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When I first started writing, I tried anything that came to mind. I wrote science fiction, fantasy, business stories. They were erotic stories, mostly just so I could be a part of that online community, but anything with a penis in it always ended up with one main character that was just like me. Eventually I decided that this wouldn’t stop until I gave up and wrote a story about me. Of course, I used my middle names for the main character. He lived in an apartment building just like mine, and was a student at the same university.
I uploaded the first two chapters and got a good response even though I stopped before anyone got naked. Apparently they loved the deep characters and realistic scenery. Of course, his love interest was based on a girl I used to have as a best friend, so the ‘deep characters’ were both real characters.
The best comment was from someone who thought she ‘recognized the neighbourhood, it was so vivid.’ The one thing that no one liked was that I hadn’t described the main character, and they needed to know what he looked like before any sex.
I was stumped. I actually called an ex-girlfriend to describe me, physically. I made him just like me, faults and all. Dark blond hair, six feet tall, and just a little underweight. He still chewed his pinky fingernails, and got obsessed with random knowledge in a way that many friends found frustrating. At this point I was getting an exhibitionist thrill by making this copy of myself get naked and have sex. I figured it was safe. Who would know?
When I finished the next chapter it was hot and steamy. The sex went on for hours and she went home happy. They made a date for the weekend so they would ‘have more time’. I thought it was brilliant, and was trying to work up the courage to have something bad happen in my little fantasy world. I figured I could go for crazy romp any time; this realistic character would explore the sexual world in a realistic way, which meant life couldn’t be perfect. I posted an author’s note that I would be exploring other female characters, so not to get too attached to ‘Hannah.’
My feedback this time was less positive. Apparently they didn’t like my sex. It was too mental and not very vivid. They also didn’t like the unrealistic abilities of my star, but doesn’t everyone last for hours in their own fantasy? Even the girl from before agreed. She thought I should practice my descriptive imagery by having my character go for a walk and meet someone interesting.
That sounded perfect! Only one problem; I walked fairly regularly, but never paid attention to things I could describe. I’d have to go for a walk.
It was a fine spring day, so I skipped the jacket and the elevator on my way to the doors. I left the building and turned right.
I listened to the sound of the gravel, still not swept up from when the snow melted. I smelled the fresh breezes that must be coming north off the lake. I felt the warmth of the sun on my skin. But mostly, I tried to find adequate descriptions for all the things my character could see. There were grass and dandelion trying to squeeze past each other, and the beginning of flowers poking through the empty soil in their gardens. There were kids playing in the parkette, sometimes sweating from the activity, and sometimes pink-cheeked from the chill.
I think my favourite was the big oak tree in the park between my apartment and the subway station. I had mentioned it already in the story, but would have to describe it again now that all of the tiny twigs on the branches were growing their own little buds. I stared at it for a moment and thought ‘even if I never finish this story, it was worth it just now.’
“Hi. Do I know you?”
I looked down from the tree. There stood the cutest girl I have ever met. Not ‘I would date her’ cute. The kind of girl who you just know would kill you for calling her cute, because she has heard it every day of her life from people who did not mean sexy. Like her family, female friends and elders. She had a button nose, tiny ears and dimples. You heard me, dimples. She wasn’t fat, in fact she looked a little like a dancer, other than her chest. They don’t let girls dance if they’re big anywhere. It’s kind of like how tall guys can’t be astronauts. She was also a little short, and was wearing the most ridiculous tuque I’ve ever seen, with an actual cheerleader-type pom pom on top.
“Hello?” she asked again.
Oops. “Hi! I don’t think so.”
“Are you sure? I walk down here fairly regularly, especially this week.”
“Oh, that must be it. Any reason you’re around this week?” I had no idea why this girl was talking to me but I wasn’t going to let her walk away without trying to start a conversation.
“Oh yeah. My cousin esat escort has a house right near here, and she has been begging for someone to borrow her kid for a few hours. I volunteered to help out this week so I’m practically living in this park.”
I laughed. Someone had done that to a friend of mine last year. It appears that spending years in a row with no real break from your parenting duties can be a bit tiring. The parent in question spent the entire ‘vacation’ acting like a sixteen year old home alone.
“I guess I’ll let you go though. I can’t let the little guy escape. It was nice meeting you. Maybe I’ll see you around!”
I was so happy with that brief conversation that I almost forgot to collect more imagery on my way home. I was able to write the story really quickly, because I just altered the events of that afternoon. My character needed an excuse to go out, so I decided that his doctor told him to get as much skin as possible in the sun every day at about noon to get Vitamin D. I also wanted the cute girl not to have to leave so I erased the kid and had her just going for a walk.
This time, with the character I named Kelly, the conversation turned to afternoon plans, lunch at a nearby cafe, and an offer to show her his antique piano. It looked a little imperfect with some broken or mismatched keys, but he wasn’t about to use fresh ivory, nor destroy the remaining intact keys. Luckily she didn’t care, and trying to fix something loose inside the piano turned in to a back massage which turned in to a make out session then turned in to sex on the couch.
I thought it was masterful. I described my imagining of her soft breasts, her strong legs, and her hungry pussy. I described the sensation of that first penetration to the very finest detail of my memory. I described the sensations in their muscles, the feel of her breasts pressing in to his chest, and the smooth slip of his skin against hers.
Let’s just say some people like a new direction, and others don’t. It turns out that a few people really liked my inside-the-mind storytelling from the first chapter. Too late now. I was hooked on this new method.
That same girl commented again. She said she really liked the new female character. Could they meet again and maybe get to know her friends?
There was no doubt; I was hooked on reality-based storytelling. It was so much easier, so long as no one could know who I was. I knew that girl would probably be at that same park today. All I had to do was go down there and ask her to go to lunch. If it worked, I had the best story in the world (or at least the best one I could write.) If not, well, I could either make it up or find a new girl.
I went to the park more directly than my last walk. I felt almost like my character was me, so I would easily get this date because he did. When I showed up, she was sitting on a bench under the tree.
“Hallo the bench!” I called from a few metres away.
“Hallo the sidewalk! Permission to approach!” she called back.
I smiled that she had played along and walked up.
“Hi. I was wondering, would you like to go for lunch some time? After your babysitting duties are complete, of course.”
“Actually, I’m just about done now. Want to walk with me to drop off the little demon?”
I was shocked. And happy. This meant I could maybe write the next chapter tonight! “Sure, gladly.”
We picked up her charge — a five year old bundle of energy that made me want my youth back, and I was only twenty five — and headed two blocks over to her cousin’s.
While we were there the two had a brief eye/facial language conversation. I found it very entertaining, and I’m sure I was mentioned at least once by the glances. Amanda noticed me noticing and decided it was time to head to our lunch.
The first thing I learned was her name, Amanda. I had never asked a girl out without knowing her name before. She was also a student, and had been living in the city near her cousin ever since her parents died. She liked to laugh, and somehow understood my humour. I’m not sure I get my humour.
Other than her life story it was eerie how much the date mirrored the one in the story. We went to the same places in the same order by the same routes. We even both had the exact same meal, though she had no milk in hers. “Allergies,” she explained. The reason we were going back to my place? She had asked what instruments I played and wanted to see my piano.
She acted a little bit strange as we went to my apartment. She touched the number on my door, and looked at all the little details on the trip and once we arrived. Our conversation once the door closed was almost scripted it was so smooth. I guess I’m etimesgut escort not that bright, because it wasn’t until she told me she needed to take a look inside the piano that I started to get worried.
There was nothing wrong with my piano, and you couldn’t see anything from the top. I had taken liberties with the internal structure to create a nice scenario in my story. As I helped steady her on a stool I asked “so what did you think of Kelly?”
“She’s great! Oh, shit.”
Naturally, I let go of her and took a few steps back. There was a crazy girl in my apartment, acting out the details of an erotic story I had posted online last night. I had to … do what? Call the police? She hadn’t done anything. Get her out? Yes. That. Of course, now she was falling.
“Ouch! You jerk!” She didn’t fall far or hard. It was just that the stool she was standing on couldn’t support her without someone to steady it. She scraped her knee and hopped around to fall back on the couch.
It was as she was hopping that I realized I was the jerk. She was crazy, sure, but she wanted to fulfil a fantasy that we apparently both shared, and I let her fall and hit her knee. I ran to grab some Arnica.
“This works on any bruises or swelling. It’s near magic.”
She let me examine her leg, as her pants were loose enough to slide up that far. “It works on any swelling?” she asked.
“Well, I suppose there could be a few types that aren’t caused by the same type of damage or blood movement.” I looked at her eyes, and from where on my body she was staring there was no doubt what type of swelling she was talking about. “Definitely not all swelling.”
“I don’t think my knee is all that bad. I may have hurt my lower back though. Will you work on it?” She rolled over.
“I can’t see any issues,” I said, as I started rubbing it. Oh my god her skin feels amazing. It’s like velvet. Now that I had started, I couldn’t stop.
One time someone had described the creative experience to me. They were talking about visual art, but it didn’t take a genius to extend that to any other form of art. The goal, whatever the medium, is always to capture the mind and emotions of the participant. You lead them on a journey through the emotions you can invoke. Because you can guide (not control) their ebb and flow, you can create excitement and intensity that the participant might never experience on their own. The way I see it, massage and sex are both art.
Once I had my hands on her back I could feel her reactions, and not just as one muscle strand or another released its tension. She seemed really nervous, but also excited, and I guessed that she hadn’t done something this crazy any more than I had. The first thing I had to do was relax her. I realized that I had decided to play my part without even noticing it.
I worked my way up her spine and felt the little bit of pain and chill affect her. I pushed under her bra with my flattened hands, then moved across her neck, shoulders and down her sides. It should feel to her like I was going to touch the sides of her breasts, but I missed them on purpose. I pressed down on her lower back again and worked my way to the sides where I made sure it tickled a little bit. This wasn’t sexy, right? At least some of her tension was from getting ahead of ourselves. This was just a massage.
I repeated my movement up her spine and down her sides. Each time she got more relaxed, and slowly her nervousness about touching her breasts transformed into impatience for me to do so. When I thought she would push me to do more, I slid my body farther down and worked on her lower back. Then I skipped the best bits and worked on her thighs. I skipped back and forth and slowly included more and more of her buttocks as part of thigh or back until there was nothing left to skip.
She moaned. “That feeling is too good to be true.”
“Do you want more?” I asked, smiling and oozing confidence.
She suddenly turned over. “You’re doing the same thing as in your first chapter, aren’t you? You’re focused on me, but you’re entirely in your head too, aren’t you?”
I looked sheepish. I probably was. No one had complained before.
Kelly, I mean Amanda, wasn’t having it. She pushed herself up, then pulled her top over her head.
“It’s not a project or a game. Feel this.” she said, as she put my hand under her bra.
I did. It was soft, and yielding. Her nipple was hard in the middle of my palm, and I wanted to touch it and try to make her feel good again, but she held my hand firmly.
“No,” she said. “No moving until I’m sure you’re feeling me, not just playing with me.”
She undid her bra with the other hand, and her pants at some point, ankara escort because when she let us both get up she was working on my shirt and there was nothing stopping me from pushing either of our pants down. I made sure to experience every inch of her smooth ass as it slid naked under my hands. With my skinny legs she didn’t have to do more than push and my pants fell to the floor.
“Am I allowed to move now?” I asked, ignoring that I had been moving already.
“I’m not sure. Promise I’m not a work of art?”
I keep forgetting that she has read that chapter already. “Not at the moment,” I promised, as I lifted her into the air by her buttocks.
I had done exercise specifically to be able to lift someone this way, as Amanda was no exception when she wrapped her legs around me for safety and support. She was short enough that I could finally kiss her without bending at all. Actually… I guess it was our first kiss.
It went on for a while. Instead of trying to get inside her head and make the experience into an sensational journey for her, I just experienced it. At first it was just lips. Correction: It was just firm, soft, moist, hot lips, pressing against mine and expressing a passion that nearly overwhelmed me. I don’t even know whose tongue finally reached out, but almost instantly we were exploring each other. I felt her smooth cold teeth and the amazing texture and movement of her tongue. I ‘counted’ the ridges in her mouth. I was amazed by how sweet she tasted. Someone told me that the taste of saliva was similar to dilation of the eyes in–
“Nn-mm,” she moaned into my mouth and pressed herself more firmly against me. I had started thinking again and she caught me. As she moved her chest against mine I stopped thinking at all. There is no imagery or metaphor possible for the feeling of a passionate naked woman pressing herself in to your chest. It would be simple mockery of that glorious sensation of softness and skin and movement and warmth.
The other sensation for which there is no comparison is when you can feel the gyrations of that passionate naked woman slipping her slowly down your body to press against your cock. I was hard enough to be pointing almost straight up and interrupt her descent.
She broke the kiss to ask me a question. “How long has it been since you had sex?”
I was embarrassed. “Maybe a few months?” She stared at me until I admitted “over a year.”
“Did you get tested after?” she asked.
“Me too,” she said, as she pressed her pussy directly downward with my cock trapped at her entrance.
Slowly, tortuously, a silken vise slid down my cock until with a jolt it passed the tight ring of muscle and slid right to her core.
“Oh!” was the only thing she said as I suddenly pressed against her womb. “Careful.”
Gripping her by the thighs I slowly lifted her back up again, feeling her wet lips grip my penis, trying to hold it in.
She pulled in with her calves and thrust herself down again with another “oh!”
I was going to laugh until I looked in her eyes and saw something that said she was a spider and I was her prey.
Instead I lifted her again. And again. Soon the only thing I was aware of was the feeling of heaven sliding up and down my body.
Just as I reached the point that the ache in my arms broke through that focus, she grabbed me tight and started shaking. She gripped my ass with her knees, my back with her arms, and my left shoulder with her teeth. She also gripped my dick so hard I thought it would start to hurt.
When she was done she went entirely limp and I carried her, still impaled, into my as-yet-untouched bedroom. She came to as I started to lay her back, and gripped with her legs to keep me inside her.
As she looked in to my eyes I smiled and said, “my turn.”
Now it wasn’t about the feeling of skin on skin, though that was still wonderful. Now it was about the look in her eyes and the sound of her voice as I tried to bring her to new heights of sensation. We tried to sample the Kama Sutra, but we quickly learned that both of us liked looking into each others faces while I pressed her in to the mattress to be the most intense.
We ground our bodies together with such force that I’m sure it would have hurt without our sexual high. I tried to make every stroke a little different, but the look on her face was too good to resist when we crushed her clit so I did that almost every time I hit bottom.
The only sensation that I can remember clearly is the overwhelming feeling each time she came. She would grab me with every muscle she had, like she wanted to pull me right into her body, and her face looked like pure ecstasy. Each time she would follow with a kiss that was barely controlled. We finished well after dark, exhausted. When I came, I pressed my tip against the entrance to her womb so she had a chance to feel it. She did, and gasped.
After, as she snuggled against me she said, “why don’t you name Kelly’s cousin Cheryl.”
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