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Strawberries, or Charlotte’s surprise visit

Charlotte is as horny a person as I am. I know this to be a fact.

She can be wet at a moment’s notice — like her libido is always on stand-by, just waiting for a button to be pressed. And then she’s ready.

By my estimate, she masturbates more than I do. She can’t help it; sometimes she just needs to come. This, I think, is why we get along so well.

So when she texted me saying she’d like to stop by between classes, I had a pretty good idea of what she had in mind. Come on over, I replied.

Charlotte is a few years younger than me, in her junior year of college, but neither of us notices the age difference much. We’re just two similarly horny people trying to get by.

I straightened up the living room and made my bed while I waited for her to show up. When I got her first text, something stirred in between my legs; the mere appearance of her in my consciousness can be enough to turn me on. I sat and imagined her soft lips, and the way she gets bashful when she knows I want her. I imagined the feel of her breasts through her shirt and bra, and the wet warmth I would feel through her panties when I made my way down there.

The doorbell surprised me, and I jumped up to get the door, forgetting about my hardon.

Charlotte stood in the doorway, her cheeks flushed from the bike ride over. Her long dark brown hair fell over her shoulders in big tumbling curls. She smiled at me and took a few steps into the room.

“This a bad time?” she asked, glancing at the slight bulge in my jeans, narrowing her eyes in play-suspicion. She smirked at me and pushed past into the kitchen.

I followed her, admiring the curve of her ass through the thin fabric of her yellow sundress. As she poured herself a glass of water, I came up behind her and put my hands around her waist.

“I was thinking about you,” I whispered in her ear, her thick hair tickling my nose. “I was thinking about how I wanted to see you.” I ran my hands up her sides, feeling the warm glow of her perspiration. “I was thinking about the feeling of your body.” My hands made their way to her breasts, cupping their fullness through her dress and bra. I peeked over her shoulder and down into her cleavage. The sun coming through the kitchen window illuminated the space between her breasts, her skin set afire by the yellow glow of the fabric.

In Leanne’s garden

I learned yesterday that shared manual labor can build some serious sexual tension. My friend Leanne asked me to help her build a few raised beds in her garden, and the two of us worked all day in her balmy backyard. Prior to yesterday, she and I had only flirted and shared one sloppy drunk kiss after a night at the bar, but after six hours of sweaty, dirty work, we both wanted more.

I arrived at about 10am to find her dressed in busted-ass jeans and a sweatshirt, making herself a smoothie for breakfast.

“Thanks so much for coming over, dude,” she said in her slow North Carolina drawl. “I’ll show you the garden.”

We walked to the backyard. She had her long brunette hair tied up in a messy bun on top of her head, and I watched the stray strands wisp behind her in the morning sun. She’s one of those beautiful girls that looks sexy no matter what she’s wearing. It’s effortless, and it shines through sweatshirts and sundresses alike.

We talked about the plan for her garden, and I couldn’t keep my eyes off her lively, animated mouth. Her almond-shaped deep brown eyes laughed along with her lips as we joked. I pretty much missed the plan.

She finished her smoothie and we set to it. The work was simple enough; we’d build three raised beds for veggies and fill them with soil and compost.

As noon approached, the sun crept into her backyard and started to warm things up. It had rained hard the night before (that’s March in the NW for you) and the air quickly became balmy. The two of us toiled in the mossy, leafy enclosure of her garden, shovelling heavy dirt to the side. A thin film of sweat and smeared dirt covered our bodies.

Leanne wiped her forehead and disappeared into the house. She emerged a minute later with two mason jars filled with cold water. It was so good I almost didn’t notice that she’d taken off her sweatshirt, and was now wearing only a thin gray deep-v tshirt.

“Drink up,” she said. “I don’t want you collapsing out here.” Her breasts stood out impressively from her torso under the thin cotton. They looked so firm and buoyant for their size, and as she bent to set down her jar, I was allowed a look through her swaying cleavage to her smooth stomach.

Leanne is a curvy girl, without being the least bit pudgy. Her hips are wide, her butt is big, and her stomach has a smooth graceful curve to it. Her skin is taut and firm. When she stretches into one of her ambiguously suggestive yoga poses, her back arches like a cat. I’ve never seen another girl quite like her, and I find her body both beautiful and beguiling.

Steam, snow & Bri

Since summer, I’ve moved to a new part of the city, which means I no longer live with Bri. I sometimes miss living with her, but we’ve become better friends since I moved. A few weeks ago she called me out of the blue to invite me along for a trip to some nearby hotsprings. I accepted, remembering our last lazy naked day spent there, and agreed to meet at her place the next morning.

When I rolled up on my bike, Bri was loading her car with all manner of supplies. “You planning on staying up there for a while?” I joked.

“Lock up your bike, smartass,” she replied. “I just like to be prepared.”

I followed her into the house to help carry the last of the supplies, and as I glanced down I was reminded of the way she would drive me crazy walking around the house in her skirts, her ass jiggling as she walked. I could follow her around all day.

We hit the road shortly thereafter, en route to pick up her friend Olivia, who would be coming along. I was pleased that Olivia was joining us, as she and Bri were very physical together, and we would after all be spending the better part of the day naked. She’s also an incredibly attractive woman, way tall, great curves — and I had never seen her naked.

Olivia was ready and waiting when we got to her house, standing in the driveway looking like a hitchhiker from the seventies, arms crossed and hips cocked. She kissed both of us on the cheek as she jumped into the back seat. As I recall, she grew up with money in Brooklyn. Very fond of kissing, those people.

“So where are you taking me, Bri?” She asked as we took off. “All you said on the phone was that there’d be water and I wouldn’t need a bathing suit.”

“Sounds about right,” Bri said, smirking at me. “All you need is that fine ass of yours and the rest of the day off.”

The drive up into the mountains to the hotsprings took an hour or so, and we ended up having to hike the last bit on account of unplowed roads. But we made it. Approaching the springs, we were welcomed by thick clouds of steam drifting through the forest. The three of us like space-people, scouting this strange new world.

In the sixties, some clever folks had built an ewok-village of sorts surrounding the springs, with ducts feeding steaming water to wooden tubs. Bri was the first to get naked once we picked a tub. She threw off her clothes and began dancing around the tub, her white feet squishing into the snow-covered moss. Olivia and I watched Bri’s beautiful body bounce and sway for a minute before we followed suit.

Things on display

It was the end of July, and the southern California heat was proving to be too much for Will. Since the semester ended, he had stayed in touch with a girl from his Psych class named Angie who he’d messed around with a few times. She lived in Portland, and extended an open invitation to come stay with her family for a weekend over the summer. He decided to take her up on the offer.

Will arrived at the Amtrak station to find Angie waiting with her mother. From across the station, Angie’s mother looked like a taller replica of her daughter. They were both brunette and athletic, toned yet curvaceous. He found himself attracted to Angie’s mother in the same way he was attracted to Angie, as if they were the same person. Angie hugged Will and introduced him to her mom, Karen. They all piled into a new-looking Volvo and drove off.

Back at Angie’s house, she introduced Will to her father, Tom. They shook hands. The house was big for three people, cleverly decorated, and furnished in 60s mod. Strange town, Will thought.

“Tomorrow we can go to the beach with my family,” Angie said, after dinner. “I think you’ll like it.”

From the moment Will had seen Angie that afternoon he wanted her. He remembered clearly what her body looked like naked, and he wanted to feel her hands wrapped around his erection again, he wanted to take her rosy nipples into his mouth, and he wanted to watch her sweet face look up at him as she sucked him. He was also turned on by how much Karen looked like her daughter. Their voices even sounded the same.

That night, after Angie playfully denied his quiet advancements in her bedroom, Will snuck into the bathroom and silently masturbated to the thought of Angie’s soft mouth and her mother’s watching eyes. He imagined the two of them nude, side by side, mirroring one another’s movements as they caressed their soft breasts and twirled their matching nipples. As he came, he imaged them both cooing soft words in unison.

First is first

I’ve been thinking lately about the first person I ever had sex with, and the impact she’s had on my sexual desires and preferences today. I am fairly convinced that we all spend our sexual lives gravitating back to the attributes of our first lover. We try new things on for size, we find new attributes attractive, and we get turned on by all types of people, but somewhere deep down in the always-horny part of or brains we want our first.

The first girl I slept with was adventurous. We were both virgins, and once we started fucking, we tried everything that crossed our minds. We fucked in crazy places, in crazy positions, crazy often. Most of my relationships since have felt in one way or another slightly restrained.

She had an incredible balance between her dominant and submissive sides. One day she would pin me to the bed and make me tell her to fuck me, and the next she would quietly let me hold her hands behind her back while I pounded her, whispering how much she liked it. I will be forever drawn to women like this.

Perhaps most conspicuously, I was impacted by her body. She was tall and curvy, full hips, big ass, large breasts. Her thighs were smooth and thick, her stomach gracefully rounded. The thing that most aroused me was the way she owned her curves. She loved the way her tits bounced while we fucked. She would tease me by rubbing my erection against her soft stomach. I don’t just yearn for a curvy woman, but for a curvy woman who owns her curves. I love that, and I suspect I always will.

And you? What impact did your first have on your desires and preferences?

We watch each other

For all of you kinky readers on fetlife: check out my new group, devoted to casual skype encounters.

We Watch Each Other

I want it to be a place where people interested in masturbating socially can meet likeminded internet peeps. If you’re not on fetlife, email me your skype name and I’ll let you in on the fun. Eventually, we’re going to have a big group chat, where all of us get off together. Like the sound of that? I do.

B

A word of encouragement

“Take off your clothes,” she said after letting me in. We’d never met, but for the last week we had been discussing plans for today over email.

I did as I was told, as I had agreed to do, and she watched. She watched as I pulled my shirt up over my head, and as I stepped out of my jeans.

“Now the rest,” she said, pointing to my boxers. Something stirred in there as she pointed, but I didn’t begin to harden. I was still a bit nervous for that. Nonetheless, I tossed off my boxers and stood before her completely nude. I watched the way she looked me up and down like I was a statue that brought her pleasure. “Now go sit on the couch.”

She sat across the room from me on a wooden chair, legs crossed, eyebrow cocked. I took the opportunity to look her — my boss for the time being — up and down as well. She was older than me by quite a bit, tall and voluptuous. She wore an airy lavender skirt and a creamy light blouse, unbuttoned enough to give me lovely glimpses of her deep cleavage as she shifted.

“Now,” she said, as if she had to ponder what to say next, as if we hadn’t already decided that. “Let’s see you get all nice and hard.”

I sat back on the couch and tried to relax, tried to calm my heart by telling myself this was what I wanted, what I had asked for (indeed, it was), so I looked at her as I took my soft penis in my hand and began to stroke its surface. I caressed my balls with the other hand. Although I enjoyed the sensations, and was very aroused by her presence, I got no reaction from my penis.

A few minutes of this and she cleared her throat. “Maybe you need a little help,” she said, not at all as a question. She unbuttoned the remaining buttons of her blouse and parted the fabric, revealing to me her large breasts cupped rather nobly in an impressive push-up bra.

“That helps,” I said quietly as I resumed stroking my now growing penis. As she squeezed and jiggled her confined breasts for me I continued to grow, until at last I sat proudly before her with a solid erection. The smirk crossing her lips told me she liked what she saw.

“Now let’s see you jerk that thing off.”

Her vengeful hands

The cafe had closed twenty minutes ago and M was nearly done cleaning up. He was alone in the darkened shop, thinking about the day’s events. One of his coworkers, a girl about five years older, had been especially flirtatious, and M found himself starting to stiffen thinking about her as he cleaned the espresso machine.

She had touched him at every opportunity it seemed, and had at one point rubbed her breasts against his shoulders as she squeezed past him. He was imagining the feeling of her breasts against his body — he could remember each individually — which made him continue to stiffen under his apron. The situation presented only one problem: M shared a small studio apartment with a friend, and knew that once he got home there would be no privacy. He really needed to get himself off though. Glancing toward the bathroom, he decided quickly to masturbate before leaving work.

Once he finished his work, M stepped into the men’s bathroom and closed the door behind him. As he unzipped and pulled down his pants, his erection sprung out readily. Soon, he was working into a steady rhythm, thinking about the girl and her firm, generously pert tits. It felt good to rub his cock after a long day of sexual frustration. He grunted and closed his eyes, his coworker dancing topless against his eyelids.

Just as the first thoughts of orgasm entered his mind, the door sprung open, and M found himself face to face with Irma, the generously kind, attractive woman who cleaned the floors and linens at night.

Stay tuned

I’ve been doing a bit of traveling lately, and I have some new stories in the works. Stay tuned.

B