The Inner Slut

I'm not only back on track, I'm back into it as well.

Cliff is Dale five years ago. Short and stocky, thinning blond hair, very bright blue eyes. The difference is that Cliff's very much in touch with his intuitive side. That is what sets him apart from all the rest of the men I've met so far.

We met for coffee and talked for two hours. I found myself telling him things I don't even tell my friends. He has a very open and honest face, and a quiet manner that just make you feel secure and comfortable. We talked about personal philosophies, politics, the war in Iraq, and sex, of course.

The next time we met, we had dinner at his hotel room and, again, talked. This time, we realized that we shared the same principles, viewed ourselves in practically the same light, lived life as one adventure after the next. We thought alike; yet, not so alike as to be boring. At one point, I was getting worried that his intuitive nature would be a problem, sexually. I was worried needlessly.

He didn't make the first move; I did. Another surprising thing. All throughout the evening, I had moved from the couch, to the dining table, to the bed. Still, he didn't make any initiatory moves. It was when we reached that moment of being all talked out that I moved into his arms and kissed him deeply.

That was all he needed.

His cock was not as big as that of some of the guys I've had, but what Cliff lacked in size, he made up for in passion. There was a lot of kissing and petting and hugging. And this is not to say that he didn't feel good inside me; he did. He was hard and hot and just right. The first time I took his cock in my hand and rubbed the head on my clit, he just moaned in pleasure.

That first round, I didn't squirt. Just a lot of cream and small orgasms. The second round, I got that familiar tingling in my clit and stopped Cliff from fucking me. I got him to just stay on his hands and knees above me, took his cock and rubbed the head on my clit. That did it. I squirted. He was so amazed and turned on that he pushed his cock in while I was still squirting cum, and fucked me long and hard. I thought he wasn't ever going to stop but he finally pulled out his cock and came on my tummy.

Tired out, we laid back on the bed, too exhausted to even talk. After a while, we had some wine, talked a bit more. I was relieved. I thought that all this stupid depression was getting in the way of my reaching explosive orgasms; apparently not. We were at it for forty minutes.

Saturday morning, I saw Cliff again and, after an hour of sharing life stories and realizations, he took me in his arms and started kissing me all over. The next forty-minute round. This time, my clit didn't need any more stimulating.

Cliff was fucking me doggie-style. When I felt that tingling start, I pulled away and, while on my knees, rubbed my clit and squirted cum on the sheets. Cliff gently pushed me back down and fucked me till he came on my tummy. But this time, while he was squeezing the cum from his cock, I rubbed my clit again and squirted so much more than the first time. He loved it. What's more, I was in awe of myself. This was one time that I was control of things. I controlled the way I was pleasured; how and when I was going to cum; when I was going to leave. Ironically, it was Cliff who made it happen, as he allowed me to be in control.

I don't think it was because he didn't know what had to be done. He knew that I needed to be in control to gain a complete sense of self. He recognized this need in me. But he needed to remind me of his importance in the whole thing, and he reminded me very gently. At one point, he told me to look at him as I sat on him, riding his cock, enjoying the sensation of tightening my pussy muscles around his cock. He took my face in his hands and held it, and we fucked face to face.

What made it so sexy? The intelligence, the openness, the warmth, the sharing. We shared on so many levels, professional, personal, sexual, spiritual. I was all talked out and all fucked out. Sex is, truly, not physical; it is more an intellectual act than anything else.