I wish I could say, in retrospect, that Kara and I were made for one another. We weren't. Actually, from the moment we met, she thought I was a self-righteous hubris prick. I thought she was a childish idiot. I guess, in our own little ways, we were both right. I still am full of myself and use it to get her into bed. She still just reads romance novels and says I use too many dime-words. But it works for us.
She was twenty-two when I met her. I was the same age, but I felt older. She felt younger. I had just gotten out of an engagement a year earlier with a woman named Marigold. One R. It was a two year long relationship, a one and a half year long engagement. When she left our hearts were mutually broken, though I suppose I took it harder. For all the pompousness I exhibit, I'm still a thin-skinned romantic. Kara was the first who even made me smile. Well, more than smile, she gave me back erections and the desire to bed a woman again. God, it felt good to be a man again.
Problem was we met online and she, though still a little girl at heart, had been fucking a man name Rich. He was in his mid fifties and a father figure. Married, separated. You know the story. He never told her a nice word in her life and simply bedded her over and over again. Hotel rooms with broken headboards. She was a sex kitten. And I was envious. I wanted so badly to hit Rich over the head with a tire iron and keep her to myself. She wanted it to, I thought, but never said as much. Just that she wanted me more. Four years with a man, even one that abused her, was superseding the concept of us.
It started off as phone sex, one night, after some mild flirting. She sent me a picture of her glorious breasts after I joked that she should. Fully expected a chimpanzee or something along the lines of a grotesque expression, I nearly choked on my tea when I saw them. Large, beautiful, pink tipped with large nipples. After swallowing the tea I told her I wanted to call her, wank off to her. She agreed. But even that didn't go as planned. She was so nice, so kind, so sweet. I just wanted to talk to her. A 20 minute lewd call turned into a four hour conversation. The four hour conversation turned into a week long flirting. The flirting turned into her coming to my apartment. And that's how I became the other man.
She was short, very short, 5'1. But her breasts were huge and held tightly up in a white, button down shirt. Her large, beautiful breasts, 36C I would later find out, would barely be contained. She was also wearing a green, plaid skirt as per my fantasies. Cliche as it is, I loved seeing her in them, in this bad schoolgirl outfit. Her face, oval and beautiful, with little black glasses in square, block fashion covering her startling green eyes. Strikingly green eyes that seemed to light up the room and cause the fabric of my crotch to become strained. She was beautiful. I wanted to fuck her, then make love to her, then call her a goddess. And repeat the procedure.
We wasted little time. I scratched the small of her back. She leaned up to kiss my earlobe. It was quite a jump, I was over a foot taller than she. Still, she wants to bring me to my knees. No wine, though we had it. No frozen novelty drinks. She moved me to the till, Victorian pattern of the bed. She pushed me down upon it, with her left hand against my chest, and pushed me into the mattress. A light, gentle humming them as he began to button down the shirt. One at time, looking me in the eyes and swaying left to right, as she made he way down the shirt. A few buttons into it I undid the button my crotch and zipped down. No underwear.
"Now, now" she said gently taking my hands up, a momentary pause in the strip tease, and put them on my chest, "I want you to keep your hands off my cock, baby." She moved down the button string until the shirt was eventually discarded with a shy little shrug, he back turned to me. A blue bra, barely large enough to hold her. I could see that just from the strap. She turned around too reveal sultry, alabaster cleavage. I smiled up at her, really more of a foolish grin, as she played with her breasts, humming a little strip tease. Then she took up the hem of her skirt and raised it slowly, her hips moving in slow circles as she turned her back to me once more. She bend over then to reveal a pale, beautiful ass in a matching blue thong underneath the skirt. "Well, hullo there, baby." My left hand jaunted out to smack her playfully on the left ass cheek. She squealed and feigned indignity as she took a step away. Then she dropped the skirt to the floor and kicked it aside.
Now she was just barely wearing anything. A matching blue thong and bra. I smiled to her and she winked back to me. My cock, by no means gargantuan, was at it's full seven inches now and she was eyeing it carefully. "And hullo to you, too." I made a joke about a one eyed monk, a private joke, she laughed and ruffled up her short, red hair before pealing, pealing, excruciatingly slow pealing out of her bra and thong set. She left the shoes on. I don't know why. I didn't much care at the time either. So now it was my turn. I had to carefully ease out of my dickeys and my shirt. I didn't wear underwear, something she loved.
So then she'd plant a dozen kisses onto my bald head, pushing her breasts into my face. I tentatively kissed back. She moaned happily, giggled, and then she put a hand on my balls and began stroking them gently, happily. I got goosebumps all over my body at this point as she began to lay kisses all over my face. Through trying to simply use me for sex, it was apparent that she loved me. Wanted me in more ways than one. But that light dimmed. Back to the vixen act.
