Thursday, 28 January 2010


At last, a newly written text, written by me. I have to warn you, Dear Readers, there is no kink in this. But there is some sex. Don't know if it is an erotic story, though. Come to think of it, don't think it is. Anyway, I think this story isn't as far away from my other stories, really, despite the lack of naughtiness.

I was young and stupid and in love. He was nineteen, two years older than me. He was tall and dark and I thought him a little bit wild. He dressed in black and leather and wore his hair a bit longer.

He was of another kind, the kind that seemed to know what they were doing, the kind that don't hesitate, don't doubt themselves. Some play cocky, self assured and as if they don't care. Maybe he did too, exaggerated it, but there was something in the way he moved and looked at me that spoke of a self confidence I could only dream of.

I never thought a man like him would look at someone like me. I had felt very special when I started to hang out with his kind of people. Still I couldn't imagine anyone of them would notice me.

I was warned about him. When he started looking at me they told me to stay away from him, that he would only toy with me and leave me heartbroken.

The way he looked at me made me weak in my knees and at first I thought I could just allow myself to drown in his eyes, thinking that he meant nothing with it, that it was a bitter sweet indulgence, meant to torment myself at the same time as it fuelled my dreams.

I was like that, a dreamer and thought I could look at this gorgeous being without being swept away by him.

At a party he danced with me and I felt awkward, found out and embarrassed. At the same time, it was like a dream, like in a dream. He danced with me and he looked at me and I let myself be thrilled by it.

Then he kissed me. I felt more awkward and more wonderful. This man wanted at least to kiss me. I was at least worthy of a kiss.

There was no hesitation in that kiss. He kissed me and I could do nothing but respond. I was nothing compared to him and I knew it. Yet he wanted to kiss me and I wanted to enjoy it while it lasted, thinking that I would be forgotten the moment he stopped.

I was lost to him in that kiss. Maybe he knew that, maybe he just did what he wanted. He wanted me. He went to the bar, got me a beer and we stood for a while, listening to the music. He looked at me. I knew anything could happen. I knew I could never resist him, but I didn't believe anything would happen. That was beyond my imagination.

Somehow he got me close to the staircase, the one leading to the entrance of the club. We were standing there, I had my back against the wall. Suddenly he had his hand by my head, against the wall beside me, he leaning forward.

He kissed me again and I remember thinking that I couldn't believe what was happening, I was lost in a kind of surreal sensation.

But he was there, his body close to mine. There was a voice in my head telling me that he was playing with me, pretending, just wanted something for the night. All that which had been said about him, all that was told of him to make me be careful.

I remember feeling his hand move in between my legs and how I at first felt intimidated and intruded upon but I then decided to let it happen, as if I took a deep breath and relaxed. Although I wasn't calm, I wasn't relaxed. My body was tense and I my mind was wild.

His hand moved up and under my skirt and I couldn't believe it was happening but it was. His hand found its way down my knickers and in a sense of disbelief I felt his fingers slide in between my thighs. His cold fingers slipped into me and his head came close to my face. While his hand was snaking inside me, his lips met mine.

He must have felt how powerless I was, how willing I was. I didn't resist him. I couldn't resist him. He was inside me, around me, penetrating my body and my mind. I surrendered to him and I was swept away.

I was led away from the club. There was a murmuring in my head that told me to be careful, to be cautious, but I didn't want to. I wanted to be overwhelmed and swept away and this was more mind blowing than anything I had ever experienced.

We walked the short distance to his flat, his arm around my shoulders. My body missed having his fingers inside me and I wondered if that was what it meant to be horny, to really desire someone or wanting something to happen. I knew I wanted it and hoped it would happen.

In his flat he poured me a glass of wine and when I sat, on the edge of his bed, drinking it, he slumped back beside me, looking at me. He seemed like a panther, an animal that was waiting. I wondered if I was the prey.

He reached out his hand and stroked my hair. I was soft in his hand, defenceless to his touch. He told me I was beautiful. I didn't believe him but liked it all the same. I thought it really meant he was attracted enough to want me for the moment, to have me for the night.

Then he kissed me again, but he didn't put his hand inside my knickers. He put his hand on my breast and kneaded it. He wasn't gentle, he squeezed till it hurt but I wanted that. It seemed to signal that he wanted it, wanted to touch me.

Then his hand was under my top, his palm soft but cold against my skin. I felt how wonderful his touch was, how immensely sweet it was. I wanted more.

With a gentle movement he slipped my top from my upper body. I wondered how he did it, how he made it disappear so swiftly. He looked at my upper body, at my breasts and smiled. He caressed and squeezed my bosom and even the pain helped smash away any hesitation that was left in me.

I was then lying on my back and he was pulling down my tights and my knickers. I still had my skirt on. He didn't just pull my clothes down, he removed them, they were gone and I was naked, bar the skirt.

He descended on me, he lowered his strong body upon me and I felt his t-shirt against my naked skin and thought that he didn't seem to want to take his clothes off. I had wanted to be naked but I felt vulnerable, exposed to him and more so since he kept his clothes on. Still I wanted to be stripped and bared with him, before him.

He reached down and I felt his sex against my thighs and how he moved my legs apart. His hand directed his member and when he found my opening, he slid into me. I wanted that.

He was eager, powerful and himself enough. He moved inside me and I was surprised and overwhelmed by how good it felt to have him there. He moved and I felt him move and I longed to be swept away by that violent desire that had been reserved for my own dreams until then. I was defenceless and I wanted to be defenceless.

I was shocked and scared when my desire broke through, when my lust and longing for satisfaction mixed with the reality that was him, him inside me, when my private world had to blend into the real and I had to admit that I wanted it too, that I had it in me to let it come to me.

Then he exploded. He cried out and his member began to twitch, he stopped moving and let out a groan. He panted and moaned as he emptied himself in me.

I was left with my itch, my longing, my desire to follow, to be touched by the magic. I was defenceless and I was helpless and I couldn't help myself.

Still I felt blessed. It was such a magical thing to be privy to, to have him inside me, to feel his power, his satisfaction, his lust, there, inside me. And I was there, with him.

He rolled away, sighed and lay staring at the ceiling. I lay on his chest and wondered if he would tell me to leave now, if my magic moment was over.

He gathered himself and he smiled at me and he took off my skirt. I don't know why but he stripped me completely naked. Then he leaned back and took his wine. He gave me my glass and smiled at me.

I was naked, sitting on his bed drinking wine with him. I had no idea what he felt or what he thought of me. I wished he could love me but I didn't expect it, I didn't think a man like him could love a girl like me.


Paul said...

Janice, for me this is a sad story.
Of a young girl, too innocent to know better, and a selfish young man, only interested in satisfying his own desire.
She will probably end up pregnant,
just another statistic.
I hope that I wasn't like that at nineteen.
Just another aspect of yours and my, strange imagination.
A nice story dear girl, thank you.
Love and warm hugs,

Manorlord said...

Ah, that poignant last line. "Love" indeed... But I have come to realize that love has different meanings at different ages & stages of our lives (well, at least of mine).

I agree with Paul to a point -- yes this is sad (or will be, say five minutes after the scene change). But youth is the time for broken & breaking hearts. That's just how it is...


Wystan E

Janice said...

Dear Paul, I agree with you. It is a sad and harsh story but there is something good in it, I think, somewhere, in the sadness.

Dear Wystan E, Love is a hard word, what does it mean, really? Thank you for the comment.