My Best Shots Pt. 01

Hi there, Literotica reader. Middle-aged guy here, writing from middle-aged life. I'm turning over some new leaves but before I do, I wanted to share with the Literotica community these stories from my past. Why? Well.... maybe somebody with similar interests will find enjoyment from reading them. And, maybe by sharing them with the world, I can happily let them go.

I'm not a professional writer. I'm hoping that any shortcomings from my writing ability may be in part made up for by the fact that - unlike most of the stories which populate Literotica - these stories of mine are 100% true.

I've come to believe that everyone has a "thing." A woman I was once with told me that she loved hearing the sounds a man makes when he orgasms. Not just loved... she was captivated by it... it was her Thing. Another woman told me she could look at my hands all night; she was a hand connoisseur, and apparently I had good ones. Hands were her Thing.

To get right to the point: I've always had a Thing for seeing semen on a woman's skin. Always. And while I've known woman who insist that kink fetishes - such as cum-related fetishes - exist because of industrial porn, I just totally disagree. I think that those genres of porn exist because of the hard-wired desires and interests which some of us have. For me, there has just always been something captivating about the juxtaposition of feminine beauty and base masculine sexual function.

So, these six little stories are about beautiful women I've been with and the cum-centric images which burn bright in my mind all these years later. Here goes....

It was the early 90's and ignorance was bliss. We were both just 18, high school sweethearts and the end of the high school ride was in sight. And we were inexperienced: virgin-inexperienced. Catholic inexperienced. The internet, cell phones, social media, and information at our fingertips were all far over the distant, unimagined horizon.

But we were in teenage love and hot for each other and, lacking any guidance, our make-out sessions in her parents' half-finished basement had progressed from swirling-tongue kisses to my hand groping her impossibly firm boobs under her unbuttoned blouse, to her giving me handjobs over my boxers while sitting beside each other on the couch. Later came rushed sessions of her head bobbing up and down on my purple knob, and me wiggling my tongue into her cunt while she screamed into a pillow pulled with both hands to her face to muffle the noise.

We were never, ever alone in the house. It was high-school sex: rushed, silent, and un-spoken of both before and after.

For reasons which don't matter here, I was almost always the overly-generous lover: her pleasure first. In hindsight, though, I see I was a far more clueless lover than she was, and I now believe that her two older sisters were playing an invisible role in Aimee's skill and apparent wisdom in our "sexcapades." She would do things which I had never mentioned I wanted - which I didn't know I wanted: slow down her hand strokes when I was about to blow my load; whimper into my ears as she kept me on the edge of climax; dramatically lick her lips after I emptied myself into her mouth. Even when she spat me out into the bathroom sink, she did it with a touch of sexiness and exhibitionism which always caught me by surprise.

On this particular night, Aimee was on her knees on the concrete floor under the basement stairs as I stood over her, my hard cock repeatedly disappearing halfway into her mouth. She was fully clothed in jeans and a blouse, and I in jeans and a tee-shirt with only my pants open as if I was taking a leak. As always, we were frantically rushing to get the job done without getting caught. As always, we were dead silent. Our communication was non-verbal.

So it was very odd when, front out of nowhere, I found the courage (and balls) to vocalize an explicit request. "Can I cum on your tits?" I shakily whispered. And I almost died right there, for I had never said the word cum or tits to her in my life. The vulgarity of it had seemed unthinkable.

Equally unthinkable: with her mouth still around my member, Aimee unhesitatingly nodded, unbuttoned her blouse with astonishing speed, popped open her bra via the clasp between her boobs, then released her mouth suction to lean back onto her hands and wait. Eyes closed shut. Beautiful, angelic face pointing up in my direction. Her smooth, up-turned breasts were bare and waiting for my ejaculation.

And my God, Aimee was gorgeous: her olive mediterranean skin so smooth and clear; her lovely brunette hair tumbling past her shoulders; her dark nipples hard in the cool of the basement.

She had been sucking me with vigor, her head bobbing with enthusiasm, I had been close enough to feel my impending orgasm, and now I was suddenly standing before her with my jeans around my ankles and purple-headed cock pointing at the ceiling. I shuffled a step closer to her and almost mindlessly began jacking myself. Her eyes were closed tight and I realized, "She knows I'm jerking off in front of her!" and the impossible eroticism of the act quickly led to my meltdown. I tried my best to teeter at the point of orgasm, causing my climax to be as intense as possible, but in a few brief moments I was silently blowing my load across the olive mediterranean skin of her well-developed, gravity-defying, c-cub titties.

I don't remember how long it had been since I last came (probably a day... I was a horned-up teenager), but I do clearly recall the sticky albino earthworm of ejaculation which my cock spat across her tits. Just one absurdly long glistening rope - that was all - followed by some insignificant dribbles which fell straight down to the concrete floor between us.

My jerking slowed, the world slowly stopped spinning, and I came to my senses above her. To be honest, I didn't know what I was expecting, or what she was expecting. The experience was unplanned and uncharted for both of us. But then, as my pleasure subsided, a new cause of excitement arose: her expression. It wasn't sexual, or even one of pleasure, but rather one of frozen shock. I would have expected her to have the same expression if I had sneezed on her while enjoying a nice dinner together, or if I hit her with a water balloon from a balcony above on a hot day.

As I watched, my white cum rope slowly began to melt from her body heat and to drip down her skin in globs which looked like melted wax. She awkwardly and silently exhale-laughed once, then held up both hands in a mimed, "What do I do now?" expression. As she did so, her breasts - which had been pulled tight and on full display from her arched back as she had leaned back on her hands - pressed a bit together, maximizing her cleavage and giving me a glimpse of the aftermath of titty-fucking in the future.

I sheepishly giggled and pulled my pants up and hurried across the room for a handful of tissues, with which I mopped up my teenage seed from her teenage chest. Helping her to her feet, we tongue kissed and I groped her breasts, feeling her cum-sticky skin and knowing that the image of her on her knees with my rope of jizz flung across her firm tits would be burned into my mind forever.