What was it that made this woman such a magnet for my sweaty, pulsating, pre-cum inducing lust? She was feminine, petite and beautiful, sure, but I had been with similar women and wasn’t leaking a wet-spot into my pants with them in the same way I was with her. There was something tangibly different about this woman. I could sense it in the ether.
It would take a year before we were both sufficiently unencumbered by relationships. Our first date was to the symphony (her idea). We met at the entrance and as I watched her walk through the doors my eyes drifted down to her marvelously manicured toes in her sling-back heels. Raising my gaze up to where her legs disappeared beneath her skirt I could detect no visible panty line. “Down boy!” It was a damn good thing we were going to be sitting for the next hour and a half.
After the show we had a quick bite to eat and ended up back at my place for a nightcap. Upon stepping into the entryway she reach down to undo the backs of each of her shoes and slipped them off, then proceeded to walk barefoot the rest of the way into the house.
I was riveted by the sight of her now naked feet. I think way too many people blow off the pure eroticism of a woman’s foot (well, an attractive foot). It is usually the first part of woman’s body we get to see unclothed. I am by no means some kind of foot fetishist, but I have to tell you that this woman kicking off her shoes that night awoken in me some hidden erotic fascination with a nicely shaped, well cared for, female feet. I don’t jerk off to images of feet, nor do I entice women to jerk my off with their toes. Yet from this point forward I have to say that a woman’s feet have the ability to make or break my attraction to her. Not my choice, it’s just the way it is.
She stayed on my heels as I walked into the kitchen to retrieve the promised nightcap. I had the first wine glass filled when she put her hand on my arm and turned me to her. Before I knew it I was leaning down to meet her kiss. With our tongues dancing inside each other’s mouth my hands set out to feel every inch of her still clothed body, still finding no hint of undergarments beneath the dress.
We stumbled into the living room. I reached down to the hem of her skirt and began to lift it. As it began to rise she pulled back and pushed her skirt back down.
What the fuck kind of girl crazy is this? I moaned to myself.
“Turn the lights off,” she said.
“It’s just the lamp. Besides, I want to see your body.” I could see she was still hesitant. And you know exactly where my mind went. She’s either on her period, has a huge herpes sore she doesn’t want me to see, or…she has a cock. Now, with the first two options kind of getting ruled out, due to her lack of panties, that left……the cock. Or…the remains of what used to be a cock. Fuck me!
“What’s the problem? You’re stunning. You’re not gonna tell me that you once used to be a guy, are you?”
Holy fuck, she did used to be a guy!
“I’ve always been a girl.”
“Good to know. So there is no problem.” I proceeded to lift her skirt back up.
“I need to warn you, I’m a little…big down there.”
Big? I lifted her dress over her head, tossed it on the floor, then picked her up and set her down on the sofa. I was completely expecting to see some enormous clit, which actually would be just fine in my book. She smiled and parted her knees.
There before me hung the longest, thickest pussy lips I have ever seen. Without exaggeration they were up near the 3” mark. Birthing lips.
As she watched me stare at them she said, “Most of the guys I have dated are a little weirded out by them.”
Stunned by her labial size, I continued to take them in visually before finally speaking. “Your pussy lips are…the most beautiful pussy lips I have ever seen.”
“You don’t have to say-”
Before she could finish I was between her legs. A drop of her white creaminess had just made an appearance at the bottom of her vulva and seemed intent on jogging down to her asshole. I cut off its path and scooped it up with the tip of my tongue, which I ran up through her glorious folds until I found her clit.
Tasting her wetness I said, “I’m serious when I say this. Your pussy is an absolute work of art.”
“You’re just saying that because you want to fuck it.”
“On the contrary, that’s the second I want to do with it.” With that I dove back down into her pussy with every micron of my lust focused in my lips and tongue. I wanted to feel every fold, every texture, through my tongue; I wanted to taste deep inside her. I wanted her to cum flowing rivers of her cream and water straight in my mouth. And for the next hour we did just that.
I had known how to make of woman squirt since I was sophomore in college (which is not some boast about my prowess, but rather a testament to my level of depravity at that young age.) And every time I had helped a woman to a squirting orgasm prior it had been done primarily for her satisfaction, with mine coming in the form of visual gratification in watching her cum in such a way. With this woman, however, the roles were in a sense reversed. I wanted her to squirt so that I could drink her in completely. I wanted to swallow her water; All of it. I knew of the debate about whether a woman’s squirt was piss or some other mysterious fluid that only flows through g-spot stimulation. With other women this had crossed my mind; do I want you enough that I would drink your piss? Eh, not so much. With this woman it didn’t matter. Squirt, piss, it didn’t matter. Let it flow and I will take you in.
And squirt she did. And swallow I did, afterwards licking the droplets from her thick and glorious lips.
By the time I finally penetrated her it seemed like a goddamned lifetime had whizzed by. As I pushed myself deep inside her, my eyes transfixed on those pussy lips, a thought struck me. No tiny, thin-lipped vulva will ever be the same. This right here in front of you, pulling your cock in, is the high water mark of pussy for you.
With that thought in my mind I resolved that I would make this last as long as I humanly could. I picked her up so she could wrap her legs around me, arms around my neck. My fingers massaged her moist asshole while she pressed and released her clit against the base of my cock, until she came again.
I stared at the huge wet spot that now resided on the center sofa cushion as she positioned herself on her knees. “If you want to…take my ass.”
I stared down at the inviting asshole and said, “Everyone has an asshole. There is only one pussy quite like this.”
She turned and reached out, wrapping her hand around my dick, and rolled off the condom. “Then fuck it naked. I want you to come inside me.”
Without a second’s hesitation I pushed my cock into her.
Now, throughout my life I have been a pretty aware guy with regards to safe sex. I may not be able to remember the first and last names of every woman I have gone to bed with, but I can count on one hand the number of women that I have had unprotected sex with. In this moment I didn’t care. She could have told me she was HIV positive and I would have pushed forward. I didn’t care if she got pregnant. In fact, as I began to thrust harder and harder I kind of relished the thought of this woman getting pregnant. Thoughts of supporting her and the baby flashed blissfully across my mind. I wanted to drink her breast milk. I wanted to go down on her while she was in labor (not so weird, people do it). All of it I wanted.
I came so hard I almost broke the back support of the sofa. And as I was in the midst of that pulsing, clenching orgasm the whimsical images of my future life with this woman continued to float around me, so real it was as if I could reach out and touch them were it not for the fact that my hands were tied up in the effort to break the sofa.
We ended up being a couple for the next several months, but it wasn’t to last. Which, even after all these years still gives me a little pang of regret. And that pisses me off. Why? Because the emotions behind that pang are what led to our demise as a couple. I fell head over heals in love with her and therefore lost my identity. I was not the callus fuck head who just wanted to bang her. Now was this guy who wanted to bang her while also including her in my life plans. I cared about what was going on in her life. I wanted to eat with her. I wanted to take trips with her. She wasn’t hard-wired that way. She wanted to be on the outside looking in. Her interest was in pleasing a man, not the other way around. And that in a nutshell is how I lost her.
Of course time healed my wounds and I moved on to other women and experiences, wise not to ever make the mistake of falling in love again. Don’t get me wrong, contrary to how I may sound in other posts on this blog, I do love and care for people (women included). I just don’t allow myself to lose myself in the love anymore.
That thought that crossed through my head when I first laid eyes on her pussy, “No tiny, thin-lipped vulva will ever be the same. This right here in front of you, pulling your cock in, is the high water mark of pussy for you,” has proven to be somewhat prophetic. I liken it to the size queens who yearn for a guy with a horse cock. It doesn’t mean that I find small labia unattractive. Hardly. It’s just that I can never forget the most beautiful labia I ever had the luxury of experiencing.
SGH – December 2011
P.S. None of these photos are of her, but then I’m sure you all are intelligent enough to know that.