The Engines of Desire

In the progression of our lives we tend to think the wildest of times, and most sexually adventurous, are those years that come before twenty-five, but as I write this I realize that the most exciting chapters in my sexual exploration are just beginning. In the paragraphs that follow I will try to share the experiences and feelings of a woman who thought her sexuality was certain, but has come to realize that what you are destined to love, and what may give you the greatest thrill are not always the same. This story deals with my passion and my obsession and how they collided into new levels of ecstasy. If I have not mentioned it in my previous writings, I should say now, that all names have been changed to preserve the freedom of future adventures.

I awoke to dim lights flashing around me as they flew by the windows. The gentle surging of the car, that had so affectively rocked me to sleep, now brought me fully awake. The train's wheels made a rumbling clacking on the rails below our cabin as we hurled into the night. The urges were overcoming me and I wanted it so bad. Should I risk ever attempting it again? The aching need snuffed out any cautious inhibitions in me. Time and again I had thought it could happen, only to realize it was only my private reality, an empty, private reality. It was like watching a movie about skydiving and thinking the rush was the same as if I had actually jumped. Just a few feet away, he lay; was this going to just slip away into my imagination again or could I make it real? In desperation, and without a parachute, I jumped.

I moved across the floor to his bedside. My mind cleared as my determination sealed my fate. I lifted the blanket and like a bull in a china shop I grabbed his briefs and pulled them down. I closed my lips around the center of all my burning cravings, and through pure will power, made it real. The rocking of the train synchronized with my body and assisted my motions. The surging of a locomotive engine and my actions blended together as the forward momentum increased toward that final destination in the darkness.

I stirred a bit and awoke with lonely darkness all around me. There was the sound of a train, but it was one of the freight trains that regularly rumbled near my home.

Fuck! I had thrown all of my willpower into making it real and it was still just a dream. Like the real train engine, my secret desires had been sneaking into my dreams more as of late, but this was the most intense it had been, leaving my heart racing and my mind in a fever of aching lust. I laid my head back on the pillow while my hand uncontrollably moved between my legs to relieve the burning need. Thinking of it, I came, but when the sexual energy was relieved, as always, I thought of loving Cindy instead.

Despite the fact that I have always been a lesbian, a couple of years ago I had finally tried something that I had been insatiably curious about for more than two decades. Now that small taste of extreme, unbridled lust was consuming me like a fever taking my body and mind after a brief exposure to the source of infection. I had always wanted to suck Eric, but took half a lifetime to do it because he was my best friend, and because it defied my sexuality. It took me every one of those twenty years to work up the guts to ask my friend if I could give him that blowjob, and it took some time on his part for it to finally happen. I wanted nothing more, and expected nothing else, than what had happened. It was the only heterosexual act I ever desired, and he only person I ever imagined performing it on, but anything more with my friend, was beyond my comprehension.

I am not sure what I had expected. Perhaps I thought that once I confronted this desire I would just forget it. It would not be that easy, it was simply too powerful for my mind to release it. I have never had an addiction, I have heard the descriptions of it from drug attics, or alcoholics, and I think I could understand or identify with the urges.

No man would ever touch me in any other way, but the extreme power and allure of this one act was more than I could resist. Since the dawn of time the male sexual organ has held an aura of duality, something that held both revered power and an unclean, illicit stigma at the same time. Unlike a woman's vagina, which is the blessed avenue of birth, this unwholesome object was meant for that one unmentionable act leading to birth. It is the quintessential symbol of the purely sexual act. From this very aspect anything that focuses exclusively upon it is the extreme of erotic intensity, and it boldly challenges all propriety to engage it in those other ways.

For one person to take that impure extremity of another into their mouth is an exhilarating level of depravity. What intense anticipation would grip a man the moment another's descent indicated that somebody might actually take that part of them into where only the cleanest of things are ever accepted? But to be so wonton as to duplicate the motion of fucking with ones head, while the male experiences the abnormal sensation of simply laying back to receive the thrusts so subserviently given, is even more than depraved. And the defiant nature of continuing that motion in substituting ones mouth for the unspeakable bodily function of the vagina, stirs the imagination with its decadence. It is against nature and all decency, and thus stimulates something primal in all of us.

To have the man feel the continuing actions, knowing the consequences of that motion, and wonder how far his partner will take it, is unthinkable and pulse quickening. When a male feels his ejaculation is eminent, and his organ longs to be buried deep between a woman's legs, but is being worked by her lips and tongue instead, does he dare to think the unthinkable? In just a second his most personal fluids will erupt from his aching shaft, but another still has their mouth around it! In that instant it becomes obvious that the other person is willingly going allow the unthinkable to happen; that man will feel another person's mouth around his cock as it expels the streams, and then behold the most unholy act of that person swallowing that which was meant for the inside of a woman in the sacred act of procreation. Is it not the most wicked of debauchery to taste the most abject of forbidden things?

Because this one act was so illicit, it was the most erotically powerful thing I could imagine. Wine is the reserved and subtle result of commonly occurring natural processes. Distilled spirits are the essence that affects us in that naturally restrained drink unnaturally concentrated into an all-powerful intoxicating liquor. For all the quiet evenings of your life there is wine, but if a shameless, exhilarating high is what you seek, soon nothing will rival the intensity of that concentrated earthy elixir as your drug of choice.

Like a drug, feeling Eric's orgasm in my mouth was simply the most powerful sexual experience I have ever had. It was not tender and sweet like the natural feeling I had with Cindy, it was extraordinarily intense. The rush that it had brought was unlike anything I had ever tried. It was not just sex; it was concentrated, raw, sexual power that pushed my adrenalin higher than it had ever been. Now, like a junky, I had a need for that intense rush. With Cindy, I got off from the intense warmth and emotions connected with being with her. But this one act with his dick was not warm; it was scorching hot, with the only thing resembling emotions being pure, sexual, urges driving it on towards the inevitable.

After that night three years ago, at first we had dealt with the subject well, but after he moved away and got married we loss all opportunity to have the same frankness and openness of private discussion we used to enjoy. When there was finally the opportunity to get together we never had time for deeper conversations, and most of our talk fell into the polite formalities of acquaintances rather than best friends. By the time he had moved back to town we had a lot of catching up to do, and now he was somebody's husband, not my same old, single friend that was free to do or say whatever he pleased.

Of course I wanted to ask him if he had ever thought about it, or would entertain it a second time, but more than this I hoped to at least broach the subject so that I could have somebody to talk to about my fascination. I looked to him for this aspect as well; he was the only one in the world who knew of this secret obsession, the only one who could know, so I had little choice in someone I could talk to about it.

How much had his marriage changed all of the rules on us? Could we still comfortably discuss such things? There had been times when conversation had gotten personal and I agonized over each possible opportunity to bring it up again, but always stopped short and let it go. He knew he could always talk to me about it anytime he wanted, so why not leave it to him? It may not have been a concern for him at all, but he had no idea how it had stayed with me, and how much it had consumed me since. I certainly couldn't be offended or bothered by the topic, only he could; so the ball was in his court, and he would have made it so much easier if he just would have brought it up himself.

Then, one night, the opportunity did present itself in a rare occasion that we had an evening to spare and we ended up spending it in our favorite old spot on the back knoll of the park. With a six-pack between us, and a few lazy hours, we managed to get back to the old days. We talked about many things, but eventually got around to our home lives and then more personal related topics. In typical married man fashion he bemoaned the fact that Amber had been very sexual until shortly after the honeymoon, but had since slacked off in her "wifely duties". I had always wondered if this really was the inevitable state of marriage or if men just could never get "enough" sex. The way he described it, and the consistency with which he had mentioned it before, made me believe that this guy really was not getting the relief he needed. I had known him my entire life and he was one male that I knew was not cut out for celibacy of any kind, it made me wonder if some other woman wasn't going to get lucky eventually.

To add to his misery I shared increasingly more intimate details of my sex life. Looking back, this was probably cruel of me, considering how potent an aphrodisiac the thought of two women together can be to the typical male mind. Here was this poor guy with neglected, blue-balls being fed scenes of the ultimate male fantasy!

Eventually he just shook his head. "Well good for you, there are days I could just use some relief outside of my hand!"

I hesitated but finally spoke, "I have been trying to find a way to let you know that if you ever need it, I wouldn't mind at all to help you out with that."

Eric took a drink of his beer; leaned on one elbow and looked toward the grass before replying.

"First of all, I am married now, and we had this discussion before. You're my best friend, I just can't picture you in that way and if I was going to have sex with somebody besides Amber, I would at least want to be sexually aroused by my partner."

"Whoa there, don't flatter yourself! I would still rather eat worms than kiss you!" I said with a smile, yet no less seriously. "And I ain't letting you or any other guy touch me! All I was talking about was a blowjob."

"What, I'm not good enough for you?" He joked.

We both laughed for a second, but then I returned to it.

"I am serious about that though. If you ever need some relief without jeopardizing your marriage with some dumb-assed affair, I would be more than willing to help you out. To me it is no different than if you leaned back and got a thorn in your back right now. I would pull it out for you and tend the wound, without us being involved in any way or going steady. It wouldn't mean anything more than just one friend helping out another."

"Oh come on, and what about you Androcles? Isn't a blowjob a bit more two sided than pulling out a thorn?" He asked with a smile.

"Well to be honest that is what I am really talking about here. I should have satisfied my curiosity, but since that night three years ago I have not been able to get it out of my mind. And I don't mean you! I mean it! You egotistical prick!" I jokingly asserted. "I am still totally into women, but that blowjob was the most erotic thing I have ever done. It is the only thing I ever want with a dick, and yours is the only one I could do it with. I thought my heart was going to stay in my throat after your dick was there, and I would love to feel that rush again if you would let me. So let's face it, you would be doing me the favor, while getting some relief in the bargain. Like you said, it has got to be better than your own hand!"

He was silent as he continued to listen and absorb was I was telling him.

"You said you couldn't even get it up, but you did, and I think you got off from it quite well. I believe that if you are really honest it was probably one of the most intense sensations you have had also. For the puritans that think the missionary position is all that is acceptable, a blowjob is absolutely wicked."

"But I am no puritan!" He interrupted.

"Yes, but pushing boundaries is always more of a rush. Why do you enjoy hearing about two women together? It is eroticism triumphing over the established taboos. You get turned on imagining two women so fucking horny that all notions of propriety about whose body should give them pleasure is thrown out the window. I think you may be onto something when you point out your actual relationship to me. Have you ever wondered why there would be anything erotic about an incestuous story? I know you could never think about your sister that way, but you had somebody who was almost the equivalent sucking your dick. It was like sneaking behind the barn with your cousin to play doctor when you were a kid, constantly looking over your shoulder with your heart in your throat. It was the fact that I was not the person that was supposed to be between your legs, sucking on it, that made it so exciting. And knowing nothing more was going to become of it allowed you to fully explore the pure sensations of just that forbidden blowjob."

I paused for a second to let it sink in before adding, "And I think I my have had something that perhaps none of your other blowjob partners had."

"And what would that be?" He skeptically asked.

"My enthusiasm," I answered. "I actually wanted it more than you! How many times has that happened to you? That enthusiasm made me go out of my way to make it feel better. We have created a unique situation here, where the one giving the blowjob is grateful for the favor of being allowed to do it."

"OK, so you give one of the best blowjobs I have ever had, but I am still married. Sorry." He reaffirmed.

The sun was setting on our day and the beer was gone anyhow.

It was on a Tuesday night that I was going to take a bath and just relax with a book, when the weather report called for rain. I had left the lawn mower outside in hopes of finishing the yard quick in the morning, so I had to take time to go out and put things under cover. It was quite dark so it took me a moment to find the mower and begin to push it around the house, then I was startled by a man running up the trail from the park and into my back yard. As he neared the corner of my house I recognized his outline.

"Eric," I calmly said to get his attention.

He stopped and turned, panting as he approached.

"What are you doing, running from the cops?" I asked with a smile.

"I have felt a bit out of shape lately, so I have started running."

Eric is the only person I know that would run in jeans and a T-shirt. If he wasn't dressed for business he was in jeans and a T-shirt. The thought of him in a jogging suit was just absurd.

He continued, "I run across the park, which is enough to give me a real workout, but things are a little overgrown and wet to go out the north trail so the only way to is to cut short in the park and come this way. Of all the houses along here I knew yours had a trail I could use and not bother the owner. I hope it is alright?"

"No, that's fine. I am glad I am moving the mower, you could bust your ass out here in the dark."

I found it strange that he would even ask. Had we grown that distant that he wouldn't know that?

"I am dragging behind a bit tonight, I found that I really need to get here and across the tracks on the other side of your road a half an hour before the train comes through at ten, or I have to wait and then deal with more traffic on the side streets because of it," he explained.

Then I heard the blast of the train's horn and realized I had probably caused him to miss his opening. The sound of the engine brought memories of my dreams, and I entertained thoughts of taking that plunge, but reality required far more courage.

"It looks like you are going to miss the train tonight," I pointed out.

"This is the second night I got started too late. Then I either wait it out or turn and run up your street," he said.

"Do you want me to leave a cold beer on the picnic table for when you need to wait?" I asked.

"Right, that would be good for me to keep in shape while running!" he replied. "If I was to stop and have a beer, then just make sure not to pull your curtains."

This comment startled me on several levels. I knew he was just having fun, but why would he care to see me? Then I realized I was not always alone!

"I didn't beat the train last Friday either," he said with a grin and then waited for it to sink in.

"And what did you see?" I asked.

"Cindy Beckwith," he answered. "I never would have suspected you and Cindy!"

I simply smirked as my eyes closed and then reopened facing the house.

"Did you like what you saw?" I asked while still turned.

"Just about every guy in town probably strokes off thinking of her!" he speculated. "The irony of that is too good, you know."

"Was Friday the first time you knew?" I asked.

"It was the first time I had to stop and have a good look," he confessed. "Normally your lights are not on or the curtain is pulled, otherwise I would have stopped in to say hello quick."

"I am not sure if I should close my drapes or keep them open in the future," I said with a sinister grin.

"Well, as long as you leave the beer," he returned with a laugh.

We chatted for a few more minutes until he needed to finish his run to get home on schedule. While I pushed the lawnmower around the back of the house, I self-consciously looked at the windows overlooking the back deck.

The next night I closed my curtains and left a beer setting on the railing of the deck outside my bedroom window, but in the morning it was still there. I continued to leave a cold one until three days later when I found an empty bottle with a quick note written on scrap paper that said "thanks!" Then I realized that it had been a Friday night, Cindy had been there and the curtains were open. He was either entirely on schedule the other nights or too intent on running to stop for a beer, unless there was a greater distraction.

I began to watch for him and track his schedule. I didn't need to leave anything for him to drink on the other nights since he was always through my yard at 9:30, I could set my clock by it, but some nights he had an incentive to miss that train and have the beer. I wondered why it did not bother me that he had been enjoying his voyeuristic activities at my window. I knew it was not me that drew him there, and with Cindy I couldn't blame him for enjoying the view. When I was honest with myself, I realized I was keeping my curtains open on purpose, much the same way I would tell him about my sex life, and amuse myself with his agitation. When thinking of his forbidden, extramarital arousal, and the relief he most likely was not getting from it; my own relentless, secret desires began to drive my selfish thoughts.