Marshmallow Messages

To me, the human female is the beautiful expression of nature in our universe. Astronomers may ogle great galaxies. Curators of fine art may find the great masters beautiful beyond compare. Architects may take pleasure in great structures. And the lover may find the sunset without aesthetic peer, but a female is to my eyes is of the greatest and most sublime beauty.

That's why I like to see nude females. I especially enjoy them dancing. Any and all of them, each beautiful in her own way, communicating to males in ways as ancient as the sea.

Business took me to Las Vegas. I took advantage of the plentiful nude dancing clubs to review again the paramount beauty of the universe. The setting was not unusual. A small stage and runway. Colored lights. A couple of rows of minuscule tables. A dancer on stage finishing up her act. A well-endowed red-haired woman, the beneficiary of modern prosthetic surgery.

I have parking Karma, so a man got up and left a stage-side seat just as I was entering. The waitress took my order for a Coca Cola.

The men in the club hushed. The next woman to dance must have been known to them as someone special. The lights came up as

you

walked, no strutted, through the curtains and onto the stage.

There was a immediate reaction of applause, then silence as the audience focused on you and your sexiness. That was it. Your natural sexiness, not the result of silicone inflation, but your natural interest in sex and being sexy that showed through every move. You threw your ass back and belly forward and quickly disrobed from your short, black dress. You were nude underneath. Not the usual teasing. You gave the men in the club immediately what they wanted, a look at your incredibly beautiful pussy.

There must have been 30 immediate erections in the place as you spread your legs and revealed the beauty of beauties, your sensitive and dusky inner lips and clit. Was it my imagination or were you a slightly tumescent; did your pussy and clit engorge slightly at the animal reaction you caused in two and a half dozen hormone laden males? Was that wetness glistening on the neatly trimmed pubic hair framing your pussy?

You danced around the edge of the runway, giving each sector of the beasts in the room a closer glimpse of heaven between your legs. Until you got to me.

As you danced your little step of passion, you approached my table, you looked at my eyes. You saw that I was looking back through your eyes at your soul. Your eyes reflected a most unusual and intelligent individual. For a heart beat, our eyes exchanged some mysterious unfathomable message. Then, slightly taken aback by my lack of total focus on your sex parts, your eyes flickered down for an almost imperceptible fraction of a second to my crotch and then back out to the audience as you danced away from me. You could not have helped but to observe the thick, long bulge in my pants. Later I found that you did notice.

As the next song began to play, you readied us for your finale, another crowd pleaser, as you brought forth two marshmallows from behind the curtains, like we used to roast as Boy Scouts.

Now you floated to the music, borne by the atmosphere sodden with testosterone from five dozen gonads. Gently, in a trance of sexual arousal, you split open each marshmallow to expose its sticky interior and stuck it on one of your hard nipples. I involuntarily sucked in my breath at the possibilities, and a good thing too because I stopped breathing as you strode straight to me.

Another, almost imperceptible, flicker of your eyes to my crotch. You danced to a squatting positioning, completely nude, except for two marshmallows, one of which you jiggled to my mouth. Your tumescent inner lips extruded from between your outer labia. "Eat my soft offering," you commanded, as you took my head in your two-handed grasp.

The men in the club were wild with jealously, as I opened my mouth and moved slightly toward your proffered tit-borne marshmallow. I grasped the white cloud of sweet with my tongue, teeth and lips. As I withdrew, you jerked my head slightly so that my tongue just grazed the underside of your nipple. My erection tore at the constraints of my pants.

Instantly, you danced away from me, playing to the crowd of men asking for your attention and the favor of your second marshmallow. Unashamedly, you gave them encouragement and then jerked it away as you pranced from one male mad with hormone overload to another while sixty eyes tried to focus on your sweet pussy and simultaneously that white blob hung on your hard nipple as it bobbed in the ultraviolet light.

Suddenly, you were above me again, writhing to the music, your pussy lips clearly shiny with lust and rivulets of sweat running down over your belly after a detour through your navel.

As I looked up, the second marshmallow lowered in front of my gaze. "Are you man enough to sample my softness again," you whispered. My throat was too dry with horniness and lust for your supple full, sexual body. I could not speak. You saw my fluster and drew my mouth to your eternal mother symbols. My lips opened automatically and lifted the last impaled marshmallow, the color of my cum, off your pink nipple, again revealing your ample aureole. Something soft and wet brushed across my knuckle grasping the rail of the stage. Could it have been your pussy?

I don't remember whether I touched your nipple, but you shuddered as you drew away, with what looked like small driblets of spittle on the underside of your nipple. Your eyes drifted off to infinite focus and you danced out your number, revealing to the room of erections as you did so your distended vagina rim, warm, i imagined, with the thought of sex.

Then you were gone. The applause died. I was left with a faint taste of sweet in my mouth. I remembered my hand. Yes, a sniff confirmed the unmistakably exquisite perfume of wet vagina that lingered on the back of my knuckles. My cock struggled against the binds of my jeans.

Two souls, like ships, will pass in the night and be gone. But two sexualities do not slide by without traces; sometimes the only track left is a dribbled odor from the other libido as it recedes into the dark distance. So I was left with the bitter sweet muskiness of your lust.

The words of the waitress intruded. I declined another Coke.

"No," she whispered, "I said she wants to see you. Go to her dressing room."

I followed the raw brick down a stairs behind the stage to a row of small rooms in the basement. I knocked on the only closed door.

"Come in," you said.

I felt like I was on my first date. You was consummately at ease, tipping back casually in your chair, still nude, but with a towel over the thigh of a leg propped up on a second chair, partially covering your trimmed pussy, spread slightly by the casual throw of your legs. Your eyes glittered with intrigue.

Was it my imagination that saw your legs spread more as I stepped into the room and closed the door while trying to conceal my big stiff dick from the outside world. You drank in my big bulge, before raising your eyes to mine.

"I have a rather delicate subject to discuss with you. May I ask you some personal questions?" she said.

"Of course."

"I am a lonely woman. I travel a lot. Don't stay in any one city long. I find it difficult to meet attractive men."

I found that incredible. "You could have any of several dozen men out there tonight. Any one of them would kill to penetrate you," I protested.

You shifted on your chair, pulling the towel a little more off your pussy in general and your protruding clit specifically. "I don't want any man. I want a clean sensitive man with spirit in his eyes, one that is naturally attractive to me, like you."

A new wave of rigidity made my cock jump. You were so incredibly seductively and deliciously arrayed before me. You looked good enough to eat and probably were.

"There is one other matter," as your eyes dropped to my jeans. "I am not satisfied with any man. I am aroused, both mentally and physically, by a man with a big dick. Would you mind showing me your cock?"

I could smell your wet need. I fumbled with the button fly of my jeans. My huge, rock-hard cock was already out of its pouch. It sprang from the fly of my pants and stood out straight, visibly throbbing, its head glistening and so distended that my spurt hole was swollen open."

"My God, you're big-bigger than I dared to I hope. I need huge maleness. Bring your cock here."

I moved before you. Your hand reached out and gently fingered my cock, testing its rigidity, the smoothness of the head, the firmness of the raised purple veins, touching my shaft as if unable to believe its length and thickness. "I need a like-spirited man who is well hung and highly sexed. Maybe you are he. Please indulge my special needs. Please help me determine if you are the male I long to give me the sex I need so much. It has been so long. My need is very great. Would you...um...would you mind showing me your balls?"

Your natural beauty tits, the sexy curves of your spread thighs, the press of your clit against the seat of the chair as you leaned forward to feel my cock, made my balls tingle as I lifted them out of my pouch and through my pants fly to drape them down the front of my jeans. My dusky nude ball bags were swollen with sperm and hung low.

You reached out and hefted my big sperm bags, licking your lips in what I took to be approval. Pre-cum laced with sperm welled out of the tip of my cock.

"Can I be of service, ma'am?"

"Please be gentle with me," you whispered hoarsely, "My vagina is tight from my dancing. You...you're so big. Please be patient when you penetrate me."

"I shall. I will be as hard as a rock and as soft as autumn breeze across a golden meadow. Show me yourself," said as I knelt in front of you, gently touching your hair and hand, and brushing my fingertips against your belly.

Comforted by my assurances and light touch, you eased back in your chair and spread your legs fully and rotated your hips up toward me as the obscuring towel slid to the floor.

I leaned forward to kiss your nipples. You pressed your pussy against my hard stomach muscles.