"I want to be close to you," she said. Across the table from her he smiled. It was a noncommittal smile. He was flattered perhaps but no more. " I think it would be fun" she went on, " a diversion." He seemed to agree though there again, no real enthusiasm. She left it to him at that point. Obviously, she had made herself quite clear. They had known each other for a few years. She had always found him interesting, attractive -- but she had never thought any more of it. But now that she had opened her mind to the possibility of more with this man -- she could think of nothing else.
At night, in her bed, when the house was dark and quiet, she would think of him. There were many things that turned her on about him but first and foremost was his smell. She could only describe it as a cross between patchouli and his own male scent that fairly screamed sex. For all of her obsession with him now the funny thing was that he had once lived with her. Well, he hadn't exactly lived with her, he had rented a room in her house. Back then she went to bed at night without a second thought for this man, beyond the fact that it was nice, comforting to have a guy around. Anyway, the room that he had stayed in still held this patchouli/sex smell and on the really lonely nights a fire in the wood stove seemed to actually draw it from the walls.
On just such a night, after a warm bath, she lay on the sofa. She was naked, wrapped only in the quilt he had slept under. The wood stove burning brought his scent and if she kept her eyes closed tight she could almost feel him there with her. It was a purely physical thing that she had for this man -- with its roots in her mind and her sex. During the day, in a moment of sanity -- or was it clarity -- she had become suddenly fearful that perhaps she was turning into a guy. Well, not literally, of course, but she had never had these feelings before. These were feelings of pure lust, unrelated to any emotion. And this to her seemed quite a male trait. But, then, at night, wrapped in that quilt and warm from the tub, she was assured once again that she was definitely all girl.
And so, laying on the sofa with the fire crackling, she imagined her lover there with her. She stretched out luxuriantly and felt the quilt rub against her bare nipples. Her fingers slowly traced the outline of her flat belly and ran down lightly across the slight rise of neatly trimmed hair. She had trimmed it in anticipation of him that week -- anticipation of the call that never came. But now, she thought of how he would have felt inside her. She thought of his cock as she saw him in her mind. He would walk in the back door and see her on the sofa. She would smile and motion to him to come closer. As he stood before her, she, without a word, unzipped his jeans.
Already, she could tell, he was getting hard. She was still wrapped in the quilt and as she moved to free his cock his hands brushed the fabric off her shoulders. It slid down, off her back exposing her entire body to him. He saw her breasts were small and firm with pink nipples standing straight out. Her tummy was flat and smooth and lower down he could see that she was wet. Meanwhile, she continued to fondle his cock. She was amazed at its beauty -- relishing each moment. He was hard now and sitting before him on the sofa she slid just the head into her mouth. Her tongue licked slow circles around the rim. He was large as she had imagined he would be and he felt good in her mouth. She ran her hands around to grasp his ass and pushed him slowly forward into her mouth.
