If I Were Going to Write About You

If I were going to write a story about you, what would I say?

If I were going to tell someone how I dream of you, how would I tell it?

He lay on the hard bed in the dark room. He spat on his hand and fondled his cock.

You’ve got perfect tits. You’re tall, with chopped red hair. You’ve got wide, green eyes, and your arms have muscles that women aren’t supposed to have.

When you talk, your voice is this clear bell, nice and precise, with a hint of fire and a tinge of nastiness.

His cock started rising at the thought.

You love to fuck, don’t you? Hard to believe that such a beautiful woman loves to fuck so much – and fuck me! God, am I a lucky fucker or what?

Remember when we first met? It was in a dark room, just like this one. The hotel in Sacto, just a plain room, plain bed.

You came to the door, wearing a black shirt and dark jeans. You sighed, held me, kissed me. “Kevin, thank God!”

The first time, right? We’d never seen each other, right? Who would believe that?

His cock stood upright, steely and strong, up through the hole in his old cotton briefs. His fingers stroked the red knob. The saliva reflected the final rays of the sun from the window.

We sat on the bed. That was – what? – twenty-five days since you answered my ad, twenty-two since we first talked on the phone, eight since we decided to meet, four since I said I loved you.

Can you believe that?

Pictures exchanged, hours of talking time on the phone, flurries of emails, a magic rising of passion.

We lay side by side on the bed in the room in Sacto, listening to each other breathe and –

Now he was pumping his cock lazily, fingers cradling the skin, hardness aching, balls lolling.

The shirt came off first. You had this white, industrial bra, holding up your big boobs. God what a rack! My fingers curved around two round, delicious globes.

Why does a man like tits like that on a woman? It’s not just me, is it?

Then the zipper on the jeans. The generous, taut ass, pulling out of the denim, covered with surprisingly silken panties. Yeah, the crotch was damp, right?

The bulb of his prick was turning a nice, bright purple, and the veins were standing out like ribs on a body builder. He spat generously in his hand, smeared it up and down, up and down, closed his eyes, smelled her smell –

The musty, snarty smell of her pussy, as she lay on her back. The pubic hairs were genuine amber, and there were matching hairs on her head and peeking from under her armpits. His face plunged into her thatch like a boy into water. He sucked and guzzled her rich sweetness, gnawed at the knob between the lips, heard her moans and whimpers, as all the while his fingers played with her nipples as his tongue thrust into the dark tunnel and lapped at the red hairs.

He could feel the tremor in her body, as from between her legs he gazed up the plateau of her belly towards the distant mountains of her breasts.

He got up, his hand wrapped around his cock, and pulled himself over to the mirror. He looked at the raw hardness of his prick in the glass, his hand squeezing and massaging and pummeling it until it was almost ready to spurt –

“Turn over!” he said to her. “Please!”

She rolled over and presented the twin globes of her ass, as she knelt on the bed.

“Fuck me,” she offered.

He ran his fingers through her public hair, spread the puffy lips, and squeezed his cock into her redolent hole. It slipped inside her with a wet sign, and she groaned happily.

His fingers played around her asshole as he plunged in and out of her pussy, rejoicing in the tight wetness, smelling the rich odors of her vagina and ass.

He licked his fingers. He spat on them, made them slip and slide.

He pushed one into tight pinkness of her anus.

She drew a sharp breath.

He pounded his cock, heard the slap! Slap! Slap! As their bodies smacked lustily. His finger mimicked a second cock in her ass as he thrust at her.

He opened his eyes, and in the mirror his fingers pretended to be her hot body.

“Damn you!” He cried. “Damn you!”

In the mirror he saw his cock burst with a white loop spurting out. It curled over his fingers and globbed down on the dresser.

He watch the semen drool down his cock, as it already started to sag.

“Damn you!” he muttered again.

“You’re the best lover I ever had,” she told him again from the bed in Sacto.

“Right,” he said. “Then why didn’t you keep me?”