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No one knows where he came from. I met him last month. A casual lover called. She wanted me to join them for a drink. It was 2am. She pleaded. She swore I wouldn’t regret it. She told me he had a thirteen-and-a-half inch cock.
I asked for details. She didn’t answer. They were fucking. Fucking trumps talking. She screamed out in orgasm. The phone fell to the floor.
Her moans and screams continued. Thirty seconds. Sixty. Two minutes. My clit throbbed. I hung up without saying goodbye, donned a trench coat over my lingerie like some clichéd centerfold, and ventured out into the cool night air.
Saturday night. Adventure time. Two years without cock. Forbidden fruit for determined lesbians. Sooner or later, we succumb to what we want, not what we know.
She did not answer the intercom. There was a fire escape. Her window was shut. Hopefully unlocked. The moans could be heard from the street. Her window was shut. I climbed the stairs to her floor. The light was off. The fuck was on.
I pushed open the window. The frame creaked loud. No response from inside. The bed creaked louder.
I take a seat. They heard nothing. My own private sex show. Alexa: atakent escort 34D-24-36. Jessica Rabbit made flesh. The Mystery Man: TBD. The room is dark. He is backlit by a 72″ plasma. Details emerge slowly when they change positions. He is a big boy: six foot six; bodybuilder biceps; abs no mortal can acquire. He thrusts forward. His ass ripples with muscle. He is a hulk. He is a hunk.
Alexa climaxes multiples. She goes off like a pinball machine. Bonus! Multiball! Tilt! Alexa is silent. Game over. Orgasmic K.O. His hips slow from fourth to second gear. He looks up. I flinch. My trench coat is open flasher-wide. My fingers are gash-buried knuckle-deep.
He smiles. Caught with your hand in the nookie jar. Tsk, tsk. His glance is brazen. He acts casual. The situation is routine. Two bi-babes. One stud. You’ve got balls, friend. But do you have the cock to back it up? He pulls out of K.O’d Alexa. One slow inch at a time. Drumroll please…The rumors are true. He is porn-sized. He is a human stallion. He is getting out of the bed.
No introductions. He closes in for a kiss. I am on my back in twenty seconds flat. beykent escort
Flash forward two months. Samson is in my bed. He is four hours late. I sulk. Two years without cock is a breeze. Two weeks without Samson is a bitch. He has other women. He has liaisons. He has reverse gangbangs. He has no secrets.
His smartphone vibrates constantly. Sexting occurs 24/7. I’ve seen his contact list. Staggering in quantity and quality. Models. Porn stars. Celebutantes. Females are ID’ed with nude photo and measurements. Dates, names, and places blur within days.
We have no relationship. We have an understanding. He trusts me with his phone. Check out my contact list. Pick a girl. Any girl. I’ll call her. We’ll have a threesome tonight. Can’t decide between Carmen or Carla? I’ll invite them both. He fucks Carla. He fucks Carmen. He fucks me for the finale. The finale of the first round.
Typical guy date: five hours of talk/five minutes of sex. Samson date: five minutes of talk/five hours of sex. I don’t know his favorite color. I don’t know his birth date. I know the taste of his sweat. I know his erogenous büyükçekmece escort zones.
He doesn’t call. His voicemail is full. Three weeks. No cock. I stew.
Detective work. I call Alexa. She knows nothing. She says she met him through her girlfriend. They had a threesome. Her girlfriend’s girlfriend: Threesome. Her gf’s gf’s gf: Threesome. No fixed address. No employer. No Facebook. Just introductions and seductions.
Other girls call me. Wherefore art thou Samson? They ask the same questions. Possible guesses: Eurotrash playboy, gigolo, porn star. Craziest theory: He drums in a rock band. They are touring Japan. Hates music but loves groupies. He get laid like a cock star.
Months pass. I try other men and dildos. No sale. I hook up with his girls. We do role games. I play Samson with an oversized strap-on. Diverting but unremarkable.
I skim Wikipedia. 1200 A.D. A legendary warrior is born. Samson conquers armies by day. He conquers women by night. He liberates harem slaves in Arabia. The concubines ask him to be their new sultan. Samson politely declines. He has too many lovers back in Europe. Or maybe on tour in Japan.
I miss him. I miss our fucking.
Concerned girlfriend: “He wasn’t your boyfriend.” Shrink: “There was no emotional investment.” There was. The sex was pure. A multiple orgasm is emotional. Squirting is emotional. Getting fucked all night is emotional. Drunken pickups from a bar are not.
Perfection is measured in moments. I had it for quite a few.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32