Other women want him. I’ve seen it the way they flirt with him and talk about him. They intentionally twist his words into innuendos. They brag when they have the opportunity to see and touch him.
What makes him so extraordinary? What is it about the man that makes me fantasize about meeting and seducing him?
How is it possible that the most innocent words on a screen can make me hot and wet? He scarcely knows I exist save for the odd blog comment and twitter reply. And yet I want him.
He writes nothing more than the most general aspects of his daily life. Nothing suggestive. he keeps his personal life private. But his words touch me. Cerebrally? Sometimes. Like a jolt between the legs? Often, upon later reflection of him.
So many blog meetings to choose from. The opportunity to be in the same place as him exists. And then? Would I play the shrinking violet or the smoldering temptress? So easy to write the temptress. Easier still to be the violet. A lack of confidence consumes me. This blog claims to be about sex, and yet the authoress has none. A brief stint, then simply resorting to theory and reminiscences.
What would I like to do with him? I think one full day and night would suffice. 24 hours to know him. To take my delicious time with every delicious inch offered.
The first touch- exquisitely prolonged, before a shred of clothing has been removed. A hand? A wrist? Running a finger down the nape of his neck? Teasing my nails through his hair? Breathing in his ear and flicking my tongue across his earlobe?
The unbuttoning his shirt one at a time – not tearing it off in the heat of passion, but slowly revealing more skin in tiny increments. Touching his chest a little bit more with each successive opening until it is finally off altogether, and he stands there exposed. Open to my explorations. With my hands lightly touching his back, his ribs, his nipples. My nails grazing and teasingly scratching.
My lips long to taste every inch of him. Tongue and teeth tease him while his nipples get hard and hot. Licking along his clavicle, feeling him gasp and reaching to touch me and pull me in closer.
To kiss him long and deep while massaging his shoulders and back. The finally pushing him onto the bed, onto his back so I can straddle him and run my tongue down his ribs and stomach. Further and further down towards his belt.
I would take off my blouse, slowly. Letting him have time to enjoy the reveal. Then off with my bra so I can lean over – running my breasts down his chest. My nipples getting harder and practically begging to be touched and sucked.
To feel him grown harder beneath me, I would lean over to kiss him again – flesh against flesh- our legs entwining together. Our tongues exploring each others’ and his hands reaching up to grip my back and bury themselves in my hair. Feeling him pull my head back and my back arching in response- our pelvises grinding against each other.
For the moment, that’s all that I would need. Naked torsos, lips, tongues and teeth. Hands touching and massaging. Legs opening to each other. Groins pressed up together, getting harder, wetter and hotter. This moment alone can be dragged on for hours – there’s no need to rush at all…