Monday, May 11, 2009
I met Gosia through two friends, both female, neither of which were previous girlfriends or lovers (sad, too, because they were both fantastic!). They were doing girls night out and invited me over to buy them a round of drinks, which I was only happy to oblige.
Gosia didn't go out often. She's an immigrant, coming to the U.S. from Poland around the age of 15. She was absolutely gorgeous: beautiful face, feminine figure but not perfect, great eyes. She didn't smile, she didn't laugh. She wasn't drinking much, just listening to the bar sounds around her. I avoided her because I didn't want to intrude into whatever was making her so miserable. "Why are you so sad?" is NOT something to inquire at a bar or social event.
Our mutual gal pals told Gosia before the night was up that I might be able to give her some pointers on being happy again. She nodded her head no, but I gave her my email address and said she can feel free to talk. A few weeks later, she emailed me, asking me what my story was. I didn't have much to say other than letting her know it is obvious that she's hurting, and that maybe I can give her some help there. "How?" Most people are sad for similar reasons. I've seen that change, maybe you can change what's bringing you down.
She talked over email for weeks, sending me little hints at the source of her sadness, but nothing concrete. We agreed to meet over coffee in a very safe, public space. Then it came out. "My husband doesn't love me." He was too busy at work, too busy at his hobbies, too busy to even notice her. "I think he's cheating on me." I asked her for some details and confirmed to her that he wasn't. Men who cheat make obvious mistakes, women who cheat rarely get caught.
Over months, she became very engrossed with asking about my personal life, living vicariously through 2 relationships I had over those months. At first she asked me simple questions like "Is she pretty?" or "Do you think you love her?" Over time, the questions became a little more personal like "Is she a good kisser?" and "Will you sleep with her again?" Finally at another coffee gathering she told me she wished that her husband was more passionate. Not in the bedroom, just at life. At 24, they'd been married 4 years, and she was already overwhelmed with boredom in life. Very sad.
Eventually, I discovered that she also had no passion. They had a codependent relationship. Their marriage felt forced by religion and family and the idea that "this is how it's done." I felt terrible, because I knew that there must have been a sexual woman inside of those beautiful, sad eyes, but I didn't sense it at all. She hated her body (she was about 5'5" and 150lbs). She hated her face and her hair. She hated her laugh lines and wrinkles just appearing. She hated her part time job and her responsibilities at home.
I offered to help her with them, one at a time. I asked her what she hated most. "My ass. My boobs will start sagging." At a size 8, she wasn't big at all, but I understand the reality was that she didn't like herself inside and was blaming her outside. I helped her make some minor dietary changes: no more croissants in the morning, get rid of that low-fat milk garbage, stop using sugar in her coffee, increase healthy fats from eggs, fish and even beef. In 6 weeks she burned about 15lbs. She was starting to look very sexy on the outside, trimming her belly and waist but leaving her fantastic butt and chest. It showed.
After 2 months, I got her a spa gift card for her name day (it's like a birthday in Europe that people with the same name celebrate). She refused it at first, but I said I wanted to help her fix the problem she has with her own face. I never called her beautiful, I never complimented her except once when I saw her midriff and told her it was marvelous what her dietary change could do. She went, and I told her who to see. I told the manicurist and the stylist and the hair color gals what not to do: don't go over the top. Keep her exactly the same, but make her sexy. It's amazing what 3 inches off the side will do, letting those "mommy bangs" grow out. Her hands were scrubbed and nails polished. Her face was cleansed and done up in nice makeup that they let her keep. When I saw her 3 days after, I was shocked: she is gorgeous, not just beautiful. My face showed this, and she beamed.
For work, I gave her some pointers on how to overcome the blahs that so many people get. The first step is to fake confidence and happiness. I told her to do this stupid trick I've taught dozens: learn what your cheeks feel like when you're faking a smile, and keep paying attention to it when a real smile comes to your face. Focus on that for weeks. Focus. Then, try to keep the feeling in your cheeks of a real smile without smiling. It actually has an odd effect: it makes you happy. Her smile was wonderful, and it stuck around.
She was still miserable with her husband. We fixed her outside in a matter of months, we started to get her inside feeling better. Her job turned from frustrating to something she loved, since she found ways to stay happy. When she was happy, her co-workers were happy, and she was the center of attention. It made me happy.
8 months into our friendship, she dropped the ball on me: they had stopped having sex 2-3 years ago and were not doing it consistently at all. Her husband was too busy, and she didn't know how to woo him. I gave her some advice, but I told her that she is responsible for lightening his workload. I helped her trim a lot of excess spending from their budget. They cut their cable bill in half, she dumped her cell phone minutes to almost none, she started wearing sweaters in the house when he was gone and dropping the temperature to 65 degrees. She cheated at the grocery store on cheaper but healthy products. The $400 a month in savings took a huge burden off of him within a month when they finally had some money in the checking account.
As spring rolled around and our first year of being friends came to pass, she said things were feeling better. She was pinching his butt randomly; she was complimenting HIM when he looked nice or she caught him doing something nice for her or the house. She showered him with appreciation. It made a difference, and their bedroom experiences were increasing. He wasn't a good lover, but she had never been with anyone else, so she had nothing to compare. I asked her if she was sad that she had no other experience, and she said she was but that her rearing led her to believe it was important to be a virgin in marriage. How wrong that thinking is.
The first major problem is that she didn't masturbate often, if at all. In men, masturbation can cure our desire for a full day. In women, it can make them much more horny. Single girls who say "I need to get laid" are probably taking care of business way more than you'd think. They don't brag about it, but it's getting done. I told her she needs to take 15 minutes a day and get to work. Whatever can get her going should: soap opera studs, staring at Jessica Alba in the new woman's magazine (no, it isn't lesbian to have those thoughts, the girl is beautiful), thinking of her man or a previous boyfriend, whatever. She didn't want to, and I told her it's not required, but it will keep her sex drive lifted.
That was the last discussion about her sex drive and the bedroom from her for awhile. Instead of telling me about her problems, she started inquiring about my sex life. At this point, I was so busy that I didn't have anyone and wasn't looking to hookup. "What about Dani?" Dani was my sugar-baby at the time, a really beautiful and broke college girl who looked amazing in anything I bought her. Seeing a guy. Not sleeping with me. "That's too bad." I didn't tell her that Dani attempted to give me head twice and failed miserably. *shudder* I didn't want to go there, I just was happy to get her dolled up and see her skip and hop after it. That was one fun gal.
Gosia inquired about previous girlfriends and lovers. "What did they like in bed?" "Were they freaks?" "They asked for WHAT?" So I told her, over coffee, sitting in a Caribou, keeping my boisterous voice low so as not to scare off the moms with prams drinking non-fat lattes next to us. "Oh my, is that something that is sexy?" she'd ask. I'd shrug and smile, it depends on the woman and how much she knows she's a woman. "I guess I'm not much of a woman, I don't even know about these things."
And so it went on: I helped her trim down to her perfect weight, helped her reduce the family's budget so there was quite a bit of money left over for a vacation or an emergency car repair (they did both, and still had cash left over). Her husband was being more attentive in the bedroom, but she still wasn't satisfied. I asked her if she was taking care of her needs regularly, and she said she had stopped.
Why? "I got nervous." It's natural, and it helps so much. "Not about that." Then? "I was nervous about what I was fantasizing about, all the stories you told me." Those things are natural, too. Society has made men desire things and women feel repulsion over the same acts. "No, I looked them up on the Internet and I like the idea." So keep it in your fantasy. She was silent for a long time, we drank our coffee and I watch a few moms and one stay-at-home dad talking.
"I'm nervous about WHO I fantasize about." I looked at her. She nodded. No, that's not smart. I'm not Mr. Perfect, I'm Mr. Right Now. She nodded again. You don't want me, you want your husband to do those things. She shook her head no, looked down at her coffee and frowned. "I don't know what else to think. You're so sexy and you listen so well and you have an answer for everything." I realized that when we were walking to the coffee house lately, she was jutting her breasts out, standing talling, smiling at me more. I caught her looking at me through a mirror once but she had no idea I noticed. I have no issues in sleeping with a woman with a boyfriend or a husband, especially when their sex lives have failed. In her case, she has time to fix it. Their marriage is still new going on 5 years, there are no kids, and they're financially stable. Her body is gorgeous, her face is beautiful. I have a thing for Polish women, but I've only been with 2. They are fantastic in bed, but still pure and sweet out of it. I shouldn't be even thinking about it.
We parted with our usual hug and smooch, and she grabbed a little lower on my back to pull me closer. "Think about it." I looked at her and smiled and said I did but there's no reason to. I walked her halfway home and then got myself home for an entire afternoon of looking for cute, blonde Europeans on video taking care of their own needs. That didn't help me at all with the situation.
When the next week's visit came, she was happy, bouncing. I told her I noticed. "I'm fucking myself again," she said. Those are pretty much the only vulgar-ish words I'd ever heard her say. She used euphemisms shyly. Is that how you call it now? "Yes. It's right, too, because my husband's sex is not fucking." How so? "I want to try things in the bedroom, but he can't stay awake long enough to even talk about it." How's your budget and your new eating habits? "Don't change the subject on me." When a Polish girl gets mad, or emotional, or focused on a subject, there is no winning over it. She has to run her course. So what can I do? "Keep talking to me. I have new things to talk about."
She asked me every sexual question in the book, covered every perversion, fetish, fantasy and desire of men and women. "Why do guys like doing that?" "Have you ever...?" "What do you look at when you...?" I told her the truth, as best as I knew it. Her questions weren't unique, but coming from what most would consider a pure and virginal young lady, they were extremely hot to me. I didn't want to get aroused and shifted uncomfortably in my chair. "Is this turning you on?" Yes. "What will you do about it?" I told her what I did about it before. "Really? You were looking for me online?" Yes. She blushed. Then she shot me an evil grin.
I changed the direction of the conversation and we discussed the plans they had for travel, for household upgrades. We parted ways, and again I went back to looking for a woman who looked like her, but this time with a man. Not smart, but I needed the release terribly.
The next week, she hit me with a proposition of sorts: "Is there anything we can do that you woudln't feel guilty over?" I told her I don't get guilty, but I also don't want to confuse my need for her with what her needs are: to convince her husband to be a better and more attentive lover. "I have no experience in the bedroom, maybe I'm doing something wrong." I did agree that that might possibly be the case. "So show me." I don't think that's smart. "You've done it before." Yes, but those cases were completely different.
"Will you let me show you how I do it myself, and make a comment?" No. Yes. No. I'm not sure. "I've never seen you confused." It doesn't happen often. "So can we go somewhere for a little while? I promise, it'll just be a teacher and a student." That didn't help, because the last piece of porn I found happened to be a blonde girl dressed as a schoolgirl getting reamed on her teacher's desk. Not my idea of good porn, but the girl was strikingly like Gosia. "We can go to my place."
We walked to my car and got in. She was a little giddy, I was swallowing spit constantly. I smoked three times as many cigarettes in the car as usual. What was I doing? If the circumstances were different, I probably would have taken her in the bathroom in that Caribou. But the circumstances are where they are: she's not unhappy overall, and she hasn't tried hard enough in the bedroom to get me to agree that she needs a lover.
My place is a bit far from her so we drove for 15 minutes and she threw question after question at me. "Who was your favorite lover?" "Who did you love last?" "Why aren't you sleeping with anyone?" "Do you get bored with women who know nothing about passion?" "Where did you learn how to talk to women?" I try to answer her questions as promptly as possible without any major details shared. We arrive at my place and walk in.
She sits on the big couch, I brought us some bottled water and glasses. I sat in a chair. "Come sit next to me." Are you sure what you're doing? "Yes." I sat and offered her a bottle of water. Instead, she unzipped her jeans and started to pull them off. "I think you should keep them on. If I see too much, things might go in the wrong direction. She nodded. Her hand went under her panty line and her eyes closed. I was hard in 5 seconds, doing my best not to stroke myself through my pants. She moaned softly, and her hand was moving way too vigorously. One thing I've noticed with women is they can either be good at teasing themselves, or they can be too quick. Gosia was too quick.
She opened her eyes and instead of looking at me, she looked at my pants. Wearing slacks today wasn't a good idea. Her eyes widened when she saw the condition I was in, which only made it bigger. She moaned immediately at the slight movement my body made outside of my control. It didn't take her long. She stared at my face that was watching her, her hand grabbed her own breast and she came really hard. I wasn't expecting a peep out of her. When she was done, she put her wet hand on my hand. "Oh, I am never so loud. I get afraid that someone might be home or that someone will come over and not knock." It's a common fear. "Did I do it right?" No one can tell you how to do it, but I think you should try going at it slower. Caress your own body, tease your own body. "I needed it fast, though." I know, but it still makes sense to take it slower.
"Do you want to do it too?" Yes, but I won't. "Please? I want to watch. I never watched my husband, but I know he does it." You should invite him to watch you and watch him. "Just once. Just so I have something in my mind that is real." That's what I'm afraid of. "I won't ask for more." I know, I lied. Her hand fell to my cock through my slacks and it jumped again. "Can I do it for you?" No. "Do you want me to?" Yes. "Then why not?" It's not wise. I can take you home. "What will it take for you to do it in front of me?" Less pressure. "Nothing else?" Be more specific about what you want.
"I want you to masturbate for me." Do you? "Yes." When? "Please, right now." Should I just put my hands in my pants? "No. I want to see it, to see you." You want to see what, my hand? "No, your penis." What? "I want to see your penis." I don't like that word. It's like high school biology. "I want to see your dick." Dirtier. "Your cock. Please touch your cock, I want to see it." I unzipped my pants, with her wanting to help. I pushed her hand away and put my hand under my boxers.
"Please, let me see it." I pulled my boxers down and it was there. "Oh, it's perfect, it's like I dreamed." You shouldn't be dreaming about it. "Please, touch it for me." Touch what? "Your cock, touch it for me, I want this." I started to stroke it. Her hand went into her panties again and I looked at her face and then closed my eyes. I heard her moaning and looked and her jeans and panties were at her ankles. Her hand wasn't rubbing her clit but sliding up and down on her lips. This woman learns fast. I looked at her beautiful pussy and noticed how large it was. Her clit was big too: this woman's husband is crazy for not giving it to her often. Her blouse was open and one breast was hanging out. Her other hand was rubbing her nipples harshly. Her moans was intoxicating.
I was stroking my cock, and she put her head on my shoulder. "Will you do it for me?" I am doing it. "Will you ejaculate for me?" Say it better. "Will you, will you?" Tell me what you want me to do. "I don't know the words." Tell me to come for you. "Yes, yes! Will you come for me with your cock?" I stroked slower but harder, spitting on my hand. Her fingers were now going inside of herself and popping out. Her clit looked amazing. I thought more than once about putting my mouth on it, but resisted. She noticed. "Do you like it?" It's lovely. "Do you want to put your cock in it?" Yes. "Can we?" No. "Some day?" Maybe.
She started to come again, which sent me over the edge. My come was hitting my stomach and my shirt that I should have taken off. She watched and then she removed her hand from her tit and rubbed my own come into my stomach. She lifted her hand to her mouth. "I haven't tasted it before." Never? "No, he does it inside of me always and I don't want to taste myself." You should. It's normal. "Women do it?" I was still spurting on my stomach and now on her hand which had returned. Yes they do.
We both collapsed, her head returning to my shoulder. She exhaled finally as did I. "Will you kiss me?" Yes. She turned, pulling her hand out from her still-wet pussy and putting both around my hips. We kissed, and kissed some more. She pulled up her panties but left her jeans on my floor. It was almost 1pm.
As we kissed, she slid off my slacks and boxers completely and rolled over to straddle me. She licked some come off my dress shirt and then put her tongue in my mouth. We kissed for half an hour. "I want you to make love to me." Ok. "Now?" Yes. She giggled and ran to my bed. I followed her under the sheets. "I've only been with Gregory." I know. "I mean, I've done nothing else other than kiss and show my breasts to other men." I understand. Don't be too nervous. "I'm excited, not nervous." We kissed some more and I put my hands on her shoulders and my fingernails across her arms while she shuddered. Her panties were on, my boxers were off. My cock was putting pressure on her mound and clit and she was grinding constantly, moaning constantly.
"Will you put it inside of me?" No. Instead I rolled under the covers and put my face near her pussy, smelling her through her soaking pink panties. Another moan. Another grind. "Please take them off." Instead I ran my nose across her slit to her clit and then starting kissing her above her panty line. "Please take them off." I refused. I kissed her belly and worked up to between her breasts. She moaned again. "Please lick them." I refused. I nibbled on her shoulder and let my breath flow to her chin. I avoided her mouth. She tried to kiss me and I let it fall on my cheek. "Ohh, please touch me." I refused.
She tried to grab at my cock but I pulled back, kissing her surprisingly flat tummy. Her tits were beautiful and I really wanted to bite and suck and lick, but I had to control that. Instead, I flipped her over. The back is my favorite part, and I spent a good 15 minutes touching and caressing and running my nails lightly enough to trace goosebumps like a tattoo. I pulled her panties off and ran my tongue into her ass. "Ohh, yes." I licked at it and lapped at it and even penetrated it a few times. "Ohhh, no." No? "Yes, yes." No or yes? "Yes, please." I continued. While rimming her I ran my palm up and under and cupped her mound so she could grind against it. I didn't move it or tickle her clit, just cupped her entirely. "Ohh don't stop." I actually wasn't doing anyting but eating her ass out and letting her grind on my palm. "Ohh my lord yes." Then I pulled away. "NO. Don't stop." She turned over to face me. Are you mad? "Don't stop, please. It felt so good." I'm done. "No. Don't do that!" Are you mad? "Yes!" Am I a bastard? "Yes. Please more!" She gripped me and pulled me closer. Maybe we're done.
"No, no please, I want you!" You want what? "Please make love to me, please." Do you want me to fuck you? "Yes, fuck me, please!" Do you want my cock? "Yes, I want your cock inside me." Where? "I want your cock in my pussy, please." I went and got a condom and rolled it on. I spread her legs and she looked down to watch me put it in. Instead, I patted her clit with my cock head. She moaned and her hips gyrated. "Oh, please put it in." What do you want? "Please, your cock, fuck me." Again I refused. I left my cock on her clit and grabbed her hips. I was surprisingly close to coming. She was gorgeous like this, biting her bottom lip, grabbing her own tits and finally grasping at my cock.
"Please fuck me, Chicago, please." I want you to fuck me. She moaned, and then moaned again as she grabbed my cock and put it inside of her. Once the head went in, I pinned her body and refused to go deeper. "Oh, please put it in me." It's inside. "No, please fuck me. Deeper I want it deeper." I listened. I ripped into her as hard as I could. I pulled out too far and I popped out. "Ohh, put it back in," she said and then she did it herself. Again I rammed in as far as I can go. I'm not long, about an average 6 inches, so I don't generally go too deep to hurt anyone. She wasn't very tight, so it fit very nicely. "Ohh lord please again." I pulled out just enough, waited a second, and slammed right back in. "Yes, yes, like that."
The progression happened from that on. I quickly learned that she liked it slow and hard, with very even meter and rhythm. Her moans are still in my head many years later. Her eyes would open and watch me, and then look down and watch my cock going in and out harshly. I kissed her and she swallowed my mouth and tongue and practically my entire body as I did.
After about 30 minutes, my hips were hurting so I was going to change positions when she wrapped her legs around me and started to come. She came very hard, her pussy juices soaking my pubic hair. "Oh lord yes, yes don't stop." I didn't, and when she was done I stopped. She took more than a few minutes to catch her breath. "Did you finish?" No. "Do you want to?" I don't need to. "I don't know if I can handle it anymore. Do you want to finish yourself or have me try?" I'll do it. Where do you want me to do it?
"I want to watch again. Please." Where? "I don't know. Do it, please. However you want to do it, please." I pulled the condom off and straddled her stomach, my cock inches from her tits. She tried to look down by her neck hurt, so I adjusted her pillows so she could watch. I was stroking it, and every so often I'd push up on my knees and put it on her lips. She gobbled at it and licked at it and whenever I pulled it away she looked mad, sad.
Do you want my come? "Yes, please." Where? "I don't know, just do it for me." Do you want to taste it? "Yes, I love it. Please." In your mouth? "Yes, please." I stroked a little faster, a lot harder. My precum was rolling out and around, only her spit and my spit making it easier. I was close.
Close your eyes and open your mouth. "No, I want to watch." I don't want to get it in your eyes. "I don't care, please." Tell me where you want my come. "Please, I want your come." I was furiously stroking my cock. "Please." Where? "In my mouth, I want it in my mouth." I came, her mouth was open, her eyes were open. I shot a load deep in her throat and she gagged. When she did, I stuck my cock in her mouth and shot two more thick loads in her, which she gagged and coughed up on her chin. Since it was on her chin, my final two loads dribbled out onto her lips and cheek and nose. I put it back in her mouth and let her swallow what was left on me, what was left inside me. She tried but gagged again.
Does it taste bad? "No, I didn't know there was so much. I love it."
We fucked for a few months after that. We made love for a few months after we fucked for those months. She asked me to teach her how to give head, how to give a hand job, how to ask for my come without asking. She took it on her face often, loving the feel of my hot come hitting her. We did it in every position. The daylight was always outside. She left with my come on her tits and her face that she didn't wash off until she went home. She asked me more than once to come inside of her, but I don't do that, ever. She asked for me to be rough, to be gentle, to be on top and on the bottom. She asked once for me to do her ass, which I obliged, but I was too thick and she didn't like it very much. Not much pain, but not much pleasure.
4 months of teaching her all the tricks. Her sex drive was endless. Finally, on our last lovemaking event, she admitted she loved me for loving her as a woman. She admitted that she's been introducing new things in the bedroom. She let her husband buy her a vibrator. She surprised him with porn. Their sex life was better. She said she felt like she was cheating now. "Not then?" No. I understood. We kissed that last day for 3 hours. She sucked my cock twice, swallowing for the last time for me, ever.
Years later, we're still friends. Her life is better. She doesn't spend too much money. She stays in shape. She has great sex, and her husband is happy. I take a little credit for that, giving her months of womanhood but falling away when she needed me to. She was one of my best lovers, willing to try everything, learning my body and my limits. Once in a blue moon, she'll ask me if I remember this or remember that. I lie and say I do, but when I read my private journals, I'll remember it fully, if only for a short time.
I wouldn't touch her again. She's a complete lady now, a woman to desire but never to touch. I am proud that she made the decision that our lovemaking and our fucking went from teaching to cheating. She stopped it at the right time. If the day comes that their marriage fails, it won't be over money or sex or age. I wonder when that first baby will come along. They're ready for it.