking up all that salty male sweat. He apparently knew his strength only too well and had not had a woman in years because he was too afraid of hurting them.

I think my size put him at ease. At 5'11", I was not that much shorter than he was. I came out to meet with the architect one afternoon and he was there cleaning up some debris. I asked him for his arm to help me down the makeshift stairs they had put up. He picked me up and carried me to my car. I decided to take him to the apartment I lived in while the house was getting built. I made up some excuse... and he followed me. He barely had me in the door before he pushed me up against the wall and fucked me till my eyes crossed. He was big all over. He hesitated momentarily until I moaned that I loved big men.

That sound, that confirmation, that elemental reassurance was what he needed. He lifted me onto his shoulders with my pussy to his face and licked me, tongued me, sucked on my clit. He was the only man ever able to do that. I had my back against the wall; my hands supported me by being palm up on the ceiling. This was what made him special. I made a sound when he dug his fingers into my ass. He stopped and looked up at me, worry in his expression that he might have possibly hurt me. I looked at his face, his mouth wet from my cunt, his chin dripping my juice, his eyes unfocused in the pleasure of pleasing.

I yanked his hair and pushed him back to my pussy and told him I won't break. Now do it harder! Later he pushed me face first into the wall and fucked me from behind, his meaty arm wrapped around my hips pulling me back into him at each pounding thrust. He moaned as loud as I did when if he would dare to ease up or slow down I would squeeze his arm with my nails and tell him... Fuck Me Harder!

We made love and had sex and fucked each other for three solid days... resting only when we could not keep it up any more, eating only when we were not pushing each others' orgasmic limits, and only to replenish our bodies to fuck some more. He left realizing just how elastic and pliable a woman's body is. He was one I loved.

I remember him; chocolate on his mouth in the pastry shop I loved to visit. He was a chef, with a slightly thick middle that showed how much he loved his own creations. He was not tall, just of medium height and build. Some would call him average. We began our conversation by me handing him a napkin for a small smudge of chocolate that had applied itself to his chin..

He blushed so endearingly and we talked of desserts and chocolates and sweets. I confessed a near immutable desire for a dessert called "Better Than Sex Cake". He laughed and said he would not have named it that but it happened to be one of his specialties. He invited me to his home for a taste... for once a man inviting me first. I was thrilled. We made a date for that evening.

When I arrived at his home, the first thing I noticed was that he had knocked out what was probably the dining area and half the living room to make this super-sized fabulous kitchen. It had a specialty stove with 6 burners and a built-in grill area. He also had a huge hanging rack filled with various sized gleaming copper pots and pans and a load of dried herbs. It hung overtop of this massive oak top table that was used as a prep surface, cutting board, and from the stools situated around it, a dining table as well. He asked me to sit down, and I did, crossing my legs as I sat on the round stool.

He stopped a moment, in the middle of placing a hot glove on his hand, staring at the view of my leg up to the thigh as my skirt hiked up. He looked at me, and smiled. "I wonder if we will test the theory of the cake's name tonight?" He said to me. I laughed. He took a dish from the oven, and I almost expired from the smells. It was not the cake he had promised me, but instead a chicken herbed dish he planned to feed me for dinner. I asked him if it would still be good later. He laughed, covered the dish and placed into the huge restaurant sized fridge. While he was in there, he pulled out the cake. We only got to eat a few bites of the delicious confection, before he moved to lick the corner of my mouth where some whip cream had dripped.

Once he stuck his tongue out and began licking my mouth and lips, I dropped the spoon onto the counter and wrapped my arms around him. We ate at each other's mouths... sipping cream off of tongues, melding the sweet flavor of "Better Than Sex". He stripped me of my clothes as I returned the favor, and then laid me down on the huge expanse of well-used wood. The indents and subtle scratches only made me more aware of my skin and the tingling he was making travel through it. He pulled one of the stools right in front of me as I lay on that table, my legs hanging off the edge. He pushed my legs over his shoulders and sat down to feast.

He was a definite connoisseur of eating... food and women. He made orgasm after orgasm pass through my body as easily as he poured cream into a mixture to make a dessert. I only had a token protest when he took a spoonful of the cake and slathered it on my cunt... beginning to do a deep inspection as he licked it off... making sure he did not miss a single drop. He climbed onto the table with me and we smeared cake over each other to lick and suck it off. He pulled fresh strawberries and peeled quartered peaches from the fridge, and we smashed them over each other.

He pushed his cock deep inside me in the midst of cake and peach juice and my own wetness. He fucked me deep and slow... pumping himself into my cunt and licking my strawberry laden tits, and repeating the motion until I was half mad with the need to cum. He made me cum amidst that slick, smashed, fruit and cake. He was one I loved.

There have been many others, all special in their own ways. This is my life, and I will expire happily with only the memories of those I loved.