Shape

Memories (Part 2): Tender Loving Cock

I slid two fingers inside myself, and hoped that nobody was walking by close enough to notice what I was doing. It was hot inside my little car, the residual warmth from the day’s sunlight giving my own little cocoon out there in the parking lot, where it had been dark long enough to not exactly be considered broad daylight, but still early enough such that there was a relatively moderate amount of foot traffic, weaving its way through the assortment of cars, trucks, and SUVs that sporadically dotted the mall parking lot. A smattering of bored teens stood, idly bullshitting and doing whatever it is youths do whilst standing next to their cars, the vast majority of their friends having long since retreated into the mall’s interior, away from the patrolling mall security rent-a-cops who didn’t really care for the extended presence of people after the Friday sun had made its way down below the horizon. If I’m being totally honest, rubbing one out in my car wasn’t exactly my typical modus operandi. In fact…now that I think about it, I really can’t say that I approached the moment with anything approaching the novelty of an intentionally-begun Daring Act of Public Sexuality. I hadn’t planned on what I found myself doing in that little collection of moments. I didn’t leave the mall and take the time to think to myself, “Ok, as soon as I get over to the car, I’m going to manually stimulate myself to the point of at least chasis-shattering orgasm, passers-by and common decency be goddamned.” It just…sort of happened.

And here’s the thing. All those little details, most of which added up to information that would have pretty soundly convinced me in the opposite direction of the activity in which I found myself presently engaged? Well, they made my present engagement that much more satisfying. That much more fulfilling. That much more wettening. The idea that anybody could catch me, at any moment. The thought of a security guard tapping on one of my windows with the edge of his flashlight, my solo sexual festivities having prevented me from noticing his approach until it was basically too late and he was right there knocking on my hopefully-fogged-up windows. It was almost like part of me wanted to be caught. And I really can’t say where this came from! I never considered myself to be sexually adventurous…at least not in the kind of way that might lead me to be full-on rubbing one out in my car, in the mall parking lot, on a moderately-busy summertime Friday night. But there I was, doing exactly those things, and loving every single wet second of it. 

I was imagining that Jared and I had just made our way out to the car after a particularly saucy movie-viewing experience. I was still thinking about him, and seeing that movie poster on the way out of the theater had only served to wedge him and his fading presence further into my brain. It was almost like I felt compelled to remember his body, its contours, and the way they fit against mine out of some fear that my mind would lose them completely, purging itself of the unnecessary data once enough time had passed by without it seeing any kind of regular or healthy use. Part of me wanted to cling to his memory, to push it inside of myself like it was a part of his body, sliding it deep within my own psyche and letting it live there for as long as I could keep it alive. Another part of me considered that this wasn’t maybe the healthiest thing I could have been doing in the moment. Still, a third part of me was getting ready to come. That third part of me was imagining that Jared and I had barely been able to keep our hands off one another for the majority of our screening. And it wasn’t one of those empty screenings, either. The kind that makes you look at your date, upon entering that empty auditorium, with the mischievous eyes of a teenager, both of you devilishly thinking about what you’ll get up to given the absence of any potential spectators. We would get up to a lot of that shit, anyway. It would have been a relatively packed Friday night, but we wouldn’t have cared. 

I imagined us barely able to keep our hands off each other: His hand inching up my thigh during the movie. Mine brushing against his crotch ever so slightly, but just enough to tell that I had aroused him a little. Sneaked-in kisses on the neck during slow parts. Just imagine, two hours of tension-building. Two hours of unspoken “I can’t wait to get you out of this theater, peel your clothes off, and deepfuck you more passionately than you’ve even ever imagined,” just ratcheting up the wanting and the needing. I imagined being slippery wet as we got out of our seats when those credits finally rolled, and I imagined being able to see the faint outline of his semi-erect cock as he stood up next to me. I would take him by the hand, the hormones coursing through my eager, seeking body having long since overridden any desire to take our time. We would be in a hurry, now. I would practically drag him out of the theater, making a clear bee line for the exit to the parking lot. As was his custom, Jared would probably crack a joke or two: “I’m kinda hungry, should we get a burger before we go?” I would look back at him with my “Are you fucking kidding me?” face, only to catch his crooked smile and realize that he was absolutely kidding. There would be no stopping either of us, at that point; the train had very much left the station. I imagined how the cool air would hit our faces as we made the transition from mall movie theater interior to dusky mall parking lot exterior. The summer sun would have long since been washed away by a fat, full moon, but the heat remained, sticking around long enough to work its way under us and carry us on a soft pad of desire over to the car. 

I would start out, leading him by the hand from the movie theater, but the short walk to the far end of the parking lot would take on a kind of game — a sort of half-halted race to see who can get there first. By the time we reached the car, breathless and drunk on each other, he would stop me from opening my door, slamming it closed as I began to open it. He’d spin me around, pinning me against the car with his hips. He’d look at me, deep into my eyes for a moment, his crotch pressing me against the metal frame of my small car, almost as though he were deciding what to do next. And then he’d kiss me. Deep, and full, and fueled by all the emotion and intention that the evening could muster. I’d be at least one step ahead of him, my hand having slid up his thigh to take hold of his thickening cock. He would subtly trail his fingers up and under my dress, stimulating my clit over my underwear as we ground our bodies together in the balmy summer air. After a moment of this, he’d whisper something into my ear about a change of venue, and we’d both climb into the car. I might have assumed that his suggestion meant we were going somewhere else, and he’d stop me, a strong hand on my wrist, as I went to put on my seatbelt. We wouldn’t have needed to exchange any more words, after that. Nor would we need to go anywhere. We would have everything we needed, right there in the car with us: Our bodies, and the knowledge of exactly what was to be done with them. Jared would move his hand from my wrist to my breast; mine would be busy taking his face and pulling it into mine as I kissed him, forcing my tongue as deep into its mouth as I could get it to go. His hand would slip under the neckline of my dress, and I could feel my nipples getting hard in anticipation. Every inch of my skin would be electric, waiting for his touch. I would be wet enough to irrigate a small desert nation. He would pull me over the center console, taking me on top of him, sliding his seat back on its rack as he did so. Straddling him, I’d be able to feel his growing erection underneath me, would be able to grind my clit against it, would be able to feel the gathering wetness continuing to grow and blossom as our bodies made contact more and more readily. I’d feel his hands, powerful but gentle, just below my rib cage, rocking me against his body as I slipped off his shirt. I would run my hands through the hair on his chest like I always did, impressed as I always was by how confidently he carried himself. He would reach down, as we kissed, sliding his fingers inside me gently, likely to remark about how wet I was, because that was exactly the kind of self-congratulatory crack he’d making right in the middle of it all. I’d tell him to shut up and fuck me. He’d probably respond with another joke, something to ratchet up the tension. I would take him out of his pants and hold him in my fingers, his cock thick and throbbing against my small hand. Just looking at it made me clench. I would kiss its head. Delicately, at first, and then more and more fully, wrapping my lips around it slowly. When I could feel his body relax, I would stop, and look at him. I would say to him, “I need you to fuck me. Right now.” And I would hoist myself up, his generous girth held stead in my grasp, and direct him inside me, feeling his cock spread itself into my body, filling me up with relief and tension at the gloriously same time. We would both moan, then, into each other’s ears, our breath hot against our heads. I would lift myself up, gently and slowly, staring into the eyes as we both paid attention to every second’s worth of movement as the thick cylinder of his cock slid patiently through the tight-stretched barrier of my body. 

I would have needed every single centimeter of him inside me, and to that effect, he would put his hands on either of my hips and push down on me, hard, forcing himself up and inside me as deep as he could possibly go, plumbing depths that I wasn’t sure had been previously explored, and coaxing my eyes to go about as wide as I could get them. My mouth open, I would ride him, my wetness gathering and sloshing at the base of his cock as I came again and again and again on him.But memories are just that. They’re memories. And no memory will ever beat the presence of an in-person dick. Not ever.

Despite my moment of sustained release there in the parking lot (unseen by any lucky nighttime shoppers, as far as I could be certain), this was the sentiment that colored my drive back home. There were no two ways around it: I was blue. My familiar city passed me by, wrapping itself around and over me like a weighted comfort blanket, as I made my way home. Once there, I only turned on as many lights as were necessary. It was already late, and definitely a “dark apartment” kind of evening. Hell, it was a “glass of red wine” kind of evening, too, and I picked a bottle out of the cabinet without even looking at its label. All I needed was time to verify the color, and a free hand with which to produce a glass. I set myself up with what I referred to as a healthy “dive bar pour,” and made my way into the bedroom. I took care not to disturb the lump occupying half of the bed as I undressed and padded my way into the bathroom. I stood there for a moment, staring at the bathtub, and wondering if it was the move. A quick glance over to my detachable shower head, however, almost immediately convinced me otherwise.The hot water ran over me and I let it wash away those painful memories along with the rest of what had amounted to a relatively draining day. I stood there and concentrated, feeling every single instance of contact between the water and my bare skin, noticing it as it ran down my body, paying attention to the way it knew every single inch of me, and I let it, familiar and safe and warm as it always was. It wasn’t more than five minutes that I had been standing in the shower, before I detached the nozzle and lets its spray play down and across my body. Absentmindedly, I slid a hand up my hips, over my belly, and across my breasts, letting the slick skin slide frictionless over my erect nipples, letting the hot water and pleasant sensation combine and react with one another. My clit began to tremble with anticipation, feeling the increasing onrush of hot water as the shower head nozzle got closer to my hips. As the full force of the water inched closer to my throbbing clit and vulva, I flashed, without warning, to an afternoon Jared and I had spent in a lonely motel, having stopped over in a sleepy little ghost town type place during a particularly long stretch of road trip. 

We had actually both been trying to sleep, in anticipation of a long day of driving that would be required of us the next day, but within an hour of climbing into bed together, we had stripped each other of all clothes and I had filled my hungrily with his cock.In the shower at home, I braced myself against the wall, one hand gripping the contoured handle that I always joked had been installed for exactly this specific purpose. Few things in the world could make me have a full-body earthquake the way masturbating with the shower head nozzle could, and my entire body convulsed in a way that made me grateful for the presence of the rough rubber bath mat I had decided to put down several months ago (after nearly slipping and falling during, you guessed it, this very activity). 

As I felt each stream of hot water rushing over my clitoris and vulva, I remembered how I had started off on top of Jared that night, grinding my pussy on his incredible, erect cock, before stopping suddenly…and inching my way up his chest, and over his sternum, making sure to maintain contact so he could feel my wetness on his chest. I made my way up to his head, and gripped the headboard of the bed, settling down as he dutifully gripped my thighs and began kissing and lick me. He started gently, kissing my vulva delicately and flicking my clitoris teasingly with his tongue. He breathed on me, hot, and ran the edge of his tongue up the inside of my thigh, making my nipples stand out on end and causing every muscle in my body to clench and release accordingly. He finally met me with a long, wide, full swoop of his tongue, his mouth setting every single nerve ending inside me on fire and causing me to cry out way louder than I would have intended. His tongue became busy, then, spelling out every single lyric, chorus, and verse of our National Anthem, letter by letter, on my pussy, and I came with the intensity of the rockets’ red glare. And here’s the thing about the shower head nozzle. Here’s what makes it such a mythical, magical creature for me, to the point that I’ll actually spend money on properly outfitting my shower for its safe and continued use. When I come with that little contraption? I never stop. There’s something about this particular water-based orgasm that just doesn’t stop. 

I remembered looking down at Jared, reaching back and massaging his engorged cock while he ate me out, my body trembling and convulsing with orgasm as I came on his face, his hands kneading my breasts and pinching my nipples to exactly the degree that I liked.

Eventually, after what felt like enough minutes of consecutive orgasm to last one of those short little TED talks, I climbed back into bed. My body was warm and soft and still rubbery with the fading pleasure of such an intense and sustained orgasm, but I still just couldn’t shake those blues. I pulled the covers over my head as quietly as possible, but even still. There was stirring. I froze up, hoping I hadn’t been too loud…but it was too late. Gabriel rolled over sleepily, yawned a real big one, and shifted his weight over to me, brushing up against me just enough to be inviting. I let my body relax and settled back into him, his weight feeling familiar against my back. I was pretty sure he had simply rolled over in his sleep, but there it was. Even back-to-back, he could read me. 

There were times I knew I was being pretty obvious, but there were other times — like this one — where I had no idea how Gabe could possibly have known what he seemed to know about my emotional state. “You OK, sweets?”

I just sighed. It was enough. I didn’t really even need to say anything else. Gabe turned over and rested his head against my back, stroking my arm. “Talk if you need to, ok?” I knew that would be all he said. Gabe had a way or making it clear that talking was only necessary if it would actually help. But he made it clear, and I valued that.

After a moment, I sighed again. “Jared stuck a fork in it today. I wasn’t even out doing anything tonight. Just at the mall, feeling sorry for myself.” Gabe’s reaction was immediate, and mutedly grave. “Fuck. Honey. I’m so sorry.”

He punctuated this with a soft kiss on my shoulder. It wasn’t sensual, but almost…motherly, in a way. I had been polyamorous for as long as I could remember, but there’s a reason Gabe’s the only man or woman I had ever considered to be what we had come to call each other’s Primary. I doubted the possibility of ever loving another person as much or in as many ways. I turned under the covers, facing him and inching closer. I looked into his eyes. “Just hold me, Spaceman.” He laughed at my deployment of his favorite nickname and wrapped those arms around me. My favorite arms. The one that made me feel the most understood I’ve ever felt in the world. Buried in his embrace, I kissed him on the neck. He stiffened; this was his favorite place to be kissed. I stopped and he started to relax, but then I started again and he went stiff as a board, his hands involuntarily gripping my sides hard, and I liked it. This. I had missed this. I had missed it all day, without even realizing it. I mouthed him on the neck, just delighting in his pleasure, reveling in his inability to control his reaction as I traced an intricate map along his neck, collarbone, and jawline. Eventually I had him in my hands, my fingers coaxing his cock hard while he slid his fingers in between my lips. He dipped a finger inside me and I gasped, pushing my tongue into his mouth and gripping his cock harder. I stroked him with the pent-up enthusiasm of all the day’s complex emotions, and I kissed him like I loved him, because I did. And deeply. And when he pushed me over and onto my back, spreading my legs wide and settling his weight on top of me, I pulled him close to myself and wrapped my arms around his neck before I could do anything else. “I love you,” I whispered into his year. “I love you so much.”

I pulled his head back, looking at me, suspended above me in the air, and he said to me, “I love you the most.” I reached down and took him in my hand, and I could feel that he meant it. I opened myself as wide as I could and guided him inside me, sliding him in. He felt so perfect. He felt like home. We stared into each others eyes as our bodies slid together, my wetness pouring out of me and his pouring into me. When we finished, we lay there, wrapped in each other in the darkness, wet and content and as in love as any two people could be. I felt better. All I needed was a little TLC.