It took about 32.53 seconds after the call disconnected for her to realize her life shifted permanently and she would always be after and no longer before. And was that call really 37 mins and 17 seconds? Would the omens not leave her alone? 3, 17? Could these numbers hold any more significance for her?
Oh, on the surface the call was perfectly normal. Just old friends catching up after 15 years. “Hey, how ya been? What’s new?” “Kids great” “Oh I moved” “Cool, glad to see you doing so well”
But below – why was her pussy on fire and her brain rattled?
Her emotions were a puzzle inside of a riddle. Wait, they had always been friends right? Close even. So that explained the ease with which they slid back into each other’s lives. But there had never been this kind of sexual desire. Because while the occasional thought of “could I?” passed through her mind, it was never more than a fleeting thought pushed out by her gratitude to him for listening to her endless ramblings.
But now she was certain. It was like the decision had been made for her without her. She just knew.
For practical purposes, they moved the conversation to exchanges of text messages and pictures and it was six hours of the most intense foreplay she had ever felt. At the point where they had to go, he said he didn’t want to be left alone with his unguarded thoughts when he said good night.
But what about the border towers for her thoughts?
The snapshots that went through her head. That got more intense with every word flashed across the screen through the days after those initial 37 mins and 17 seconds.
She felt like a stalker, scrolling through his pictures while the other hand was on her nipple. Looking at his lips. Lips she had never noticed before, but now found herself imagining his lips around the nipple in her left hand, his eyes pinning her down, as she squeezed while she imagined what her orgasm would look like to him. Her face contorted with desire matching the contortions of his tongue.
She lay naked on her sheets feeling the fabric against her skin. Engaging the nerve endings as she stroked her body slowly and with intention. He had taught her to appreciate the linger of the smell of sheets. Remembering the first night she spent in his bed (strictly platonic head to foot) and he told her days later, he could still smell her. She wanted to mark his sheets like the cat she was by rubbing her scent glands everywhere. So when she left they smelled exclusively of her and them. Of her orgasms. Of his sweat. Pheromones unbounded.
He had unguarded thoughts? Shhhhhhiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiittttttttt
She was overwhelmed with the clarity and vividness. These were more than impressions. She not only saw it, but she also felt it. Felt his fingers. His tongue. The pressure. The wetness and the heat.
She, her legs wrapped around his torso while he whispered his fears into her neck, feeling warmed by her presence while the music played. She wouldn’t speak, but let him pour into her and release his external mask to show her all of his shadows.
She and him at AfroSocaLove. Just enjoying dancing in a corner whining while he held her hips, “whining like a champion”, telling her how he was going to dominate her later. And then later came…
With her bound to a bed while he weighed her breasts with his hands. Then moving those hands along her body with the same intensity as he played his drums. She told him that she was his. Consent and permission given to him to use her for his pleasure since his release brought on her own. And his pleasure was found with his head between her legs as he demanded that she not cum because he wasn’t done seeing how far he could make her drip on his lips.
And the images grew, stronger and more varied and were split, like her Libra personality between tenderness and pushing the limits of all her kinks.
She replayed his videos just to listen to his voice and drink in whatever mind-altering substance he was able to send via sound waves hundreds of miles apart. She gave into it and stopped trying to act as if he was just another one caught in her snare. He wasn’t. In truth, he had entangled her inside his breath. She was at his whim and that left her open.
She didn’t want to put herself out there too far, too fast. What if that limb broke? She would have to mend her wings with the duct tape of the knowledge that her greatest insecurity was truth and not fiction.
Did he know that he could have her heart – unguarded?