In front of the mirror
In my opinion, the coziest time for a married man is the morning shave. The unhurriedness of movements leads to unhurriedness of thoughts and memories. In one such moment, I thought about my searches in sex and, so to speak, the "stages of the great journey." The question to myself (to the reflection of a sleep-deprived guy smeared with shaving cream) — "so what's next?" — made me think and prompted memories. My first woman was a single mother from our town, and to me, a horny tenth-grader, she gave a lot, both in terms of altruism regarding a woman's satisfaction in sex and in terms of technique. And the fact that now, as I approach fifty
I still remember her says something.Looking at myself in the mirror, I remembered something else… another one. The girlfriend of my first wife, who lived a few floors above… a dog lover… a single mother with two kids, who first gave me a blowjob right under the windows of our house while our dogs were running around somewhere in the darkness. She sucked wonderfully, I came in her mouth, and she continued to suck my now-pleased cock for a while, gently rolling the head in her mouth. Naturally, I started walking our Newfoundland more often and later, in the dark. Lilya, that was the blowjob enthusiast's name, loved this thing, to the point of a painful craving if there was a long absence of cock in her smacking mouth. The sight of my and her lit-up windows excited us both, and since she was a cultured and well-read girl, conversations with her on the topic of fucking were very, very engaging and interesting. Her precision in formulations amazed me then, as did her ability to sort out her and my personality and draw strange, as it seemed to me then, conclusions. Not all reflections were realized in life… at least, not for me, but her reasoning about sexual adrenaline often came back to me in the most piquant situations.
from a cock in the ass faster than from fucking in the pussy, unlike Inka, who never got used to anal… at least in my presence… she loved listening to my stories about how I fuck my wife, in winter she gave a blowjob with tea, specially going out with a thermos, a couple of times conversations about children came up, about a son she fantasized something incredible and unreal, I remember that she actively masturbated, shoving her hand into her pants.
My divorce in the spring, and moving to the other end of the city, put an end to our perverted fantasies, and only once, already remarried and returning to the city with my second wife, driving by car, I saw her, and to my offer of a blowjob in the car, she readily agreed, I never had time to ask her about her life — after coming in her mouth, I dropped her off at the corner of her house.
But the beginning of the path was laid. And simply inserting into an obligingly opened pussy, saying something about love and loneliness, was already boring-uninteresting-stupid… there was a process of searching: young wet-pussies, rejuvenating old ladies, peers, classmates… experiments in BDSM…
After rummaging through websites, I found a strange Belarusian single mother with two daughters, living somewhere in the Belarusian backwoods, while the mother, mainly via her pussy, tried to settle in Moscow. She loved sex to madness, had been fucked since her youth (that's when she got pregnant with her eldest daughter). For me, her main advantage was her desire and readiness for psychological violence towards her… although she also loved just pain. She could be beaten to bruises, photographed and recorded on camera, given to others in exchange… she came quickly and violently, but as she said — only from roughness; during tender sex, she faked orgasms so as not to upset her partner. After a few meetings, remembering the blowjob enthusiast Lilya, I started using her mouth more often, driving around Moscow in the car. After that, the process of her moral corruption went quickly… we found out that a one-liter Pepsi bottle could be stuffed into her pussy. I'll be honest, I was afraid of further development and consequences. And now it's all erased and thrown away, and someone else is fucking her.
"What's next?" I asked the now thoughtful mug in the mirror.
I'm most afraid of losing interest in life, women, creativity, although it's a hobby, not a profession. To become a respectable philistine and grow strawberries at the dacha.
"So what do I want?… " To shake the hand of a husband in greeting, just after fucking his wife… to watch as the wife greetingly kisses a girlfriend (my mistress), whom I recently gave a blowjob to and on whose lips my drying sperm… to wait in a car at a metro parking lot, for the door to open and an unfamiliar woman, smiling, to silently bend over to my already freed cock, and then, smiling again, silently flutter out of the car with my sperm in her stomach… to undress and fuck on a table among candles a woman reciting from memory my favorite poets: Mandelstam or Gumilyov…
The main thing is what I want! We will live!
P.S. I wrote this nonsense of a horny pervert 3 years ago…
I listened to Gumilyov… the rest is still in the status of untried…
There is something to live for