Friday, June 5, 2009
This is part 2 of a multi-part post.
So we're kissing, which was completely unexpected. I think we had just joked a week ago about how we needed to lie and tell people we fucked and blog fake stories to appease our readers.
What was more unexpected was that Agnes is a damn good kisser. Open-mouthed, closed-lips, tongue, biting, it's all good. She's got great pouty lips, too. My hands decided to see how her body reacted to my touch as I danced them across her body, from shoulders to back to hips. Our shirts were on, but my hands easily slid from her hips to her waist to her sides and ribs. Her moans were perfect.
The kissing started with our hips touching at one side: me to her left. After fifteen minutes or so of kissing, this little woman used just enough force to get me between her legs.
Between my hands on her body and our tongues battling softly with our mouths attacking fiercely, she continued to moan, even grind against me. The kissing was effortless, like we'd been doing it for years. Just like our conversation.
But fuck, Houston, we have a problem.
My. Damn. Hair.
Out of its ponytail, it blasted off my head into her eyes, her nose, her mouth. I laughed, she laughed. The transition from laughing while we talk to laughing while we kiss was wonderful.
She's an aggressive little one, finally deciding to take the reins by pulling my shirt off. In one fast move, it went, flying over the bed as she grabbed my back, my sides, my hips, pulling my cock across her pussy, underwear keeping us safe.
It was my turn to moan, now. It hadn't been half an hour and this woman is making me want to jump the gun and exchange my tongue for my cock. Her lips are soft and she is incredibly passionate.
Her shirt came off, her doing. I teased her often with bites on her neck, her jawline, her chin, down the center of her tits. I spent time licking and nibbling her tight and flat tummy.
I scanned my nose across her underwear, obviously noticing her desire for more than kissing. I kissed her thighs, she moaned. I kissed down her belly, pully her underwear top down slightly. She moaned again. I returned to her face, but her underwear was gone. So I ventured lower.
When my lips touched her pussy lips, she moaned hard. I grabbed her ass and licked and nibbled and sucked on her pussy lips for only a few minutes. And then, the surprise...
My fucking cell phone alarm I had set the day before beeper. Loudly. Ugh. Now? When she's concentrating on my sloppy-drunk tongue fucking?
And my phone is in my jacket. And my jacket is in the closet. And the closet is down the hall. I look up, and we both laugh. I shrug, spring from her great pussy, run to the closet, and hit "dismiss" to disable that bitch.
Back to Agnes. I get my head back between her legs, hoping she doesn't lose the work done. She didn't. When I finally discover that her clit is looking for attention, I jump on it. Just a few minutes of light licking followed by a few minutes of hard sucking, and she came. In my mouth, on my beard, on my face, loudly.
Clenching her powerful thighs on my head showed me she's going to fuck like a demon, too. Sadly, I have no condoms. Neither does she.
Even more sadly, I consumed about 6 ounces of Scotch whiskey. I do get whiskey dick, when I drink dark liquors. Little Fire Hydrant was about 50% happy.
If I had vodka or gin or tequila, no problem. Wine and beer? No problem. But scotch, whiskey, rum? No go. Since I was 15. Bitch.
I wanted to fuck her mouth, but the liquor was catching up quick. My head was spinning at this point as 4am crept past us. I looked at her sexy grin, realizing dumping a load on her tits and neck was not just acceptable, but required. So I spun her to her side and handled my own whiskeyed cock while playing with her body.
As I was pounding away, I wondered if this was a semi-one-night stand. Was I just a fuck? Possibly, but we talk so well together. Will she hit the road? Ugh.
But I thought of her mouth, her nice perky tits, her tight and soft pussy, and 10 minutes later, I was shooting my load on her belly and ribs. Yowza, lucky I didn't aim higher or she'd have gotten nailed on her mouth.
We kissed, and I bounced up to grab a splooge towel from the bathroom as she fingers my come load to keep it on her belly. Hot. She cleaned up, and we kissed some more before passing out.
we woke up at 10:30am. Somehow, her underwear was safely back on, and we were spooning quite comfortably and perfectly. She said she prefers really tall guys, but we fit really well. Not a bad way to wake up.
And she hadn't disappeared, instead we touched and stroked and caressed each other. She played with my chest and belly hair, commenting on liking my manly physique. We nuzzled faces, both afraid of killing the other with morning dry-mouth alcohol breath, but after a few minutes of teasing, we kiss again.
This girl can kiss.
I ask her if she's ok that we didn't fuck, and she said she's glad we didn't. Had condoms been available, it would've happened. And neither of us were looking for that, not the first night we met.
We kissed a bit more, and my hands slowly rolled her over, spooned her, and touched her semi moist pussy. She moaned a lot, but couldn't come due to being dried out from the night of drinking before. No big deal, so I withdrew and found her a bottle of Evian.
As I brushed my teeth, a discovery: 6 condoms in my travel needs bag. Fuck! A quick glimpse of the clock by both of us shows we have 40 minutes to check-out. Damn it.
I shower, and feel relaxed. I really wanted my cock in her mouth, but I'm glad I resisted the temptation. With her lips and sexy/hot/cute face, I might have covered her nose and cheeks with my blast, and I know she'd have kicked my teeth out and broken 3 ribs. Oops.
I ran down to the desk clerk to get her a toothbrush, and we packed my shit up and rolled out of the hotel with 1 minute to spare. Another smoke outside, some more kisses and ass grabs, and we hail a taxi to find us lunch on this rainy Friday in DC.
We cabbed it to a wonderful French restaurant, Bistrot Du Coin. A frenchman in his 50s, the owner?, handles tables with his friendly and fast staff. It's 1pm, the restaurant is busy but not full. We sit, and her smiles is cuter, her eyes sexier, her platinum hair reminding me of our night before.
And the conversation didn't change. We're both laughing, continuing our random topics while weaving the almost-fucking the night before. She admits to having an orgasm, but said she doesn't always during actual fucking. I told her I'm an orgasm seeker, but know when to stop trying if told to. She said she'd do that, basically informing me that my cock will be ripping into her tiny frame eventually.
Lunch is amazing: she had french onion soup and two french sausages. I had a huge steak, medium rare, with haricot vert. We finished her bottle of Evian. We talked. We laughed. I paid the bill, and we smoked and hit another cab.
I wanted to do some shopping, and we passed what is now my favorite store on the East Coast: Daddy & Sons Italian clothier. Slim fit linen? Funky Italian style cotton pants?
I'm a small guy in good shape, but Americans are FAT. I bought a cotton shirt, size large. It barely fit. In America, we call it small. Small in Italy isn't even a size in the States.
I buy 2 dress shirts and one white pair of cotton pants with white front chaps. I'm not kidding. Agnes and I both HATE the pants, but I trust Italians to do trends early. $450 for the 3 items, and they'll mail me my pants hemmed in 3 days. Perfect!
We cab again, looking for a birthday present for Agnes' best guy friend. We fail, but we succeed in buying 6 awesome chocolate truffle pieces, combining them with doble espressos. We shop, we laugh, on occasion we kiss. Sometimes she touches me, kisses me, other times I do it to her.
We go to her apartment to drop off the French leftovers. Twice I contemplate forcing her to her knees so I can poke her throat with my cock, which finally diffused the scotch in my blood around 3pm. 12 hour half-life exactly, hah.
But I'm good. We agree that sex on this trip was barely avoided, but it was good we didn't have condoms. She does mention that the chance of us fucking in the future is a solid 100%.
We hop from her apartment, visiting more stores and parts of town. We zip and zag, looking for that birthday present for her friend. Nada.
Finally, 4pm arrives. We both want an afternoon snack, so we zip to get tapas. Awesome!
Two sangrias, ordered. Shrimp+scallop+bacon tapas, ordered. Lame chop tapas, paella tapas, cheese+fig jelly-cracker tapas. Perfect!
We eat, having just enough. We talk. Old friends.
We finish at 5pm, and she and I know it's time to close things up. My flight is at 10, but the unknown time of getting to the train and then the bus means a wide berth is necessary. So we hop a cab, retrieve my purchases from her apartment, my bag from the hotel storage, and zip to the Metro. The cabbie let's her hop out, as we embrace one last time, tongues battling, fuck it if anyone sees us.
She smiles, beams, obviously having a great time. I did, too. I wink at her and she hops back in the cab, and I connect with the train, then the bus, then the plane.
Old friends, indeed.
But will she ride my cock for hours or swallow a load of come that I'll save up just for her?
To be continued. Someday.