“Continue,” he said, and leaned back into his chair.
I didn’t want this to end. This was better than sex. Oh. My. God. No, come back; squeeze my neck, whisper in my ear. How could he do that? How could he, in the middle of this, just stop and lean back into his chair? This was more than I could take. Naturally, I crossed my legs again, trying to become comfortable. I heard the squishing sound of my wetness and felt it running down my legs. Oh shit, I was wearing a dress. I was going to have a wet spot.
“Hold that thought, Erik. I have to use the bathroom,” I said as I stood.
I walked inside and made my way to the bathroom, feeling as if I had spilled something all over my lap. I grabbed a handful of paper towels from the dispenser and went into one of the stalls. Standing in front of the toilet, I propped one of my feet onto the rim of the toilet and the other on the floor. I lifted my dress up and tried to wipe up the mess with the paper towels. It felt as if I was wiping with sandpaper. I looked at the moist towels and strangely felt somewhat satisfied. I tossed them into the toilet, grabbed a handful of toilet paper and attempted to wipe up the remaining mess. The toilet paper broke into pieces and rolled into little wet balls on my thighs and ass. This. Was. Ridiculous. I grabbed another handful and dabbed against myself until it was dry. I opened the stall door and began to walk back outside, feeling both embarrassed and satisfied at the same time.
As I walked through the door, exiting the inner restaurant and entering the outside area, I started to walk past a table of guys my age. My nipples were still so hard that it almost hurt. My period was way too close. Hopefully Erik and I could have some crazy sex before it started. As I walked past, I heard one say, “Look at that bitch. I’d fuck the shit out of her. Sexy whore. Dude, look.” And I saw him nod his head my direction. I walked past, acting like I didn’t hear them. Just like being in a bar, people have no respect for women. Thinking it is one thing, but saying it, especially where someone can hear? That’s so far beyond inconsiderate. I stepped to the table and sat down. When I did, Erik looked a little uneasy.
“My turn now, will you excuse me for a moment? I must go to the restroom,” he asked.
“Sure.”
He stood, and walked toward the door. As he did, my eyes followed him. His walk, his stride, his gait or swagger; whatever people call it. It was such a turn-on just to see him walk. I got lost in just watching him walk away from the table. When he was almost to the door he stopped at the table of boys, leaned down, placed his hands on the table, and started whispering something. His whisper was harsh, but quiet, like he intended only for the boys to hear and no one else. I strained to hear what he was saying.
“Listen to me, you little fucks. I heard every word you said about her when she walked by. I am going to let you slide, one time, this one time. Maybe you didn’t realize she was with me…..”
The waiter appeared and Erik stopped speaking and smiled at the waiter. I acted like I wasn’t paying attention. As the waiter placed our food on the table, Erik was speaking again, but I couldn’t hear the conversation. When the waiter walked away, I turned my ear back to the table of boys, and caught the end of this whispered one-sided conversation.
“…and you’ll regret it for as long as you live. Do you understand me? I asked you both a god damned question, now fucking answer me…”
The boys both looked up at Erik, and nodded. At the same time that they nodded, I heard them say, “Yes.” Erik then extended his right hand to each of them, and with a puzzled look on their faces, they both shook his hand. Erik lifted his other hand from the table, stood upright, and walked through the door into the building.
As he walked inside, I noticed my hand was covering my mouth the entire time he was talking to the rude boys. I moved it, and as I did, I could smell his cologne on my hand. I thought of what he said to those boys at the table that were talking about me, and it turned me on. I smelled my hand again. I felt the goose bumps rise in my arms.
And I began to drip.
ERIK. In the past, the females who I had spent time with were women that I could initially see myself with for a matter of months at best. Often, they would last a few weeks to a month. Generally, it was several weeks or months before I would ever commit mentally or physically to have sex with someone. They had to convince me, through their expressed thoughts and their actions that they were capable of being in a relationship with me that was not emotional, and be capable of having sex. The thought of having someone fall in love, and then, when the relationship ended, having them mentally, physically, or spiritually hurt by the relationship ending was not something that I wanted to have to wonder about.
It was a strange balancing act for both parties. I knew enough about myself to know that when I felt as if someone was different, and that I was developing some form of feeling of necessity for them, I would force myself to let them go. This had not happened with any degree of frequency, possibly two or three times in my adult life, but it had happened.
Knowing that any day you may be dismissed from a relationship was not a comforting feeling to most women. Some women, when I explained to them my requirements for a relationship, would just tell me that I was insane, and end it before it ever started. Most swore they were capable, and after a few months, would admit that they had fallen in love and that they couldn’t imagine a moment without me. Always, when I learned that this type of feeling existed, I would have to end the relationship.
Typically, after one of these types of endings, it may be a year before I would commit to try again. Each time, the woman that I chose to be with would be the same age as the last, if not younger. I continued to grow older, while my sexual partners grew younger. The age gap continued to be more of a gap as time passed.
Regarding my sexual advances, I had begun to be more aggressive with Kelli than most women. Typically, I would not ask the questions that I had asked until a few weeks had passed. I would not have done what I did in the Italian restaurant until we had seen each other for a matter of weeks, or possibly even a month. I wanted her to either fail, or to succeed, but with her, I wanted the answer immediately. For some reason, this girl was different to me. I felt that the sex with her could be emotionally charged without the actual emotion.
As the sun was starting to set, I drove east toward the theatre. As Kelli sat quietly, I turned the music up a little louder with the steering wheel mounted controls. The Black Keys, Sinister Kid played over the stereo. As I was beginning to enjoy the music and thinking of what it would take to break Kelli, she spoke.
“I like this music, who is it?”
“The Black Keys,” I responded.
She nodded and went back to being quiet. Tapping her fingers on her knee, she gazed at the road ahead as if she had no care in the world where we ended up. She was as attractive of a woman as I had ever seen, and her personality was a definite ten out of ten, so far. At some point I would reveal a flaw or series of flaws, but so far she was full of pleasant surprises. As I turned into the entrance of the theatre, she spoke again.
“Uhhm, we’re going to the movies? Really? Is this a joke?”
“No, Kelli, it isn’t a joke. I thought it would give us time and the ability to relax before we go to some of the clubs in Old Town. Is it going to become a problem?” I responded softly, but sternly.
“No sir. It is not a problem, I am sorry,” she said quietly and apologetically.
I parked the car at the rear of the lot and got out to walk around to her side of the car. As I was walking to her side of the car, she began to open the door. I finished opening it for her and stood at the rear of the car, waiting. She got out of the car and started slowly walking toward the theatre. I turned to face the theatre, placed my hand on my belt, extended my elbow to the side, and spoke in a sharp tone.
“Kelli, who are you going in the theatre with?”
As soon as she heard the tone of my voice, she stopped walking. She turned and looked back at me, maybe five or six steps beyond me
. As soon as she made eyes contact with me, she ran toward me and responded as she ran.
“You, Erik.”
“Act like it, Kelli. Act like it. On my left, each time, understand?”
“Yes sir,” she said as she extended her arm through mine.
As we walked toward the theatre, she inched closer and closer to me, brushing against me each time we walked between the cars in the lot.
“Why did you park so far away from the door?” she turned and asked.
“Well, Kelli, I take care of my things. Be it a car, my motorcycle, my mind, my body, or you. Things that are important to me, I take precautions to preserve them. I parked far away so no one will park beside me and open their door into my car, denting it. When I get rid of that car in a year or so, it will look like it did the day I bought it.”
“I see, that’s good to know,” she said in a supportive tone.
We walked up the steps into the theatre, and I opened the door for her. Her hair looked almost blue in the fluorescent lighting from the parking lot. Long, black, and straight, I smelled her hair products as she entered the building. Passing through the entrance, I smiled as she gripped my arm tightly. We walked to the ticket counter and chose an open line.
“Two for White House Down,” I said to the young man at the counter.
“Twenty one dollars,” he responded.
After handing him the money, we turned to walk toward the concession and restroom area.
“Do you want anything?” I asked, motioning to the counter.
“No thank you,” she said as she shook her head and smiled.
We walked to the counter, arm in arm, and I ordered two bottles of water and paid the concession clerk. I handed her a bottle of water, and we walked toward the front of the theatre.
“White House Down, theatre number nineteen, second on the left,” the kid said as he tore the tickets in two, handing me half of the tickets back. I started folding the movie tickets in my hands as we walked the second theatre on the left.
“Can I have those?” Kelli asked.
“Have what?”
“The tickets, I collect movie tickets,” she said.
Puzzled, I handed her the tickets. She placed them in her purse and walked beside me into the theatre. It was dimly lit and about ten minutes before the movie was to begin. We walked to the left side of the auditorium and stopped at an aisle that was empty.
“You go first, Kelli, I prefer that you sit on my left,” I said as I motioned to the aisle.
Smiling and without speaking, she slid into her seat in the middle of the aisle. I sat beside her and placed my water in the cup holder in the armrest on my right. I glanced at Kelli, who was looking around the theatre, as if she were doing an inventory of all the patrons. The shadows on her face in the dimly lit theatre presented her face in a different beauty. She was a gorgeous but very simple woman.
The women that I had been exposed to in the past had provided me with useful real-world data regarding personalities, preferences, character traits, and character defects. Typically, the women that were more outspoken, personality rich and vibrant were submissive to a degree, but a much lesser degree than a reserved, quiet woman. An intelligent woman that was reserved, slow to ask questions but quick to answer them - was typically a much more naturally submissive woman.
Submissive women fell into two categories, submissive by choice and submissive by nature. Naturally submissive women were my preference. They were, however, more difficult to find. Women that were submissive by choice were the most common and preferred to be in sexually submissive roles. A naturally submissive woman actually needed to be in a submissive role to feel as if she were living a useful life.
The availability of a naturally submissive woman was nil for women my age and almost non-existent at any age. The naturally submissive woman was recognized by a dominant male early in life, and typically would end up in a committed relationship while young. A relationship, regardless of the quality, that would last forever.
Statistically speaking, women who were naturally submissive were in relationships and many of these relationships were abusive. The abusive male in the relationship was not only dominant, but controlling, and abusive. The women in these types of relationships were mentally beaten down to a point that they lacked any level of self-esteem and were reliant upon the dominant abusive male to feel as if they were capable of surviving. Regardless of the level of abuse, the female would stay in the relationship, convinced that they would never be able to find anyone else that would love them. Over time, the pattern of behavior from the abusive male would be far more abusive and far less loving.
The typical female in this type of abusive relationship would stay, convinced that she would never be able to find anyone else that would even accept her as a partner. Convinced that the alternative consisted of living a life alone, the female stayed with their abusive male partner. Physical abuse was common in these types of relationships.
The public perception of the dominant male in a D/s relationship was that he was abusive. Abuse and dominance, in the public eye, were hand-in-hand. In an actual D/s relationship, nothing could be further from the truth. Mental or physical abuse was something that I didn’t tolerate. I often wondered if my non-committal position regarding relationships was in some respect…abusive.
“Channing Tatum is cute, he reminds me of you, Erik,” Kelli said as the lights dimmed.
“How so?” I responded.
“Well, you’re built the same, you have the same features, and your hair is about the same length. You’re just a little more serious than he is, but you could almost be his double,” she answered as she offered me a smile.
“Well, thank you, I suppose.”
She smiled, and placed her water bottle in the arm rest between us.
“Put that in the arm rest on your left, Kelli. I am going to eventually fold this arm rest up,” I said as I pointed to Kelli’s left.
“Oh, I didn’t know they moved,” she said as she moved her bottle of water to the arm rest on her left.
I immediately pushed the arm rest up between the two seats. The previews were beginning, and Kelli was looking at the screen intently. I placed my left hand on top of her right hand, which was resting on her right knee. Her hand curled slightly as I cupped her hand in mine. Rubbing her hand and wrist, I moved her hand to my left thigh and pressed it onto my leg slightly.
She began to rub my thigh as the previews played. The rubbing became more energetic, and her hand began to slide closer toward my rapidly growing erection. Typically, I had tremendous control over my level of arousal, and in turn, my erections. I could mentally regulate if and control when I obtained an erection, regardless of the involvement or actions of my female partner. This did not seem to be the case with Kelli. For my sense of satisfaction, I focused and attempted to make my now full erection flaccid again.
No success.
Focus, Erik, focus.
Rigid.
Margaret Thatcher naked in a snowstorm. Anchovy pizza. My obese third grade teacher, Miss Kratz. Children playing. Fingernails on a chalkboard. Trigonometry. Clowns. Midget porn.
No success.
Her hand slid up my thigh and encompassed my erection. She squeezed lightly. Her head turned from the screen toward me. I looked in her direction slightly. She smiled as she lightly squeezed my erection. Her hand began to slowly slide up and down my inner thigh, to my knee, and back up to my pelvic region.
I reached toward her with my left hand and grasped her neck slightly. Slowly, but with a firm light grip, I positioned her face closer to mine. With our eyes focused on each other, our lips met. Passionately, aggressively, we kissed. Our moist lips pressed against each other, my tongue searched for hers. As our tongues met, I held the back of her neck tighter, pressing her face against mine. As our mouths parted, I lightly licked her upper lip with the tip of my tongue.
Immediately, we embraced in another kiss. Her hand stroking my erection, we
continued to kiss. I slid my right hand to her left breast. With my thumb and forefinger, I massaged her nipple between my fingers. As she began to moan, the kiss became more passionate. I slid my hands up to her face, holding her face lightly in both hands. With her face firmly in my hands, I looked into her eyes. She gazed at me as if in a trance.
“I really like kissing you, Erik. I don’t like kissing, and I really, fucking really, like kissing you,” she said, her full lips moist and swollen from the kissing.
Her head in my hands, I looked into her eyes and spoke, “Kelli, put my cock in your mouth, now. Get my cock out and suck it.”
Looking intently into my eyes, her hand fumbled for my belt. She unbuckled my belt, unbuttoned my jeans, and lifted my tee shirt slightly. Slowly, she unzipped my pants, and reached down in between my thigh and my jeans. With a soft but firm grip, she pulled my full erection from my pants and began to stroke it.
Turning away from my gaze, she scanned the theatre quickly. After determining that the movie had started, and that the majority of the people were actually focused on the movie, she lowered her head into my lap.
Her moist mouth encompassed my shaft, and her tongue circled around the tip. Her hair in my lap, and her hands fumbling to remove my jeans further, she began to slide her mouth up and down the shaft. Quickly, she was taking two-thirds of my length into her mouth.
Her hands slid from my lap toward my outer thigh, and she began to force them between the seat and my ass. Pushing with my feet, I raised the pressure from my thighs, giving her some room to move her hands. Gripping my ass in her hands, she began to force herself onto my cock, swallowing the entire shaft, pressing her lips against my lower stomach. The feeling of my cock sliding into her throat was more than I was able or willing to take.
S is for SEX Page 81