Skid-marks
**********
Inspired by a comment from December Quinn, on hers a couple of weeks ago. http://decemberquinn.blogspot.com
**********
We stood face-to-face. Her left arm rested on my shoulder. Her fingers traced pathways of pleasure on the back of my neck. Her eyes were locked onto mine. Our breath mingled and I hoped mine wasn’t foul.
I already had a hard-on when her right hand slid down my stomach to the front of my jeans. She squeezed and massaged through the fabric. Jesus, I thought if she wasn’t careful I’d come in my drawers. She halted the rubbing to lower my zipper. I wondered if she could read my thoughts.
Although difficult, I controlled my urge to fondle her voluptuous body. Through sheer force of my will, I left my arms resting on the top of her shoulders and continued to gaze deep into her smoky grey eyes.
My zipper down, she parted the overlapping fabric of my briefs, slid her hand through and wrapped her warm fingers around my throbbing shaft. I moaned, clenched my jaw and strengthened my resolve not to blow my wad...yet. She began slow deliberate full-length strokes. My legs began to quiver. I told her to be careful or there would soon be a sticky mess on the front of her black sweater. She smiled, I groaned. She leaned closer and gave me a soft kiss. Her tongue flickered into, then out of my mouth. She pulled slightly away and went down on her knees.
While licking the swollen head of my maleness, she unbuckled my belt and unbuttoned my jeans. She gave a quick tug and the jeans slid down my legs to my ankles. My entire body began to tremble in anticipation of her taking my tap-root fully into her mouth.
Her spittle splattered my erection as she snorted and barked out a loud roll of laughter. She flung her head back and almost went into raucous spasms. I wondered if I was really THAT small. My pecker drooped.
She stood and put her arms loosely around my neck. Still giggling, she managed to compose herself enough to say; “How old are those underwear? Good-god, the only thing holding them together is the air in the holes!” She spewed another fit of laughter, this time spraying my face. My dink was left dangling in the open, limp and cold. What could I say?
I placed my hands on her shoulders and tried to again look into her eyes. It was difficult---she shook from the laughter. When she quieted, I said, “Well, they are my favorite pair…my dress pair. My mom always said to have on your best clean underwear in case you have to go into the hospital.” I shoved my noodle back into my jeans.
Finally she gasped in a few lungs full of air and wiped tears from her eyes and cheeks with the back of her hand. I offered her my hanky. She snatched it and blew her nose.
“Well,” she said, “if you do have to go to the hospital, there won’t be any skid-marks visible. Not in those underwear! There’s nothing for a wet fart to stick to!” This time she sprayed her laugh-spit into the hanky.
With a sheepish grin, I said, “Um…I take it you’re no longer horny?” She thought that was hilarious too.
Inspired by a comment from December Quinn, on hers a couple of weeks ago. http://decemberquinn.blogspot.com
**********
We stood face-to-face. Her left arm rested on my shoulder. Her fingers traced pathways of pleasure on the back of my neck. Her eyes were locked onto mine. Our breath mingled and I hoped mine wasn’t foul.
I already had a hard-on when her right hand slid down my stomach to the front of my jeans. She squeezed and massaged through the fabric. Jesus, I thought if she wasn’t careful I’d come in my drawers. She halted the rubbing to lower my zipper. I wondered if she could read my thoughts.
Although difficult, I controlled my urge to fondle her voluptuous body. Through sheer force of my will, I left my arms resting on the top of her shoulders and continued to gaze deep into her smoky grey eyes.
My zipper down, she parted the overlapping fabric of my briefs, slid her hand through and wrapped her warm fingers around my throbbing shaft. I moaned, clenched my jaw and strengthened my resolve not to blow my wad...yet. She began slow deliberate full-length strokes. My legs began to quiver. I told her to be careful or there would soon be a sticky mess on the front of her black sweater. She smiled, I groaned. She leaned closer and gave me a soft kiss. Her tongue flickered into, then out of my mouth. She pulled slightly away and went down on her knees.
While licking the swollen head of my maleness, she unbuckled my belt and unbuttoned my jeans. She gave a quick tug and the jeans slid down my legs to my ankles. My entire body began to tremble in anticipation of her taking my tap-root fully into her mouth.
Her spittle splattered my erection as she snorted and barked out a loud roll of laughter. She flung her head back and almost went into raucous spasms. I wondered if I was really THAT small. My pecker drooped.
She stood and put her arms loosely around my neck. Still giggling, she managed to compose herself enough to say; “How old are those underwear? Good-god, the only thing holding them together is the air in the holes!” She spewed another fit of laughter, this time spraying my face. My dink was left dangling in the open, limp and cold. What could I say?
I placed my hands on her shoulders and tried to again look into her eyes. It was difficult---she shook from the laughter. When she quieted, I said, “Well, they are my favorite pair…my dress pair. My mom always said to have on your best clean underwear in case you have to go into the hospital.” I shoved my noodle back into my jeans.
Finally she gasped in a few lungs full of air and wiped tears from her eyes and cheeks with the back of her hand. I offered her my hanky. She snatched it and blew her nose.
“Well,” she said, “if you do have to go to the hospital, there won’t be any skid-marks visible. Not in those underwear! There’s nothing for a wet fart to stick to!” This time she sprayed her laugh-spit into the hanky.
With a sheepish grin, I said, “Um…I take it you’re no longer horny?” She thought that was hilarious too.
posted by Erik Ivan James | 9:04 AM
14 Comments:
My. God.
She noticed his underwear?
That's rather "cold."
Hmmm...Bernita Dear, I guess I'd best not try to write as a humorist.
Well shiver me timbers and blow me down!
When you're young, you don't care about your sloppy personal habits or your skidmarks. As you get older, you look back in horror.
No, no, Erik, meant "she" seems rather cold.
The piece is a well-done example of wry, self-depreciating humour by the male. Probably a unique point of view, men in general being ...touchy about such things..
Actually, Ivan, I rather look back upon those old underwear with honor. Comfortable. In fact, I'm "conditioning" a few pair now.
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
Blogger---like the underwear---full of holes and .....
~chuckling~
Bernita, Dear Gal, that's the primary reason for all of the holes...so "things" can be easily touched.
Lol Erik. See, what'd I tell you? Sex-ay!
That would actually be a great scene in a memoir someday, you should hold on to it.
Eric Ivan James and December Quinn:
I haven't picked up the guitar for a while...Amanzing how awkward you can be if you don't practise.
But it does strike me that both you guys are on a demented chord.
Certainly not diminished!
Whoaaa...a visit from December Quinn! Wow!
Welcome, December. Thank you for taking the time to stop by. I'm honored.
Oh, Normiekins...please hurry back!
Normiekins,
Heh, heh.
I don't think there's anything I can really add to this conversation.
I just wait for the next provocative post...
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