Saturday, September 4, 2010

Rite of Passage....

Outside it’s dark, wet and damn cold. Inside the car it’s dark, and damn cold but at least it’s dry.

“Tell me again how you lost your wipers.”

“I have no idea!” I say with exasperation. “There were there when I arrived and now they are gone.”

Running into you in Sears was a pleasant surprise in an otherwise stressful day of shopping. After a brief explanation of why I was wandering around the mall with a pair of windshield wipers, you offered to help. My knight in shining armor. Of course your chivalrous tendencies stopped short of fixing my wipers in the pouring rain. Hence the freezing wait in your car.

“Well, I guess you’re lucky Sears had an Auto Center.”

“Yeah, I’m feeling real lucky right now! Turn on your seat heaters; I’m freezing my ass off.”

“Give it a minute; the car will be warm in no time.”

“Okay, it’s been a minute but my ass is still cold!”

“You are the most impatient woman I’ve ever met!”

I can’t see you very well; the street light casts only a dim light down this side street, but the amusement is plain in your voice.

I narrow my eyes at you. “It’s been a busy day and my patience ran out somewhere between Toys R Us and HomeGoods.”

You slide your hand between my legs. “See! It’s already heating up.”

Yes, it is. In more than one way. I’m cursing the fact I’m wearing jeans. But I can still feel the heat of your hand through the fabric. And just like that, I’m not cold anymore.

“Give me your hand.”

I do as instructed, and you put my hand between your legs.

Your seat is warmer than mine, but that’s not the most interesting thing I discover. There is a rip in your jeans, just a small one, but large enough for me to wriggle my fingers through. How I didn’t notice this hole before is beyond me. I’m usually keenly aware of what you are wearing. The skin of your inner thigh is cool to my touch, I wonder if my fingers are cold. I want to see how far I can reach up inside your jeans; to see if you are wearing underwear. I lean far over onto your side of the car, but my fingers stop short of your crotch.

Looking up, I see your face is perfect kissing distance from mine. Without thinking I kiss you. You kiss so very well. Probably one of my top three kissers of all time. Not that I’d ever tell you that.

We kiss for a while, the rain beating out a tattoo on the roof of your car; cocooning us in a warm dry sanctuary.

I’m still not thinking when I undo the top button of your shirt, or the second, or the third. All I know is that you are not stopping me and I want to rediscover you; it's been too long. I want to know the shape of you, the texture of you, the taste and smell of you. I pull open your shirt and place my hands flat on your chest.

In the dark street, deprived of sight, I absorb information through my fingertips. You are lovely to touch. I can trace your pectorals, the slight dips between your ribs, your stomach. The hair on your chest is slightly springy. My brain comes up with the word ‘tickle’ to describe the sensation, but that isn’t exactly right. It’s more like touching an electrical gadget that isn’t properly grounded.

Your hands are on my breasts. My frustration is growing. I have on far too many clothes; I want to feel your hands on my skin and I’m beginning to hate the center console in your car. You are too far away. The Cake song pops into my head. "Seat belts and stick shifts have to go; I need my baby here with me not way over in a bucket seat."

I’ve never had sex in a car before. Hard to believe, but true. I want to have sex with you. Now. But I can’t figure out how. The back seat seems like the best option, seeing as I’d likely do myself an injury by trying to climb over in to the driver’s seat.

I unzip my boots and pull them off; leaving them in the foot-well, I turn to climb between the front seats into the back.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like? I’m climbing into the back seat and you’re going to join me. We are going to fool around some more then we will have sex. Okay with you?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you are too subtle? Sometimes, I wish you’d speak more plainly. I might misunderstand.”

I stifle a giggle. “Ass.”

You grab mine as I climb over, running your hands over my ass, between my legs. Why did I have to break the habit of a lifetime and wear jeans tonight?! If I had been wearing one of my usual skirts, you’d have already found out just how nicely smooth I am - all the way up.

I fall, rather ungracefully onto the back seat. You snicker. “I thought you were a ballet dancer.”

I scowl at you, “Was. I was a ballet dancer. When I was 11. Are you coming back here or what?”

“You make such an attractive offer”, you say dryly.

You’re right; I’m not creating a seductive mood. I’m being a grump to be honest. I don’t think even I’d like to have sex with me, the way I’m carrying on.

“I’m sorry.” I curl my legs under me so I can kneel facing you. I touch your face and kiss you softly on the lips, your cheek, to your ear. I whisper, “I would really like it, if you would join me in the back seat. I have an urge to feel your hands on my skin. I want your lips on mine, your mouth on my neck, my breasts; I want to feel you moving inside me. I want to pretend this is the first time and explore you thoroughly here in the dark; rediscovering all those wonderful little things that I love about you...”

“You don’t say ‘little’ to a man in these sort of situations!”

“Okay, now who’s ruining the mood?” I laugh.

You climb into the back seat with considerably more finesse than I. Sitting next to me, you ask, “What next?”

I swing my leg over you and settle myself in your lap. “I continue to explore you, that is what’s next.”

I do like the way you smell. I love the way your breath catches and is immediately followed by a sigh, I love how solid and real you feel between my legs. I kiss you again. Softly. Exploring your mouth with my lips and tongue, you taste of coffee and chocolate. Your lips are soft and your mouth warm and welcoming.

A pop and a tug indicates you are undoing the snaps on my shirt. Unsnapping one at a time, you reveal a little more of my bra and breasts, your fingers trace the edge of my bra, lightly brushing my skin. I shiver a little, and not just because your fingers are cold.

Looking down at my chest you smile. My skin is almost luminous; pale in the dim light. With my shirt undone, you push it back off my shoulders and it is swallowed by the dark of the foot-well as it falls. Then you unhook my bra and it follows the shirt into the void. With your hands on my breasts, I’m beginning to wonder how I was ever cold. My long nipples harden between your fingers. And when you drawn one into your mouth, I close my eyes and let the warm glow of sexual arousal spread through my body. With the warm comes that languid feeling of relaxation and heaviness that lasts about a minute before you roll my nipple of your tongue and the relaxation is gone and warmth is replaced by heat and need.

I want to get you naked. While I kiss your neck and nibble on your ear, I untuck the back of your shirt, pulling it free from your pants. You raise your arms and I slide it up over your head. Your skin is slightly darker than mine, but not by much. The details, like the freckles I know are scattered over your shoulders, are lost in the dark. But I can feel your smooth skin, hot under my fingers, covering strong muscles, broad shoulders, a square jaw, soft lips. I can feel the heat of your breath on my skin. I want the feel the heat of your other parts too.

I kiss you again, my breasts press into your chest, our nipples touching, your tongue in my mouth, your hands running up and down my back. My hand on your face, shoulders, chest; sliding down your stomach to your jeans. You suck in your breath as my fingers dip into the warm space below your waistband and your abs twitch. I undo your button and draw down your zipper. Scooting back a little, I give myself the room I need to reach down into your pants and curl my hand around your erection. You make a little sighing sound and I smile.

I wriggle back further and stand up. I have to bend over, almost in half but I manage to shimmy my jeans down over hips and drop them to the floor.

“Let me take off your undies.”


You slip your finger up under the lace and slowly, so slowly feel around inside them, running your fingers over my skin, and between my legs, exploring me, gently rubbing my clit, dipping your finger into me. I’m wet and I think my knees are wobbling a little. I know my breathing is becoming somewhat labored and I’m surprised you can’t hear my heart beating over the steady rhythm of the rain on the roof of the car.

You pull my undies down around my knees. “Turn around.”

I do so and you guide me down onto your lap. I slide my undies all the way off, and curl my feet up under me on each side of you. Your erection is hot and hard between my ass cheeks. Scooting down in the seat you open your knees, pushing my legs wider apart. I lean forward, reach between my legs and angle your dick so I can take it inside me.

I try to take you slowly, enjoying the feeling of your dick entering my pussy, the head pushing into me, stretching me, but you grab my hips and thrust upwards, burying yourself in me. The breath is knocked from my lungs in a shocked gasp. You fill me so completely and deliciously.

I lean back onto you and you wrap your arms around me, sighing in my ear. I love all the noise you make when we have sex. A vocal man is a wonderful thing! Not only is it obvious when I get something right, just listening to you turns me on.

Within seconds I need to move, reaching down I play with my clit as I begin to rock my hips on your lap. Your hands are on my breasts again and I arch my back pushing them into your hands. You fondle and squeeze and tease and drive me crazy. It’s a wonderful sort of torture. Everything you do satisfies a need while creating a new one.

I rock my hips rhythmically, pushing down onto your dick, building my pleasure and yours too. The blessing of this position is that I can play with my clit. All my bases are covered. You have my breasts, your dick has my pussy, I have my clit and you are breathing, and grunting and moaning so exquisitely in my ear. I rub my clit with two fingers, rubbing in circles, varying pressure to increase my excitement.

I sit up a little, and lean forward. Your hands fall away from my boobs, instead your grab my hips, rocking them back and forth, setting a very, very good rhythm.

I explore between my legs. Your dick slides past my fingers as I grind on you. It’s hard and hot and slick as my juices run down it to your balls. I am slick and wet and hot too. 

I cup your balls in my hand, squeezing and massaging them. They tighten in my hand as they fill with cum. I return to playing with my clit. Alternately stroking my clit and your dick as you move in and out of me. I can also reach behind your balls massaging your prostate through your skin. You open your legs wider, allowing my greater access.

Your hands on my hips increase the pace of our lovemaking. I’m losing the ability to up from down. I just need you more and more.

“I love feeling your ass on my hips.” You gasp. “I love your soft round ass.”

I can’t talk. I can’t think. The excitement inside me is building like a circular cone of energy; feeding on the sensations of all I can feel - my fingers rubbing my clit, your hands on my hips, your fingers digging into my skin, your breath on my neck, your strong thighs pressed into mine, the sweat rolling down my back, your dick driving in and out of me, the smell of sex and excitement. The energy builds, ever increasing until I can’t take it anymore and I explode in a staggering orgasm. Waves of intense pleasure shoot through my body, pushing before them any conscious knowledge. I know nothing but pleasure. Nothing but you, me, and orgasm. It is a release of staggering magnitude. It’s loud and juicy and really, really hot.

You are right with me. You start to come with a long low guttural growl. It seems to last forever; a long, loud and intense orgasm. You cum and cum, that sticky, sweat juice filling my up then running down your dick and dripping between us on your back seat. We are sweaty, sticky, exhausted and very happy.

An American Rite of Passage completed. Sex in a car. Who knew how much fun that could be?!

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