Big and Loud

The boys are big and loud.

They ride barefoot in the back of the jeep because one of them said "Let's Go!"

The amble about in careless, heavy steps, knocking one another and pointing and laughing.

They hit each other to show affection.

He is neither big nor loud.

He is quiet, thoughtful, doesn't enjoy being knocked into.

He marvels at the attention paid to the big and loud boys by the girls he considers "nice."

He wonders why it's ok to hit each other, why that's funny.

He wonders what is wrong with him, and why he's the one whose behavior is suspect. After all, THEY are aggressive, hurtful, cruel. And Big. and Loud.

When he speaks, they all listen. Even the big and loud boys. Sometimes, a note or kind word will follow. From a quiet girl. A pretty one.

Later, he'll see her. With the big and loud boys.

Once, at a movie, a particularly smart girl whom he'd admired was there. With a big and loud boy.

He was alone. And wondered what he'd done to claim her attention.

Was being big and loud all it took?

The big and loud boys made no sense. They still make no sense.

With their light beers and their laughter.

They huddle in groups in button down shirts and slap each others backs and make fart noises and laugh and point at the pretty girls. Women, now.

They pushed and cajoled and blew past the quiet one.

They sometimes listened, often pursued a path he laid out. But after, he wasn't invited for beers.

Beer was gross, anyway, he surmised.

Or maybe he was gross.

Was missing something. Missed a lot of somethings.

Could he make himself big and loud?

A drink or two at an event had this effect: He wasn't as bothered by the big and loud boys. Or men. You wouldn't say he was big. Or loud. But he engaged more freely.

Still, he spent most of his time watching. And really, it felt like often he was watching himself. He saw the image of him standing there, was aware of others who engaged him. But he was about two steps behind and slightly above his physical presence. He watched interactions unfold.

Oh, also, the boys smelled. Either sweaty smells or the smell of too much cologne. Their smells were big and loud as they ambled in big, slow steps and walked into people and didn't care and hit each other and laughed for no apparent reason.

Big and loud.

He was not.

But the boys were big and loud. They turned to men. Big and loud men. And this puzzled him, even as he aged, became a man, gained experience.

The men are big and loud.

He is not.

And never will be.

The Edge

And now she was on the edge of the desk, her ass barely on, her panties off, her skirt up over her stomach.

He was sitting in a chair watching. Watching her fingers delicately dance on her clit. His hand on his cock, though his pants were still on.

She spread her legs and he could see the pink of her pussy, the thin strip of red hair just above.

His pants were down, his cock was out. He used his precum to lube himself.

He stood and kissed her and his hot cock pressed into her thigh.

Now, he was standing straight, his cock moving up.

He held it against her, looked into her eyes.

He rubbed the raging member against her clit. Used it to part her folds. The thickness and heat of him felt good against her aching clit. He rubbed back and forth, up and down. Never penetrating, just teasing.

He held his cock at the base, pushed it into her wetness, watched her watching him.

He made circles around the outline of her pussy, back to her clit, to her thigh.  He was driving her wild. She wanted him inside her. A gift he would not give. Not today.

He pressed against her clit, held himself between delicate lips, stroked and then held himself near the head... he looked directly into her blue eyes as he shot hot cum onto her clit and thigh. He rubbed it into her stomach.

On his knees now, licking his cum, tasting the mixture of their fluids. Fingers inside a sopping wet pussy, tongue against her clit. She arched back, back... legs embracing him as she climaxed.

As she left, she asked, "When will you fuck me?"

"When I'm ready..."

Garage

Guest writer K offers this:

Again. Not again. It was always at the worst times….

The entire neighborhood, children and dogs included, were in her yard. And here she was…with her son’s soccer coach, in the garage closet.

When he showed up at this party in the usual athletic shorts, she instantly noticed the outline of his manhood under the thin layers of polyester mesh. How his fiancé allowed him to wear those so casually, was beyond her. As soon as each family dispersed into the crowd, they made their respective exits…

His lean body perfectly curved against her as she arched back to kiss him. He wrapped a muscular arm around her torso and cupped her breast, pulling her into him more vehemently.

She braced herself against old mementos and hardware as he pounded into her from behind. They didn’t even want to look into each other’s’ eyes. The shame was almost too much, at least this time, because of the presence of their loved one’s mere yards away. But they couldn’t resist each other; it was inexplicable. The electricity was obvious at the first athletic camp practice this summer when they met. It was palpable, uncontrollable, just like their lovemaking.

The summer heat was nothing compared to the fire that they created when their skin met.

Sweat beaded on her chest as he circled her clit with confident fingers. Behind her, he gently bit her neck and stroked into her until her stomach clenched, on the verge of ecstasy.

Outside they heard excited tones from the party, a reminder that they couldn’t prolong their climax any longer. She put her hand on his, and circled her wetness more furiously. Her legs trembled as he increased his pace, slamming into her firm ass in steady, constant rhythm with their ragged breaths. As her body convulsed into his hard pelvis, her muscles tightened around him. She felt him in her core. They came together, in a rush of sweat and adrenaline. This was the catharsis they both needed after keeping face for so long. Eventually they would have to find a better solution, but now, these rendezvous would have to suffice. 

Opposing Forces

Another guest post from K.  If you are interested in writing a guest post, contact me: mrsterling2010@gmail.com

This was the most intense assignment of their careers…and they were both sleeping with the enemy…sleeping with each other. Lead media liaisons for two viciously opposing political candidates. How they would maintain their anonymity, they had no idea, but the heat between them emanated from somewhere deep, and foreboding.

He slid her conservative sheath dress over her thighs, and onto her hips…just enough to allow him to grip her ass in his strong hands; possessing her body. She loathed and lusted after this sensation of being the object of his desire. The dissonance…the dichotomy… made her body clench in ways that begged him for more. He reciprocated, so determined to make her succumb, and so earnest to please her; to control her orgasm with his essence. He was so enamored by her, by her relentlessness to achieve and lead. She was at odds with everything he considered attractive and appropriate, but oh how he wanted her.

Raising her to him, he pressed her back into the wall and thrust into her, feeling her inner walls clench his rigid member. If anyone caught them here, in this dark supply closet at a very public debate, their careers would be over, and their clients’ rivalry would be cast into ridicule. How can men be entrusted with high office and lack the ability to maintain the loyalty of their most prominent team members? This alliance was doomed. But perhaps that was the exhilaration they both craved in this overly politically correct, charade, of government process.

Her nipples hardened against his chest. She could hardly contain her screams. He filled her, stretched her, and her body craved more. As if he could sense her coming apart in his hands, he pressed into her more firmly, held her to him with one arm, and reached to place one hand over her throat. She could barely breath, her screams were stifled. He pounded faster, and faster, maintaining pressure on her neck. Suddenly, he tilted his head down and bit her nipple through her dress. She lost control. On the brink of losing consciousness, she released, soaking him in her desire. He barely slowed himself, pulsing into her until she hung limply onto his shoulders, and came as her body milked his, as if it were only natural.

He lowered her with a kiss. Her knees were still weak. Clothes disheveled, ties and cuffs undone, they had mere moments to make themselves presentable before they returned to their stations. These minutes felt like hours, and walking into the light of day felt surreal after such risqué encounters. In these moments, they did not feel like bitter rivals, but perfect complements. Perhaps this was a lesson they could draw from these dark places. 

Control

Guest blogger K offers this:

Their bodies twisted, tangled, emblazoned together in fire; in passion.

His tawny skin felt hot, his muscles hard against her soft flesh. The pounding syncopation of their movements was more than she had ever felt with another man. His masculine power reverberated against her inner walls, throughout her body until she felt she may come apart entirely.

He had a workman’s hands. Rough and calloused from years of manual labor. His brute force, the way he pulled her into him as though she had no mass at all, made her succumb to him each time. This affair, torrid as it were, was her escape. In a life of constant control, meticulous organization, with him she did not have to think; she could relinquish all control to him and find all-encompassing ecstasy.

He reveled in her beauty, and cherished each time he was able to lay kisses upon her golden skin. Collarbone to pelvis, she embodied feminine curvature. All sweet scent and taste, he yearned to entice her body to release.

He took her in his arms, gripping her around her ribs and coaxing her legs up against his sides. He pounded relentlessly, denying that this would ever end, that they would have to go away separately again. She felt him throb inside of her, growing in anticipation of their mutual climax. He held the back of her head in one hand, and she looked into his eyes. Whether this was simply passion for her, or something more, was unclear, but he loved the way she looked at him. Her defiance shone through the blue, even though she submitted to him, and it made him crazy. He would see those eyes when they were apart, dreaming of ways to make her come for him.

Their climax happened like a flood, she moaned and he released a deep guttural growl. Goosebumps raised on her skin, and sweat glistened on his broad chest. They lay there, together as one, neither prepared to leave for another several days before they would see each other again. For now, this is what they had, and it satiated what each of them were missing in their own private lives. They would ask no questions; an unspoken understanding was made long before they’d ever shared their bodies. And until they were ready to take control of their own happiness, this is where they would find respite.