by Lux Smith
(04/01/09)

I woke up thinking over and over and over about last night, still feeling you next to me even though you'd gone. I felt hollow where your cock had stretched me during our sex. When you entered, it hurt for a second, but then I adjusted to fit you and could feel every inch of you sliding back and forth inside of me.

We took a nap afterwards, and your dick felt hot resting against the tattoo on my back. I like to be touched there. Then you enjoyed me again, so tired that you lay flat on top of me. We barely moved. I like feeling your whole body against me. I don't want to sleep alone anymore.

I can't say that I had an orgasm, but I felt electrified and excited by your attention, your desire, and your coming so quickly. Some don't like it when it doesn't take long, but I do: It's a compliment. I feel powerful because I can turn you on and excite you that much. Long sex is boring -- it becomes an exercise in hydraulics, cold as any manufacturing process. Quick and hot -- that's the best.

I climax by myself later, thinking about your hard breathing and moaning. My vibrator is a large, unwieldy massager, sold at Brookstone. I don't want a rubber penis or a rabbit or a plastic egg. If I die in a car accident, I don't want whoever cleans out my condo to know my secrets.

I could work on having orgasms with you, but I don't love you. Maybe that's what I'm saving for marriage. My wetness embarrasses me, and I hate the word squirt. Who really wants to worry about washing sheets and keeping mattresses dry? You say you'd like to see me squirt, but I don't believe you yet.

So why do I want you to come back tonight? It's your constant need to touch me and be close.

We don't talk much because your mouth is always busy. I see you so often, but I don't even know your last name. Sometimes when you call I forget what I told you my name is. I say, "It's me," and rely on caller ID to do the rest. Do you even remember my name? (Well, the one I said was mine?)

I know what you do, but not where and how you do it; I guess it's a good career because you have a nice place. I see wedding photos on the mantel, but I don't look closely, afraid they might be you. And a wife. Who goes out of town often? Since I don't sleep with married men, I just don't ask. Is this a condo you want to rent out now that you've bought a home? Do you really live here? Is any man really this neat and tidy? Do you straighten up for me?

I straighten up for you. I'm messy, and my place is old. Nice, but old. Can't seem to manage the dust and clutter. Entertaining frightens me. What if people think I live like a pig? What if I do? Life overwhelms me and I want to escape. You pose no problems and ask for nothing but my body, which seems to enjoy your body.

Come back to love my body tonight. Hold my hand as you lead me upstairs and take a deep breath of anticipation when I take off my shirt. What is it with you and the nipples? It's like I'm nursing a baby. Sometimes they get sore from your attentions, but I don't get tired of you telling me how you could play with my breasts forever. I sent you a picture of them to look at whenever you want. I like that you stare at me, and I hope -- partially -- that you showed the picture to your friends. I want them to be jealous. (And to want them to touch me, too.)

What do you tell your friends? Same thing you tell me? How hot and wet I am? Are your compliments a sham? Do you keep me a secret like I keep you a secret from my friends?

My friends have boyfriends and husbands and wouldn't understand why I just want a lover. We don't talk about sex. They don't know how much I enjoy giving blow jobs, even though we've known each other since kindergarten.

Sometimes I think I suck too hard, but you seem to like it. I ask for directions, but you tell me you like whatever I do. I have no choice but to believe you, especially when you come in my mouth, on my breasts, or in my hair, after I've been tasting you. I can't believe you didn't know what tea bagging is. I like doing that for you.

And the anal sex. Had you really never done that either? I hate to admit it, but it's an act of charity on my part. Every time I do it, I say never again, especially with a thick penis like yours. I guess I'll believe you. I am fifteen years older. All women have to do to become more sexually experienced is say yes. I like saying yes because it makes men so happy at the prospect of having their constant needs satisfied.

Women have the same constant needs, but we're taught not to acknowledge them. I like my desire and I let it lead me where it wants. After having sex with so many men (I sometimes intend to say no, but just forget), I've learned some things about male lust. You all seem to love long hair. I feel sorry for the women on those makeover shows who allow the stylists (clearly gay men) to cut their hair into some jagged, piecey, "stylish" new look. I know you want my hair loose, soft and abundant. Especially since you're losing yours. Mine seems decadent and impossible. Honestly, I've had strange men ask to touch my hair in public. Married co-workers tell me how good it looks.

That, and shoes. I don't ever wear sensible ones like the mommies in my supper club do. No clogs, crocs, slippers. Flip flops only with a bikini. Heels work with everything and on everyone. I kicked off my strappy shoes at a friend's house next to her Clarks. Her husband asked her, "Honey, why don't you ever wear shoes like that?" I was embarrassed, but the next time I saw her she had on heels.

We don't talk about my stomach. I know I need to lose at least 70 pounds and that I can't rely on my breasts and hair with everyone. You don't touch me there, and I know it's because you pretend it's not big. I know that's why we don't go out together -- why I'm your lover and not your girlfriend. You would be proud for your friends to see my chest, but not my abs. I have tried to lose weight, but not hard enough. For awhile I thought no man would want me, but I should have known that wasn't so. As long as I'm soft and wet, pretty with pink skin and willing to explore, I'll probably have lovers. Young ones, even.

I like to smell different each time to keep you intrigued. Sometimes like coconut, other times lemon, occasionally vanilla. Roses only once. Most new perfumes are too heavy and complicated to me, made to be inhaled from a distance. They're not intimate and private anymore. So I've taken to wearing one-note scents that aren't too loud.

I wish I could find more matching shampoos and colognes. Having my hair smell like apples and my body like honeysuckle doesn't seem to work. I found one complete line, but then I had to give it up when a new friend told me she'd been wearing it for years. And that her mother wore it. Two different ex-boyfriends bought me that other perfume I like because they wanted me to smell that way. Since they don't have a voice in my life anymore, I don't want to do what turns them on.

So now it's about what turns you on. Yes, I tried letting you give me a facial. What a nightmare that turned out to be! You didn't aim well, so most of the come went up my nose, resulting in strange white boogers. It was disgusting. I'll have to think of a reason to tell you why I won't do it again.

My most secret fantasy involves us in the shower, standing close, kissing. Before you get completely hard, you start to piss on my legs and pussy. I feel warmth from your tongue, the water, and your penis. After you finish, you slip your now-hard dick between my thighs, and I pee on you. I'm not sure yet if you'd go for that. I've never done it either. When I came this morning, after you had left, that's what I was imagining.

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