Safe From Harm
“I was lookin’ back to see if you were lookin’ back at me to see me lookin’ back at you.”
It has taken him five months to tell me that what he wants is a slut. His fantasies, he says, are becoming aberrant, and our emotional history does not work for him. He has already begun to tell me some of them, during our last drunken fuck. How he watches his friends’ girlfriends and thinks of fucking them, especially B. with her big arse. How he watched some of my friends, that night at my party, and wanted to fuck them. I come on him while he is talking.
Now, over coffee, he tells me he wants a slut. That is why we can’t have sex anymore. I sip my coffee and nod my head. I even smile. I am pleased that we can talk like this, even if it has taken five months. And seven years. I tell him that I, too, can find the sex boring. That what I want to is to look at a body, to play with it, see it and touch it. So, it’s all good, we are fine. I get up to leave.
He walks me to the door, then turns. He has that smile that tells me he is weak and he wants. His hand on the back of my neck, he tells me that, sometimes, he fantasizes about me teasing him like he is a woman; like he teases me. That I tell him I want to suck him, and tell him to give me his tongue: do you want me to suck you like this? (He says: Give me your tongue.) Or like this?
We go to the bedroom and undress. I look at him, touch him, and take his cock in my hands and then my mouth. I want to make him come in my mouth, but he stops me, tells me he wants to be inside me, he wants to feel me.
I get on my hands and knees, he slips right in, I am wet. I want him to come on my belly, but he says no, on my crease, just above my arsehole, just here, that’s where he’s going to come, just here, I wish I could turn around and see, I want to see it, but I like the feeling of him pushing right inside me from behind, hands on my hips, pulling me onto him, and when he starts saying I’m going to come, you’re going to make me come, I’m so fucken close and I tell him I want him to come inside me, I want to feel it but I wish I could see it what it looks like when it spurts out of his cock onto my crease the white cum and he is so fucken close and he pulls out of me and I can feel his hand taking himself to the end and his cum on me just above my arsehole dripping down and I turn around push him down and take him in my mouth again and start sucking to make him hard so I can take him inside me again straddle him and come on his cock with his finger in my arse wet from his cum and my pussy dripping. I think I scream in the middle of the afternoon.
When I leave, my jacket is lying on the floor by the door and my bag wet from the cat’s water bowl. I leave with more stories: sex with two women (real); me with two men (imagined); his father watching him drink in the morning (real). And a suspicion that I may have a thing for young boys.
The next day I buy my first dildo. I come home. I close the curtains. I take it out the box. It looks like an objet d’art, something from Andy Warhol’s mantelpiece: clear styrene marbled with blue and red. On one end, two small knobs. One on the other. I kneel on the floor and slide it between my legs, under my jeans. I take off my jeans, keep on my panties, feel what it’s like sliding over my clitoris, my opening, my arse, just like the tip of a cock. But harder. And still cold.
An hour later it has been a finger a cock a hard dildo and I feel like a gaping fucking dripping hot hole imploding when I come with the two knobs in my arse. He phones five minutes later. Something about a book. I am in a daze. I call back a few minutes later to tell him why. He laughs and says: Oh that’s why. Enjoy. I masturbate again that night and fall asleep clutching myself. And the next day until my womb aches from the orgasms. Then, I must face the world: a dinner. There are single women, and I advertise my new purchase. They laugh enviously at my grin. C. thinks, when I leave early, that I am going home to play. I grin on and head the other way.
Two whiskies and a fireplace later, I tell him I have been looking at porn sites. He says let’s go smoke some marijuana and fool around.
He shows me porn. On his computer. We watch someone being fucked by a huge black cock. He has something in his voice when he says: look at this, look at this cock, and look at her, she is beautiful, look at how she’s sucking that cock, you can’t tell me she doesn’t like that, look at that. I am looking. I am listening to him. I am feeling him growing hard standing behind me, not allowing me to touch him. He keeps asking: does this turn you on? I am getting that ache between my legs, the one that means I am wet and hungry to be touched. I don’t know what is turning me on. The penises are so big. I want to see women. I want to see women licking each other. Women’s arses. The penises don’t turn me on, I am looking at the women and he is standing behind me telling me he fantasizes about fucking me from behind while we are watching porn on his computer and we are watching porn on his computer and he is behind me and I want to feel him inside me from behind while I am watching those women getting fucked by big nasty cocks.
For two days, I sit in front of my computer. I look around every five minutes to make sure no one can see what I am watching, compelled, sometimes disgusted, one hand over my mouth. I remember the same feeling when I found, at the age of 12, my brother’s magazine with pictures of girls with faces covered in cum. That was when I got my first ache.
I send him the above.
An email with an attachment. “Your story turned me on.” Everywhere on campus are arses and cocks and cunts, beautiful curves and lips. I am watching my students. Then, my car breaks down in rush hour. I arrive at the bar and need several large whiskies. He, in the corner. He offers that I can crash at his place. I accept, but say I have stuff to read, there is no promise of sex. We have already made a plan for Friday.
On campus, wearing the same clothes, I am tired, unshowered, haven’t had my morning shit. But without car, I must stay. I sit in the sun and smoke, find myself watching again. See a girl with an arse he would just love. I go back to my office, open a new document, and write. I write about him standing behind the girl, imagining what to do to her; she, imagining what he will do; me, watching. I am sitting there, tired, unshowered, wearing the same clothes, and I get myself so turned on, feel wet and hot, unshowered, dirty.
I go outside to smoke again, and to watch. I feel nasty. These are just bodies around me, waiting to be fucked, and to come, and to be fucked again, and to suck and pull and writhe and come and suck and swallow and scream. I am quiet, say nothing, only watch. No one has any idea what my eyes are dreaming. I go upstairs again, feeling my tight skirt tighten around my legs, imagine his cock, just there, as I am walking. I write a little more, send it to him. In my class, ten minutes later, my phone buzzes: “Just read your mail. Hard work not touching, also looking at the things I want to show you on Friday”. I grin and blush, try to finish my sentence. That evening, I take a taxi to town, a long walk up the hill, shower, rest, finally. I sit here and begin to look at porn. Find Nikki Blond. Or is it the other clip with the lovely slow arse-fucking? Perhaps Keri Sable? I am so hot and wet that I cannot stay away from my toy. I come hard.
No more touching from today. He texts in the morning to tell me of something he is writing, something depraved. I receive it a few minutes later. It is the piece on B. An additional paragraph arrives a few minutes later. He is sitting at home writing, thinking of more, getting hard and wet imagining her and two black men, him watching, her with them for him, knowing she is driving him crazy. I suggest drinks with Y. & B. that night. He sets it up.
We both drink too fast. He is self-conscious, he says. I am feeling reckless and sexy in my knowledge of what he wants with her. Y. arrives later, we eat, get drunk. But I don’t get to see her arse properly. We have coffee and whisky, then a brandy. Already too much. But we meet friends on the way home and end up having more whisky that I am unable to finish. He smokes too.
When we get into bed he finds my toy and tells me it is beautiful. (I love the way he says beautiful). He touches me with my toy, touches and fucks me with my toy and his cock and although he is too drunk and gets soft I come all over his soft cock with my toy and his hands inside me.
I take him home and make it to campus for an early class. I am badly hung over and he has shown me porn sites over coffee. I want only my bed, but on my way home go to look for dungarees. I want to wear dungarees that are just big enough for a sexy body to move in. I can see myself making him crazy wearing those dungarees. I don’t find them. But later, elsewhere, I find white lace panties. I want to adorn this body. I want to see myself in all that sexy underwear and to touch it and to touch myself and be on my knees in front of a mirror.
All fucken day I am thinking about arriving. Watching. Touching. Finally, finally touching. The sms from yesterday: “Tomorrow I am going to drive you fucking crazy”. Am full of anticipation and nervousness and raw desire. Unlike anything. I think of his cock in my arse. Of him coming in my arse. How I have wanted that for so long, been shy, unsure of this goddamn dirty longing I have for a cock in my arse. Just the thought of it makes me writhe.
I arrive. We drink wine. Horny and nervous. We go to the study. His computer. All the files. The files about B. The files of clips he has collected for me, imagining showing them to me and telling me what turns him on about them. And all the rest. We are watching and I watch him grow hard, moaning softly. His hands moving towards but staying away. Me, on the high chair, getting wetter, still, from a whole day of being wet imagining this, the cocks, his, pussies, cum, fingers tongues the arses mine. When I touch him, slowly, eventually, and take his cock out of his trousers only for a taste, one taste, a look; when I take it out it is hard and beautiful and I can see the head wet and waiting for my tongue, soft and hard, my lips, hot breath. I lick him from his balls up to his head and then take his tip inside my mouth god the taste of him wet his hard cock and that fucken moan, “oh God, your mouth”. That’s when I stop.
We play and fuck and tease and stop and fuck again for two hours, and when I come I come hard on him. He does not come. The smoking, he says. Age. Health. I don’t care. Only feel sorry that he couldn’t have felt mine too. The feeling, especially, of coming on his soft cock, with his finger in my arse and my cunt so wet and numb and crazy alive all at once, that feeling when it starts building and coming towards you, when you still don’t know what it is, only that you can’t fucking stop now, that something is all over you and it’s not going to stop all you know is that you have to keep moving and everything that’s touching you has to touch you more: his finger deeper in your arse your clit harder against his pubis his limp soft lovely cock deeper than your opening even though it won’t but you wish your cunt was a mouth so you could suck in the tip of his cock you could pick it up with your tongue and put your lips around it and you could suck it in until your tongue can feel the ridge at the bottom of his head and you could lick that ridge with your tongue while your soft wet hot lips are sucking and licking and kissing.
That’s what you wish your cunt could do while his finger is in your arse and your whole fucking body starts grinding into him, and back against that finger, and everything starts suddenly melting and coming together his finger your clit arsehole his soft cock lying there your pussy gaping for it and everything is so wet and melting together and you can’t tell what’s what only don’t stop and the feeling starts moving from somewhere you can’t explain, inside and far away but now it’s rushing towards your pussy and every fucken nerve is getting ready and all you know is that it’s coming and you’re gonna come and nothing is gonna fucken stop you and it’s gonna be on his cock and it’s gonna be now, you’re gonna come you’re gonna.come. now.