WINNER! Congrats Audiophelia!
I post an ad on Craigslist and get several responses, but choose to meet this one guy in particular because his words (in his emails, anyway) are very few, but also very…I don’t know. Pertinent? Profound? Deep-esque? I haven’t been with many guys that are younger than I am – or even my age, for that matter – so his being two years younger is intriguing to me.
He suggests we meet at this little microbrewery, which happens to make my favorite beer. I take that as a good sign and agree. We meet there, and as soon as I see him, I have to catch my breath. He is the most beautiful human being I have ever seen.
Shoulder-length black hair, some of it dreaded, smooth, caramel skin with ancient-looking, broad features…and he’s got this irresistible Spanish accent that penetrates my very core. He just glowed, radiated this sense of calm, love and openness to the universe. When he laughs at my jokes, his face lights up and his whole body reacts. It’s so pure and honest.
His voice is so quiet that I have to lean in very close to hear him as we discuss things that most people don’t normally touch on, ever: connections with other people, with the earth, the idea of dark energy being a positive force in the universe. Our legs are beginning to wrap around each other as we lean in closer to absorb the depth of the conversation. I have to restrain myself from jumping into his chair, and instead ask what his name is. He laughs nervously, looking around to see if anyone’s noticed that we were total strangers up until this moment, and tells me he’s never met anyone through CL before.
My apartment is much closer than his, so we decide that it makes the most sense to go back there. I explain my insecurities about having just moved in and not having much in the way of – well, anything really. He tells me not to worry, he digs the minimalist vibe. We trudge through the tail end of a snowstorm and find ourselves inside. We open two bottles of beer and sit side by side on my brand new couch.
Before I can even take my first sip, he leans in and kisses me gently, sweetly. I imagine that if we do end up having sex, it will be a slow, tantric energy exchange. It’s been a long time since I’ve had that, and while harder, rougher stuff has been more my thing lately, I begin to look forward to a night of languid body-worship. A voice in my head keeps telling me, “you need this experience. This is exactly what you need right now…”
Suddenly, his kisses become more commanding, and I feel compelled to move down onto my knees between his legs. I slide his cock out of his pants, and into my warm, waiting mouth. He smells and tastes so fucking good: his skin, his cock, his pre-cum. I am getting so wet just taking him further and further into my mouth and down my throat.
After a few minutes, he guides me back up and we kiss some more as we start tearing each other’s clothes off. All of a sudden, there’s this aggression coming out of both of us. We’re feral.
He leans in as he kisses me, pressing my naked body up and back so that I’m sitting at the edge of the couch’s backrest. I watch him slide a condom on, and then he grabs my hips with both hands and edges his cock inside me. Slowly at first, so that I can feel every inch of him sliding into me, and then a little harder, faster. It’s not long before I can feel this energy welling up inside me…
…and then he pulls out and starts stroking his cock, looking me straight in the eyes. I swear on everything holy and sacred, that this next part is true. Every time his hand gets to the head of his cock, I come. Gushing. All over the fucking couch. Over and over, and he isn’t inside me at all. Hell, he isn’t even touching me! We just keep staring at each other, this shared look of intense pleasure and sheer amazement.
As the waves subside, he leads me over to the window. The curtains are open and we can see passersby on the snowy street, despite it being after midnight on a Wednesday. He pushes me up against the window so that my tits are pressed against the cold glass, and he starts fucking me from behind. Harder this time, really angry, primal sex and we’re both coming out with these deep, guttural growls and moans.
He starts slapping my ass, and seems surprised that this idea has occurred to him. He slaps it harder. It feels incredible, this kinetic force is so warm as it spreads across my skin. He squeezes my nipples harder than anyone has ever squeezed them before, and I cry out in delicious pain. He turns me around, looks me in the eyes again and says, “you’re mine.”
He pushes me onto the bed and stands on it while I kneel in front of him. I start sucking his cock again, and – I’ve seen this in porn but haven’t experienced it until now – start coming again every time he hits the back of my throat and engages my gag reflex. I am gushing again, all over the bed, creating a sea of come and bile, so fucking slippery and wet that he is holding the wall because he can hardly contain himself. He falls to his knees, and I reach for him to kiss him, and at first he leans in, but then changes his mind and slaps my face instead.
He squeezes my nipples so hard, I feel like I might faint from the pain. I try to slap his hands away and he slaps me, instead. “Just let it be,” he says, and he keeps repeating this mantra as the waves of painful pleasure start shooting through my body. He starts to fuck me again, never releasing his vice grip on my nipples as I continue to gush waves of come all over him, myself, the bed.
It feels like it’s been hours at this point – and it turns out that it really has, so eventually we decide to stop.
As he showers and gets dressed, he tells me that he thinks I’m a witch. It’s the only way he can explain what just happened. He is distant, pensive. He tells me that this was not normal sex for him. As he hugs me goodbye at my front door, I imagine him walking the 30 minutes or so it would take him to get home, trying to make sense of the trance-like, primeval energy exchange we’ve just had.
Several days later, I am delighted to see his hand print on my right hip and buttock, purple and clearly defined. Proof positive that it wasn’t a dream.
Two weeks later, I am incensed to have watched the bruises turn into welts, showing no sign of disappearing any time soon…