So many friends with benefits.

“I’m here.  Tell me No if you can’t.”

I read David’s text and squealed with both fear and anticipation.

“Fuck. Ok.  Only if you’re really here,” I wrote back.

Seconds later he was through my door with his hand wrapped around my neck holding me on my tip toes, his mouth oddly gentle, his tongue soft and sweet.

My towel dropped to my feet when his fingers dug inside of me as if searching for a lost object.  My legs trembled and I gushed into his hand; my juices made a long trail down my legs to the crumpled towel below.

I hadn’t heard from David in months and we hadn’t seen each other since October.  Last year we met in April when I was still completely heartbroken over The Neighbor.  His big, fat cock and transgressive style of fucking were welcome distractions as I limped along away from TN.  However, pillow talk between us — or talk in general — was not very rewarding.

I found myself wrapped up in ridiculous arguments or defending my thoughts and feelings about personal matters.  I eventually went to some lengths to avoid such arguments, but after a disagreement about dogs of all things, I gave up even trying and accepted that we were better lovers than “friends.”

Over time our schedules intervened and we saw less and less of each other and last fall he witnessed me a hot, sobbing drunken mess.  The Soldier had stood me up that night and I’d spent a retched day with an old high school friend and being sexually harassed by him and his knuckle-dragging friend s we day drank.

David came over and pounded my pussy as hard as my heart hurt and spent and used I cried as I knelt over his splayed knees.  His cum mixed with my tears.  I was embarrassed to be so exposed in front of this big, hard man, but there was nothing for it.  It happened.

In January he texted to say his New Year’s resolution was to fuck me in the ass.  My response was something along the lines of, “Good luck with that beer can dick of yours and never seeing each other.”

We texted once or twice more this year until early last week when he reached out again and then Friday when he asked if I were home.

I have no hard feelings towards David.  That’d be like being upset with a wild animal for being wild.  Our friends with benefits relationship is one of mutual satisfaction and convenience.  It doesn’t involve sharing feelings or activities — a ridiculously boring hiking date proved that one — it’s sex and sex only.

I went to my friend’s birthday party with David’s cum dried all over my tits and when the breeze shifted it wafted up to my nostrils mixed with my perfume of hyacinth.

He came on my in great gobs because I begged him to.

After he’d licked me from top to bottom and worked me with his hand again.  After he’d pushed me forcefully to my knees and told me to lick his tight little asshole.  After I’d suckled his balls and choked on his massive piece of flesh and heard him croon, “That’s a good little slut.”  After he’d turned around and spread his cheeks for me and jerked himself as he purred at my warm, wet tongue on his hole.  And after he’d thrown me back on the bed and hitched my ankles up on his shoulders then flipped me around and wailed on my flanks as he buried himself in me.

After all of that he came on my face and tits and neck.  I slumped up onto the bed and laid there with him until it was time to get dressed for the party.

David was there for all of 30 minutes.

How different a “friend” he is than The Artist.  Though similar in age and height as David, he is worlds apart energetically and emotionally.  He’s sensitive and sweet and we have lengthy conversations about life and love and Domination and submission.  He is a neophyte dom himself and also a writer.  He wants to go to writers workshops with me and read my work.  He wants me to critique his.

I’ve resisted sharing Hy with him; he’s too loose, too wet.

Our first night together was drunken and fierce(ish).  His cock curves away from his body and when he mounted me from behind on my squeaky couch I burst into orgasm instantly.  That was his second orgasm of the night and my umpteenth.

We’ve texted consistently throughout the weeks and gone to dinner twice.  I am open with him about my other other lovers and I know of a couple of his.  I like him, though quickly learned that my sexual volume is much higher than he thinks his is.  Despite being dominant I am even more dominant; a moon in a planet’s presence.

Our hookups have been hot and quick.

There was the time he came over and though he promised to fuck me when he walked through the door we ended up chit chatting at my kitchen island for 10 minutes before he grabbed me and fucked me on the counter top.

And the other time I blew him for a minute or so and I had to choose to let him blow his wad right then or let him fuck me.  I chose the latter.

Or the other time I let him spank me until his erection returned and he jizzed all over me.

I have coached him and supported him as a friend would — I enjoy the mentoring space — and I have even spent time guiding him on what to do with his other FWB when he asked.  We are solidly “friends with benefits,” but the benefits are beginning to be in his favor, not mine.

Sunday morning he texted, “Hey I’m feeling pretty sad still and I don’t think I’ll be able to get off if we have sex. It’s up to you if you still want to hang out. I’m just not feeling up to fooling around hon.”

“What are you sad about?”

“Still bummed over that girl you know?”

“Ah, I see.  Well, as much fun as it would be to hang out with you while you’re bummed out by another woman, I’m really ok just chilling alone.”

His response was a favorite of mine:  :/

I’m not interested in being a shoulder cry on about someone else while sex is on the table.  Shoulder cry on as just friends?  Yes, 100%.  As a lover who doesn’t get fucked?  No.  That would wring me out because that doesn’t feel all that good.  There’s no benefit there; I’m just being used.

Talk to me and ask for advice about a death, a shitty boss, a bad day, bad friends, your mother and also fuck the ever-loving shit out of me?  Yes.  Complain to me about another woman and not fuck me?  No.  Absolutely not.  I expect my lovers to have their shit together.

Part of being friends with benefits is the suspended belief that we’re all we have for the time we spend together.  It allows it to be fantastic while practical and uncomplicated.

Bumping around with these two make me miss Ben in a wistful, fantasy way.  He’s been busy lately.  So, so busy.  I don’t remember the last time we spoke but the time I showed him my pussy has long since passed.

“Yes, Hy.  God, you’re so beautiful.”  I can hear the words perfectly now, like a moment frozen in time.

We talk still about a visit, but as each week goes by I have less hope.  There’s a story line for us in my mind that we will see each other for years until we no longer are willing or able.  Long distance lovers with a bond across the sea.  No one ever gets mad at each other and time and space are natural wedges between us so reunions are passionate and snorted into our bodies like so many lines of cocaine.

We become high on one another until the crash of departure.  We are perfect because we are virtual strangers and dream fuck buddies.

Our coupling at the beginning of the summer is as fresh in my mind as if it happened yesterday.  I can feel his body on mine and his thick flesh pushed against me as it slid deep inside.  His timbre smooth as were his hands which rested on my hips as he pumped into me like a little stallion.

Sometimes I think we should leave well enough alone with the dream.

My other friends are virtual.  Men whose words and kindness reach through the ether.  Their voices are unknown, their scent and taste a mystery.  I don’t know the feel of their crush.  One or two want to come see me.  Less than that are welcome to.  Besides, once you close the gap and touch me it seems to become a game of loss.

How much longer until it’s run its course and the benefits are gone?  FWBs is a short game, no matter what kind it is.  It’s a filler, a distraction, a fun ride until you find the mini-van you want to buckle yourself into forever.

After all these years I’ve finally figured out that friends with benefits means truly having no expectations beyond the moment of the ride, that moment he’s inside of me.  Gah, that fucking magical moment of being filled by another human body. What a joy that is!  What a gift!

If I could I’d have a hundred friends with benefits of all kinds.  The ones only good for sex, the ones who are mooshy and eye-rolling, the ones who are dreamy and perfect and everything in between.  Men are fascinating, exhausting, thrilling creatures and I want to gather them all up and give them pats and kisses and wag my ass in front of their drooling faces.   I’ll manage any loneliness at weddings and birthdays on my own.

What I really want to do is play, to shove the biggest piece of cake in my mouth, swallow it, reach for more and wait for the next knock on my door.  I wonder who it’ll be next time.

 

It’s better if we don’t talk.

I sit in a perfumed cloud of semen and spicy sports deodorant; my hands are mine again.

After a brutal week at work our meeting was spur of the moment, motivated by watching him in a porno gangbang with two women who didn’t look unlike me.

He picked me up in the hallway and carried me into my room.  His skin was damp from the rain.

“You just need someone to fuck you, don’t you?” he growled in my ear.  “To make no decisions, to just be taken.”  It was almost a hiss.

I only barely nodded as his mouth crushed mine and his hands gripped my breasts.

I had on boots and a blazer over my sundress; when he got up to kick the dog out I peeled off the coat and sat nervously on the edge of the bed.  He turned to me and wrapped his hand in my hair and tilted my head back.  “You don’t have to say anything,” he said and bent down and kissed me again.

David is a punishing lover, a Romanian coach of sorts.  Brutal, demanding, and then filled with pride and kindness when I comply.  I find myself wanting to comply.  A lot.

His lips were soft, his five o’clock shadow gruff, his hands hot and seeking.  He stroked and pet my pussy and bit my flesh; his clothes melted away and I reveled in the cloth that covered mine, but not his.

He jammed his fat cock down my throat and crooned to me as he went balls deep, his hand hooked into me and began to slap at me.  I suckled on a ripe testicle, arched my back, moaned, breathed in his soapy skin and filled his cupped hand with ejaculate.

He moaned and quivered above me and kept at me.  Cock swollen and banging against my cheek, my pussy throbbing, my chest heaving.

Clothes had to come off now, boots unzipped.  I must be unfettered.

He climbed up onto the bed and slid his cock between my breasts and squeezed them together, his balls on my chin and perineum soft against my nose and lips.   I felt exposed, humiliated, then empowered as he gently turned my face towards his sweet, puckered ass.

“Lick it, you dirty girl,” he panted as he stroked his cock between the mounds of my breasts.

I flicked my tongue, afraid, yet curious.  The giant man straddling my face tensed and froze as I fluttered my wet tongue around his anus.

His fingers hooked back into me and began to jerk me up to orgasm.  The pressure built and I bit his cheek as I came again and created a puddle between us.  He laughed almost maniacally and climbed off of me and rolled me over to my side and helped me up to my knees.

He told me to put my head down on the bed and to spread my cheeks for him.  I felt shame and a thrill, a duality I am not familiar with.  He grunted approval and slipped a finger into my cunt, then another, and maybe another.

My shoulders went numb and a hand dropped away as his arm pistoned into me.

He slipped a finger into my ass and my other hand dropped away as I gripped the bedding for purchase and leaned back against him.

“Please,” I panted, my face pressed into the mattress.  “Please, please fuck me.”  It was a whimper now.

There was a pause while he rolled on a condom and I felt his hands back on my hips as he gently pushed me onto my back, spread my knees and pushed into me as his mouth met mine.

I don’t know how long it’d been since we’d coupled, but as the rain pattered on the window feet from my head I thought about what a gift my body was, his body, everyone’s body.  That we are capable of such existential bliss through a physical act is nothing short of magic, a breach across divides.

He slammed into me and held my wrists.  He pinned my arms, he bit my nipples, he spanked my flanks with bruising blows.  He went wild on me and I met his crashing waves with my sea wall, unbroken, yet drowned in his needs to push me under the surface of my sanity.

When he pushed my legs together and held my wrists behind my back I began to sob as the orgasm seeped into me.  I imagined the other blonde, buxom women he’d pounded in the video and how they had become flushed and breathless.  How their hips and bellies and breasts had rippled with each passionate thrust of his hips.  How they had loved his cock — marveled over it — and here it was in me.  It was mine.

I came harder then and cried out that I was cumming and with my cries I heard him lose it.  He roared his climax, pulled out and ripped off the condom; I began to sob with release as hot ropes of his cum crisscrossed my back and landed in my hair.

I lay prostrate and jerked with sobs and laughter.  He stroked my temple and asked if I was ok.  I nodded that I was and he kissed my head.

“I hate to leave, but I was supposed to head out to the campground when you texted me an hour and a half ago, but I couldn’t miss out on this.”  I understood.  David and I aren’t so great at talking anyway.  His “no guts, no glory” approach to life is too harsh for someone as sensitive as me and I am often left scratching my head and feeling oddly defensive and misunderstood.  We do much better when all we do is fuck.

He got a towel and gently wiped my back clean and sat beside me.  I hooked an arm over his thigh and hiccupped receding sobs.  “See,” he said, “I knew this is just what you needed.  You seem much calmer now.”  He chuckled.

“You’re right.  This is just what I needed,” I agreed.

I got up and had to steady myself, my head was light, my limbs heavy, my hands numb.  I pulled on a sundress and we kissed by the front door.  I wished him a good time camping and thanked him for the good time.

“Bye,” I said as I was closing the door.

The last thing I heard him say was to chuckle and make fun of how I’d said it.

It really is better if all we do is fuck.

 

 

He was a big man who liked rough sex.

“The last couple of girlfriends I had didn’t match up sexually.”  His words filled my head as my mouth was stretched around the fattest cock I’d ever seen while a pair of smooth, cool balls pressed against the bridge of my nose.

David was tall, 6’5″, with broad shoulders and long, muscular limbs.  I lay on my back while he straddled over my face and guided his swollen cock down my throat.  This angle was better, my throat was more relaxed.

“Good, girl,” he crooned, “That’s it, you can take it.  You’re ok.”  I gagged and spit him out, tears streamed down my face.  His sheer size seemed to plug off my airway and I panicked despite my best efforts to remain calm.  “Shhhh, you’re ok,” he said again and gently forced himself back down my throat.  Not every woman would enjoy this, I thought.

On Sunday, the plan had been for him to bring me coffee as black as my heart and crawl into bed with me.  I met him at the door instead where we promptly fell on each other and I tasted the dark brew each time he kissed me.  He towered over me and in between nuzzles I apologized for not changing out of my pajamas.  It had seemed a little silly.  He didn’t mind.

He tore my tank top off — one of The Neighbor’s — and squeezed my breasts.  His feet were split wide like a giraffe at a river as he dipped to kiss my upturned face.

I chuckled when I found his waistband chest-level and breathed harder as I heard the metal clang as I undid his belt.  I moaned when I dipped my hand beneath his underwear and found an enormous mound of hot, rigid man.  The dude was fucking hung.

He was jittery and breathing as hard as me when I took his hand and led him into my room.  He said hi to the dog and locked him out saying not to worry about the sounds that might come from the room later.  We laughed.  On Friday over beers he’d had me in stitches.  The guy was a riot.

He stood up to his full height then and pulled off his shirt and kicked off the rest of his clothing.  He looked magnificent, mustache and all.

He grabbed me by the hair and turned my back to him and bent me over the footboard of the metal bed.  I had to stand on my toes to bend just right as he kissed my neck and began to snake his hands down to my pussy.  When he found the slit and the wetness that had gathered there he moaned something about me being a good little slut and laid his hand into my flank until it stung and buzzed with heat.  So this was how this was going to go down.

I appreciated that he had a plan — a distinct flavor — and let him play with my body, let him see what it would do for him.  When his fingers hooked into me I panted, “Harder, more, deeper, faster!” until I came and quivered with ejaculate running down my legs.

He laughed wickedly.  “Have you ever done that before?”

I nodded, already devoid of words.

He played me with his hands like a maestro for many minutes and then I played with him.

His cock was massive in girth, my long fingers only barely touched when wrapped around the shaft and I felt like every tooth I had was in the way.  I popped off of him and asked how many women in his life had had mouths big enough for him.  He smiled and said, “Only two.”  I knew I wasn’t one of them.

But what I lacked in mouth space I tried to make up in excitement and skill.  I licked and nibbled and suckled.  He moaned his pleasure and gently touched my face.  The fan moved slowly above us.

And then I was done with the fucking foreplay and needed that beer can cock inside of me.

Condom on, ankles on his shoulders, he steered himself into me and I was mesmerized by his porn ‘stache.  Soon it dripped with sweat as he pumped into me wildly with abandon.  I could only grab at his shoulders flexed with rock hard muscles for purchase, I had nothing but him to hold onto.  He liked that he said.

He bent and flexed me this way and that: feet on his chest, spooning me, me on top.  He ground my face into the mattress like an apprehended criminal.  He liked holding my hands behind my back.

“Fuck me!  Fuck me so hard, fuck my pussy!” I managed to murmur into the sheets.

He roared with passion and hooked his finger into my gaping mouth and gently pulled against my cheek while slamming his cock in me as deeply as he could.  I was a fish on his hook and could only whimper and raise my hips in response.

We stopped and I grabbed the Doxy.  His eyes lit up as we laid next to each other and this is how I came to find his soft scrotum upon my face and his horse cock down my throat.  I broke the Doxy as I pressed it against my mound, its speed waned, and then I gave it up and focused instead on the flesh on my face.

I was overwhelmed with a desire to take all of him and paralyzed with the inability.  I liked that he was both devil and angel and seemed to get off on my struggle.  We hadn’t talked about his particular brand of sexuality, but he had said he was a dirty bastard.  Dirty, indeed.  A dirty dominant, it seemed, but he was keeping it vanilla enough with just rough sex and I wanted to play along.

He coaxed and coached and I laughed and cried until I switched the Doxy back on and held it crookedly against my mound.  He swung off of me and laid down opposite me.

“I want to watch you stroke yourself,” I whispered.

His hand moved on his uncut shaft.  Beautifully pristine it moved like a wave with his hand.

I came hard and arched and bucked my hips as he watched intently.  Then we lay mostly still and traced shapes on each other’s thighs beneath the puffing of the fan.  I didn’t really know what to say.  The hunt was over.  We’d fucked each other’s brains out.  What next?

He had to go, he said, and I nodded lazily.  He pulled his pants on and did the buckle as I put on my pajama shorts.  He bent down and kissed my hip, then my belly, then my breast and landed on my neck.  My hands played on his broad back until he roughly flipped me over, skillfully put a knee on my shoulders to grind me back down into the mattress and spanked me while I writhed.

I could hear his breathing catch with each strike and I was brought back to the times in my past when a man lit into me like this.  I hoped with each blow it’d leave a mark for another man to see.

He released me and I drew up to my knees and felt his hardon.  “I wish I could fuck you again, but I really do have to go,” he murmured against my lips.

“I know,” I said kissing him back.  “I wish you could, too.”

I climbed off the bed and kissed him at the door.  He left then with a wave and I watched his back disappear around the corner.  He’d tasted like coffee again.