Playing Together

You can build up toward coming when you're on your own. Drawing close and then pulling back, taking it to the edge, then stepping away. It is a kind of art that takes practice—keeping speed without crashing—and like all heartfelt expressions, it can be the more pleasurable when performed with someone else.

This was the case with my last partner. She enjoyed watching me masturbate, often in the morning before getting up for work. Laying next to each other in bed, she would initiate proceedings with the whispered words, "Will you baby?" At the same time, she’d be chewing on my ear or kissing my neck and sliding her hands back and forth over my groin.

With such an invite who could refuse? I would usually be hard first thing in the morning and so I'd begin while she watched. At the same time, I would start to rub her clit with my left hand. She would look on with a childlike fascination fixed on her face, her eyes narrowing like a model posing for a picture, her mouth slightly open.

I knew she was changing gear when she started to bite on her lower lip. As I got faster, her eyes would close, and she'd soon be laying flat, arching her back in pleasure and in rhythm with her breath. Sometimes I’d note a thin layer of sweat starting to gather on her olive skin, glistening in the street lights or the side lamp.

I wanted her to be dripping wet, by the time I came. I wanted there to be a pool of her fluids on the covers, down her legs, smooth and warm between her ass. I’d see her going deeper into her fantasy, bringing her hand up she would roll her palm over her breast, then reaching over to feel the rhythm of my hand, she'd claw with pressure, encouraging me to go harder and push painfully deep with my fingers.

At such times when watching her nearing orgasm in the dawn light, I felt our insignificant lives, in a nowhere town, gained a little greatness. Sure I want us to have healthy souls, and I need feel the seasons changing; the winter air and to sense the storm clouds colliding over head. However, as people, it is sometimes only in those unmentioned moments, that we deny ever exist, when two people stop being separate, that we lose our names, our troubled histories. It is when tomorrow falls away to nothing, no-one else exists there, beyond our immediate actions. I'd feel that the eyes of the future and the eyes of the past widened with envy that we were and are alive.

I’d hear her take ever deeper breaths, holding them in, then breathing out with a burst of pleasure and a quiet moan. I’d know she was close. I’d feel her body flex-rigid, the muscles contract around my dripping wet fingers; then her cry, sometimes suppressed, sometimes loud with a “fuck,” or a “mon amour.” Then that sweet scent and the sound of her breath slowing. Why would anyone think it a sin?

I’d wait to come. I always wished to see her go first. Then I let myself, followed by the rush. I’d ejaculate once or twice in 10 seconds. She would open her eyes to watch; she wanted to see. The first usually a small amount, the second and perhaps third coming with more force. Enough to send it an inch or two into the air.

A drop could land on the back of my hand. She would lean over and lick, like a cat with cream. With every swallow, she’d look at me in the eyes. Her full brown eyes content, fixed to mine. She knew to look at me until the plate was clean. As she moved with her tongue off of my hand and up and down the rim to the relaxing shaft, all the noises of the outside world re-entered the room, the sound of the train passing in the distance, the isolated gull calling out in flight.

It was a warm feeling, knowing my come would remain in her for the rest of the day. There, after we’d showered and dressed, as she drove along the freeway, feeling the morning sun on her arm. There, as she smiled to the stranger behind the reception desk and later in the day as she waited in line at the busy grocer's. When her mind would wander and remember; followed by a rush of chemicals exciting her blood. Her thoughts, turning to her body, listening and waiting to feel where it was still sore and then, more importantly, questioning where she wanted it to hurt again.