therapy.

04Apr08

My Latin lover greets me topless. “You caught me in the middle of changing,” he explains. “Don’t stop on account of me,” I reply, dropping my bag and kicking off my shoes. I look around his studio apartment. I haven’t been here in a while and he’s moved his bed, opening up the space before it. The carpet it used to cover is darker, the rest sun-bleached from the always-open windows. My eyes linger on the closet, where he’s pulling a tight cotton shirt over his arm muscles. I’m more attracted to him tonight than I ever have been before.

It’s therapy. I knead his hands with mine as we discuss our lives. When I’m done. he gets on top of me and massages the knots of tension out of my shoulders. We flip over. I straddle his hips and press my hands to his chest, feeling his bulging pecs through his thin shirt. I realize that this is what I miss by always being attracted to skinny guys. It’s nice to feel something different under my hands. He slides his under my shirt, pulls me towards him and kisses me, hard but neatly, his palms gripping the small of my back and slowly moving towards my breasts. He rubs a thumb over my nipple and watches me shudder. Within minutes our clothes lay in a heap on the floor.

He’s not my type and the overall attraction is minimal, but the boy can fuck. Effortlessly, he makes me come. Again. Again. By the time I feel his grip tighten and watch his last few thrusts before his orgasm, I’m spent.

He walks me to my car and tells me to call when I get home. Let him know I’m safe. I call and thank him for destressing me. He hints at a repeat performance this weekend.

I wait for his call.



2 Responses to “therapy.”

  1. 1 Diana

    What a wonderful way to give up one’s stress!


  1. 1 sugasm #127. « The Slutty Duckling

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