Not Playing Gameboy

There’s a classic was to relieve the anxiety, one we’ve all known about since adolescence. Here’s my fantasy based around when Crowds comes to visit in 12 days:

It is her first time seeing my current apartment. She had heard lots about it and seen pictures, but she wants a tour anyway. I, however, meet her at the front door. “Come on! Hurry upstairs!” I say, grabbing her hand. She doesn’t hurry, ever, but she does follow me up the stairs, around the corner, up the second flight and into my room, closing the door behind us.

No tour yet.

She’s tossed against the wall as I press record on the digital camera aimed at the spot she’s in. (Evidence of moments like these make the six month drag between January and July bearable.) I press up against her, kissing as if I hadn’t seen her in half a year. Legs rub against legs; hands rub against backs; lips flutter around faces.

Annoyed with fighting her shirt in order to touch her skin, we part just with enough space and for just enough time for me to remove her shirt and, right afterwards, for her to unbutton mine. Nipples rub against bare chests as my lips find her ear lobes. Her ears are particularly sensitive, and she moans softly at the touch.

She is struggling with my belt, as always, so I remove it single-handedly, tossing it to the side; she takes advantage of this freedom to unbutton and unzip my shorts, which I step out of and kick to the side as they fall to the floor. Her hands find more skin and slightly less cloth as I use both hands to undo her belt.

The black jeans fit tightly on her thin body so I pull them down, crouching as I go. She kicks one leg out, and maybe the other but I’ve stopped paying attention to that: I’m now kissing the inside of her right thigh as I slowly move my way back to standing, pausing my upwards movement at her underwear (rather cute, possibly newly-purchased). I leave the underwear on, licking over it from underneath to her clit. She moans again and runs her fingers through my hair, but I continue upwards.

My right hand trail my lips by a foot, running up her right thigh and settling atop her underwear. My lips, meanwhile, have found her inverted left nipple; a combination of flicking, sucking, and nibbling arouses both her and I. My left hand finds her right breast and teases that nipple accordingly.

Leaving my left hand with her nipple I continue kissing up her neck and onto her lips again. Her hands, which had been through my hair and onto my back, reach lower and pull my hips into her. My right hand finds her butt as she reaches her right leg around my left leg, rocking both her and my hips in rhythm.

Breathing heavily, she tugs at my boxer-briefs; I reach for the previously-placed condom nearby and open the package. She wastes no time dropping my boxers, so I waste minimal time putting on the condom; simultaneously she removes her underwear.

We make lustful eye contact as we try to remember how it’s supposed to work. Six months without sex kills off some of the muscle-memory that we quickly regain within a few tries. We find a rhythm and position that works against the wall; I hold her arms to the wall, she stands on her toes, legs spread; I move both back and forth and up and down, using my toes and calf muscles.

She comes first, her quiet moans containing the joyful sigh of sex for the first time in months; I come almost immediately after, grunting into her ear and thrusting deeply.

We stay in our position, taking it all in, until it becomes obviously uncomfortable. After a few kisses our clothes are back on.

It’s time to give her the tour of the apartment. Good thing I hid a condom in the attic.