Memories sometimes ring a bell.
Following the tirade last night against morons who want to make the world safe through the liberal use of wishful thinking and non-firing synaptic pathways, I think a palette cleansing is in order.
It was late spring, edging rapidly into summer. I’d been dating Elayne off and on for a few years by now. It was one of those relationships that was a heady mix of deepening friendship and a chemistry so torrid we were fucking every chance we could get. Even now the feelings leave me somewhat awed. It was so unexpected, pristine, and right.
On this particular evening, we were walking along the streets of the town I’d grown up in. Strolling with Elayne whenever we got to spend much time together grew into a habit very quickly. I’ve always enjoyed sharing my discoveries with someone close. Our rambling conversations wove along with the pace of our tread. Time and distance just seemed to fade by the wayside.
This night we discovered we’d managed in our roaming to have happened upon the high school grounds. Maybe it was the solitude of the uninhabited athletics field. Perhaps it was our hormonal youth. All I know is that we just had to have each other in that time and place.
This school possessed a nice covered bleachers and to us, it seemed a veritable promised land with sexual congress in mind. I still remember how her eyes sparkled in the diffuse glow of distant floodlights.
We made out for a while, working ourselves up to a wanton peak effortlessly. We were rushing headlong to sating our hungers, though at the time I thought we were taking our time with all the iron self-control of saints. Even that meager resistance shattered when we reached a wooden band platform.
In a matter of moments, she was kneeling before me, her jeans and panties hanging from one ankle. The night was slightly chilly so was still wearing her jacket, but she looked like sex personified that night as she looked back over her shoulder at me with wide, eager eyes. Somewhere in the process I’d retained the presence of mind to provide my coat to cushion her knees, but I was visibly trembling as I rolled on a condom as fast as I knew how.
She almost set me tumbling down the bleachers when her hips slammed back into me. There was no gentle, slow penetration that night. She howled, bucked, and thrashed under me. I needed no more encouragement. The universe compressed to the two of us moving together in a primal frenzy.
Somewhere in this maelstrom of thrusting, her head impacted the sheet metal shell of the bleachers. I remember the whole structure reverberating like a gong, but she never paused or broke rhythm. We wouldn’t discover for a couple weeks that not only did we get the stands to ring like a bell, but we’d had loud, boisterous sex in the acoustical "sweet-spot" of the structure. Go figure since we’d been fucking like alley-cats where the band played. Whoops!
One of the last things about that night that I treasure, that I can retrieve from my memories and wonder anew, was Elayne afterward. I had never seen such a grin of satisfaction like that before. She just lay there twitching every now and again murmuring “Wow.” The cynical side of me tempts me to wave it off as the results of a low-grade concussion, but that seems horribly demeaning to her orgasm. It re-energized my commitment to be the best lover I can be. There is nothing that can top the look of thrilled amazement on your lover’s face while in the bloom of afterglow.
2 Comments:
I have the feeling that I know you. Of course that is not likely and I actually tend to have that feeling about every blog I read. I bring this up because I found this post very erotic and romantic and your description of your relationship with this woman to be enviable. I'm left feeling jealous. I'm rarely jealous. I think you should take it as a complement.
And so I shall. Thank you.
Post a Comment
<< Home