She was a tiger. Wow. I barely slept after she left. My first rumble since March, and what a riot. We’d never met in person but chemistry on the phone and via chat was all good. Ruggedly good-looking, 51, black, NYPD retiree, probably weighed 100 pounds. I ended up hosting even though I’d said I didn’t want to. We hit it off well enough that I didn’t care.
She bit and scratched but not too hard. I bit back but did not scratch. She laughed a good amount, in good ways. She laughed with, not at. I’m already sore in those spots. She messaged me from the Verrazzano, saying she’d be back on Saturday. My heart was still pounding. I messaged her back to say I wanted her to keep licking me like she did. So sweet and innocent, while being anything but innocent. It tickled until she used more than just the tip of her tongue. When the fuller surface crossed my body it was so fucking hot. I felt like a fucking lollipop.
She was tight. I was hard as could be. She made beautiful sounds, maybe too loud for the neighbors but no one pounded the floor to signal us to shutup.
Something else she unleashed, besides the closest feelings of all-out lust I’ve experienced in a long time, was something I thought certain I had eradicated from my planet. That would be the ocean of what I think are silica gel pellets that filled a weighted blanket I threw out over a year ago. The blanket was easily punctured by my sleep-thrashing ways, unloading wave after wave of the clear, harmless pellets that make the blanket weighted. She found a hidden stash of those pellets and now they are everywhere on the bed.
I dreamed electrically. I kept waking up thinking there was a stripper in bed with me, and that she had just come home from work, covered with slobber and snot.
No stripper would come home like that, covered with the spit and mucous of her customers. But in this weird dream that was just her style. It was an efficiency to get her out of the club and to safety as quickly as possible.
The dreams were strange. I barely slept. I guess I wanted more. I mean I know I wanted more from the real woman, not the spit-covered stripper (who does not exist in any form in my life, btw).
