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Yet another Susan letter
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Dear David,
Well, I'm back here at the labs plugging away at recreational games that
seem like a lot of work but are somehow amusing anyway. I didn't realize
last night when I was fooling around with Jack that I was going to be
here today, so I thought I would describe the following to you in a
sletter, but here I am.
I had sex with Jack last night (sex, that is, in the broad sense) that
was not spectacular in any way, but I'm going to describe it to you
anyway. The reason is that as the sex was progressing I was passing most
of the time mentally describing it to you in writing in my head. It was
kind of interesting, because I would jump ahead of myself and describe
things I thought would happen, but then they wouldn't happen that way, so
there I was editing and writing new endings every few minutes. So
anyway, here is a description of the kind of sex I have (on a good night)
with my boring lover of two and a half years.
As you might expect (especially if you knew me a little better) it all
started off with alcohol. We drank (between us) a six-pack of Samuel
Adams and, an hour later, the remainder of a bottle of Oban, which, in
case you aren't a Scotch drinker, is a really FUCKING good Scotch, one
Jack couldn't afford but that some rich customer gave him as a gift.
Oddly, I wasn't particularly drunk, just a little tipsy. I guess I only
had about four drinks over a space of two or three hours, so that makes
sense. Jack was more drunk, but still not having problems with speech
or balance. We hardly ever drink very much, at least together.
I felt like giving him head. You know how I am about that, and alcohol
greatly magnifies this effect (although carbonated alcohol works better
than Scotch.) So I went down to where he was on the living room floor
and lay down with my head in his lap. (I guess, thinking about it, that
this is not necessarily and obvious approach to oral sex, so perhaps the
"so" could be confusing, but there was definitely a cause and effect
relationship at the time.)
We were listening to the Lyle Lovett I bought last night, _Pontiac_. I
think it is my favorite of the CD's, and I'd really missed it since Sally
took hers with her when she went home for the summer. He is talented and
has a sexy voice (an understatement), but mostly he is just a good
musician and an intelligent and funny man. If he weren't so smart and
so, well, aware of himself in the way that I am and that you are (I hope
you know what I mean, it's hard to express but it's a quality I think
you're aware of), his music wouldn't be good. (But then you could say
that of everyone I listen to, or at least I could. Except maybe the
Ramones, and even then it depends on how you answer the basic Ramones
question, something like, "They're kidding, right?")
(And then you get to the question, "Do I think the Ramones are good or do
I just enjoy listening to them?" And then I don't own any Ramones, so
there you are.)
Okay, I'm just trying to set a mood, but I'm not succeeding. We had just
bought this CD, only good songs, by someone we like, and someone we
haven't been aware of (really) for very long, and we were entranced.
Maybe the theme of the evening was "Man he sure is fucking good just like
we've been saying, ouch." Well anyway if you haven't listened to his
stuff you'll just have to trust me, this is not Clint Black I'm talking
about.
So I put my head in his lap, and he started touching my head, and it was
obvious that he was interested in sex, and that was when I began
writing this description to you in my head. I've known him so long: he
wasn't aroused yet, but he was thinking about it. When his hand got
close enough to my mouth I kissed his fingers slightly, and that settled
the issue.
I started sucking on one of his fingers in a casual way, and the really
nice thing about seducing Jack occurred to me, not for the first time.
"Do you know what makes sucking on your fingers nicer in some way than
sucking on, say, David's?" I asked.
"What?"
"It's knowing that you _know_."
Deep breath. "Yeah, I know." Know what I could do to him. Know what
I'm going to do to him. The absence of foreknowledge is very exciting,
but so is the presence.
And that's exactly the way I was sucking on his finger, in a way to make
him remember what it feels like when I do that to his prick. It makes
him aroused faster than anything, and more intensely than almost anything
else I can do to him. Hell, it makes _me_ aroused, just thinking about
him remembering and knowing and wanting it. But that's because I have
this mental disease - maybe you're starting to see how it is.
I don't remember how we got undressed. No, I do. I was naked all along,
because I had taken a shower. He must have already taken one, too, since
he was very clean, and so I guess he was naked. I certainly don't
remember his taking any clothes off.
I was still sucking on one of his fingers when he asked me, essentially,
if I couldn't be persuaded to do that to some other part of him instead.
I agreed (naturally) and then he surprised me by turning around putting
us into the male superior 69 position.
It's not a position that works for me. I can't give a blow job that way,
because I don't have much practice with the tongue on the wrong side that
way. I usually can't notice much of what is being done to me because I
am too focused on trying to deliver some sort of sensation. (To be fair,
there is quite a bit of sensation, just not anything really useful.)
Last night was a little worse because I also kept noticing that I wasn't
breathing, since breathing took up so much consciousness, and that's
always bad. Nevertheless, I was rather aroused by his tongue, and things
were not going too badly.
In time he turned around and knelt over me, another fun position that we
aren't very good at. I can suck on his cock this way (and I did), but
not very well, mostly through lack of experience. It's an awkward angle,
the penis wants to point up, not down, and you have to be extra careful
with the teeth. But it was fun. And then he moved his feet so that they
were hooked into my crotch, resting there lightly, and that drove me
nuts. This position is getting hard for me to visualize, but I swear it
really happenned. He was kneeling over my face and I was sucking on his
prick and his feet were between my legs. I don't know why this seems
weird to me, but I somehow have trouble figuring how he was balanced.
Long legs I guess. Short Susan.
After some time (a minute? two minutes?) he extracted himself from my
mouth and we moved into the usual position with him on his back and me on
my side on his left side. "An interesting position, " he said, "but..."
So I began giving him head in earnest, everything working out just right,
angles perfect, and of course he was too drunk to come. He would be
close to coming, pumping away at my mouth, but I knew it was hopeless
right then, because the pressure at the back of my mouth was driving down
his erection by brute force (not hard after six drinks). So he thought
he was going to come, but I knew better. This went on for several
minutes, he was half erect, it was fun but tiring. (I am developing or
imitating the commas of you know who, our favorite comic strip character.)
And the carpet was making me itch and my arm was numb. So I suggested
that we move into the bedroom and try the bed. So we did.
He pounced on me in bed and that was enough, I got up to go to the
bathroom. He followed me and I got back in bed while he outwaited his
erection. Men are designed in this awkward way.
"Do you mind if I masturbate while you recover?" I shouted from the
bedroom. It was a rhetorical question. He shouted his approval. This
sounds so unerotic, but Jack just isn't any good at making me come, it's
almost not worth the effort it take both of us for that, so usually I use
my vibrator and he helps, or just watches. It's a non-insertable kind,
the kind you can find in a drug store, allegedly to help your sore
muscles. Several attachments, a high and low setting, an electrical
cord. It's not the best but it is functional.
I usually lie on top of it, holding it in my hand against my cunt. I won't go into the whole subjecnow, but that is how I was lying when he
came in the room and got in bed with me.
He was touching my anus in a really nice way, and I decided I really
wanted him lying on top of me, to give that extra pressure on the
vibrator. So I told him to and he did.
It was very good. After a while he began sort of rhythmically pushing
down on me and that provided a variation in sensation that was beyond my
control, which was just what was needed. I came after a minute or so,
and then I couldn't get off the vibrator (too much weight holding me
down), and that was interesting. (I'm like most men I know, I don't like
sensation after orgasm, except I don't dislike it, it's just too much
somehow.)
It made Jack very aroused, lying on top of me while I came, and I went
back to giving him head. It didn't take long this time at all, he was
putting his finger in my anus and that helped. It was good, he came
violently. I held his prick in my mouth for a while, and then I moved up
to his level on the bad and we went to sleep (after some appreciative
noises on his part).
So that is my description, and actually, I think it is the first time I
have described sex to you, isn't it? Write me back and let me know what
you think, or just put some comments in your next snail letter.
Until next time,
Susan
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