It’s kind of hard to accept that I was pity fucked. It’s degrading. She didn’t have any sort of interest in me, she just did it because she felt bad.
All I can really think to say here is “I wanted to feel pretty”, which is kind of absurd to think as a male, but it’s mostly true. I wanted to feel desired, like I fucking mattered.
I felt nothing like that. I could tell she was bored. That hurt. She didn’t even really try to make it seem like she cared, although she certainly fucking loved it when I ate her out. She didn’t really seem to care whether I liked it or not.
It hurts. It was my first time and it was degrading. I enjoyed it in the moment, but it has only caused me more issues. It wasn’t what I wanted. Not fully. I did want sex, but I didn’t want meaningless sex. I wanted something special, something I could remember fondly. What I got was… I don’t know, but it certainly wasn’t what I wanted.
The room is dark, lit only by the light from the hallway that creeps through the door that stands slightly ajar. I see you lying there, the sheet caressing your body and showing me the soft peak of your hips. You stir lightly while I watch, rolling towards your stomach, your upper leg sliding out, opening you up beneath the covers.
I ease the door open, creaking slightly as it reaches its apex. I hear you sigh at the sound, knowing that I have finally returned. You reach back and roll the covers off of you, exposing me to your pale nudity. The light from the door falls softly across your buttocks, drawing my eyes to them. I gaze upon you, drinking in all that I see. The slight wisp of hair between your legs, the full roundness of your bottom, the soft red lines on your back where your bra sat showing me that you haven’t been there long.
As I walk into the room, still slightly damp from my shower and just as naked as you, I push the door closed behind me. I cross to the bed, kneeling down onto it to crawl into it. In simultaneous timing, I reach forward and place my hand on your hip while you reach your hand back and take hold of my hardness. I crawl up beside you, sliding my hand back over your ass, seeking the hair that I glimpsed as I walked in. I feel your hair scratching my hand and know that I have found what I sought. You squeeze me gently and rub your thumb over my swollen glans as I part your lips and dip a finger inside of you. You moan softly as I bury it to the third knuckle and wiggle, involuntarily tightening your grip on me as you do.
Slowly, you begin to stroke my cock, feeling it pulse in your hand as you do. I continue stroking my finger inside of you, finding room for another as your wetness grows. I can feel your heat around my fingers as I know you can feel mine in your hand. My breath quickens as you start to pick up speed. In my fervor, my thumb seeks out your anus, pressing against it and rubbing it as I move faster inside of you. You moan louder this time, shifting your hips and opening yourself to me even more. I feel you start to twitch slightly as you near your apex, your breath catching with each spasm. You pull harder on me, trying to make certain I come with you in this explosion of passion.
My balls tense as I draw nearer to my climax. I push myself at your hand, involuntarily thrusting as you stroke me harder. I can feel you tightening around my fingers, signalling to me that you are close. Our breathing is quick and short, we are both nearing the peak. I press my thumb into your asshole, penetrating it. You moan loudly and begin to cum on my hand, which is still moving inside of you, stroking your walls as it moves in and out. Your moan is my last straw, my balls let go and I send a rope of cum over your body, landing on the sheets in front of you. You grip me tighter as you cum, cognizant of my own final spasms mimicking your own, holding onto me until you are fully spent.
I withdraw my fingers from you as you release me, giving my head one final caress with the pad of your thumb, causing me to jerk involuntarily. I can almost see the smile that runs across your mouth, knowing how much you love to tease me, even after you have made me spill my seed.
I lean back, grabbing a couple tissues from the night stand, wiping my seed off of your body. When I have you as clean as you will ever be tonight, I toss the tissues aside and slide in behind you on the bed. Still hard, my cock presses against your supple rear as I drape my arm around you and pull you close to me. Once I am settled, you turn in my arms until you are facing me fully. I lean in and press my lips to yours, finally kissing you, though I draw back before either of us has a chance to take the kiss further. You look at me quizzically, your brow furrowing in mild confusion. I smile, looking back into your beautiful blue eyes and whisper ‘Hi’, with a slight wink. You laugh, amused, as you gently push at me, separating us a bit.
Laughing, I pull you back and press my lips to yours once again, rolling you onto your back as our lips part and our tongues meet. I can still feel you laughing below me as the passion of the kiss consumes us both.
To be continued…
Much of my life has been used fulfilling my senses. I have watched thousands of movies, listened to hundreds of thousands of songs, tasted and smelled hundreds of amazing foods, but in all that, I have rarely ever touched or felt anything. Touch is the sense I have used the least. It is also the sense I want to use the most.
Each sense has one thing that I associate with it, in that, there is one thing I think of most when I think of that sense. Sound is music; sight is art, whether is be drawings, paintings, movies, pictures, or whatever; taste and smell are food; touch is women. I realize that there are other things that go with each one, but if I look at my own life and how I fulfill and appease each of the senses, those are the things I use.
In the end, everything boils down to a sensory experience. I have many memories dedicated to 4 of the 5, but very, very few dedicated to tactile experience. It is a void in my life, and one that I mourn and regret. I crave it far more than any other. I feel its powerful pull all too often.
I miss physical contact more than anything. It’s what I see in my head when I think of being with someone. The feel of a woman is… amazing. All soft and smooth. Even as I type this, I can feel my hands burn at the memory. I miss it and I yearn for it. The void is painful.
I’ve mentioned before that I really want to be held. I’ve never been held before. It’s an awkward proposition considering my size, but I want to know what it is like. I’ve also only been touched a few times. I have touched, but I can only recall a very few times where a woman reached out and initiated contact or did anything more than return a hug.
I cherish the memories I have that are related to my sense of touch. They are some of the most powerful I have. Lying next to a woman, feeling her pressed against me, warm and soft. Running my hands over her hips, her stomach, her pubic hair. Pressing my lips to her shoulder as her hair brushes across my face. Her head resting on my arm as it passes beneath her. Running my hand deeper, feeling her thighs press against the sides of my hand as her pubic hair scratches my hand; my fingers seeking her out. Her legs opening and draping across me as I brush over her hood and part her lips. Her warm stickiness on my fingers as I slide my fingers inside of her. The way her breath feels on my head as she sighs, rolling towards me to allow me to take her breast in my mouth. How hot she is beneath my palm and around my fingers as they coax her further. Everything about her is softer and wetter than I could have ever imagined possible. She is the most beautiful thing I have ever felt…
And I will never know it again. At least, not from her. I don’t even know if I will feel it from another. As beautiful as it was, it is also painful knowing that I have never felt better than I did at that moment and I can never have it again. The memory is haunting. The thought that I can never feel her again is almost enough to drive me to tears. The thought that I may never feel anyone that way again is enough to drive me to tears.
It isn’t really her that I miss though. I knew I would never have her. It is the tactile experience. I have always craved it and that brief shining moment with it makes me want it all the more. It wasn’t enough to have it for a weekend. I want to know it for the rest of my life.
And, though I have described the sexual experience here, that is just an aspect of it. I want all that goes along with it, which I could not have on my trip. As beautiful as the experience I had was, it was very much lacking. I never got to feel her lips on mine; never got to just sit beside her and hold her while watching nothing at all on TV; never got to really hold her and have her hold me back. The sexual component was amazing, but what I want most of all is the quiet, intimate part of it.