Tuesday, January 24, 2012

I'm sick.

He warned me.  He told me not to get too close.  He said he intended to "limit the bodily fluids we exchange," to keep me from catching his cold.  My mouth fell agape.  "Do you mean to tell me I get no birthday sex?"  He meant well and was only trying to protect me, but I was not happy.  Half-kidding, I suggested that sex might be okay if we just didn't kiss.  He started laughing, then leaned in to my ear and whispered, "But you're gonna want to down my cum, aren't you?"  I was breathless, and nodded.  I could feel my pussy get wet.

I sat across from him at dinner Googling whether or not you can catch a cold by swallowing the cum of someone who has one.  It was hilarious.  I couldn't find any experts reporting on the matter, but the general consensus seems to be that viruses cannot be spread that way.  I think I knew very well that my searching was useless, though—I don't know how I could have sex with him without kissing him.

Those first kisses happened gingerly.  They were soft pecks, and I was thinking to myself, "Oh, maybe if they're really light kisses I won't get sick.  This should be a fine kiss.  This is a good, light kiss."  And then mouths opened, and our tongues touched, and I gave in.  And it seemed he did, too.  He gave in to not being the gentleman, and forwent the effort to save me from him.

There are a lot of disjointed memories I have about the sex.  There was a lot of it, and there was a lot of stopping and starting, a lot of teasing, and so I've lost track of the exact order of things.  I remember bending over in front of him to reach for something, and feeling his hand press against my pussy through my jeans.  I remember him pulling my pants down around me knees, and I was so sure that he was going to penetrate me then and there.

He leaned down and kissed my ass.  He told me that he wasn't going to mark my ass tonight—that it was too beautiful.  He leaned in further and licked my pussy.  It was irresistible.  I bent over further, sticking my backside out to him, hoping this would progress quickly.  He licked my pussy and asshole for a little while, stood up, and I just knew that he was going to pull out his cock and stick it into me.  Instead, he said, "I'm not putting anything in your pussy.  I'm going to wait until later so I can lick the cream out of you and share it with you."  He pulled up my pants, very high, intentionally pulling my underwear up between my pussy lips.

Later, on my bed, making out with all our clothes on, I remember telling him, "I'm sure there's some cream for you right now."

Later still, after many orgasms, I was bent over at my closet door.  At this point, we actually had guests in the other room, and we couldn't close the door to my room or they'd know what was going on.  Door fully open, us just barely around the corner and out of sight, I braced myself with my closet rod as he slid into me over and over again...  We were practically holding our breath, silent as we could be, our fucking reflected in the full-length mirror on my wall.  As I shuddered with another orgasm, my pussy clenching around his cock, I was so aware that it was definitely worth it.

Now, with my sore throat, runny nose, congestion and achiness fully set in, that memory of being bent over by my closet keeps me happy.  Silently screaming as I came all over his cock.

I say many things are "the best feeling."  Him licking my pussy is the best feeling.  Cuddling with him, all naked, and sweet, and warm, is the best feeling.  But coming on his cock... that is the best feeling.

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