Verboten

by Ella

In his last post here, Dylan alluded to my recent dry spell.  He’s absolutely right.  For the last few weeks — months, even — my interest in sex has waned, and our blog activity has reflected that.  I have no good explanation for this unprecedented chilling of my sexual urges, and even the incident he wrote about last week, while it was a relief for us both, did not represent my ordinary drive.  I grew concerned.

As he wrote that post, I was thousands of feet in the air, flying to Los Angeles to visit my father and his family.  Understandably, I did not think much about sex for most of my trip until suddenly, on my last night in Cali, I felt a powerful urge to watch porn.  I get those once in a while, for reasons I don’t thoroughly understand.  Armed with Shamu, my black and white Delight, porn is never necessary for me to masturbate — in fact, a lot of times when I watch it I end up feeling a little let-down afterwords, because I cum so quickly and effortlessly that I don’t feel that I’ve really enjoyed everything that she has to offer.  Sometimes, though, I feel compelled to watch porn, and that evening was one of those times.  I came readily, felt the familiar mild disappointment at the speed, and went to sleep.

When D arrived at my house 48 hours later, I was pretty much ready to jump him right in the foyer.  The porn had awoken my baser impulses, and for the first time in weeks, I was myself again, and horny as all get-out.  I was allegedly taking care of my younger brothers, the younger of whom is handicapped, so we behaved ourselves during the day — not a difficult task, an autistic child and two enormous, over-excited (and soon-to-be sick) dogs kept us fairly busy.  In the evening, however, my teenaged brother had gone out and the younger was upstairs watching a movie, and we found ourselves alone in the kitchen.  A long, thick silence hung in the air before he swiftly closed the distance between us and bent me backwards over the kitchen counter and kissed me fiercely.  His hands drifted up to my breasts and his lips down to my neck (among my favorite places for both), and out the corner of my eye I could see my white knuckles as they gripped the edge of the sink.  After a few anxious moments, I pulled away (not without difficulty) and somewhat breathlessly suggested we go up to my bedroom.

Recall, friends, that at this point the evening was far from over.  Neither brother had settled in for the night, and I still had several responsibilities before really getting down to business with my man; we enjoyed at most a thirty-minute window of freedom.  It was a curious limbo — not long enough for sex, I was sure of it, but surely long enough for most anything else, though I would be lying if I said that as he tumbled me into bed and shoved his hand roughly between my legs I never entertained the thought of just trying to be quick and quiet.  As our mutual desperation grew, I even suggested it, in a quivering burst.  He chuckled.

“That would be irresponsible, baby,” he reminded me.  “You’ve got a child to take care of.”

I pleaded with him and myself in vain.  “He’s watching a video,” I pointed out.  “And anyway…I’ve never been all that responsible.  It’s just a question of how irresponsible we’re both willing to be.”

Dylan soon decided that he, at least, was irresponsible enough to yank off my shirt and lock his lips to my breasts, and not long after that I found myself quite irresponsible enough to unzip his pants and eagerly shove my hand inside to feel him rock-hard underneath, and find that delicious little spot of moisture at the tip.  In that moment, I marveled slightly; in that moment, I wondered who I had been these past few weeks, how I could have been confronted by the possibility of that delicious wetness and not longed to lap it up.  Finally, though, we got too close — anxious as we both were, it turned out I wasn’t irresponsible enough to fuck in my bedroom with my little brother awake in the other room.  Alice in Wonderland ended soon enough, however, and I brushed his teeth and put him to bed.  Our other brother returned home and busied himself with his guitar in the downstairs rec room, and it seemed that my work for the day was done.

With the younger one asleep and the older one otherwise engaged, Dylan and I retired to my parents’ bedroom, where I was to sleep while they were away.  (I believe it has been mentioned that I am a week away from 22, and Dylan is nearing 24.  We have been together for 2.5 years.  Nevertheless, my parents will not let us be in a room together with the door closed, much less sleep in the same room.  I think they really must know that we ignore the rule, though — it’s more for their peace of mind than anything else, I imagine.)  We had barely entered the room before we were tearing viciously at each other.  He had my shirt off in a second, and buried his face between my breasts as he lowered me onto the bed and kissed slowly down my belly, letting his lips hover longer on my pelvis before sliding my pants off and driving his tongue into me.  He emerged, sticky and sweet like a bear from a honeypot, and climbed up the bed to kiss me as I pulled futilely at his belt, anxious to finally taste him.  As soon as he helped me off with his pants I buried him in my mouth, remembering as I always do why I love to suck cock.  After a few minutes of desperate, vigorous licking and slurping he shoved me onto my back and fucked me fast and hard, and we both came within minutes.  The whole thing couldn’t have taken much more than a quarter of an hour.

The irony is, that was not the best sex we were to have that weekend, nor was it the best we would have in my mother’s bed.  But perhaps Dylan wants to write about that.

~ by Ella on January 10, 2009.