thewrittenword
Virgin
- Joined
- Aug 18, 2012
- Posts
- 3
i just turned 29 years old a bit ago, and had an epiphany that I have been fixed on the same sexual fantasy now for over a decade with no outlet in sight. Do fantasies have biological clocks? If they're never expressed beyond the confines of one person's mind are they destined to fester in some stew of unrequited desire? I am hoping that somewhere out there lurks an amazing woman who could help me actualize this fantasy. Could she be here?
Dearest reader, if you are a woman in her 30s, 40s, or 50s, you are open minded, kind, and intelligent, then I hope you will be so kind as to read through to the end of this ad.
One reason that I've never tried to find somebody to help me with this fantasy is because it's so darn difficut for me to articulate exactly what this fantasy is. It does fall in to certain generic categories (i.e. taboo), but it's mroe than that--it's an emotional fantasy, context matters, interpersonal dynamics matter. How can I get ll that across in a bullet point personals ad? I can't. So instead, I'm going to try something different. I'm going to tell a story, and hope that a woman out there reads it and says to herself "I get it. that's something I could be a part of"
So without further delay, here is my story:
_____
I threw the car in to park and flicked off the windshield wipers. Through the mosaic of the rain splattered windshield I examined the quaint little end-of-the-cul-de-sac house that I had grown up in. It looked much the same as I had last seen it three years ago. The lawns were still fastidiously tended, the rose bushes neatly manicured. An everpresent trail of smoke meandered lazily out of a chimney. It was perpetually cold in this cozy little corner of the country, which only served to make our cozy little cottage of a home all the more inviting.
I knocked three times at the door. Why, I have no idea. This was my home and I never needed to give warning. But still, after having been gone so long I felt like I was intruding in to private space. Would it be like it was before? Would things have been the same?
My mother threw open the door and with one look of her soft, doelike brown eyes, I knew that my fears were foolish. She spread her arms wide and engulfed me in to a hug so broad I felt dwarfed by her presence, despite having six inches of height on her.
"I'm so glad you're home," she muttered through a muffled mouth, her head buried in to the crook of my neck. She broke the embrace, took a half step back, and held my face in her hands, her expression becoming serious. "Sweetheart, you are not a failure."
"I am," I responded simply.
"No, you're not!" Her voice raised to a decibel level it rarely reached. I decided not to press the argument. "You're brilliant, you'll always be brilliant. So med school didn't work out, so what. The world needs other things besides doctors. You'll find your way baby. I know you will. In the mean time, I'm glad your home."
"I am too, mom," I replied. As she took my hand in hers and led me into the house, I couldn'tand hep but survey her figure. Her soft bath robe revealed the impressive silhouette ofad a figure that was most accurately described as traim, but curvy....round, well toned hips, a slender waist, and full, heavy 38D breasts that were stlll remarkably buoyant for a woman in her mid 40s. I did notice a slight maternal hang to them not present the last time I had snuck a peak, but the loo only made her body even more comforting and inviting to behold.
"Here honey, come sit with me. There will be plenty of time to unpack later. Right now I just want to enjoy having my only son and only family member back home with me." She patted the sofa next to her and I collapsed with a sigh in to the familiar cushion of an old threadbare couch that smelled of home--vanilla candles and fresh linen and fragrant pinecones plucked from the evergreens in the back yard.
"So, how was the girl situation back east?" She leaned in to me as she asked this in her most teasing voice. I couldn't help but notice that her robe spilled open slightly, casually taunting the ample cleavage between her breasts. I glanced down. She wouldn't mind, she never did.
"Meh, I haven't really dated much lately. You?"
"Oh honey, you know me, your idiot of a father all but ruined that world for me. You're the only man I could ever trust, will ever trust."
I let these words linger in the air for a while. There was an awkward silence while I took stock of just what this meant. I loved her, unlike anything else. I hated the bad lot she had in life. I wanted to shelter her from every cruel and terrible part of the world, just as she always had wanted to do with me.
The awkward silence persisted. I reveled in that awkwardness, the anxiety, the intangible tension hanging in the air. Looking back, I knew that silence was a turning point. I wanted to bathe in it, teetering on the edge of a hill, right before we gave ourselves that tiny nudge forward that we needed.
Then I dropped my eyes. I didn't know what I was doing, but I didn't hide it, couldn't hide it, and wouldn't have wanted to even if it were possible. I gawked lewdly at her breasts as they hung there before my eyes, straining against the tightly tied robe.
I leaned back. Was it a submissive gesture? Or was I just offering myself, trying to break down every last barrier between us. Nothing was said, but nothing needed to be said. She lifted her hand and delicately began to unfasten the buttons of my shirt, then reached in and massaged my chest gently with a warm palm.
"What's happening?" I whispered.
"What we've both known would always happen," she whispered back. "If you need to stop, just tell me my love."
But all I could do was shake my head, drop both my hands, and begin to unfasten my jeans before her. I looked down at myself, too enthralled to truly take stock of what was happening. Time slowed. Fractions of seconds seemed to take hours to pass. I watched in slow motion as her fingers found the insides of her robe and she parted the sides, reveaing the most beautiful, most luxurious pair of breasts I had ever beheld--round, smooth, ivory, crowned with perfectly firm nipples. And my eyes were drawn lower, over her soft but flat tummy, to the downy thatch of soft brown pubic hair nestled between pillowy thighs.
Then my attention was snapped back as I watched her hands on my boxers. tugging them down ever so slowly, doing away with the last shred of modesty between us. And in the blink of an eye those soft, nurturing hands were wrapped around my penis--tugging, stroking, urging, my cock and her hands fitting together as a lock does to a key.
I felt her gently press on to the back of my head and I knew my charge. My head descended to her chest and my mouth parted widely, engulfing her nipple and the areola around it. My right hand slid down, slowly gradually, enjoying every nanosecond of the descent, until it grazed her soft pubic hair and eventually found her engorged clit. It was symbiosis, our rhythmic gyrations in perfect timing as we masturbated one another.
I wish I could say that we went on for hours. We did, in the days and years after. But at that moment we came quickly, too many years of pent up emotion and energy can't stay bottled up that long. As she threw her neck back in ecstasy, she made one last tight gripped tug on my cock and I began to spurt as never before, splashing across her chest, my face, her face, that old threadbare sofa...
And then we collapsed. There was no bothering to clean up, only a tight embrace and a plethora of "I will always love yous." We fell in to a deep sleep, locked together. It wasn't right, we knew that. But it was right for us. It was our own private little world. That was all that mattered. We were both home.
Dearest reader, if you are a woman in her 30s, 40s, or 50s, you are open minded, kind, and intelligent, then I hope you will be so kind as to read through to the end of this ad.
One reason that I've never tried to find somebody to help me with this fantasy is because it's so darn difficut for me to articulate exactly what this fantasy is. It does fall in to certain generic categories (i.e. taboo), but it's mroe than that--it's an emotional fantasy, context matters, interpersonal dynamics matter. How can I get ll that across in a bullet point personals ad? I can't. So instead, I'm going to try something different. I'm going to tell a story, and hope that a woman out there reads it and says to herself "I get it. that's something I could be a part of"
So without further delay, here is my story:
_____
I threw the car in to park and flicked off the windshield wipers. Through the mosaic of the rain splattered windshield I examined the quaint little end-of-the-cul-de-sac house that I had grown up in. It looked much the same as I had last seen it three years ago. The lawns were still fastidiously tended, the rose bushes neatly manicured. An everpresent trail of smoke meandered lazily out of a chimney. It was perpetually cold in this cozy little corner of the country, which only served to make our cozy little cottage of a home all the more inviting.
I knocked three times at the door. Why, I have no idea. This was my home and I never needed to give warning. But still, after having been gone so long I felt like I was intruding in to private space. Would it be like it was before? Would things have been the same?
My mother threw open the door and with one look of her soft, doelike brown eyes, I knew that my fears were foolish. She spread her arms wide and engulfed me in to a hug so broad I felt dwarfed by her presence, despite having six inches of height on her.
"I'm so glad you're home," she muttered through a muffled mouth, her head buried in to the crook of my neck. She broke the embrace, took a half step back, and held my face in her hands, her expression becoming serious. "Sweetheart, you are not a failure."
"I am," I responded simply.
"No, you're not!" Her voice raised to a decibel level it rarely reached. I decided not to press the argument. "You're brilliant, you'll always be brilliant. So med school didn't work out, so what. The world needs other things besides doctors. You'll find your way baby. I know you will. In the mean time, I'm glad your home."
"I am too, mom," I replied. As she took my hand in hers and led me into the house, I couldn'tand hep but survey her figure. Her soft bath robe revealed the impressive silhouette ofad a figure that was most accurately described as traim, but curvy....round, well toned hips, a slender waist, and full, heavy 38D breasts that were stlll remarkably buoyant for a woman in her mid 40s. I did notice a slight maternal hang to them not present the last time I had snuck a peak, but the loo only made her body even more comforting and inviting to behold.
"Here honey, come sit with me. There will be plenty of time to unpack later. Right now I just want to enjoy having my only son and only family member back home with me." She patted the sofa next to her and I collapsed with a sigh in to the familiar cushion of an old threadbare couch that smelled of home--vanilla candles and fresh linen and fragrant pinecones plucked from the evergreens in the back yard.
"So, how was the girl situation back east?" She leaned in to me as she asked this in her most teasing voice. I couldn't help but notice that her robe spilled open slightly, casually taunting the ample cleavage between her breasts. I glanced down. She wouldn't mind, she never did.
"Meh, I haven't really dated much lately. You?"
"Oh honey, you know me, your idiot of a father all but ruined that world for me. You're the only man I could ever trust, will ever trust."
I let these words linger in the air for a while. There was an awkward silence while I took stock of just what this meant. I loved her, unlike anything else. I hated the bad lot she had in life. I wanted to shelter her from every cruel and terrible part of the world, just as she always had wanted to do with me.
The awkward silence persisted. I reveled in that awkwardness, the anxiety, the intangible tension hanging in the air. Looking back, I knew that silence was a turning point. I wanted to bathe in it, teetering on the edge of a hill, right before we gave ourselves that tiny nudge forward that we needed.
Then I dropped my eyes. I didn't know what I was doing, but I didn't hide it, couldn't hide it, and wouldn't have wanted to even if it were possible. I gawked lewdly at her breasts as they hung there before my eyes, straining against the tightly tied robe.
I leaned back. Was it a submissive gesture? Or was I just offering myself, trying to break down every last barrier between us. Nothing was said, but nothing needed to be said. She lifted her hand and delicately began to unfasten the buttons of my shirt, then reached in and massaged my chest gently with a warm palm.
"What's happening?" I whispered.
"What we've both known would always happen," she whispered back. "If you need to stop, just tell me my love."
But all I could do was shake my head, drop both my hands, and begin to unfasten my jeans before her. I looked down at myself, too enthralled to truly take stock of what was happening. Time slowed. Fractions of seconds seemed to take hours to pass. I watched in slow motion as her fingers found the insides of her robe and she parted the sides, reveaing the most beautiful, most luxurious pair of breasts I had ever beheld--round, smooth, ivory, crowned with perfectly firm nipples. And my eyes were drawn lower, over her soft but flat tummy, to the downy thatch of soft brown pubic hair nestled between pillowy thighs.
Then my attention was snapped back as I watched her hands on my boxers. tugging them down ever so slowly, doing away with the last shred of modesty between us. And in the blink of an eye those soft, nurturing hands were wrapped around my penis--tugging, stroking, urging, my cock and her hands fitting together as a lock does to a key.
I felt her gently press on to the back of my head and I knew my charge. My head descended to her chest and my mouth parted widely, engulfing her nipple and the areola around it. My right hand slid down, slowly gradually, enjoying every nanosecond of the descent, until it grazed her soft pubic hair and eventually found her engorged clit. It was symbiosis, our rhythmic gyrations in perfect timing as we masturbated one another.
I wish I could say that we went on for hours. We did, in the days and years after. But at that moment we came quickly, too many years of pent up emotion and energy can't stay bottled up that long. As she threw her neck back in ecstasy, she made one last tight gripped tug on my cock and I began to spurt as never before, splashing across her chest, my face, her face, that old threadbare sofa...
And then we collapsed. There was no bothering to clean up, only a tight embrace and a plethora of "I will always love yous." We fell in to a deep sleep, locked together. It wasn't right, we knew that. But it was right for us. It was our own private little world. That was all that mattered. We were both home.
.