0 comments/ 6966 views/ 0 favorites Letting Go By: Cassandra1981 "Regrets can hold you back and can prevent the most wonderful things taking place in your lives" – Eileen Caddy She was angry and no one could blame her. Furious in fact or at the very least that is how she was to appear. Her hard-nosed exterior was on par with the sitcom house... a set and a set up; so long as no one messed up the illusion, the illusion stayed. When she was five, her best friend moved away... she cried for a second and then pulled herself together and said she didn't like playing with him anyway. Twenty years later, eighty or so centimeters taller, from cute to sexycat... her nose still screwed up the same. She couldn't let him see her cry, not that he'd never seen her cry, but she couldn't let him see her cry over him. So she told him she didn't like him... She did say it was a case of just not anymore. The idea of pretending that she never had appeared unbearable. If he saw that she was lying, he didn't let on... he knew better than to force her. "I'm not that fond of you anymore myself," he said with a revealing tender look. He had, after all, seen her at her best and her worst, even if he didn't know it. He took the piece of paper she held out to him; unsure of what to do next he asked her what she wanted him to do. "Shall I open it now or later?" "It doesn't matter really." He decided to open it later. More than anything she was relieved. Every since he asked her what he would do without her, with a sincerity that made Gandhi seem deceitful in comparison, she had felt a roughness in her throat. The harder she tried to swallow it, the more she realized that the wonder she was feeling was about to leave the room... It was going to walk right out of there and out on them. She'd never doubted that he felt something, though she wasn't so bold or cocky as to expect that he would. When they first reached the room and she'd stumbled into his arms, she felt as though she was reaching home. She did not know if home was still there, and worried that pinning all her hopes on feeling as she always had before could be setting herself up for an even bigger fall. Home had been there like it was never there before. It made her wonder if the farewell she'd written was actually redundant from what she'd just experienced. She'd gone there with the intention that she'd never be in this position again, and so regardless she passed the letter on. She had expected him to push her away, instead he held her closer and tighter than he'd ever done. She wanted to hold him tighter too, but couldn't see how it might make things better. When she'd gone to leave the hotel, she thought that that was it. She never imagined him following her all the way to her work, pulling her into a corner; she never dreamt he'd blow her kisses with a sad look on his face, or that that would be her final image of him. After all, there was never anything mushy about fuckbuddies. He was so caught up in everything, he walked out of the hotel without checking out though he had no intention of returning to the messed up bed. She was so busy trying to act like she wasn't on the verge of tears, that she looked everywhere but him and focused on imprinting every moment they'd ever shared onto her brain, and then worried he'd notice she was looking everywhere but at him, she'd stare straight into his eyes. All she could do was rationalize her thought processes and imprints. After all, good memories are worth holding onto and meant nothing less than that. For some reason she seemed to think he was the best memory and one she would never manage to shake. As they stood waiting for the tram, she tried to make sense of the look on his face. "I don't know what to say," he said. She'd seen that look before back at the hotel room... She had looked into his eyes, and he into hers. Locked gazes weren't enough to change anything, and this she knew. Locked gazes were like threats that were never followed through... when you both had a clear understanding of what each other felt though it wasn't necessarily where they stood. She didn't know what to say either, she'd said it so many times she didn't have it in her to say it anymore. Short of pulling a Glenn Close, there was nothing left to be said. He pocketed the letter and she felt a moment of panic trying to recall precisely what it was she had written. The context had changed dramatically since she first put the pen on the paper, determined that she'd leave him with herself intact. Or at least, with all the cracks covered up until he could not see them anymore. Without the typical nastiness or blunt rejection that goes hand in hand with the average break up, the choice had been a tough one to make. In the end she made him make it so she could hate him a little... but hate doesn't work when there is nothing more than good feelings about someone. He made it as she knew he would... she knew she would never love someone who could make the other choice. When he chose his child, or so she wanted to believe, she knew she could never regret a moment of what they had shared. Yet she had to tell him that they were over and done for, no further discussion. She wouldn't have made him make the choice in normal circumstances until he pointed out that the strength of their relationship was based on the weakness of her other one. "You let me in," his eyes pierced her heart as they looked over her face. If she'd ever literally felt cracks appear on her china heart that would pinpoint the time. "Of course I let you in!" She wanted to scream those words at him, but she felt a tenderness towards him that was beyond description. His sweet smell was enough to quell her strongest anger. She had such emotion for him that no matter how much walking away would hurt her, she knew she could never seek revenge. Every time she ran the numerous alternative outcomes through her mind it always had reached the fact that he was with someone else, she was with someone else. If those 'someone else's' were to just fade away, then maybe they could have had something that was not only special but also socially acceptable. Something that wouldn't rip the roof off from over their heads if found out or hurt people that they cared about, even if their actions seemed to say the contrary. But now it didn't matter whom they were with, he was going to be a father. She recalled when she had thought she was going to be a mother and so she'd struggled. The conclusion she drew was that it didn't matter how much she loved him, her baby would always be first and that was how it was to be. In the bigger picture, the chemistry they shared needed to be forgotten; hidden like an Egyptian mummy in its tomb. Their chemistry, or energy as they preferred to call it, simply couldn't be contained. For every time they had resolved to control it so they could maintain their friendship, they had increased their public displays of affection. First it was in the secrecy of her bedroom, then in dark corners of city nightlife, and later under the summer sun. Whenever they met, they would peck each other hello and goodbye. It was only someone who was watching closely that might notice his extra firm grip on her arm or her affectionate squeeze below his ribs. They often joked about how platonic they were trying to appear. The stolen moments of affection were a large source of her anger and frustration. His unwavering friendship was the other primary source. The closeness they had developed from the moment they first came in contact had kept her alive in many respects, but as time wore on and the closeness became strengthened it was what hurt her the most; in the end she felt like a piece of deadwood – not just chipped away at and sunken, but drowned good and proper. She had known it was reaching the point where she wouldn't be able to pretend that she didn't particularly care that much, that she was capable of seeing him as little more than a good friend and a sex toy. So she tried to nip it in the bud and told him that she loved him; she didn't expect anything of him, but she loved him. She waited to hear the sounding of his rapidly receding footsteps, but they never came. Instead he smiled at her, and held her affectionately. Later he told her he felt the same. She wasn't always the best judge when it came to people's emotions, but as he spoke she swore his lip trembled slightly. "This is just too familiar." He held her in the spoon position; she could feel his heartbeat in her back. Thumping her with vibrations that she wanted to hold onto forever. She rolled over and buried her head in his chest, trying not to think; thinking was overrated at times like this. Part of her had worried that in appearing emotionless she might lose him somehow, but she could see it in his eyes; he was only too aware of how she was feeling. It was then she remembered when she'd first slipped the cuffs onto his wrists, tying him securely to the bed. The flicker of vulnerability, the uncertainty he couldn't share, which his face gave away. When she mentioned it several months later, he was astounded that she'd even seen it; they had always appeared to be somewhat effortlessly in sync with one another's moods. Their ability to read each other's body language, as well as their ability to pick up on each other's moods, meant their times together were rarely spent in confusion. The weakest point in their association was when they tried to pretend to feel something other than what they did. Having the relationship they had had, it wasn't all that long before they discovered that each felt equally irritable when they were trying to avoid temptation. Naturally, it seemed, was how they did it best. In many respects it was the rawness that made it impossible to exist under repression and restraint, and this only increased as the connection grew. It was as he said, several times, "It's hard because neither one wishes the other out of their lives." They had deleted one another from their phones numerous times, only to be confronted by the numbers embossed into their memories. Even where they tried to remove temptation, ultimately one of them, usually she, would send a friendly text. The first time they went a good week or so without any contact. Eight months later, she'd whittled her tolerance for temptation down to just several hours after seeing him. She had decided against going straight home after work and lingered, languishing in the comfort of alcohol and female company. Her fingers soon made their journey from her drink to her phone. Good memories came with a high price at times. The next day she checked her phone. As she read his well wishes, she knew he had read her letter. "To be upset over what you don't have... is to waste what you do have." – Ken Keyes Jr. The only solace she found in his quietly determined farewell was the knowledge that he loved her enough to let her go. Letting Go LETTING GO I wondered how will it be. How she will be. How us will be. If there still was "us". But I knew somewhere deep within myself that there wasn't. But in my rationally unrational mind there still was "us". Or at least some pathetic resemblance of it. She had moved on ages ago, even before I sensed something was wrong. Women are like that – they just present you with the facts and puff! – they're gone. Once they make up their minds, it's useless to convince them otherwise. Best thing to do is to get on your feet as soon as possible and go your own way. I wish I had known that sooner... There she was, standing erect like a statue, at the exit of airport arrivals building. The car stopped, I stepped out and we hugged, as we always do. God, she smelled differently! That wasn't her scent at all. As if she'd come back from another world. Well, in sense she had... "Hello." "Hello." Brief smiles and even briefer glances. Yup, she is different, just as I feared she would be. Us? Us crumbled to tiny fragments like a window glass that falls down from the 89th floor. * "Was... was there... anybody?" There, I finally managed to say it. It had been bugging me for too long and even though I knew it was none of my business to delve into it – not anymore, at least – I just had to ask it. She knew why I posed such a question. She understood. Still, she hesitated for a fraction of a second. "Why do you want to know?" "It's important to me." "Why?" "Just answer, please. Did somebody show an interest in you?" "Yes." Pathetic part of me still clang to the logic that this still doesn't mean anything, so another question had to be asked. "Was there anybody you liked? Liked enough to have him as a lover?" Thinking back this choice of archaic words seems funny, but at that time I couldn't include word "sex" in context of her and not ME being her lover. "It's not good for you to ask things like that." "Was there a lover you had?" "Are you really sure you want to know?" I saw she genuinely cared for my well-being and even though her evasive manoeuvres should be enough of an answer to me, I really really wanted her to say nothing happened during her three weeks trip to Mexico. "Yes, I am sure." She paused. It felt like being hit by a cannon ball for I knew very well what that pause meant. "I. Really. Do. Have. To. Know." "Yes," she finally said. "I had a lover." My world collapsed. I really was over. Just as she told me countless times before. But only now I heard it for the first time. * It was pitch dark. I was lying on my back, blanket up to my neck. She was talking about her trip, lying on the bed next to me. Ever since we were a couple no more, we would often have night talks. Something we never done before, but – I know that know – we should have. "How did it happen?" She instantly went silent. "How what happened?" "Your lover. How did it happen? I want to know everything – how you two met, how did it come to happen. Tell me everything." "This isn't a smart thing to ask." "I know, but I really want to hear all of it." "Why are you torturing yourself like that?" By the sound of her voice in the dead of night, I could tell she was again worried about me and the state I am in. I turned in my bed and faced her. She was less than one meter away, but I couldn't see her in the dark. I could feel her, though. "Don't you worry about me. I know we are through. But I would really like you to tell me the whole story." For a few seconds, she didn't say anything. I think that was the most personal and intimate moment we ever had so far, including five years we spent as a couple – which tells a lot about the kind of relationship we had. No wonder it ended in such a disastrous way. She was always so distant when it came to emotions. Some people said she was cold inside that her kindness and warmth was just an act. I was like that too – I could never ever really, and I mean really connect with somebody, not even her. I didn't even know such a connection is possible. I thought being couple meant going out together, living together, sharing all material things and have sex from time to time, although screw would be a better word. She knew better, though, and now I see countless occasions when she shyly came out of her armour and revealed her true, scared self to me. Me, being a blind dork, didn't notice anything. Eventually she stopped trying to connect to me. No wonder she dumped me. I wouldn't date me for two months, even less five years! We were never really committed to each other. But were together, but at the same time were worlds apart. We only occupied same space. This insistence of mine, to tell me everything about her sexual encounter in Mexico (there, I could already think that word), was – oh, the irony – single most intimate moment we ever had so far. I knew she was aware of that too and I wondered whether now that I am finally ready, whether NOW she will open up to me or have I missed my last train for good? Is she still willing to trust me that much? "All right," her voice finally came through the dark. And then she started talking... * The sun was slowly going down on the beach of Yucatan peninsula. Sky was purple-orange, dotted with clouds here and there, resembling wet cotton patches. Beach was huge and summer at its peak. It wasn't crowded, but not deserted either. Children were running around, screaming, splashing, adults were sunbathing or just swimming. I sat down on the sand, folded my legs up and embraced my knees. Everything was so beautiful. Being a drifter for limited periods of time could be great, if it weren't for that always present existential fear of what to do with your life. Soon I felt somebody standing next to me. When I looked up I saw a tall blonde guy looking down on me. He smiled and sat next to me. I didn't want company, but being too polite person as I am, I let him chat him up. He turned out to be nice enough to accept his offer for a drink. * "What is this?" I thought I to myself in the darkness of our bedroom. The drama we are, or should I say, I am going through already resembles some cheap pulp soap opera way too much – and now this? Lonely girl sitting on a beach, gets hooked up by a stranger? I know her too well that this couldn't have happened. "Do you? Do you think you REALLY know her?" a voice at the back of my mind said, but I thought it away. Surely, there must have been something more to it than a beach, sunset and a stranger. * During drinks he proposed sex and having a one-shot affair during our stay in this city, whichever city we were in. He was from Canada, by the way. It was a sexual proposal in usual manner, the kind every woman gets dozens of in her lifetime. Nothing wrong with it and I suppose I should have valued his sincerity, but all I could do was to say "Thank you, I am not interested," and then I got up and walked away. * Ah. * I was walking the busy streets of some town I don't even remember the name of anymore. Anyway, it was located right next to the Yucatan beach. Actually I should rather say I wasn't walking the streets, I was more like drifting through them, aimlessly, watching people, countless stores, children, wondering what to do with my life. I wasn't simply loitering through streets, I was loitering through my life. It was old – the town, I mean. Old town with young people making living off tourists. I felt the same as the town: old. I sat down behind a table on some street terrace. I kept watching the torrent of people, mostly loud tourists, pouring past me. I was starting to get used to being utterly alone and disconnected in a crowd. I didn't know what to do with myself – and oddly enough, that was fine by me. "Hello, there!" somebody said. When I turned around I noticed a man, at least 10 to 15 years older than me, looking my way. "I bet you are a tourist." I nodded and so did he. Then he invited me over to his table. "Come, have a seat with me. I'll share my dinner with you." Somehow I felt he didn't have any ulterior motives. He was just being opened up and uncomfortably honest. Certainly not something I was used to. For the life of me, I really don't remember anymore what he was talking about when I joined him at his table. I continued to be disconnected so I didn't feel like talking anyway. He seemed to enjoy it, though. His words were like a constant drizzle. You know, sort of like a background music or perhaps like a warm voice telling you a bedtime story while lying in the bed in pitch dark. You are aware of it, but it is so distant you can't make a word out of it, nor do you care to. It was so soothing, this feeling, that I relaxed and put down my guard. * "What was he talking about?" I asked. "All sorts of things, I think. World politics and his view of it. The state the world is in and how dislikes it and stuff like that. He said he plans to have a cottage in a jungle someday and live there. I liked the idea, because I felt like doing that also." "Sounds to me, he was just a relentless talker. You know, the kind that could kill you with his ceaseless flow of words until they suffocate you." "I would agree with you, but somehow I liked his way of thinking. He was saying exactly the things I was mulling over for a long time. That's way I didn't mind him talking." "What was he, anyway?" "A painter." "A painter?" "A painter." * It turned out he was just having a dinner break. He was doing the upper floor of the restaurant we were in. He wanted to show me what he was working on, so I followed him upstairs. The room was completely empty save for his painting equipment. And the walls... they were beautiful. He was painting something that is hard to describe. It spanned the wall from the floor to the ceiling, although only left half of it was done so far. I don't know what he was painting, but it was some sort of mosaic, except it wasn't. It was an old Mexican or Mayan or Aztec style, I wouldn't know exactly, but somehow modernised. It's hard to describe, except that it was beautiful and very detailed. Just the part he has done so far must have taken him a long, long time (which he later confirmed). I was completely taken aback by the seer beauty of it. * "So, what happened next?" I asked, anticipating things to get hot, even though the whole set-up so far still didn't look like something that would make her have sex with a stranger. Something was still missing. * We sat down on the floor and this time we really started talking. Both of us, not only he. As I said, he was a painter, somewhere in mid-forties, alone, in love with his job. He was a very gentle person and I think he must have felt very lonely, because he soon started trying to hug me and kiss me. Apparently he found me very beautiful, very attractive, inner light and all that usual stuff and wanted me to become his muse. * "Typical artist's pick up lines," I thought but decided not to say it out loud. Instead, I asked: "And how did you react?" "Everything would be tolerable, the light and the muse thing and the compliments and all, but for his repeated attempts to hug me and give me a kiss. I was getting tired of pushing him away. He did manage to kiss me on a cheek, though. * I stood up and was about to leave. That's when he apologised, although he wouldn't have to – I didn't feel violated in any way. I said it was OK and I will return to my hotel and leave on a plane next day (which was true) and that I didn't want to start anything I wasn't prepared to deal with. He was really sad when I walked out and away, and I didn't even have to look at him to know it – somehow I could feel it. He was enormously sad about it. * "Yeah, I know exactly how he must have felt," I thought to myself. The guy was clever enough to see both her inner and outer beauty and so badly wanted to have her. Oh yes, I could relate to him alright, also his pain. That's the effect she has on men – those who fall for her, fall really hard. "So, nothing happened?" I asked. "Nothing." Next day I took a plane back to Mexico City and returned to my friend's house where I was staying. "OK, if nothing happened, then I must inform you that you are stretching this story a bit long. Actually too long, to tell you the truth." She chuckled. "I know, but that's how it was." "So there was some third guy then?" I said a bit bored already. "No, it was the painter. The story doesn't end here. Do you want to hear the rest of it or not?" "Sure I do." "So shut up and listen." "OK, I am all ears." * On the plane back to Mexico City I realized something. As much as I resisted his hugs and kisses, something in me DID respond to him. I don't know what it was, but I realized my body reacted to that kiss on my cheek. It was a very gentle and kind kiss, just as he was. As much as I tried to deny it, something stirred inside me. After few days in Mexico City, I found, to my amazement, that I liked his kiss, that I – oh, my god – was attracted to him. Or better said, my body was attracted to him. I was thinking about him more and more, and found myself wanting to see him again. My friend, at whose place I was staying, noticed I was different ever since I came back from Yucatan. After some persuasion I spilled the beans and told him everything. * "And what was his reaction?" I asked? "He just smiled and said he has just the book for me." "A book? What kind of book? What for?" "According to him, whenever he was has doubts about something or is confused like I was, he would open that book on a random page and read the first sentence his eyes would fall upon. Therein he would always find an answer to whatever was troubling him." "So, you two had a peek in that book for you particular case?" "Yes," she smiled. "And what did the book say?" "What do all new age books say?" "Let me guess: follow your heart, because it knows best what is good for you." "Well, the book didn't say it in exactly those words, but essentially that was it, yes." * My friend and I looked at each other and started laughing. "Well, my dear, it seems you have a plane ticket to book," he said. And so it was. I flew back to Yucatan, checked in to a hotel, found the old town and went up the same street as before. All this time I couldn't rationally explain why am I doing this and for what? Doubts started to creep in. I only knew I had to see him again. It wasn't love, I didn't feel lust, not even an interest, nothing. As if my legs carried me there by their own free will. I soon found the restaurant, but he was nowhere to be seen. I went inside and asked the owner about the painter. He just smiled, went to the stairs leading up and called: "Hey, one of your friends has come to visit you!" * "ONE of his friends?" I smiled. "Yeah, don't ask. Apparently he had lots of friends like me," she replied. * His head popped up at the top of the stairs. You should have seen his smile, when he saw me standing there. He motioned me to come upstairs, so I did. When I walked into the room, he still couldn't believe it. He was so happy, he was shining with happiness, like a little sun. We sat down on the floor, and he was just looking at me, his smile as big as a saucer plate. He was so happy that he was completely lost for words. Me, I didn't know why on earth have I come to this room again. I felt so out of place that I wanted to disappear. "You came back! You came back!" That was all he was able to say. He was repeating it like some sort of mantra, transfixed, as if unable to comprehend a miracle that just happened right before his eyes. "Youcamebackyoucamebackyoucameback..." And with that he leaned towards me and again tried to hug and kiss me and again I pushed him away. I didn't know what I came back for, but it certainly wasn't this. It seemed he didn't even notice my rejection. He was blind to everything else but me. He started to caress me, all over my body, starting with my hand all the while ceaselessly repeating "...youcamebackyoucameback..." Everything felt too strange, too absurd, too abstract. "I think I'll go back to my hotel now," I said and stood up. "When will you return?" "I don't know, probably in the afternoon or evening." Back in the hotel while I was showering, feeling water pouring down my body, I again got this strange sensation. His caresses... they felt nice. Tender and soft. Again, I wished to more of them. Actually I started to crave them. What was happening to me? Why is this feeling happening only when I am away from him? Whole situation was too absurd to keep trying to rationalise it. I just gave up, went out of the shower, towelled myself, got dressed up and returned to his place. When I sat down on the floor again, we looked at each other. He was still beaming with happiness. "OK, now what?" I asked. Again, he leaned forward and tried to kiss me and again I pushed him away. "No kisses, please," I said softly. He nodded. Then he put his gentle painter's hands on my shoulders and slowly, very slowly laid me down on my back. And then his wonderful caresses started again. They felt so.... good. I just closed my eyes and let myself go. It was pure magic, I tell you. His touches felt almost ethereal and it would be impossible not to give in to them, even if I wanted to. My body responded, all right, and it felt too good to start resisting when his hands got inside my legs and slowly spread them apart, just few inches, only enough for him to get access to my pussy. When he started caressing it, I thought I was going to die – it felt soooo good. I think I must have had an orgasm within minutes, right there, through my jeans. I never knew it was possible – at least not with me. * I tried to picture her, the beautiful Nina, with her long, blonde hair and deep blue eyes, having an orgasm, fully clothed, laying on the floor, slightly spread legs, with some almost random guy working on her pussy and watching her come. There is nothing more beautiful in the world than seeing a beautiful woman sighing in orgasm. I had to hand it to him – the guy was really an artist. * When I came to and slowly opened my eyes, my mind still reeling, I saw the world around me as through the fog – as if I didn't belong in it at all. And at that moment I couldn't care less. He didn't stop, though. For him, that was just a beginning, while I already felt at the end. Once I come, I lose all interest in sex and I don't want to do it anymore. But when I felt him undressing me, I didn't have the energy to stop him – besides, I didn't even care to. I was just lying there, exhausted, body dead as a tree trunk. Within a minute or two I was lying on the floor naked, as bare as in the moment of my birth, in front of him, all exposed and vulnerable. But I didn't care, for all this time he never stopped caressing my body. And it still felt nice, even better than before. It was like million fire ants crawling over my body. When his fingers got between my legs yet again, I was instantly ready – this time I spread my legs myself, he didn't have to do it. Without clothes to be in a way between my pussy and his fingers, he worked me up in no time – I never felt aroused so quickly after one orgasm. Usually I need hours sometimes even days, but now... I don't know. He was amazingly good with his fingers. He was a true master at it. He knew exactly what to do because I came a second time within two or three minutes. To this day I can't explain it in detail what he was doing, I only know my head exploded and I think I lost consciousness for few seconds. Letting Go It felt like waking up in a time loop: I was again completely drained and exhausted when I came to. Two strong orgasms in such a short time... I couldn't bear more. He didn't share my opinion, though. He lay down, but not next to me. Instead, he got between my legs! Without uttering a word, he wrapped his arms around my hips and started licking my pussy. It turned out his tongue was even better than his fingers, because I soon got horny again. By this time I couldn't but not to watch his head, lovingly, between my legs and quietly fondle his hair. My god, was he good! This time it took longer, way longer, but he did manage to pull it off yet again – my throat choked the scream of my third orgasm in less than half an hour while he kept licking me. * Again, I pictured the scene in my head. By all rules I should be, by now, enormously hurt because Nina was having sex with someone else than me, but strangely enough, I wasn't hurt at all. The only jealousy I felt was that in five years we were together I was unable to do that to her. And this guy – he just met her and gave her the most erotic moments of her life thus far, and all I could do was to listen to it and try to imagine it. In that moment I felt really humble and desperately wanted to become his pupil. I wanted him to teach me his way with fingers... I also realized that I wasn't hurt or sad by the whole ordeal. It was strange, but picturing it in my head, Nina on the floor, naked, writhing in orgasm after orgasm with a total stranger.... I found the whole idea... appealing! Hurt? Sad? No way! Like her, I was also confused by my own reaction. It went opposite everything that should happen. But I didn't want to waste it by analysing it. The fact was Nina was screwing a stranger, enjoying it thoroughly, and I liked it! * By this time I was so exhausted, I was sure I had all the orgasms I will ever need in my life. I was so completely satisfied I was convinced I will never feel a need for sex again. As before, he didn't felt the same way, because when I opened my eyes I saw him getting undressed. Already his cock was out, fully erect. For him, it seems, everything just started, while I was already wasted. * "Did you suck his cock?" I asked, hoping fervently that she would say yes. I was already imagining Nina with a stranger's cock in her mouth, working on it, swallowing it, making it cum. This image alone turned me on more than everything else before, and I really, REALLY hoped that's what she had done. At that moment I was aware of the weirdness of my desire and I was relieved by it at the same time. Nina was lost to me, I knew that now, and her story only helped me accept that fact. It being so damn hot only made everything easier. Just, please, say that you sucked his cock, please, please.... "No, I didn't." "Ah." I was quite disappointed to hear that, but of course, I couldn't say it out loud. I wondered why she didn't do it and as if on cue, she answered: "I couldn't bring myself to." Ah, yes. No hugs, no kisses, no sucking – all the usual symptoms for Nina – she still didn't like the guy THAT much. Based on my experiences with her, oral sex is a sign of ultimate acceptance for her, and that usually takes her a loooong time. So this painter guy wouldn't get any. Perhaps this is why it was so easy for me to accept the fact she had sex with someone else – because she didn't love him. It was just sex. I know someday, somewhere she will love someone, but for the time being, that was not so. In emotional sense, I still hadn't got replaced by someone else. Which was great, because so far I was only able to cope with the idea of her having with somebody else but not loving him. You have to take things slowly, I guess. Still, I could have lived with the fact that she put his cock in her mouth. Too bad she didn't – it was kind of hard to force the image out of mind. * I suppose he had to get his share too, so even though I was very tired, I let him mount me. I don't know whether he liked me that much or hadn't got any for a long time (probably both) but he came only after few thrusts. He was so embarrassed that his face was as red as a tomato. "Sorry," was all he could muster. "It's all right," I said and fondled him. "It will be better next time," he smiled. "Oh." When I looked at his cock, I noticed it never went flaccid. He was ready to have another go. "All right, then," I said and spread my legs again. "Could I... could I do you from behind? Just lie on the stomach and put your behind up..." * Ha! Another proof this was merely a detached kind of sex, not love, even on his part! * I turned over, put my pussy up and he immediately entered me. He started thrusting and riding and this time it was obvious he is doing it for his pleasure only. I couldn't blame him. Quite the opposite, in fact. I enjoyed seeing him having his way with me. It was a way to express my gratitude, I suppose. I owed it to him, after all. As he promised, it really was better this time. It took him a very long time and he just didn't finish. It has taken him so long that I started to get aroused again. I mean, I already was, I just meant to say I started to feel lust again. How could I not – he was pounding me from behind for a very long time and it didn't look like he was about to finish any time soon. He might as well pound me forever. So I slipped a hand under my heaving body and started to touch my clit. Again waves of pleasure spread inside my body intensifying already intense experience. * Nina on the floor, getting fucked from behind, her face sliding up and down the floor, her eyes closed, breathing heavily and loudly, her expression distorted in pleasure, rubbing her clit, aching for her fourth orgasm. Really, the guy was a masterpiece artist and Nina his muse. * My next orgasm wasn't so intense, but it was sweet nevertheless. The sight of me rubbing my clit while his cock was disappearing in my pussy must have driven him off the edge – he finally came. This time we both fell down the floor, exhausted. It was, finally, over. * "So, what happened next? Did you two have an ongoing affair? Did you two ever do it again?" "No, nothing like that." * After we got dressed, he offered me a place to stay, to live with him. He was quite serious about me being his muse. Was it love or infatuation on his part, I don't know, and I didn't even care. It was neither of those things for me and besides, I didn't want to be anyone's muse – I didn't, and still don't, feel like a muse at all. He wanted to see me again and somehow I promised to come visit him next morning. It was already late, so I left him and went back to my hotel. Next morning I packed, checked out of the hotel, boarded a plane and left Yucatan. I think that was for the best. I never saw him again. *** So, that was the whole story. Quite romantic, methinks and in some way I envied her an experience like that – I don't think I am able to have an experience like that. So tender, soft and warm, without too many words, yet erotic. Now, I know what you are thinking, dear reader. You are thinking that listening to her story, I got hot and my cock hard and that she, reminiscing, also got horny and that we had a steamy sex that night. I bet you are waiting for its description, starting about... now. Well, I am sorry to disappoint you, but none of it happened. Yes, I got a hard-on, but not enough to start bothering her for sex. I knew her well enough to know she didn't got horny by telling her story. She told me story because I asked her to and anything more would be a breach of trust she showed to me. "Are you OK?" her voice came, through dead of the night. See what I mean? She is concerned if I am hurt by the whole ordeal. In this night of sincerity there was no point but to tell her the truth. "Yes, I am OK. More than OK in fact. As strange as it may seem to you, I am not hurt. Actually the story was very hot. I liked it and I am glad you've done what you've done. It's an experience worth retelling and most of all, I am glad you could find it in yourself to tell it to me." I could sense she smiled in the darkness. I smiled too. Letting go of her has finally started. Finally! Letting Go "You naughty girl! You wet yourself," he said. She was wetting herself. The pee was spilling out of her, and she sprang from the couch to her feet, golden pee running down her legs. He had made her laugh, the way he was dressed so early in the morning, and the things he said. He had made her laugh until she was pissing herself, springing from the couch and clutching herself, hitching her skirt up high, holding it over her tummy, above her waist, up to her breasts, pressing her knees together, still giggling, and still it gushed between her fingers, between her legs. "Ooh! I can't stop it," she said helplessly, looking at him. "I can't make it go back up." She jiggled, doing a little dance in her high heeled shoes, trying to move from the puddle around her, trying not to slip in the wet, not letting go of the skirt she was holding away up to her breasts, fingers of the other hand clutching more deeply, squeezing to make it stop. "Ooh!" She liked the sound of her gasp. "I can't do it." "You naughty, bad, girl!" He sidled away from the wet cushion and moved his feet from the mess on the floor. The sight of him moving so prissily away made her giggle more. "Why didn't you tell me if you had to do something?" He asked. "If you need potty time you should have told me. Oh, look at this! And it's nearly time for you to go to work." It was, she suddenly realized. He shook his finger at her. "And here I thought I finally had you toilet trained." Actually, it had taken her some time to learn how to let go like this, to let go laughing, let go peeing, relaxing, relieving, releasing. "The mess on the couch!" he exclaimed. The couch was vinyl. "Am I supposed to start your potty training again? Tell me that. Oh, just look. Look!" He looked. Taking her wrist gingerly, fastidiously, between his fingers, as if he hated getting them wet, he drew her hand aside, giving himself a clearer view, and he parted her thighs and studied the damage, the panties clinging damply to her bush. "I'm sorry," she said, folding her hands dutifully behind her back. "I couldn't help it." "Couldn't help it, you little hussy," he snorted. "Even while you're peeing yourself you're double clicking your own mouse." "I didn't mean to," she explained, pouting, lips forward, hips thrusting while he watched the final dribbles come through the fine, fine cloth of her panties. "Oh, they were silk," he exclaimed. "Oh, look at this. Couldn't you have told me you had to do this? Couldn't you have got to the potty in time?" His tongue came to his lips. "Those lovely knickers." They were lovely. They were mainly translucent, but with a lace motif that clung across her muff and trailed down in a narrowing line against her slit. She had put them on that day, with a matching bra, but not for him. He didn't know they were not for him that day. "Do you know how much they cost me?" he asked. She had bought them herself. "I'm sorry," she said. "Sorry? A brand new pair of expensive panties like that, all ruined the first time you wear them? Sorry won't cut it, missy." He moved his hand down, forcing her legs to part further. "How are you going to get to work on time after a mess like this?" True. Her last giggles subsided. They didn't really have time for this game this morning. "Well, at least take those wet panties off. Go on. Do it yourself. I'm not touching them for you." He couldn't take his eyes off them. "Those poor little lacy panties. Quickly now. Off with them. Take those wet panties off." He was watching as she brought her hands back to her front, thumbs moved into the elastic, into the elastic band of the panties under her skirt. The wetness made it sticky. She slid her fingers down the front, against her muff, against her skin, sliding them down, until at last the panties began to roll away from her skin. The lace caught at the hairs. The dampness pulled at her skin. "Ooh! You're getting pee on your fingers." He had drawn back to watch her strip."You're such a filthy little slut. A bitch, a dog bitch, would at least know to go outside. She'd say she wanted out." His eyes were riveted to her panties as she pushed them down. He went on holding the skirt up for her. The panties were wet and rolling up, and not easy to push down. He watched them, as she pushed them first down one leg, to the knee, then down the other leg, to the knee. "I should make you walk around like that all day," he said. "Make you walk around all day with these wet, disgusting knickers around your knees." She paused. "You wouldn't," she protested. "I'll be at work." "Yes. You'll be at work. Everyone will see what sort of girl you are. They'll know your ass is naked because they'll see your knickers hanging around your knees, because you're a girl who can't pull her own knickers up. You won't be able to walk properly, and they'll look all day at this girl who hobbles and trips and bangs her pussy against the desks and they'll look for glimpses of your pussy, they will. But none of them will go near you. They'll be pulling their desks away from you, they won't want your pee smelling pussy on their desks." "Please. I'm sorry." "Sorry!" He reached up from where he sat, taking her breasts by the nipples, taking them hard between his thumbs and fingers and pulling her down so that she had to kneel before him. "There'll be no prizes for you, missy. No bonuses at work. No promotions. You know why?" His fingers worked on her breasts, down around the aureoles, but not touching them, barely brushing the nipples, hardly bothering with them through the cloth of her blouse and her bra, but working around them. "Because your boss will be one of the people looking at you today, thinking about how you, obviously, have no self-respect." His thumbs gave her nipples a sudden, emphatic, jab. Kneeling before her lover, she thought about her boss, and she thought she might have to pee again. Luckily, she was already so wet. Her lover didn't know about this. She could see his cock pushing up against his skirt, no jocks, no knickers, for him this day, just his little skirt that wasn't long enough to cover his backside as he sat on the couch, his knees apart as he pulled her close, his balls on the vinyl, and her pee threatening to cross from the cushion where she had been, threatening to make a warm stickiness under him, and all this sensation pushing his cock up against his skirt, and all this sensation making a warm longing in her mouth. "No." One of his hands suddenly grasped her chin, forcing her to look up at him. "I see that maybe you really are sorry this time. Go and fetch the potty then. Fetch the potty. No. Don't get up. Crawl. We don't want any passers by looking in at the window and seeing you like this, do we?" So she turned, dragging her breasts and her nipples from his grasp, and began crawling. "You slattern," he told her. Straight away she'd done something else wrong. "You still haven't taken those poor panties off, and you're dragging them all wet across the floor." She stopped, and obediently finished removing the panties. Sitting, leaning back, legs up high and wide, she pushed the panties over her ankles and over her shoes, the high heeled shoes, slowly, with a flourish that well exposed her muff to his gaze, the wet panties in a tight little wad. She tossed them to him. He ducked, letting them fall behind the couch. "Cunt," he said. "Eeuh." She nearly laughed again, partly because no one could say 'eeuh' like he could, and partly because she knew he was really taken with the idea of her panties. They had been expensive, just the kind of cloth he would like to feel around his balls. As soon as he had seen them, the lacy pattern across her muff, all wet and see-through, she knew he had wanted them. She decided to fetch the potty by pushing it along in front of her as she crawled, her breasts pushing down against her bra, the memory of his fingers tugging at her. He had already mopped the floor by the time she returned, and he had put a little pinny on over his skirt to protect it while he cleaned, but at the back his midriff was still bare. He was bending, not ready to look around at her yet, bending as he cleaned the the couch, bending from the waist, beautiful smooth, curved ass exposed as he bent, and that little skirt, the briefest of skirts, flirting with her gaze, his balls peeping between his legs, his legs apart as he bent. Then he looked back over his shoulder. "You know what to do," he said, peremptorily. Obediently, she sat on the potty, legs splaying from under her, keeping her skirt hiked up well out of the way. She waited. He came to supervise, rubber gloves on, sponge and cleaner in hand. It was lucky he had made her sit on the potty because she found she had a little pee left, after all. She let it out. "Good girl," he exclaimed, clapping his hands delightedly, rubber gloves, cleaner and all. "See?" he said, "You can do it. You can. My good girl. Now, get yourself to the sink and clean yourself up. Best to clean your knickers first." He held them out between the tips of his thumb and forefinger in his pink rubber gloves. Warm water in the sink and plenty of scented hand soap, squeezing, cleaning the panties first, rinsing them, spreading them to dry flat on the draining board. Then she slipped off her shoes and gave them a sponging, bracing the heels against her cunt as she worked. "You slut," he said, having finished cleaning under one of the cushions. "You're supposed to be getting ready for work in a hurry and, instead, you're flicking your bean. With your shoes. Eeuh. That's once I've told you." He gave the next cushion an extra squirt from the cleaning bottle for emphasis. Finally, careful so as not to get her skirt wet, which had survived so far, she began to clean herself, warm water, plain water, for her muff, just a little flicking from her fingers for her cunt, plenty of soapy water for her legs, starting high and working down, down, foam sliding down, down her thighs, down her legs, rubbing herself to be sure of getting rid of all the traces of pee, down into the curve of her ankle and the arch of her foot. There was a window above the sink, but probably no one would look in, or if they did, they would not see enough to understand what they were seeing, a woman sponging her cunt at the sink in front of a window. "Good girl," he said. "Don't forget to do your backside." The tricky thing about doing her backside was keeping her skirt out of the way. She had to hike it up high, and reach down between her legs, past her muff, past her cunt, and up to her crack, rubbing and cleaning with the sponge. Her back arched, ass provocative. "You bad girl. I told you to clean yourself, not frig yourself." One of his gloves came off with a snap, and he slapped her back side. Her buttock twitched. "Ow," she said, sulkily. "That's twice I've told you," he said. "Don't let it happen again. Now dry yourself." he tossed her a t-towel. She began dabbing herself dry. It felt good, the tap, tap tapping on her fanny as she dabbed. "Bad girl!" His other glove came off with a snap, and a smack across her other buttock. "Ow!" "No complaining. This is the third time I've had to tell you. Now come here." He forced her to go with him. He hooked a finger into her cunt, right into her hole, from behind, and his other hand pinched at her breast and pulled, forcing her along with him. She walked few steps, with his finger inside her, then hesitated, knees trembling. Another finger slid in. "Move it," he told her. "We don't have all day." Again she tried to walk with the feel of his fingers inside her. "You are such a lazy slut," he murmured intimately in her ear. Another finger slid in. She moaned, and nearly dropped. "Lazy little hussy who can't even walk as far as the couch." His thumb was in her crack, pressing her button as she sank, forcing her up. She stepped, and stepped, his fingers pushing against her walls, against her clit, thumb pushing against her ass, not going in, just pressing, teasing. She stepped, and moaned. She let the moan come out of her mouth. His tugging on her breast drew her on. "Oh!" She couldn't tell, anymore, how many fingers he had inside her, pushing, pressing, stroking. He pulled. She followed. He let her fall. She was across his knee. Back at the couch. Her hungry mound against his thigh, his fingers not inside her anymore "Maybe this way," he said, "you'll learn." "I'm sorry," she tried to tell him, but there was moan in her throat that wouldn't come out and she couldn't speak. He spanked her. He spanked her bare skin and her cunt was pushing into his legs, her slit so wide and wet and hungry being rubbed against his thighs, rhythmically pushing into him, her clit saying hello, her clit saying hello, her clit saying hello. Hello. Hello. "'lo," she moaned. "You slut," he said. "Even when you're being spanked you're diddling yourself against me." He spanked her harder, hard enough to make her gasp, now, hard enough to sting. "Believe me," he said, bare balls on the wet, freshly cleaned vinyl, "this hurts me more than it does you. Now." He grasped her breast around the nipple again and let her fall to the floor, so it twisted. "You've just got time to tidy up and get to work." She rose to her feet, and saw that she did have just enough time to catch her bus, if she ran for it. She grabbed her still damp shoes from the sink. While she pulled them on, he fussed with her hair, then thrust her handbag into her hands while she tugged at her blouse. "No time for fresh panties," he said happily. "What?" "Just be glad there's no time for a nappy, either." She could barely stand, and he was pushing her out of the door, sending her down the street like this to catch a bus, to go to work. "What?" "Daiper, darling, I should make you wear it, but there's no time. You have to get going." In the doorway she turned. He leaned there, looking at her. Working at home, he didn't have to rush. She reached out and under his skirt, grasping his cock, shaking hands with Mr Stiffy. "All right," she said, and gave a sudden, tight, squeeze, a quick constriction around the middle. "But no coming until I get home tonight. Right?" He smiled. "You bring your tight little twat back to me, and we'll see what we can do." Letting Go Jan was a successful, professional woman working for a software company. She had been with them for almost 20 years and worked her way up to lower management. She loved the work that the company did but was uncomfortable with her position. Jan had been raised in a traditional way, dad goes to work and is the head of the house, what he says goes, mother stays home, takes care of the children, keeps the house clean. She had to deviate from that upbringing as she worked her way up on her job. Each new position she obtained involved more authority and put more people under her for her to supervise. She couldn't get comfortable always telling people what to do. But she did it. She continued on this job and kept rising and kept bossing people around. For once she'd like to go back to feeling what is was like to have someone tell her what to do for a change. She couldn't dwell on that thought long, she was to busy trying to get the sales figures ready for the upcoming meeting today. On a lighter note she had been noticing a new guy walking around who she hadn't met yet. He had been walking around the halls for about 2 weeks and she didn't even know his name. Jan wanted to find out because she thought he was handsome. One Friday afternoon her good friend Melanie came in her office and started catching her up on the latest gossip around the company. One item of particular interest was all the women's opinion of the new guy. He was hot, he was cute, yada, yada, yada. He hasn't gone out with anyone as far as Melanie knew. Jan was intrigued by the fact that he wasn't seeing anyone, or so it seemed. They finished catching up and Melanie left and closed the office door behind her. About 10 minutes later, there was a knock at the door and who should step in but the new guy. He introduced himself as Gary, the new marketing manager. He was here to go over some figures with her and help their 2 departments work better together. Jan's eyes widened as she continued to take in his rugged looks. She just bet he had a chiseled body under those business clothes. He brought his notebook over and put it on her desk and stood beside her making reference to his latest figures. She could smell the manly fragrance of his cologne and was intoxicated by it. She tried to concentrate but couldn't, she didn't know what he had just said. She looked up at him and found him staring into her eyes and she was transfixed. She had never seen such deep blue eyes, so soft and yet strong. Her knees began to get weak and she thought she felt a little dizzy. She thought she mumbled something about beautiful eyes but she wasn't sure, she had to sit down but ended up losing her balance and leaning into him. Startled, he reached out for her to steady her and inadvertently put his hand on her breast. She again looked up at him and felt his strength holding her up. She was so smitten by his sensuality she didn't even realize his hand was on her breast. He casually removed it and asked if she was alright. Still transfixed by his eyes and sexy voice, she whispered something about him being so strong. Puzzled, he didn't know if he heard her right and said, "excuse me?". She had been so accustomed to ordering people around that she forgot what it was like to feel a real man's authoritative touch and commanding presence. This was certainly a man who had authority and confidence in himself. "Oh, nothing...I mean....I don't know," she stammered. His gaze was now locked on her as his countenance changed from businesslike to sensual. He just stared right into her eyes with his manly power. Taking a step toward her he put his hands on her waist and pulled her close to him. She wanted to resist but was drawn to him instead. Her own authority and power wilted now and she could do nothing but give in to him. Her hands hung at her sides as he pulled her to him and leaned down to kiss her on the lips. She kissed back and put her hands on his broad strong shoulders. His hands began to rub her back and up to her hair and down again. His passion took over now and he pulled her strongly into him, kissing her deeply and passionately, his tongue parting her lips and meeting hers. His hands moved to her face as he cradled it and concentrated on French kissing her hard and long. She was helpless in his grasp, wilted like a tired flower. Suddenly his hands went to the opening of her silk blouse and nearly tore it open, eliciting a gasp from her mouth. His hands were on her breasts squeezing and pinching softly the hardening nipples. He lifted the bra over her breasts and leaned her back on her desk to begin kissing and sucking them. Her hands could only hold his head close to her chest as the passion grew to uncontrollable levels. Her wetness increased as she could think of nothing else but him entering her. She wanted to beg for it but was afraid to even speak, afraid of interrupting this blissful passion. His hands lifted her skirt and he caressed and squeezed her thighs and buttocks as he sucked her hard nipples. Pulling her panties down, he put his face there and buried it in her mound. Her hands went to the back of his head, encouraging him. She was quite a site, flat on her back on her desk with her knees up in the air and legs spread, a gorgeous man's head between her legs in full control of her. His licking of her sex was quickly bringing her to the brink of orgasm and she tensed and released. He stood up and quickly unfastened his pants and pulled them down, his manhood fully exposed and hard. With one smooth motion he entered her wetness. She could offer no resistance and wanted none. He leaned forward to kiss her lips and neck and breasts as he thrust in and out of her with a steady smooth rhythm. She could feel his hardness filling her completely with each push, driving her to more ecstasy. She wrapped her legs around him as she near another release, pulling him close, hanging on tight for she could do nothing else. His thrusts got hard and faster as he neared his own release. Together they exploded in passion and could feel each other's wetness flowing. Jan whispered a thank you to Gary for taking her as he did. She needed it. She needed someone to take control of her and lead her like she had been leading others for so long. Someone strong and sure of himself. Gary was just the right person. He gave her one last passionate kiss before dressing and gathering his papers. The discussion of sales and marketing could wait for later. He quietly slipped out of her office leaving her breathless and her head spinning as she leaned up against her desk. Letting Go For many years, my particular fetish was something of which I was ashamed. I also felt a lot of guilt about it. At one point, I learned that there was a name for the kind of activity that I would fantasize about: "golden showers". But it didn't immediately help me to know that there were others out there with this preponderance...the whole "fetish" world was strange and bewildering... I would never, in former years, have indulged these ideas, even by allowing myself to entertain these thoughts. Well...at least, most of the time I would not. On occasion, my sex would carry me away. Once in a while, I would, for example, see a movie, in which characters would, for whatever reason, find the need to relieve themselves outdoors, and perhaps in front of other characters in the movie. Seeing the movie with other people always disturbed me, and I felt indignant that these scenes were included, often randomly and without relevance to the plot in scenes such as those found in Rob Roy and The Piano. It embarrassed me to have to watch them--share in their horror with friends or my family with whom I was viewing the film. But then, later, home again, and alone in my room, unable to shake these images and accompanying dialogs, I could not deny myself the release found in playing with myself. Later, sometimes immediately, I would feel guilty. How odd it was for me, a seemingly normal, and considerably inexperienced, woman, to be so hung up on something so disgusting! Not only that, but sometimes the things that I thought about just seemed silly. For a long time, to indulge in these fantasies would not have required another person. I really couldn't even conceive of letting out my pee in front of another person, or allowing them to do so in front of me. More than anything, I simply thought about letting out my own pee, alone and unwatched, but in some unorthodox place. I yearned to do this, but I was too nervous even to release my pee into the shower. There was one time when the long-suffering idea of doing it and the excitement I felt lead me to pee in a bowl. When I couldn't stand it any longer, I lay a shallow aluminum mixing bowl on the floor in the bathroom. Imagine my delight as I pulled up my skirts, removed my panties, and knelt down over the bowl. In order to keep my stream steady and straight, so that it did not trickle and spray all over the floor, I reached down and separated the lips of my eager little twat with my fingers. The excitement, or perhaps the position of bearing down, had made my lips incredibly plump and firm feeling, and between them, my slit was warm and creamy. I pulled apart the thick, tight labia and waited, my bladder now very full and very much needing to be emptied, as I had struggled with the urge to do this and my hesitation for over an hour now. Still, the hot stream would not immediately come. I had very much envisioned letting go of my piss in a squat position: just carelessly hiking up my skirt, dropping down, and feeling it leave me and hear it spattering into the pan. However, my experience was inhibiting me, and squatting became uncomfortable. Instead, I got down on my knees, and lowered myself over the bowl until I was nearly sitting on it. This gave me time to relax the muscles strained in my ankles and knees, and allowed me to become more comfortable with where I was, what I was doing, and about to do, and feel ready to go again. Sitting over the bowl, my pussy so open and thick that, should I have stood up, it would have been very uncomfortable, I enjoyed so much the anticipation. In the mirrored doors of my shower, I could see myself. Still mostly dressed, and appearing only to be sitting on the ground, I realized that someone who might have seen me would have had no idea that I was doing this. Why, I could almost crouch down and have a piss outside and no one would know! I could be at like, a pic-nic or something... Well, my full bladder was becoming very sore and wanted me to release its hot amber piss somewhere, anywhere. I tapped my clit with a finger a few times, thinking it might entice the liquid to come out, but all it did was feel really good, and evoke my body's natural response to tighten and pull at this provocation. I replaced my fingers within the crevices between my labia, again separating them and exposing the soft, pink, wet flesh between, and gave a little push to start the flow of urine. It took a few little pushes, and a little pressure of my hand over my lower abdomen, but finally, a slow, warm trickle of my piss left me and fell, collecting in drops within the bowl underneath me, making glorious little tinkling sounds as my beautiful yellow pee hit against the shiny metal. Badly as I needed to go, my pee was reluctant. A few drops, a pause, a short stream, and my muscles would contract. This was sensational, and I was dismayed to think that I might have to perfunctorily let go of the rest of this wonderful, voluminous piss into the toilette in a completely unimaginative way. No, I would not! Again, I would bear down, giving short little pushes, a little pee escaping each time, until, finally, a nice, strong stream was emit from my tight little pussy. I sat up into a kneeling position over the bowl, and the sound became loud and invigorating. A wet steam I could feel on my thighs as my piss fell, filling the pan more and more, tiny drops splashing out and onto the cold tile floor on which I knelt. Oh, the feeling of letting it go! Unable to resist, I moved my fingers into the stream and felt how surprisingly warm and strong was the flow of pee. And so much! I should have selected a larger bowl, as this one nearly spilled over. My pee dwindled, coming to the end. A few more contractions forced a few more wonderful little squirts out and into the bowl, and into my cupped hand. Immediately thereafter, I lay back, my pussy drenched in piss, my hand still cupping the small amount it had been able to catch. I let the golden liquid fall from my fingers over my cunt and drop down onto the floor, the tiles of which were cold against my bare rump, and fingered myself furiously, in and out and around, delving into and spreading the wetness over me. How good it felt, and how hard I came, lying there in my own piss. Letting Go At 31 I was at the top of my game when all of this took place. I wasn't making a mint but it was steadily getting closer to it so when I won five hundred bucks as "account manager of the year, it was just found money. With not a little bit of influence from my fellow managers, I decided to take three hundred of it to celebrate at Venus, a local gentlemen's club that I frequent about twice a month because I almost never failed to score there and not with the pros. At the last minute, I invited a rep named Jay that was visiting from Australia to join us. As usual, it was a good show and even the early show was excellent. God, how those girls could move and those bodies...oh my god. Awesome. After about four or five routines and several rounds, I had to piss so I slipped away, not realizing that Jay was right behind me. I guess that at this point I should reveal a weakness of mine. When I'm taking a whiz, I always try to check out the cocks on either side of me, which is why I try to get the urinal in the center. I'm as straight as an arrow but I've always had a fascination with other men's cocks, maybe because mine is just so damned average. So, when Jay moved up to the one on my left, I glanced over to see if I could check out his package. I have to admit it was an impressive 8-1/2 or 9 inches of solid, thick manhood. Subconsciously, I turned away so he couldn't see mine. He was staying at the Bellwood, an upscale long term residential hotel, not far from there, so when no one had scored except the dancers, who had quickly spotted us as gullible cash cows, he invited us over for a few more drinks, like we needed them, and food, which we did. One by one, we all crashed in the guest room, or on the couch, or on the floor, wherever our bodies were when they refused to go on. I was one of the last to go down, since I hadn't been drinking much at all. I was trying to decide where to crash when he offered to share his room with me. I was in no position to argue so when he stripped down to his briefs, so did I before crawling into the king-sized bed. I'm not sure how long I'd slept when I became aware that he was touching my ass, not just a casual touch, but between the cheeks and down near my balls. I rolled onto my back, thinking it would discourage him but instead, it quickly became apparent that it was exactly what he'd expected. Eventually, I went back to sleep, but then I felt him touching my cock. I tried hard to keep him from realizing that I was aware of what he was doing but it was hard because I know now that I actually wanted him to touch me. Why? Hell, I don't know, I just did, so it was no surprise when he pulled it free of my briefs and began to fondle it. Of course, it only took seconds for it to come to full erection and it felt so damned good the way he touched me, caressed me and the slow strokes over it. Oh my god, I was so hard it hurt. I was not, however, prepare for him to kiss it and when he did, I almost lost it. It was more than I could stand and I let my eyes open slightly just in time to see my cock slowly disappear into the depths of his warm, wet mouth until it touched the back of his throat. I heard a loud moan and realized it came from me, followed by another when his tongue began moving against the knob and the puffy base of it. Without thinking about it, I pulled back just from the sharp sensation of pleasure but now he knew that I was awake and that I wasn't trying to stop him. He looked directly into my eyes as he slowly slid up and down, hesitating at the top of each stroke to suck on the knob and slide his tongue under it, caressing that tender, sensitive tissue there. I was fisting the sheets to keep from screaming out in pure joy. Of all the women who had gone down on me. Not one could compare to the sensations he was giving me. He stopped for a few seconds to slip my briefs off before returning to suck and stroke while he fondled my balls and seconds later, his finger slipped into my ass, probing deeper and deeper until I felt his knuckles against my balls. It only took a second for him to find my prostate and massage it but just as I felt the climax approach, he stopped completely to shift on the bed. He got up and stripped off his briefs, revealing that long, thick cock that was standing erect from his body before lying down again with his face near my cock and his cock level with my face. I never hesitated for a second to take him in my lips to start sucking on him just as he was doing to me, although I couldn't reach his ass well so just the tip of my finger slid into him but he groaned so it was getting the job done. Already primed and ready, it wasn't long before I shot a wad deep in his throat but he didn't stop at all, swallowing every drop and sucking me dry. In fact, his finger got more aggressive in my ass and against my prostate as he continued to suck me back to erection again. I never even gave a thought to the probability that he was going to come in my mouth so I wasn't prepared when the first shot came, causing me to gag and choke. He quickly pulled out though to spray my face with thick cum but almost immediately his cock was back in my mouth and I was sucking wildly to keep him hard. I was the first to come again and after milking me down, he let my cock slip out so he could shift positions, locking his long legs around my head to fuck wildly into my face until he pulled me to him with his hands, forcing his cock deep in my throat and holding it there as he filled me with cum, forcing me to swallow even though it gagged me to do so. . II We lay together that way for quite a while, not speaking as our bodies continued to pulse with sexual pleasure, our balls empty and my ass throbbing from the aggressive attack as he dug for more depth. When we heard someone stirring in the next room, we both jumped up to grab our briefs but when I started pulling mine on, he grabbed them and pushed me toward the shower. I heard the soft click of the door locking just before he joined me in the shower. As we bathed each other, I expected him to want more, but instead, he whispered to me to dress and leave, explaining to anyone that saw me that I had an early appointment or something. He said he'd call me on my cell after everyone else had left. I went to a bargain store nearby to get a toothbrush, toothpaste and mouthwash and I thought of getting a change of clothing, but then I realized that if I wound up going back, we'd both be naked so it didn't make any sense. As I sat in a small café, sipping on coffee, I realized that I could still taste him and feel him in my mouth and ass. I also took some time to give some thought to what had happened and why I was in no hurry for it to end. After all those years of cock watching for what I thought was no reason at all I now knew for sure that I was a confirmed bi-sexual. It was somewhat disturbing to realize that I'd probably missed out on many opportunities to explore that side of my life. The other realization was that I was prepared, at least mentally, to give myself to him completely, wherever that might lead. I'd have to work on the deep throat aspect and swallowing his cum which I really wanted to do for some strange reason. The one thing we hadn't done, I wasn't sure of. I knew he wanted to fuck me in the ass and that sort of bothered me. I'd heard from some of the women that it hurt like hell at first but that it was very satisfying in the end. (Poor choice of words, I suppose.) I couldn't get the size of his cock out of my head, fantasizing about how it would feel going in and once he was deep inside of me. How aggressive would he be? Would he take it slow, at least for the first time? Could that big cock fit all the way into me or would he have to be careful not to go too deep? Would he come in my ass? Would he use a condom? So many questions. I jumped at the sound of my phone but quickly dug it out of my pocket to flip it open. He said to wait fifteen or twenty minutes before returning and that he would have breakfast waiting. "If you'd rather not, I'll understand," he said. "Just tell me so I won't expect you." "I'll be there," I said. I took a deep breath and headed for the car, knowing that I had committed to going all the way and I felt somehow relieved to be able to say tha even if I was just talking to myself. When I reached his room, the door was not locked so I slipped in, locking it behind me. He was waiting for me, wearing a white robe with his cock protruding from the front, inviting me to take him deep. Instead, he smiled and led me out on the balcony where our breakfast waited. "You can't eat in this restaurant looking like that? he said, handing me a robe. I started to go in to change but he held me back. "I want to watch you strip," he said. "Out here out here on the balcony?" I asked, amazed that he would ask for such a thing. "Right here," he affirmed, and I want a good show." I shook my head, but before he could say anything else, I walked over to stand in front of him. "If you want me naked, you'll have to strip me," He smiled and pulled me close to him. "If that's the way you want it." he said, as he turned me so I was facing away from him. Reaching around me, he loosened my belt, a simple act that might seem innocuous in itself but knowing the ultimate outcome sent my already sexually charged mind into hyper-drive. By the time my slacks dropped around my ankles, my cock was rock hard and my body was doing strange things. I felt my balls tense and, my ass hole flex as this strange feeling, like a charge of electricity moved over me . A few minutes earlier I didn't want him to undress me where someone could watch but now I just wanted him to fuck me wherever and whenever, no matter who was watching. That was not going to happen, however as he took his time stripping me, making sure to make frequent contact with my cock and balls. I was almost ready to scream by the time I stood in front of him, naked and wanting. I tried to take his cock in my hands but he fended me off, dropping his robe before finally sitting down. His smile was so evil but he calmly poured some juice and motioned for me to sit down and eat. My hands shook almost uncontrollably as I forced the food down while he pointed out places from where anyone with decent eyesight could see us. I no longer cared and, in fact, I think knowing that made it even more erotic. When he finally dabbed at his lips with the napkin before sliding the chair back, I was more than just accepting, I was ready and needing him. He motioned for me to come near him and when I got there, he put his hands on my hips and looked into my eyes. "Robby," he said, "we both know what I want and what I intend to do but the question is, what do you want me to do?" "Whatever you want," I said. "All I ask is that you be patient and gentle at least at first, and that you try not to hurt me." "I have no intention of hurting you," he said. "but I do intend to possess you completely." "I know," I said, "and I want that too, or at least I think I do." He smiled and got up to lead me into the bathroom where a large plastic bag with a long tube was hanging from the shower door. Filling it with warm water he attached a long nozzle to it and motioned me into the shower. "This may or may not be a pleasant experience for you," he said, "but it has to happen before we go any further." He bent me over and pushed the nozzle completely into my ass until I felt two of his fingers inside me as well. The next thing I knew, warm water poured into me until I felt like I'd explode. "Hold that for as long as you can," he said, as he re-filled the bag. When it became apparent that I desperately needed to release it, he continued to hold me down, turning me until I was almost facing the doors. "You can let it go now," he said, as he turned on the shower, moving the head to where it sprayed on the back wall. I sprayed the brown fluid over the wall, letting it run down the wall and into the tub where it poured down the drain. When I finally stopped, he put the nozzle back in and once again filled me to the brim to repeat the whole process only now the fluid was almost clear at the end.I knew it was an enema of course, but I'd never had one before. He cleaned me up and led me to the bed where he got into a sixty-nine with me. He brought me to two very satisfying climaxes but wouldn't let me get him close at all and I knew the reason for that. After sucking me dry, he rolled me over to push his finger deep into my ass, adding a second without slowing the deep strokes. Reaching into the bedside table, he pulled out a cone shaped toy about six inches long and three inches around, with four distinct steps in the cone. After drizzling some lube on my hole, he began working the toy into me to stretch me open before fucking me. Holding it in, he led me onto the balcony, waddling like a pregnant goose, so the whole world could see me give my anal virginity to this man with the nine inch cock, but I could hardly wait to feel him enter me for the very first time. I had assumed he would take me from behind, since that was the only position I'd seen gay men being fucked in, but instead, he put me on my back on top of the table, where he raised my legs high over my head before pulling the toy from my ass with his teeth. Dropping it to the floor, he licked my ass several times, then placed the head of that magnificent cock against the opening. There was a slight tinge of pain shortly after he entered me but thanks to the use of the training toy, it didn't hurt when he first pushed it in. I grunted several times as he pressed forward, hesitated, backed out and went deeper, forcing my rectum to open to the intrusion.. I felt every inch of him inside me and wanted him deeper. Eventually, his balls pressed against my ass cheeks and I knew he was completely in. Starting with long, slow strokes he slowly picked up speed with shorter strokes, slowing occasionally to allow for longer strokes. As my body became used to him fucking me, the experience got better and better and the feelings became more and more desirable. As he drew nearer his climax, he became more aggressive, driving harder and deeper into me with every stroke until, with a series of body slamming strokes, he exploded deep in my ass. For the first time in my life I'd had a gay lover take me to the limit. He took me into the bathroom then and flushed me out to cool my rectum and remove his cum, which he said could leak out hour hours if we didn't do that. I was hoping he would take me again but instead, he took me to the bed where he went down on me again. We made love again a few hours later and went down on each other twice, Each time, I tried to swallow his cum and finally choked most of it down on the second try. I had to leave then but it was hard to stop and all the way home, I had my cock in my hand, stroking it until I'd almost come, then waiting for it to recover before bringing it back over and over. I needed something in my ass though and I made up my mind to take care of that problem as soon as possible. If I'd known someone I could trust to be discrete, I would have been on the phone before I even got home. III The next morning, he came into the office just before noon to pick up some paperwork. I tried not to look at him but found myself staring at his crotch every chance I got. Just before he left, he put a folder on my desk, explaining that it was an account he would be working with that had an American office. He wanted me to work with him to keep both offices happy. I shoved it into my drawer but when I left that night, the folder went with me. As soon as I got into the car, I opened it to find a hand-written note "Be back In three weeks,' he wrote. "In the meantime make sure your passport is current so you can call on this customer in Australia in the very near future." I detoured to the adult store and picked up several toys and a video to keep me happy in the meantime and headed for home to test them. Three weeks isn't that long, I convinced myself as the first toy slid into my ass. It might give me the time to learn to swallow his come and take him deeper in my throat, which is why I'd bought the video about cock sucking techniques.