This entry is one of nine that I wrote in roughly 8 hours and over a 28 hour period. I apologise for the quality of writing, but had to type furiously to get it all out before I collapsed. I preferred you read it in order:
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 I knocked on his window first, and peeped in, but could not see anything. It was dark inside. I then knocked on the door. I most likely did not have to knock so much, he was already up and opening the door. The door disappeared into the darkness of his room, and so did I. He was not wearing anything except tiny jockey shorts. Speedos. I thought to myself, that is the best I ever saw anyone in a pair of briefs look, at least in person. I laughed.“You’re wearing speedos?”
And I pulled the waist band and released. Thwack. That shit was tight. He sat on the bed, and I began to talk. I told him the last sentence I told Kerri, and added…
“So I cannot do anything.” He said okay, and sat there, staring at me intensely. Then I said, “But I have to touch you.”
And I touched him, his legs, his chest, his arms. He started kissing me. We could kiss, I thought. Then he pulled down my top and my bra, and started kissing my nipples. And then I was gone. I took off my top. I took off my skirt, and we started kissing and touching. There was so much touching. Most guys, when they touch you, they go straight for the essentials – the breasts, the arse, the pussy – he touched everything. Everywhere. I never knew I had so much skin until he touched the length of it.
“I can’t stay long,” I said, quietly resolving to stay until 2am at the latest.
“Stay with me the night,” he responded.
“I can’t,” I said.
And we continued.
At some point, I realised where it was going, and I stopped him and said…
“I… I… can I just lie next to you and hold you?”
He said okay, that we would do whatever I wanted. But he continued kissing and touching, my bra was under my breasts, and I was not resisting. I think at one point, we stopped a bit, and just held each other, kissing every now and then, saying a few meaningless words, wrapping our bodies around each other, but then we started again. And soon my mouth was on his dick.
I savoured it. I licked it. I did it all very slowly. I wanted him to enjoy it. I wanted myself to enjoy it. I was still savouring his dick when he came. It came by surprise because I was still going fairly slowly, and he did not make a sound before or during the orgasm. I just felt more liquid in my mouth than I knew there should be.
I spat his cum into my cupped palm. He reached for a napkin.
“Do you want to wipe your mouth?” he asked.
I used it to wipe my hands, not my mouth – I was not accustomed. He pulled me onto him, and we wrapped ourselves together like we were each other’s blankets. His legs were entwined with mine, his arms were wrapped around me, still exploring those bits of skin that craved to feel his touch but had not yet been graced. Then he moved to kiss me. I retreated slightly, startled. But then I realised he knew my mouth was still moist from his pleasure, and still wanted his lips on mine.
I kissed him, and then said:
“You’re the first guy who wanted to kiss me after I gave that to them.” Not true, I now realise. I had forgotten about James.
“Why? It’s mine.”
“That’s what I say,” I said wryly, and rested myself in his arms. I closed my eyes and ran my fingers through his hair. At first we were fairly motionless, but then we began grinding and grinding on each other more and more, and then I was on top of him, kissing and touching again.
“Like you want a second one? Do you?”
He said he did. I wanted to give him another. I was back down there, blowing my heart out, but he would not come. I considered telling him I was not up for a marathon BJ, but did not. I just kept on trying. Eventually, I grew tired, and resorted to jerk him off. He called me up and said that sometimes he just does not come, and we went back to cuddling.
He stopped at some point and asked if I wanted something to drink. I shrugged and said yes. He brought out some fruity thing which I only took a bite of, and juice which tasted pretty fucking good. We talked while we ate, and when we were done, he cleared off the bed, and we twined ourselves around each other again. It was at this point that I opened my eyes, and for the first time, took a good look at the face that was a mere two inches from mine. The sight of his face gripped my heart and squeezed. His large brown eyes, his perfectly square jaw, his neat nose, his kissable lips. I thought he was an angel. And I think it was then that he stole my soul.
I did not realise how beautiful he was. And it was at that point I wondered what he was doing with me. I wished I was prettier, forcefully, for the first time in my life, so I could present to him the vision that he now displayed before me, saturating my eyes, saturating my mind.
“You’re very pretty,” he said.
I had to pause before I answered; the thought that he had to have been lying only vaguely pierced the dense fog his countenance had caused to fill my head.
“You’re gorgeous,” I said.
I closed my eyes because I could not take it any more. I wanted to look at him again, but I felt self conscious, and his gaze was too intense. I felt like he knew what I was thinking, and how profound of an effect he was having on me. When I opened my eyes again, he was still staring at me. I touched his forehead, I smoothed his eyebrows, my fingers ran alongside his nose, they grazed his 23 hour beard that had been roughly shoved into my breasts several minutes before, and finally, my fingers ran to his lips. And that was the first time that I thought of a particular person whose name I dare not mention.
My expression might have changed, must have changed. Because The Syrian noticed.
He frowned.
“Your mind is not right.” And he pointed to his head. “Your mind is not right.”
I bit my lip and shook my head, lowering my gaze so he would not see whatever he saw. I considered telling him where my mind went when I saw his lips, but instead, I simply said:
“You’re so perceptive.”
And we kissed again. He touched my hair, he touched my face, his hands went lower. I told him do not go there – trust me. At some point, he put himself between my legs and rubbed his hard-on against my clit, and made me like it. He dry humped me. I got on top of him where I was in control of making sure my clit got the stimulation it wanted. He pinched my nipples in a way that sent me to heaven where he should be, and I frantically rubbed my clit against him. He held onto my hips and guided me harder and faster. I was going so hard and fast, that when he abruptly let me go, I thought he had cum. Fuck, I almost did.
I pulled down his jockey shorts, which he had found at some point and put on before we ate, and checked. Still dry. I had to finish it off for him.
This time, his dick in my mouth, I heard him moan when I hit the spot. He came a few seconds later, this time keeping his orgasm at bay long enough for me to savour the taste of him. I kept sucking a little after he came, and he moaned again and moved to push me off, but I lifted my head and smiled at him. A closed-lipped smile with his cum in my mouth. I immediately dropped myself into his arms where he held me in his arms, and I his cum in my mouth for a few minutes. Then I unwrapped myself and spit his cum into the wine glass we had just drank from.
“A cocktail?” he asked, laughing.
I got back in the bed, and wished I was in a position for him to return the favour, and told him so. Still with my black underwear on, I put my pussy over his face, and kissed his chest and stomach. When I climbed in next to him, he put his fingers inside of my panties. I stopped him.
“No, don’t go there. I’m on my period.”
“What does this mean?”
“I’m bleeding,” I said.
He nodded his understanding, but went back into my panties, tactfully keeping his fingers on my clit. Then he went back to my nipples and touched them in a way no one ever had. I put my fingers in my panties, and was surprised to feel wetness. I did not know what I was wet with, but I used the moisture to rub my clit until I came. He kissed me when I did and held me in his arms, so when I stopped trembling and opened my eyes, the eyes that had taken my soul stared back at me.
More sated than exhausted, I fell half asleep on his chest, with only the fucking earrings I had on keeping me awake.
“Are my earrings hurting your chest?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“Why didn’t you tell me something?”
And I began to take them off. He got up.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m taking off my earrings. Weren’t they hurting you?”
He might have said “no”, or might not.
“Well, they were hurting me,” I said.
I put them in my skirt pocket and we curled under the covers. That was how I fell asleep. With him in my arms, my body in his, legs intertwined, faces together. It was the best night of my life. I say that without doubt, or reservation. It was the best night of my life.
I awoke at first light, cursing, and removing myself from The Syrian’s arms. I did not want to. I had slept so comfortably there. But I was not safe with Zodiac on the compound. The Syrian awoke when I got up, and I told him I had to see him again, something I was not certain I knew how to achieve since I had spent my last night in Tobago with him. He took my number, and I told him that I needed his, but I did not have my phones with me and would not trust myself to commit anything to memory after a night like that.
“When are you leaving today?”
“Between eight and half eight.”
“I’ll be back before then.”
We kissed and touched other and then I put on my clothes and left the room.
I was smart enough to take the keys to my room with me – I took them everywhere I went. I let myself in, and collapsed into my bed. I thought I should probably get my phone and get back to him immediately to take my number. Instead, I went back to sleep. It was twenty past six in the morning.
When I got up again, it was past first light, but the sun was not completely up in the sky. I had to get back to The Syrian immediately. I found my phone, fixed my hair, and put some toothpaste in my mouth. Then I went back to The Syrian’s room and knocked on the door – just once this time. He got up and opened.
I immediately went to his bed and sat down, he sat next to me. I took his full name and number, and we kissed and touched each other again. I promised I would call him, and left the room.
I closed the door hard, and turned to the right. Zodiac had just closed his door as well, and was staring directly at me. I smiled nervously, turned around and walked the other direction.