I’ve always been very orgasmic, enjoying what happened when my hands slipped between my thighs, sighing happily as my fingers slid over my clit again and again. One was never enough for me; I had to have at least four before I was marginally satisfied.
But getting off with another person was different, exciting, sexy and unpredictable. I loved sneaking off with my boyfriend, especially at night after our dates at the local movie theater. He had his dad’s old 1989 brown Ford Ranger that he picked me up in during the summer before college.
One night, in August, at our usual parked spot, his fingers slid down into the waistband of my skirt. He had ventured there before, but I had never come, just become sopping wet. He slowly stroked my clit, running his long fingers around it. I was sprawled across the front seat, my head in his lap. It was still too new, to tell him what I liked. I knew what I liked but he seemed to know what he was doing. I loved the unexpectedness, the not knowing what his fingers would slip to next.
My toes began to curl and uncurl and my breathing got heavier. He leaned down to kiss me and I gripped his lips with my teeth, a slight growl coming from me.
“Oh, yeah, I guess you like that?” he smiled smugly. I kissed him again, tasting his mouth and the slight tangy sweat from his upper lip. His fingers picked up speed at just the right moments, hitting all the right spots. I began to cry out and flung my hair back in movie style fashion, an absurd detail that still sticks with me. My legs wouldn’t stop shaking until long
after I’d finished coming. My thighs were sticky and I was shocked to see him licking his fingers.
“I like the way you taste.”
I was surprised; I was more than satisfied with just one. For now anyway.
Jillian Schweitzer is a writer and a photographer, who has been published in various college publications and in the anthology Into Our Clothes, distributed by Writer’s Lair. This is her first submission with the bliss project.
Filed under: prose | Leave a Comment
Tags: cars, clitoris, fingers, kisses, orgasm, sweat
We were new to each other. Learning fresh jokes, sharing favorite whatevers, that sort of thing. It seemed too early for me to start pondering the longevity of an “us”, so I didn’t. I took the ride. So far, so good. As I learned the ropes w/ S, I realized that I had that familiar tingle whenever we interacted. That little sparky thing that traveled between my flesh & his smile made everything in me stand at attention. It had happened. I wasn’t in love, and I wasn’t in like. I felt I needed to see him totally naked, though, at the least. Every time we talked on the phone or parted ways, I found myself wanting S to give me every inch of himself to devour. It wasn’t long before I’d come to the conclusion that I needed to set a bear trap of sorts. He wasn’t as forward as I was used to. S was quite the accomodating gentleman. I thought that was cute, but didn’t really care to be concerned with doors being opened for me, or polite calls before 9:30 pm EST. I didn’t think he was serious about anything aside from taking his time. I’m hard wired to be fast. Not quite hot in the ass. But results-oriented once I get something — or someone — into my crosshairs.
So, I set my sights. Coordinates locked. Operation: Get ‘Im, Girl was in action. I wasn’t about to fall short. I let Scrabble and movie dates and “Dinner at whose place tonight?” become our usual fare. But, what I had planned for S was far from usual. Weeks passed. I grew impatient with myself for not jumping on him every time we saw each other. But he was so sweet. Too sweet, almost. All compliments & very restrained kisses. I don’t think he grabbed my ass once in four weeks’ time. I was coming undone, bit by bit, by my own lustiness. One night, I cracked and slowly gave into it all.
After an agonizingly long bout of Scrabble, I won and celebrated my victory with a flourish that could only be described as a premeditated striptease. Something completely unnecessary for the occasion, but an overt example of what may await S if he ever managed to get me naked (alone was hardly the problem). I shook my ass like there was money in it; I know he watched. I know he saw everything I was trying to do. I stopped long enough to stand in front of S as he sat on the couch. I dropped to my knees and leaned in to kiss his smiling lips. He hummed a bit, the way you do when you taste something unexpectedly delicious. I danced my lips around his, crept my fingertips up his forearms & rested my palms against his biceps. His mouth tasted faintly of cinnamon chewing gum. I bit his bottom lip and felt his body tense a bit. He growled.
That growl should have been my warning; it was the tipping point for the night. S wasn’t as docile, wasn’t as sweet to me anymore. He wrapped his arms around my waist, pulled me close, and bit me back! S’s lips grazed my cheek and chin, rested on that crazy soft spot just under my ear, and I squealed. I gasped. I kind of went limp. My arms were, by this point, flung over his shoulders. We were pressed closely together and I could feel the electricity dancing off of his skin. His little bit of chin hair tickled my collarbone as his tongue swirled around my neck. I was overcome with sensation, breathing quickly and feeling like I was instead the one being seduced. S growled again as he slipped a hand under my shirt and felt my waist. His fingers traveled over my three strands of waistbeads and he half-chuckled and half-whispered, “I shoulda known you’d have some shit like this on.” I smiled and gripped the back of his neck as we kissed more.
(This is where the whole situation went from the beginnings of a motion picture sex scene to some kind of grimy, three-for-ten-dollars porn. Note that I am not complaining, but instead admitting my own cockiness almost had me miss out on perfectly good dick.)
S stood me up and turned me with his hands so that my backside faced him. I could feel him smiling as he ran his hands down each of my legs, gripping the meat of my thighs. “I love these jeans on you,” he muttered. “But, of course, I’d love them on the floor, too.” With that, he reached around and unbuttoned my pants. I unzipped my fly and as his index finger dragged around the waistband of my panties, I knew this experience would be something to savor. There was no reason to rush this session — I simply had to flow with it. I reached for the hem of my tee shirt, so I could pull it off; S’s hand stopped mine. He firmly gripped my wrist and pulled it just behind me. I wasn’t in pain, but to be controlled like that was exhilirating. I never thought he had it in him.
S pulled my jeans off of me and stood behind me, hand still gripping mine. I felt his breath on the back of my head as he hovered closely. I flattened the palm of that hand so that I might feel his crotch. His bulge was serious; it was real and I couldn’t wait to get better acquainted. He let go of my wrist, put one hand against my stomach and pulled me close again. I felt a tingle in all of my softest parts — I felt desire in a way that could have been dangerous. It was like a fire lapping at dry grass, eating up everything in its path. S put his his other hand up my shirt and for a few moments held my waist, massaging my middle and kissing my neck and shoulders. It was a gentle kiss, but I knew what fueled it. He nibbled a bit at one ear and I felt my entire body reverberate with anticipation.
(part two coming soon!)
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Tags: talking dirty, waistbeads
seafoam. a poem by sparkle.
as i ride waves of you,
i am supple & full
wet & hungry
fuller of you with each sway
my hips
give rise to the ocean
crashing against a jetty
water swells &
currents
lap shoreline silhouettes gently
the whisper of water tickles curves slowly
& all that remains
is seafoam.
*sparkle sucks as a poet & is more of an essayist or storyteller, but will keep writing poems until the rest of you submit!
Filed under: poetry | 1 Comment
Tags: hips, the ocean, water
hovering. a poem by sparkle.
your arms make me wonder
about the fingers that lie at the ends
if i need two,
three,
or the whole fist
maybe you know how to
eat pussy like a champ
or your stroke game is real serious
& yeah you’re funny
but
i don’t really wanna talk
on the phone all night
this ain’t no girlfriend shit
i’d like to know if the lines
in your back are indicative
of prowess,
& if your affinity for detail
translates into your bedroom activities.
right now, young tender
i’m hovering over
your shoulder
cuz fucking you sounds
like more fun than holding your hand.
Filed under: poetry | 1 Comment
Tags: cunnilingus, holding hands, pussy
just wanna. a poem by melissa.
i’m love-biz bankrupt,
so now i just wanna fuck you
i’m tired of being touchless
this love bug doesn’t bite
because now i just wanna fuck you
she won’t know
and i won’t call
this is nothing
never gonna be something
so come over
when i’m ready
i don’t care enough
to come to you–
just to come,
and if you do too,
well, that’s on you
because now?
you can’t love
what doesn’t want it
and i just wanna fuck you
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a little bit at least
make him tea
touch him
where he wants to be touched
when he wants to be touched
like he wants to be touched
touch him
when i want to touch him
like i want to touch him
where i want to touch him
Filed under: poetry | 1 Comment
Tags: holding hands, love, men, safe touch
oshun. a poem by cynthia.
a beautiful syrupy lover
sensual
attentive
who knows how to enter me and linger
who makes time and space meaningless
and is unrestrained
who can luxuriate and share
shining
and fucked
and catered to
to erupt
and flow
down
all over everything
to purr and hum with delight
Filed under: poetry | 3 Comments
Tags: beauty, divine feminine, love
control freak. a poem by omi.
i am not always
a good girl.
sometimes letting go
means letting you have your way.
…my way.
gimme real cuffs
metal + skin
no frilly satin or plush animal print.
i want the chill of the steel
to compete with the heat in your hands.
no, i don’t mind a scrape or two.
…you’ll kiss them away later
if you must free my hands,
at least give me a few swats for the trouble
…open handed. like you mean it.
make my ass sound like lightning cracking the sky
(crops are so impersonal
and i’m not in it for the welts)
a little sting; a kind caress
rewind
repeat
then…enter. fully.
strong
confident
cooing, coaxing
never insulting, crass.
this isn’t about humiliation.
i want
to engender gratitude
for this manifestation
of my trust.
bring me to blissful exhaustion
and i will use every tool at my disposal
to reward you
anon.
Filed under: poetry | 2 Comments
Tags: bondage, spanking
We walked to the door of his apartment. It was silent except one could
hear the sound of my laughter chasing his punchline between the wind.
Before he could unlock the door I looked over my shoulder at the
bright, full moon. “Look at the moon with me,” I said. He walked over
to my side and took my hand in silence. I had never seen a moon so
decadent.
He glanced at me with a knowing glance in his eye. My face began to
turn whatever color brown girls turn when they blush. I wanted to look
away but before I could his lips were touching mine. Instead of
fighting it I let go, savoring the softness of his lips, the way his
tongue felt on my neck, my earlobe, my collar bone…
“Maybe we should go inside,” he whispered. When we entered the
apartment, the house was dark save for one dimp floor lamp. Without a
word he began kissing me again, this time unzipping the back of my
dress. I reach for his belt buckle but he stops me, and instead gently
placed his hand between my legs. As he stroked my clit, I let out a
soft moan. We stood in the middle of the living room. My knees nearly
buckled as he placed two fingers inside of me, tickling my G-spot.
Before I lost my balance he laid my back to the wall in front of us
next to an old credenza. I finally unbuckle his pants, and as I
reached for his dick he says, “wait. I want to taste you.” He slides
down and considers my left nipple: flicking his tongue back and forth,
around my areola, sucking and kissing my breast. As he made his way to
my right nipple, I looked down at him, watching him watch me. He moved
down further, kissing and teasing my navel. I moaned in anticipation.
His constant teasing tortured me to the point where I nearly begged
for more. My pussy was so wet and expectant. Finally he licked my clit
with the tip of his tongue. When I moaned loudly he back away. Just as
my body relax he teased my clitoris once again. I thought I would
burst with anticipation like roman candles in a summer sky.
Suddenly, he buried his face in my pussy, resting one of my long brown
legs over his broad shoulder. My pussy dripped and drizzled with each
climax. As he gently pushed his tongue inside of me, I almost felt
faint with pleasure. He ran his tongue across my labia in small
circles. I screamed louder and louder with each go around…and when
he sucked my clit one last time I thought I might die of bliss.
As I caught my breath, he stroked my face with his hand and kissed my
forehead. He looked into my eyes.”You taste beautiful”, he said
sincerely. I chuckled at the thought of beautiful having a taste. I
cradled his hard, throbbing dick in my hands as we stood face to face,
my back still to the wall. His eyes told me everthing I needed to
know. “Right here?,” I said. I suddenly had the urge to hold back.
“Why not?,” he asked. “I want you right here.” His voice sent
electric current up my spine. I let go again.
I propped my foot against the edge of the table top. He eased his dick
inside of me, and I gasped as he took the first stroked, as if
reaching an epiphany. I threw the pussy back at him, worked my hips to
meet his deep, steady strokes. I formed my mouth to say his name but
all I could do was scream. He chuckled as I stammered to find the
words to say.
He paused for a moment to lay me down on the living room floor. He
entered me again, and fucked me a little harder, a litter faster yet
still so gentle with my wet, quivering pussy. My cup runneth over as I
came a fourth time; he hit my G-spot insistently, constantly until
came so hard inside of me. We reached to peak of our pleasure
together, and I smiled as we both gasped for air. He kissed my cheek
and then sucked my nipples once more, as if to say one more prayer at
the altar. He turned off the one dim lamp and curled up behind me on
the floor. As I drifted off to sleep, I could feel that bright, full
moon glowing on the surface of our skin.
Filed under: prose | 1 Comment
Tags: cunnilingus, men, nighttime, penis, short story, the moon
corruption. a poem by melissa.
the scar on your hand feels
good against my neck
when you grab it
for no reason at all.
you clutch like you kiss,
unthinking and blind,
fire and smoke, sweat and hell.
my tongue knows your neck,
my buds find your taste
in the lonely middle of the night,
awake and ready, wet and solitary,
warm and wide
prepared to crawl to you.
gravel in my knees a small price,
clawed hands no sacrifice.
shatter my too-conscious heart
with wild eyed fucking
and then, oh, then–there, now–
hair in your hand, eyes to the ceiling,
screams to crash through unseen gates
sweat and breath, heaven and promise.
we heal. and start again
Filed under: poetry | 2 Comments
Recent Entries
- Ford Ranger Memories. A short story by Jillian Schweitzer
- Newness. a story by sparkle. (part 1)
- seafoam. a poem by sparkle.
- hovering. a poem by sparkle.
- just wanna. a poem by melissa.
- crush: a slight return. a poem by osunyoyin.
- oshun. a poem by cynthia.
- control freak. a poem by omi.
- Shaking Loose. a story by Chantelle.
- corruption. a poem by melissa.
- first things first, by Allison
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