Adventures Unfinished Ch. 02x

Similar to the Cantwaiters, the Nowwatts also wanted to get my shirt off, but then they stopped dead in their tracks. I actually think they were intimidated by the girls, an oft-used sobriquet by women, although "girls" seems to so understate their intimidation factor. Maybe I should say, suddenly they were confronted by two melon-sized hand puppets on my chest with one being Mike Wazowski (the Billy Crystal character with the one big eye from Monsters, Inc.) and the other Darth Vader, one smiling with amity and the other sneering with enmity. For the Nowwatts, it was a confusing challenge. Everything was OK as long as they were encased in my bra, but as soon as they were loose, the Nowwatts were asking themselves: Now What? It was clear they were unsure what to do next. You could see the expression as soon as they spilled from my bra. Some were educable, but most remained seemingly afraid of them and reluctant to actually do anything other than stare at them.

The last group, the Skools, tried to show me that the boobs were not their goal, that they were "understanding of a woman's needs." These guys tried to project a blasé attitude: They weren't interested in me for my body. No, they were trying to convince me that they were interested in me, the whole person. They tried to act nonchalant — as in "It's cool" or just 'skool — but their acts were transparent and unconvincing. They were dying to touch and play with my breasts, but were trying to show me that they could take them or leave them.

Thespians all — but acting classes would have helped.

In truth, there was another tiny group. Or not a group exactly: They were the few men who wanted me, not focusing solely on my boobs. The boobs were just part of the package. I was — and am — a complex human being who was — and is — very sexual, but also many other things. It was these guys who were the ones I stayed with. There were only a handful, but those few relationships were good.

Note: I don't consider the (pardon the expression) "tit-fuckers" as the same kind of dysfunctional group. By the time I was regularly getting naked with a guy, he generally wanted to at least try that and given my weird sexual tastes I was more than willing to indulge a guy I cared about. My breasts enjoyed the feel and I almost always got the guy to ejaculate in my mouth. If he just wanted to do so on my breasts, that was OK. I'd get to lick up his cum and I'd have the added (autoerotic) pleasure of my tongue caressing my boobs.

An Aside on Random Breast Thoughts:

The more I've thought about it over the years, the more I've come to a vague realization that men and maybe women too like to see a woman in clothes who has a great shape, especially as it has to do with breasts. When they're large — especially on a thin woman — I think it's just human nature to look at, stare at and even gawk at the woman's physique. Thin women with large breasts are relatively rare — even in overly body-conscious LA, although I'm sure they are somewhat less rare there — so it's hard not to want to look at them.

But then when a man is actually faced with them in the flesh, eye to eye, man to mammary, it must be hard to know what to do with them. It may be a little like a woman finding a man with an extraordinarily long cock. Even if she were experienced, finding such a cock is rare. It would be hard to know what to do with it because all of her previous experience wouldn't really prepare her for this "new" piece of equipment.

So when a woman with large breasts reveals them to a man, he would have no playbook for them: Where to start. What to do. How much pressure to apply. Where and how to caress them... Lots of questions.

For these men, it was probably so much simpler just staring at the gal with the "enormous rack" and fantasizing. As Paul Simon once sang, "I know they'd never match my sweet imagination / Everything looks worse in black and white."

End of Aside on Random Breast Thoughts

Anyway, back to Sal, who was pretty much a Cantwaiter. At first at least. I'd expected him to behave like some of my other poorer decisions in men. A typical one would then have these actions: pull me up from his crotch, roll me over, roll on a condom, grab a boob in each hand and enter me. Thrust in and out a few times. And done. Show over.

But Salvatore pleasantly surprised me. Very pleasantly, I should add.

When we were eye to eye he kissed me tenderly at first and then with some unexpected intensity. Then he said those words everyone wants to hear from a lover: "What can I do to please you?"

While we were kissing, he'd been using one hand to play with my nipple and it was enjoying the attention. It was his very talented other hand that was doing some pretty wonderful things to my pussy. From what I could tell, maybe he'd taken piano lessons as a kid. His fingers had amazing dexterity.

I didn't have the opportunity to actually observe his actions, but it felt like he was able to spread my lips apart and hold them open firmly. Given that they were already swollen with excitement, the added pressure forced my clitoris to put itself "out there." Once it was nicely extended he managed to get another finger going back and forth over that little button. Yeow! That felt good. He teased it for what seemed like a long time. Then he kissed my neck and started kissing his way down my body. He focused on my breasts and nipples for enough time to make them say thank you.

All the while he kept my pussy spread, but teasingly moving his finger lightly around. When I felt like I couldn't take any more of it, he'd made his way down and sucked on my clit. Bells began to ring. I had a pretty terrific orgasm.

Orgasms were not difficult for me to achieve. They almost always happened when I sucked a cock, especially when the thing erupted in my mouth.

But having such a big orgasm just from digital and now lingual stimulation was not something I was used to. The orgasm wasn't as intense as the ones I got when a cock shot its cum into my mouth. It was, nevertheless, a pretty close second.

He let me sit back and enjoy that for a while and then began to lick around my very wet parts. He kept this up for a few more minutes and then he removed all of his stimulators from my crotch. They were immediately missed.

Now he did what I'd kind of expected. He got out a condom and opened the wrapper. I asked if I could help him put it on and we had some fun with that.

After my mouth made sure that his hard cock was comfortably inside the condom, he let me lie back and rubbed his cock along the outside of my pussy. Suddenly I wanted him inside of me, although "wanted" is too weak a word here.

This was not my norm. After some of my younger years not knowing it, I found a doctor who informed me that I suffer from dyspareunia. It's a medical term for painful intercourse.

I was going to warn Sal that it was a concern, but I thought it might ruin the mood. Plus, I was so turned on that I might not have any pain this time. It'd happened in the past and I was hopeful that with all the stimulation and wetness, things would go the way they were supposed to.

And they did. The whole thing didn't hurt at all. Yay!

He pushed firmly but slowly into me and it got me to a level of excitement that I hadn't had in quite some time. I was enjoying the way he eventually fully inserted himself. It didn't bring me to a climax, but it felt great.

What happened next was a bigger surprise for me, although it probably should not have been so. It was when he was moving at a good pace in and out of me that it happened.

I realized that I wanted a cock in my mouth. It wasn't that I necessarily needed one, but my mouth felt like it was being left out of the sexual fun for the evening. Simply remembering how good Sal's cock had felt in my mouth made my mouth water. I wanted to taste his cock and I wanted to taste semen. My excitement continued to build as he kept up his now quite rapid thrusts. But what really excited me was thinking how good it would feel if he were thrusting that thing in and out of my mouth. The object of my desire was his soon to be shot load. I could only imagine how good that would feel spewing out on my tongue.

As my mind was preoccupied with my body's needs I had not realized that Sal had begun to really hammer into me. It wasn't that he was exceptionally rapid in his thrusts. It was that each thrust almost felt like the kind a guy thrusts when he climaxes. One right after another in perfect rhythm. Boom, boom, boom. He didn't vary his movements at all.

At one point I tried to see if he wanted to roll over so I could get on top, but he made it clear that he didn't want to change positions. Still, I was enjoying myself and nothing hurt so I was happy. It, nevertheless, seemed like he was a machine moving in and out of me.

After a nice few minutes of this, his sounds and the look on his face indicated to me that he was getting close to his climax. I could not be certain from his movement because it was invariable. Just something about him gave me the impression that he was close. Although I was hoping for a change-up, that maybe he'd decide to pull out and let me taste him, he just kept at his boom-boom-booms. Of course, he deserved to have his climax where he wanted it. My body was enjoying itself. I kissed his neck and earlobe as I opened my legs wider than he'd opened them initially. In so doing I kind of forced my hips up so that he could penetrate even more deeply. I was feeling none of the undesirable pains and each time he hit my pelvic bone my body tingled.

But that movement, relocation actually, didn't meet with his approval. He took a hand and slid me back down so that I was in my original position.

He was a man who knew what he liked. I was OK with that. At least for the time being.

It wasn't any more effort on my part. Momentarily we were both ready to come. I could feel him getting really close. My mouth could only imagine how it would feel with him fucking it. I stopped kissing him and just ran my tongue along my lips, remembering all of the cocks that had done that. Actually, I could never have remembered even a small percentage. Instead I imagined one big, hard, handsome generic cock getting ready to ejaculate in my mouth.

And suddenly Sal began to come. Although his movements didn't change, his thrusts became even stronger. He shoved in and held himself there for a split second and then pulled out partway before repeating the climactic action. I did try to match his "here it is" jerky spasms but he held me tightly so I couldn't move. It was kind of fun, something I'd not done much.

Then, as he was just about through, I had a really good, strong orgasm. I clasped my arms and legs around him and just held on for dear life. It was an extraordinarily pleasant surprise. Wow.

We both collapsed and he laid on top of me for another minute or so until our breathing returned to normal. My active libido temporarily regressed just like the hairline on a forty-year-old guy's scalp, exposing my usually repressed emotional feelings. Was it possible that my debauchery-imbued lifestyle choices were starting to cede to more mainstream ones? That would be a shock. I considered it as I held on to Sal, caressing his strong back and kissing his neck.

At some fundamental level, I thought not.

By the time he was ready to move off me, his cock had returned to pre-erection size.

It's always a strange feeling, like a sudden emptiness, when a cock leaves my vagina. (Come to think of it, I feel the same way when one leaves my mouth, although when one leaves my mouth it usually leaves a lovely load of cum that I can taste.) But leave it did. As he rolled over I felt something brush my hip, something soft. I looked down and remembered that he'd worn a condom.

Without even giving it a moment's thought I reached to his cock and slid down his body. I wanted the condom's liquid contents. The next thing I knew I was gently pulling the condom off his cock, making sure not to pull out any hair.

That's when I had a revelation. He might not be into my semen-slurping fun play. Before I'd met Steven, I wasn't into it either and that was pretty common among my girlfriends. In fact, none of my friends was terribly much into oral sex. Oh sure, each of them liked it OK, especially if the guy reciprocated, but if a guy came in her mouth she'd quickly just swallow the stuff, no drama, no displays of dribbling dollops of DNA.

So I wondered if Salvatore would think it was hot if I sucked the cum out of his condom or that it was a bit over the top for him. He certainly hadn't wanted me to give him a real blowjob earlier.

"Oh, you don't have to do that," Sal said. "I'll go clean up."

Moment of truth: Should I ask him for the condom? I was satisfied from the orgasms I'd had during our sex session, but I could always go for fresh cum. I made up my mind.

"No, Sal. Please. Let me."

I brushed his hand away and carefully removed the condom, making sure not to spill any. As soon as his cock was free of it, I took his cock in my mouth and sucked on it like a popsicle. Except for the slight chemical smell of the condom, there was still some tasty cum around the head and I was pretty sure I was able to suck out a bit more that had been in the pipeline.

The taste and smell combined to make me a very happy woman. It was a strange thing: Cum made the whole experience better. I wished I'd had some of this stuff to smell and taste, to swish around my mouth while we'd been fucking.

Anyway, Sal seemed OK with me sucking his cock. He made a few slight moans as I continued to suck his sweetly soft dick.

"You're OK with tasting that stuff?" he said.

"Are you kidding, Sal? I love 'that stuff.' Cum is more than an aphrodisiac for me. It gives me orgasms. That's why I wanted to suck you before."

"It just seems kind of gross and messy. Kind of disgusting actually."

Now that hurt. I could take "messy." I could even take "gross." To be honest sometimes it seems kind of icky, but cum itself is just such a unique fluid. It smells like sex and it tastes like sex. Good sex. Great sex. What it does to me is literally indescribable.

"Don't you watch porn? It certainly seems that some of it has the girls playing with cum," I said.

"You know, I really don't," he said. "I'm a little surprised that you do."

And so the rest of the evening went. It wasn't a pretty picture. We argued about sex and porn. We even discussed what should and should not be done with semen. Boy, did we have different opinions on that topic. I might have used the word "prude" to describe him, but I felt I was so far on the other end of the spectrum that it wasn't for me to cast aspersions. And in fact, he might have used the word "tramp" or worse to describe me.

Maybe, I was just a slut. Nah, no maybe about it. I'd acted like a wanton woman a lot in the past several years. I became this other person. I had to have it. Yeah, I could see his point.

But the conversation moved into intimacy and relationships. Before I knew it, we'd gotten into religion, politics, money and even terrorism. I have no idea how we got so far from the topic with which we'd started.

Regardless, I made a show of squeezing the cum out of his condom and onto my tongue. He told me again that it was kind of disgusting. OK, I thought. Different strokes and all that. I still got a bit of an orgasmic rush when I swallowed it, delighting as always in the taste and the oiliness of it in my throat going down.

Big picture: Sal and I were simply not destined to be together. It didn't really matter though. I remembered that he was a structural engineer and was going to be leaving soon for two projects, one in Brazil and the other in Australia. He'd be gone for at least five months. We parted and just kind of left things open, but I think we both realized that a good match we were not.

Now, where was I? Oh yes: the end of my evening with Salvatore.

The one interesting item Sal shared with me as I was standing at his door, coat on, ready to brave the elements, was an off the cuff mention of an old buddy of his from high school.

"It was a crazy time and Aaron, from what he told me, was right in the middle of it," Sal said. "He even showed me a few of the videos he made. Not my thing, but, hey, whatever floats your boat."

Then he gave me the number for Aaron who'd been in some porn some fifteen years ago when he lived in LA. I wanted to ask Sal more about him but it didn't feel right. I must admit that just the thought of a porn guy was at least a little hot. From what I knew about porn guys, they were mostly just hard-ons, getting paid for their ability to perform on cue.

My kind of man. One of them at least.

"You want someone's cock to suck, I'm sure he'd be more than glad to oblige," he said.

As I was walking to my car I began to wonder about Aaron and made a note to send him a message when I wasn't feeling so frustrated.

But that was a future thing. I was horny then.

When I got to my car I had emotionally (i.e., ultimately) put the kibosh on Sal and any possibility of ever getting together with him again.

As I closed the door and belted myself in it saddened me for just a moment. Shortly though, I was amused by a somewhat obscure Mae West quip: "All discarded lovers should be given a second chance, but with somebody else."

2. Connor

Recalling the less than satisfying time spent with Sal naturally reminded me of the rest of that evening and The Night of the Comet, that 1980s cult classic. As far as I was concerned though, it was the night I met Connor, a man whose reproductive glands were so unique that I referred to it as The Night of the Comer.

It was pretty late by the time I left Sal's place and — Mae West bon mots not withstanding — I was still feeling rather sad, lonely and of course horny. It was then that I made the frequently unfortunate, and often rueful, decision to stop at a club and have a drink. I say that because rarely in the history of modern dating has an impromptu decision to grab a quick sadness-loneliness-horniness-infused drink led to a substantially positive outcome.

"Jalu" was a club within walking distance of my apartment where I'd, on a few occasions, gone to meet some girlfriends, drink, dance and vainly attempt to talk above the background cacophony. As I've expressed before, my all-natural but rare combination of body parts tend to attract attention (if you'll pardon my rodomontade). So, another less desirable feature of Jalu — and all clubs, for that matter — was the unwanted attention women received.

But maybe I had some inner need for self-punishment, all compounded by the frustration of the evening's events. Ergo, with feelings of failure pervading my unsatisfied mind, I drove to my place and walked over to Jalu.

My plan was to order a stiff drink, nurse it for a while and stew in my solitariness-slash-lovelessness. When well-soused — after perhaps one more — I'd walk back home and hit the sack, the alcohol rinsing away my blue mood. It was a good plan. I was clear on the underlying rationale. I had outlined the steps. The goal presented itself without any possibility of misunderstanding.

The one snag, the one unforeseen pothole in my nearly perfectly plotted plan, was running into Connor. A kind of normal looking guy, a little below average height, a pleasing smile and possibly borderline elevated BMI, Connor had a small company that helped corporations with their cybersecurity. As a teenager, he told me, he was almost arrested for hacking but managed to get a plea deal that kept him out of jail.

We had an almost-meet-cute encounter while I was waiting for the ladies room and after a shared drink or two I found myself like a teenager, kissing him at his car, which was parked just down the street from Jalu. He was a good kisser and stirred something that my loins began to remind me I was missing: semen-induced orgasms.