Listen to this song while you read!
It’s been one of my favourite remixes of the last two months, so do it.
Before this story, I want to quickly celebrate: just hit 1,000 unique visits in under two months! Can I just say…holy shit!?!?! You all are awesome. Blows my mind, seriously. I have so many stories I’m excited to tell you. But for now, let’s stick to the recent past.
I called Colin Meloy after my long Wednesday. I slipped on the dress pictured below that you can barely see because I like the look of photos taken with my grainy laptop camera. And I like crawling up the end of my bed toward you.
Colin is really tall…like 6’3” or 4” or something huge. My purple heels are fun in those situations. Oh, and of course crotchless tights with only my pussy lips underneath. They didn’t come like that. They aren’t garters. Just tights that have conveniently split from certain past activities.
I arrived at his place where we downed a few beers, discussed his science fiction collection, and almost ended up not going out due to quick kisses. We rewarded our desire to dance with a boner in the elevator, then straggled forth to the long club line. Which we then abandoned for the bar to wait it out. Of course everyone we both know was there. I don’t prefer misconstrued monogamy so we played it cool, as I tend to do in public. Nope, not a PDA girl.
Unless it’s the kind where it’s not visible. Where we’re not kissing, but his fingers are banging me in the dark corner of the crowded stage of sexless bodies attempting to bump to the beat. We were certainly bumping. I hadn’t told him about the tights before, but I clued him in as we swiveled away from wandering eyes. His expression communicated straight-up lust as his index finger sunk into me, meeting me wet. It smelled fantastic. His big body shielded my silent gasping face as he flicked my clit. I saw someone I knew and smiled in her direction. If only she knew that several of his fingers were feeling me up from the inside as the speaker boomed beside us. If only we could get out of that place faster.
I beelined through the public building for my apartment. His plans involved tucking me around a corner by the post office and swirling me up a bit more. I kissed his neck as he teased, escalating the turn ons. I dragged him off when we heard voices, but then he stopped again in the alleyway, pushing me up against the wall. Cold air rushed up my tights but was met with warm liquid and his large hands.
We pawed through the dark into my bed, removing clothes faster than you can say foreplay. He wanted that I wanted his cock. His sensitive shaft enjoyed the saliva I poured around it. The only way to describe the start is it was like I was giving corn on the cob a wet, delicious blowjob. My lips moved back and forth across until I encompassed his head. Then he grabbed my legs and positioned himself under my cunt. Our heights at a 69 angle worked like magic…I opened and deep throated him hard for what may have been my personal record. His hard flesh got lost as I swallowed up and down, taking in more and more. His tongue worked me to fantastic places. Like buck wild riding his face as the darkness tipsily spun around me. An orgasm or two (or maybe three) in the bucket…
“Let’s fuck now.”
He pushed me off of him, condom on, me circumventing his missionary impulse.
“I want on top.”
I grabbed his shoulders as I slid down onto his thick shaft. All of that energy from the club? I unleashed it on his cock. I would call it pounding with nothing to lose, except for come out of my vag and onto his base. He gets this serene, dazed look when I fuck him. It’s that look of losing control that comes from an otherwise dominant person. It’s that look that makes me slam harder to hear that slapping noise of my stomach and chest against his, then flipping around in reverse so my ass makes the same satisfying sound. Of his hands reaching and grabbing it. Of me saying, through moans, “Smack it hard.”
Cock twitching confusion. “Are you sure?”
I was disappointed in his attempt. I turned my head around, I could see he was still unsure.
Continuing turning my hips in figure eights, “I mean it. Smack my ass harder.”
“Ohhhhh that’s better!”
I love the mutual teaching and learning process that happens in the bedroom. He’s dated and had sex with a lot of really sweet, innocent girls. Through later pillow talk I learned he’s waited out and enjoyed the rewards of fucking many virgins, determining when they’re “ready” and teaching them to fuck. Rough sex hadn’t been in his vocabulary. Obviously, I’m changing that.
He got the hang of it. We fucked for a long, long time. He loves taking oral sex breaks and pleasuring me with his tongue. I thrash around, my orgasms collapsing into each other. Then more. More orgasms. Okay, now more sex. Him thrusting as my moans echo through the apartment. He slowed down to an exhausted stop.
We discussed a mutual friend who didn’t believe I was”fantastic” in bed. He assumed I was good, but when Colin couldn’t adequately explain to him what “fantastic” sex consisted of, he refused to be convinced. We agreed that we were concerned, because it’s people who have never had fantastic sex who tend to not comprehend what it is. So we went through the exercise of articulating it. We agreed that fantastic sex was the variety, the cycle of tension and release of our bodies together, the technique we both want to constantly improve, the enthusiasm we shared about gifting pleasure.
Now obviously I’m not “fantastic” every time. He queried, “Is it possible to have bad sex with you?” I told him that I’m sure it’s possible/has happened. I’ve certainly had plenty of mediocre sex. Only a few times I would call “bad.” But for him, I stand out from the crowd because most of the women he’s been with don’t come often or not at all and only orgasm once or twice max despite his best efforts. Given his skills, I don’t think it’s him.
He asked, “Do you know how many orgasms that was?”
“Honestly, I have no fucking clue. They blend into each other for me, they’re peaks in a continuous stream of pleasure. Or some metaphor like that.”
“That makes sense because I can’t tell with you either! But I think tonight was the most orgasms I’ve ever given a girl in my life.”
Yes, this makes me proud.
“I wish I could keep track of my PR like that! I need one of those clicker things that they use for keeping capacity at events.” We laughed. He vowed to buy me one so that he could set my first record.
More sex ensued since he hadn’t come before. He took me from behind with my legs shut tight around his cock. My snug cunt and flexing walls caused him to fall on top of me, unloaded. We slept until more sex. Not quick and dirty morning sex either. Long, lengthy, adjectives-you-use-to-describe-a-great-cock kind of morning sex. Mid-fucking, ”your pussy is like butter. You just keep on coming and orgasming.” Butter, I like that. He also likes my skin. And the way I smell. Yum.
We conversed into the afternoon, toying at more sex. Except his ex who he still fucks when she visits was arriving that evening. He’s obviously grateful that I’m not into monogamy or that jealousy bullshit. As he departed, I wished him good sex this weekend, but to save a little something for me on Sunday or Monday. He joked but sort of didn’t that I’ve spoiled him. Ah well. I’ve done it before, I’ll do him again.
The remix is probably not over yet. But you should queue up the original version and watch its accompanying hot video. I want the drummer plus the man in the turquoise blazer and checkered tie in bed with me. I would use his tie for naughty things.