Tuesday, July 10, 2007

Words

I entered the apartment building and walked up to the Concierge Desk. “I’m here to see Will … Firr… Firrens--? Will Forr-?” Well, it was something like that.

The doorman consulted his book: “I don’t see his name. Is he new?”

“Yes,” I said, glad to be able to supply some information. “He moved here in February.”

The doorman turned to a second uniformed man, who was standing at the revolving doors and whose job, it appeared, was to thrust his weight at the glass doors so that people exiting the building would not have to do this themselves. Talk about a luxury building.

The first doorman appealed to the second: “Do you know a Will …” He turned to me: “What was his name?”

I lifted my shoulders: I thought I could spell it, but I was pretty sure it was pronounced other than it looked.

The second man eyed me: “Will what? Are you sure he lives here?”

Oh, for God’s sake. At this rate I was never going to get upstairs. “Yes, Will Farr…” I attempted his last name again.

“What does he look like?”

“Um. Tall, blond, blue eyed, kinda thin..” Cute! My brain supplied. Nice ass!

“Is he a runner?” the man at the revolving doors asked at last.

“That’s right!” I was encouraged.

The second man gazed at his comrade behind the desk: “Try 11G,” he said finally.

This turned out to be correct, and soon I was waiting for Will’s very slow elevator to make its way to the lobby. I was obscurely embarrassed by my inability to remember Will’s apartment number, as if my poor memory signaled to these doormen that I was the kind of girl who slept with so many men that she couldn’t keep track of all the apartments involved.

When at last I made it to 11G, Will kissed me at the door, chastely. I regaled him with the drama downstairs.

Will smiled: “I think they were razzing you,” he said, as I followed him into the apartment and hung my coat on the back of a dining room chair. Razzing. Wherever did he get such a term? It sounded so old-fashioned. “They know who I am.”

“You think?” The guy at the desk seemed pretty flummoxed.”

He looked uncertain: “Well, maybe.”

We slid onto his couch, and Will put an arm around me. I leaned over to kiss him.

Slowly we slipped into a horizontal position, our clothes askew but still on. He lay on top of me and I wound my limbs around him. My left hand stroked the base of his skull, with its fair, buzz-cut hair. Every once in a while we stopped kissing, to smile at one another.

“I like this shirt,” Will murmured. I was wearing a coral blouse with a zip running all the way up to the collar (it was fitted cotton but not at all tight; that would have been tacky). “You’re like a present,” he went on, tugging at the zipper, “And I can unwrap you.” I smiled up at him.

In his bedroom we lay in the semidarkness, our limbs pressed together. Will’s mouth slid all over my skin, slipping downwards. He slid his tongue inside me for a bit, but I couldn’t wait to have him fuck me.

We faced one another, his big body on top of my little one, and Will pressed himself inside me. I shifted a little, stretching up towards his dick. I like the missionary position, but generally don’t come in it; I have to be on top. But just as I was relaxing into the rhythm of Will’s body he started to shudder; he was close to coming.

“Wait!” I gasped, “Don’t go over yet…!” I meant Don’t go over the edge, as in, Don’t come yet!

But he kept moving: “Come with me,” he panted. “Come with me,” he said again, burrowing deeper inside me. I clutched at his shoulders and he stared at me and when he came I made him stay inside me for a bit, so I could feel that dense thickness pressing against me, soothing my tense, waiting cunt.

**

In the morning Will left early for a 10K run. I accompanied him to the street, bought breakfast (Challah for French toast, eggs, milk, juice and strawberries) at the local supermarket and then let myself back into his apartment, like I was his girlfriend or something. I soaked the bread in egg and milk, and then went back to bed. I imagined how nice it would be to live in this apartment, which had a dishwasher and real furniture.

When Will returned I got out of bed and stood in front of him, naked. “Hey.” I felt self indulgent and languorous beside this evidence of Will’s healthy exertion.

He took off his sweat-wicking running clothes and I wrapped my arms around him. I licked his salty chest.

In bed he lay on top of me, and I felt like my bones were melting into the mattress from his weight. He put on a condom and then entered me. “Did you have a good run?” I whispered, like I cared. I hugged my hands to his back.

“Yeah, but I was thinking about your pussy,” he croaked as he thrust at me.

I didn’t know he would have the vocabulary I liked; I hadn’t expected him to use the word pussy. I liked it.

“Really?” I was flattered, that he would think of me, or my various parts, during a race around Central Park. I pushed my pelvis up towards him, trying to bring him closer. “You like that?”

He got it: “Oh, yeah, I love your tight little pussy, I’ve been thinking about it all morning…”

I grinned at the ceiling. All right!

This time I was determined to get my orgasm, so after a bit I slid on top of him. Now that I knew he didn’t mind talking, I felt free to let loose: “You like my tits?” I rocked back and forth, my palms flat against his sheets. I dipped my chest towards him, shoving my breasts at his mouth.

“Oh yeah,” he scooped them to his mouth: “You’ve got luscious tits.” I smiled: luscious. That was sort of a dirty word, in this context. I liked it.

I thrust myself at him harder, frantic to come: “C’mon, darlin’,” said Will. “Come for me.”

Darlin’. No one had ever said that to me before. I came.

**

Afterwards, we climbed into the tub. Underneath the showerhead, I soaped Will’s back and chest, and slid my fingers around his cock and balls. He traced his fingertips across my nipples. The water was aiming right at my face, so I stepped back, to the wall. Will followed, and pressed his body against mine, so I was sandwiched between him and the wet turquoise tiles. It was bliss, the weight and firmness of him and the tiles. Slowly Will slid his body up and down against mine. But I wasn’t close enough, somehow, so I climbed up on the edge of the tub so we were eye to eye. I wiped the water from my face and blinked at him. It felt so lovely, the solid weight of him, as he slid his torso up and down. I felt myself go limp against the firmness of him -- his stomach muscles and broad chest and the strength of his thighs. Again I closed my eyes, not wanting to miss a single second of the feeling of his soapy skin against mine.

4 comments:

t'Sade said...

Yummy, sounds like a perfect way to make up for forgetting a name. :)

waveman said...

So if you combine running and sex, is that a biathlon?

Lily said...

Waveman,

Only if you're both wearing sneakers.

waveman said...

Sounds kinky, but I bet the baton hand off is memorable!