There was a friend I had growing up in New Orleans who was pretty direct about her sex life. Being friends, she trusted me with the lurid tails of how she screwed this man, or how she made out with this woman, or how she tried “this” one time and “that” another time. Just when I thought that one story would be the most decadent, she would return with another.
It wasn’t as if she was depraved or submissive. She loved sex and loved having it with people of both genders. When she wasn’t having sex, she was thinking about it in her bedroom. That is where I enter the story. Though one might anticipate that we screwed like rabbits, I was not direct participant and this didn’t “…happen on a late Saturday night in a small town where I never thought…” I have never thought of New Orleans as small and never thought that anything surprising couldn’t happen there.
Leah was someone I always considered gorgeous. Her skin was light while her hair was dark and wavy. She was tall and limber. It was not atypical for her to leap onto my back and go for a piggyback ride around the halls at school. Her long legs wrapped around my waist and her breasts pressed into my back made me feel warm and wanted, as if even in a hurricane she wouldn’t let go of me.
One afternoon, we met at her house to smoke and talk. There were four of us in the room. Leah was giving us all the details of her latest exploits and how she had set designs on seducing one of my friend’s girlfriends. Unsure of how to deal with her banter, I often tuzla escort looked her situations with objectivity: just focusing on the details of her story and not my own ambitious libido.
“In the meantime,” I remember her saying to all of us sitting on her bedroom floor,” I am just going to have to ‘improvise’.”
She was referring directly to masturbating. There was no mistaking this reference, especially because of the tone of her voice and the smile on face. Confirmation came with her talking about how she would use things in her room to help her cum. It was almost like a game to her to see if we could figure out which things she had used. It ended with all of us laughing as I held up a discarded crutch she had, left over from a previous injury.
“Are you kidding?” she laughed out loud.
To be honest, after all of these years, no I am not kidding.
I love seeing a woman masturbate and my mind took “mental” pictures of Leah’s bedroom that day. It snapped a picture of her curtains and bedspread. It took another of her vanity which was littered with hairbrushes, combs, a hand held mirror. It took another image of her bookcase where little phallic shaped curios were on display. Lastly, it took an image of Leah there on the floor, dressed in spring attire and smelling so warm in the cool, New Orleans afternoon.
From those pictures, my imagination has done the rest. I see her on her bed, clothed only in a bra and panties. Her pink nipples are dark under the shear material of the pendik escort bra, yet they protrude roughly from under the fabric. The light color cotton panties she is wearing become darker as they become wet. This has happened as she rubs herself through the fabric with her long, slender fingers. Quickly she slips her fingers under the cloth of the underwear and then withdraws several damp fingers. While her other hand moves back into her underwear, she suckles her fingers until they are clean.
The image of her slipping out of her underwear completely fills my mind. Her legs are spread wide as she looks down between her legs at her clit. The palm of her hand is pressing down on her pelvis while two fingers seize the clit and pull at it lightly. In ecstasy, she closes her eyes on the world only to become lost in experiencing it through touch.
As if she had control of the fantasy, she stops to remove her bra and goes to her closet. She emerges with a clothes hanger that has two clothespins spinning on it. There is a deliberate manner to her walk as she picks up a candle from her bookcase and a small, plastic curler from her vanity. On her knees, she climbs back onto her bed and leans forward onto her shoulders.
She wets the curler in her mouth and slips it slowly into her bottom. The little bumps rub the tender skin of her anus and causes Leah to moan. Before her hands releases it, she makes sure it is snug and doesn’t move out of place. Spreading her knees further apart, she lowers her damp aydınlı escort box onto the diameter of the candle. It is only about three inches wide, yet she seems happy with it. Besides, after she clips the clothespins to her nipples, she is now able to rub her clit vigorously.
There is little else left for her to do except enjoy the sensations she is creating with her body. The little bumps of the curler that tickles her bottom, the fullness of the candle between her legs, and the almost aching pressure of the clothes pins on her nipples make her shudder. Her hand rubs hard against her clit.
Looking between her legs at her clit, she begins to chant, “…Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck…” I see her there, on her knees, her head tucked to the side as she looks under her body and between her legs at her clit. It is a sight that dazes me even though it is purely imagination. The shuddering of her body makes me think of people at church taken with such a force of spirit that they shake. That is what is happening to her right there in her bed. She is experiencing something that is totally religious to her.
She collapses onto the bed after she cums. Her legs are folded together like the covers of a book, closing another chapter on the imagined sex life of a friend. I don’t believe it is just imagination, though. I know Leah, and I know that if it didn’t happen the way I imagined it, it happened the way she wanted it. The bottom line is that it happened. There are times that I put myself into the details of the afternoon in her bedroom. There are times that we use more than just plastic curlers and there are more than just the two of us there. Regardless of what we do, the thing that makes me the hardest is the thought of a woman cuming.