"I'm gonna get a condom." Erik announces, biting his lip as his eyes scour every inch of my naked body. This being shortly after having received my second orgasm of the night; and foreshadowing the activities that I suspect will be taking place when I receive my third.
He turns onto his side, opening the top drawer of his nightstand and pulling out a box of condoms, our box of condoms. A jumbo pack that we've been satanically using up since they were purchased, a mere two weeks ago. There were thirty-six in there to begin with and I think we're down to the last few.
One might wonder, why are you using condoms when you're already pregnant? I've wondered the same thing, but haven't had the lady balls to ask him about it. Maybe he assumes that I have some deadly STD that's only being kept away by a thin layer of latex. Maybe he's unsure if I'm okay without using condoms and doesn't want to pressure me.
Or maybe he has the sixth grader's knowledge of the female anatomy, and thinks if he bares his Johnson inside me - sans glove, that we'll have a pending pregnancy to deal with as soon as this one's done.
"Mhm. I can't wait to be inside you." He muses, turning back to give me a nice, long kiss that leaves the space in-between my legs, aching for more. How many orgasms can a person physically have in one session? Well, I can tell you from past experiences that it's more than two. Or three. Or four.
The sound of aluminum foil ripping brings me back to the present moment and away from thinking about that time, a few weeks into our relationship, when he came back from a road trip and we made passionate love...for about two days straight. Don't judge me, okay? It was Thanksgiving and there was nothing to do. Yeah, let's go with that.
"Do you think we should use lube?" He asks, his eyebrows raising with amusement when he reaches over and puts his hand in-between my legs. It's a question we both know the answer to, but he likes to probe. And I do mean with both his questions and by putting his fingers in my vagina.
I look at him, not being able to conjure up a comeback when my brain is filled with I want you inside me hormones. A playful smile breaks across his face, his lips tugging with amusement before returning to my own. If someone asked me, I would say that his mouth belongs on mine.
"Want me to put it on you?" I ask him, finally being able to come up with something reminiscent of a witty response. To be clear, I would have no issue with it if he wanted me to - now that I've done it a couple times. But the main reason I ask it, is because I can tell by his face that he's about five minutes away from coming and me touching his dick would just propel that into hyper speed.
He gives me a look, creasing his eyebrows together like he might just come from the thought alone. "I'd rather be inside you." He answers, responding to my witty comeback with one filled with passion and lust. His voice is low and deep and so husky that it drains all humor from the situation; replacing it with an intense desire that even a robot could feel.
I stare back at him; being at a lack of words would be an understatement. I can't even think straight; all I want is him inside of me; on top of me; whatever I can get. And this is after having two orgasms? Boy, am I a greedy bastard.
His eyes dip down to the below my shoulders, part of my body, and a low groan escapes his throat. "I love you." He tells me, taking my face into his hands and giving me a meaningful kiss before standing up from the bed.
Yeah. If this was the part where you thought Erik was gonna whip out his dick, helicopter it around, and then shove it down my throat, then I'm sorry to tell you that you've been sadly mistaken. No, this is the part where he stands up from the bed, tugs down his boxers, and lets his dick spring to life like it's one of those carousel toys that plays childish music.
Maybe not the thing that most people would compare their boyfriend's dick to, but am I wrong? It rises up from his below-the-belt area faster than an old person that's accidently been mispronounced dead and smacks against his stomach.
It's kind of like watching one of those Japanese slapping contests...except, you know, not.
"Like what you see?" He jokes, tossing his boxers to the side and taking his banana into his hand. I'm probably supposed to say something sexy like his member pulsated against his hand, but let's be real here, I'm way too awkward for that shit. So instead, I'll say that his cucumber/pickle resembling thing, that has made me never be able to look at the dude from Veggie Tales the same way, is taken into his palm.
It's nice. I mean, I like it. I mean, I don't think dicks are as aesthetically pleasing as a woman's body. Which is part of the reason why I never understood why men sent dick pics to women they barely know. The only reason I even like Erik's dick is because it's his; otherwise, I wouldn't know the difference between his dick and that of a 40-year old porn star.
It's nicely maintained, I'll give him that. He trims his pubes like a pro. Which I appreciate; not only for visual aesthetics but also because it makes giving head, a lot easier. Not that I've given him a lot of head, but you know.
"You ready?" He asks, getting into his position, above me, in bed. We're about as thrilling as an old married couple, so naturally, our favorite position is missionary. Sometimes we do cowgirl, but that's only if I've had a drink, or two.
I nod, and he gives me a peck on the lips before moving a pillow underneath my hips. Of course, he takes the opportunity to also fondle my ass; squeezing my butt cheeks like they're the near-empty salad dressing bottle.
It's here, when I'm naked and laying underneath him, that I feel the most vulnerable. With every inch of my subpar body, exposed, it's a moment that I've read about on Reddit a lot - one that exorbitantly high therapy bills are made of.
Men closing their eyes, men wishing that you looked more like porn, men wanting you to face away because they get turned off by the size of your boobs. I spent the last few years preparing myself for all but the worst scenarios of what could happen. Tensing up at the thought alone of being naked with a man; anticipating the moment where what I was, was no longer enough.
But Erik's never made me feel anything less than the most beautiful girl in the world. He's always touching me; exploring every single crevasse of my body - including my belly button, which is not a moment we talk about. He doesn't just reassure me with words, but with actions, which if you've ever encountered a man, you know is what counts.
"I love you." I tell him, realizing that I haven't responded back to his earlier proclamation. It's not like it's the first time we've said those three magic words to each other. But it's still something that I'm getting used to: being loved, and loving someone else.
His face softens, a little, and quite frankly I'm glad we're not the type to have I hate you, degrading sex, because there's no way this man could handle fucking me into the ground. I used to think that's the kind of sex that I wanted. But being intimate with him, has shown me that's maybe not really something I would ever really want.
When I was younger (2 years ago) I thought that I had to like whatever kind of sex, men would want. If they wanted face-fucking and choking and making me wear a collar; then that's what got me off. Sex was no longer something I thought of as loving or intimate or done with someone you cared for; but rather something that I did for men, something that was dictated solely by their wants.
Being with Erik has shown me a different side of sex; a loving, caring, sensual one. One where you don't wake up the next morning and regret everything that you've done. One that doesn't make you cry; or question your morals; or make you wonder why the doctor removed your backbone when you were born.
Being with him has shown me that there's nothing wrong with wanting to be made love to.
"I love you, too." He says, repeating it back to me like he didn't just say it two minutes ago. Before I can respond, he's hovering over me and putting his lips on mine. The kissing's sloppy; and wet; and nothing like what you see on TV or in porn. There's nothing neat, or clean, or proper about it. I mean, it's two people exchanging bodily fluids with each other; so, naturally not something that's super clean.
But there's something about the way he kisses me; how he makes me feel wanted, loved, cherished, that keeps me wanting more. He's like a nice bag of cocaine; and I'm itching for my next hit. And unlike for alcohol addictions, or drugs, there's no rehab I can go to. Sometimes, it feels like Erik King will be running through my head for the rest of my life.
"Okay, baby?" He asks, his eyes watching mine for any sign of concern as his body prepares to enter mine. Despite the fact that we've been intimate more times than Albert Einstein could count, he always checks; always makes sure that I'm okay.
Consent to him is not something that's silent or assumed or taken; it's something that he wants to make sure he's earned. And to be totally fucking honest with you, it makes me love him that much more.
As if words themselves couldn't be enough, I bring my hands to his shoulders - oh-so-subtly feeling the muscles of them. "Mhm." I answer, giving him the only answer he needs when I press my lips against his. I can feel him moving between my legs and I know if this was a porn set, I would be watching and squealing like an eel as soon as he's within a meter of my vagina. But the only thing I can focus on, right now, is the look on his face; it's my favorite thing of all time.
His eyes focus on the space between our legs, his hands running up my thighs before he guides his semen shooter towards my home base. And in typically Erik fashion, he rubs the head of his mushroom against my little bundle of nerves - which is my second favorite thing of all time.
When he finally knocks on my front door, I inhale sharply. Being penetrated is a feeling unlike anything else - unless you've already done it yourself with a dildo. If you watch it happen, you'll wonder how something that big can fit into a body cavity so small, which is why I usually don't.
"Holy fuck." He groans, slowly making his way down my runway. His face is priceless; the expression he wears, something that I've thought about when going downtown, alone. It feels tight, but at the same time, really good. Like I'm a sim that has a secret need I didn't even know needed to be fulfilled.
I make, what I can't really describe as anything other than a whimpering dog noise. It's one of the downfalls of myself: whimpering like a sad dog when I'm actually having a good time. I don't moan, or say fuck me harder, or scream his name; I just whimper. Yes. Hot, I know.
His eyes move to meet mine, and a wave of pleasure flashes across his face before he leans down and gives me a kiss. This time when he moves back, his hand finds my clit while his other hand shifts my body as he thrusts, again.
"Erik." I whimper, managing to get out his name as I grip onto his forearm. I can feel my third orgasm of the night approaching, like a fast moving train. That's the thing about my orgasms: once they start, they don't really stop.
And then, just as I'm convulsing another high, the bedroom door swings open and Kayden enters the room.