Mid-date, I sent a message to my friends that went something like this:
Please oh please oh please oh please let Bones’ bone be huge!
And then a bunch of little prayer hands because I meant it.
I have shelved my eternal lust for giant cock and have found great pleasure in men less endowed than what I fantasize about, but I really wanted this man to have the kind of package that shoots me over the motherfucking moon.
He was dry and witty, culturally sensitive, intelligent, good looking. Short.
This was our second date in 72 hours. After he drove me home the first night and I leaned in for a kiss the archaeologist said, “You’re a really good kisser.” I had similar thoughts and tucked back in against his full lips and scruffy beard.
It wasn’t passionate, exactly, but it was charged. If we kissed this well, what else could that mean for us?
I ran up the stairs knowing his eyes followed.
When he arrived 5 minutes early to our second date my hair hung in long, wet ropes. “I told you not to be early!” I laughed when I opened the door. He immediately kissed me hello.
“I know, but you’ll live.”
I set him up with a beer and the dog and dried my hair. We played Jenga and drank until it was time to head to the movies. His heavy hand rested on my knee and he held my hand. I leaned against him and smiled, stole more scruffy kisses.
Later, at the bowling alley, I shamelessly flirted to distract him at darts. “You’re using your breasts for evil!” he accused. I couldn’t argue.
At our lane there was an easy rivalry between us now since I had won at both Jenga and darts. The alcohol flowed with the jabs and laughter.
We walked home and our clothes flew off. I heard the jangle of his belt and the stiff slide of denim before I saw him jut out. He was big – quite big. It was if the emoji gods had heard me after all.
I had to scramble to find my Magnum condoms, long since hidden away from my time with The Neighbor. He rolled one on and pushed into me and I felt that body-splitting hug from the inside out that I so crave.
We moved against each other like choreography and came in rushing rivers. His dense weight upon me made the bed screech in protest and I was sure we were disturbing the peace. But we didn’t care.
He pounded into me, flipped me over, pounded some more. Hair wrapped around his hands like reins, my round ass impaling itself on him. Our kisses were firecracker smacks now, not unlike his hand on my flanks. His height perfect for slamming into me while latched onto a breast. Candle light flickered against our pale skin and the fan whirred above while we tangled like the drunken heathens we were.
I fell asleep after he’d cum twice and me more than I could count. His hand was in mine.
Some time before dawn he woke me up with warm, strong fingers touching me here and there. We moved against, in, and around each other blindly. He filled me up again, another golden wrapper ripped and rolled, dropped and forgotten like Gretel’s crumbs.
He ripped me apart this time, my own wetness no match for his size this time. I moaned in pain and pleasure and begged him to cum even as my own orgasm washed through me like a long, low bay. We fell back asleep entwined until it was time for the sun.
This time I played with his uncut sheath, licked and slid it under my grip. He moaned and shivered and threw me off. Rip, roll, drop again.
He bunched me up into a ball beneath him and drove deep. I cried out as each thrust caused a ripple of stinging pain and swooping orgasm. “I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna cum!” he said and at the last second he pulled out and in one easy motion removed the condom and came all over my heaving belly. He cleaned me up and laid back down beside me.
We closed our eyes and he appeared to fall asleep instantly, his steady breathing a far cry from the activity behind the blackness of my lids: this feels nice, a man is in my bed overnight!, he feels good, this is so comfortable, I’m freaking out a little, no – wait – not really, just relax, go to sleep. Eventually, I shut down and slept for a few more hours with his warm body beside me.
When I awoke next he was tapping my nipples and poking my lips. I swatted him away and he chuckled. “I’m starving,” I said, “Do you want to have breakfast?” He checked the time and said he should probably go, but he didn’t leave. Instead he lingered and pestered me some more and we talked about nothing and just touched one another. Finally, I said, “Well, I’m gonna make some bacon and scrambled eggs -”
“Ok, ok, I’ll stay,” he interrupted.
While I made breakfast he put on his jeans and lounged on the couch watching re-runs of Saturday Night Live. He’d offered to help, but there was nothing for him to do. It was odd to have him sprawled out so comfortably, the dog asleep at his feet, while I puttered in the kitchen.
We ate and he began to clean up then put his shirt on. I wore a white t-shirt and some pajama pants to cook in and I sat next to him on the couch where he was putting on his socks, my long legs bare and my breasts visible beneath the thin material.
His devilish grin belied his words of imminent departure and we undressed each other quickly. I was too tender for him to touch, but I was determined to push on. A nice long blowjob and a little K-Y jelly later and we were cumming together. He pulled out, peeled off the rubber, and spurted hot globs of cum nearly to my chin.
I panted and put a pillow over my face. It was all too much. Too many orgasms, too much touching, too much fun. My grin left a wet spot on the pillowcase.
He laid next to me and I told him how impressed I was with his pull-out-and-cum-all-over me move. He said he’d seen it done once in porn. Then we high-fived each other and he got up to leave for real.
After he left I walked gingerly to my room and laid down and that’s when I noticed the strip of golden wrappers at the foot of the bed. Later I’d find wrappers on the dresser and by the bedside table, little shiny reminders of Mr. Bones’ big bone.
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