Weightless

I liked that he was small. A sense of overwhelm had soured past encounters—I am sensitive and too often find myself faced with too much too hard and too fast. Past partners were looming and eager to swallow me. I needed a lover who understood nuance and I was curious to experience someone who more literally moved through the world at my level.

We had seen each other a handful of times, including a trip to the pool that concluded with my nipples in his mouth. He spoke energetically, unselfconscious in how he detailed his adolescence in San Francisco, his bad drug trips, his evolving political views. He had a brightness about him that was undeniably enticing. That and a DIY haircut that was infuriating in its perfect imperfection. I had been dating all summer, sharing beer flights and bar nuts with thoughtful, politically-compatible people who I had no desire to fuck. Until he strolled in, thoughtful, politically-compatible, and rakishly hot.

Now, we’re waiting for his STI test results to come back, a precautionary but necessary measure. Beyond that, it's not yet clear where things are headed, but I know that the timing is right. A string of mental health crises had made it impossible for me to date through most of my twenties. As I approach thirty, this finally occurs to me as a blessing: all I've missed is a bunch of mediocre sex and underdeveloped communication skills. Dating as a fully formed adult, I feel powerful. My sense of possibility is fully intact and brighter than ever. Initial concerns about him being too young for me increasingly seem arbitrary. He’s fun. Fun is good for me. I am interested to find out how good.

Until then, I am aching for his body. Grinding my clit against his underwear-clad cock had been pure delicious torture and my want overwhelms me. He had handled me beautifully, dragging his nails up and down my back, running his hands over my ass and thighs to rock me, and spending long stretches cupping my breasts in his hands, lifting his gorgeous mouth to my nipples and gazing into my eyes as he sucked me into a state of total bliss. I’m also reluctant. I’d seen it before—partners would ravish me during the buildup, but once they stuck it in, their dick eclipsed everything else. This one seems promising. I pray it will last.

Another workday of minor victories and insults is behind me. I spent a minimum of time answering emails and joining half-hearted video calls and an embarrassingly greater proportion trying to release my pent up sexual energy, squeezing my legs together, feeling my nipples over my shirt, and absently opening and closing various dating apps. Now, I am home, horny, and desirous of his attention. I text him.

What are you up to rn?

A few moments later he dangles a line.

Just hanging with my roommate, we’re

playing video games

Too easy.

Would you wanna play with me instead?

I send him a photo, my breasts pressed round and full against my sheets. I wait. I check that my ringer is on and then set my phone on the windowsill face down in a futile grasp at patience. A few moments later, I huff, pick it back up, double-check that my ringer is on. Fuck.

If he is going to make me wait, I’ll allow my mind to wander. Pulling my vibrator from a box beneath my bed, I run my hands over its rubbery smoothness and click it to a hum. I imagine the two of us back at the pool and unspool myself from there. 

In retrospect, the occasion was regrettably chaste. Conversation flowed easily, but we maintained a friendly level of distance. He was shirtless and within arm’s length. Why didn’t I touch him? I had worn my thong bikini bottoms on purpose, but he probably didn’t even notice—I was already in the water by the time he arrived. Sure, we hooked up after going back to my place, but the whole thing feels like a missed opportunity. I am eager to re-write it. I think about his eyes, his hands, all over my ass. I need more and I give it to myself. Picturing our bodies sliding against each other in the water, my insides grow slick with want. The pleasure mounts for several moments until suddenly my nipples shock to hardened points and my cunt blooms in release.

In the warmth of post-orgasm comes his awaited reply: 

mmm who could say no to those beautiful breasts

Fucking finally. He is willing, ready. So am I. I send him another photo, tits fully exposed now. Hands and knees on the bed, my hips press forward as if he were under me. I imagine his green eyes alighting on his screen, hand wandering into his pants. Watching the ellipsis indicating his coming response, I grow petty. I want to command his total attention. I want my words to wind their way around his dick and milk the cum from within him. I want this: to make him spent without a single touch.

My thoughts racing, I balk at myself. A lifetime of sexual shaming rises to eye level: the years spent avoiding masturbation, the date who told me I was too intense, the partners who had ditched me upon learning that I was fucking other people. Men always want a slut until you actually act like one. Admitting the contours of my desire, or that I desire at all, suddenly feels like an exercise in utter humiliation.

I watch myself hesitating and decide, no. I look under the rock, reaching for the purer, more fundamental part of myself. There, I am absolutely titillated. I could continue to send him sexy pics, risking little, or I could tell him, in detail, about what had just happened: thinking about him made me come. I am anxious and questioning my capacity to pull this off. But I want him and I crave the risk. I decide to extend an invitation.

Honestly while I was waiting for you

earlier I was thinking about us

fucking at the pool

If you want to hear about

it I can tell you

He replies instantly, brief but emphatic. A stupid grin unrolls on my face. I am about to write him a novel and all he can muster is “oh yeah I would”? Still, it works on me. I allow my ego to be stroked, anxieties receding in the brightness of anticipation. To take control I have to surrender completely.

~~~

The air is soft, the light diffuse with waning day. Bobbing near him in the water, my limbs are anxious with rising urge. I want him to see me, a body in motion. His voice is warm, animated, and increasingly difficult to focus on. I am so turned on it seems impossible that he wouldn’t notice.

I still, parting my mouth slightly and looking at him expectantly. This, he notices, his words trailing off. His hand moves to his hairline, fingers pushing the wet strands from his brow.

“What’s up?” He asks.

A shared knowing passes between us.

“I want to be closer to you.”

I hold his eyes, waiting. I know what I want and yet I am paralyzed. His presence is vertiginous. My feet are in contact with the floor of the pool, but I have the sense of being suspended from a terrific height. The pool is completely empty, or it’s teeming with bodies but only one that registers. In the water, I am half standing, half floating, and fully consumed.

In an instant, the gap closes between us. My legs wrapped around his waist, we kiss long and deep. His hands wander down my back to rest on my ass, sending a jolt to my already pulsing clit. We luxuriate in each others’ mouths, biting, sucking, and teasing, flowing seamlessly between touches gentle and insatiable. Bringing my hands to his face, I lean back to meet his eyes. I feel him rising beneath me, his cock head straining between two layers of fabric to tease my wanting slit. I need to taste him.

Unhooking myself, I attempt to regain the use of my legs. Pulling him towards the water’s edge, he can see what I have in mind. With his back against the wall, he places his hands on the concrete behind him as I move to untie his swim trunks. The elastic slides easily down his slim frame as he jumps up and shifts his weight into his hands. He is bare-assed on the pool deck now, his legs dangling in the water and his cock fully erect.

I smile. How easily he opened to me. I want to live in the space of his delirious need, so I can’t give him everything just yet. I take my time, licking slowly up and down his shaft, sucking on his balls, providing space for things to escalate. I give him one more long stroke and bring my hand to his chest.

Eyes on eyes.

“Do you want this?” I ask.

“I do.”

I need no further convincing. At last, I take the whole length of him inside my mouth. He shudders and gives a satisfied exhale. I bob my head up and down, continuing to take things slowly but applying plenty of delicious pressure. I cup his balls in my palm and use my fingers to tease the space that leads to his asshole. Saliva and chlorine leak from the corners of my mouth. Suddenly a hand finds the back of my neck and squeezes hard. I have him.

I give him a long, hard pull, pop his cock out of my mouth, and stare him down.

“I want you to fuck me.”

He returns my stare, wordless but urgent. Removing his shorts from where they’ve pooled at his ankles, he presses his feet to my shoulders and gives a decisive push, permitting him room to slip back into the water. He pulls me close and runs his hands from my hips to the hem of my swimsuit top. Grasping the elastic at my sides, he gives a firm tug. My breasts drop free of the wet fabric, nipples straining against the cool air. He moves quickly now, placing a hand on each breast, dropping his head between them, and inhaling deeply before spinning me around and pulling my ass into him. In one smooth motion, he strips me completely. I am naked, glistening. 

I turn to look at him. His hair trails down his back, the small tattoo at the center of his chest visible just beneath the surface of the water. The last time we fucked around, he told me I looked at him like I was going to eat him. I hadn’t known if that was a compliment or a thinly veiled judgment, but at this point, I don’t care. I wrap my legs around his waist once again and we lock eyes as I slide onto his dick.

I melt on contact, placing a hand on his chest to let him know that I need a moment. I want to savor the feeling of being filled, our bodies close. The sun is hazy but strong as it glances off the water, our wet skin, his shining eyes. I am weightless and wanting.

I clasp my feet at the ankles and dig them into the small of his back, pulling him even closer. He responds swiftly, first sliding his cock in and out of my wet pussy, then pumping. A grunt escapes his lips. Watching the sensations mount within him, a wild hunger blooms within my chest. My cunt is pulsing and greedy as the boundaries between skin, water, skin, air, and want dissolve completely. Sensations reduce to their purest form. The splashing of water. Hard nipples on smooth chest. Animal sounds wrung from two writhing bodies moving as one.

I pull my head back to meet his eyes. In my stare, a wordless invocation to please, let go. I feel myself expand, my capacity to receive a creative force. In a flash of total abandon, he surrenders.

~~~

Wow. You’re a good writer

Thanks! I read a lot lol

I’m impressed, not really surprised,

but impressed

What can I say, active imagination

Photo by Engin Akyurt