The Greek

Here’s a little Erotica for your Thursday, babes:

We were sitting in the same circle. An adult learning class situation. I had seen him in a quick room scan when I first walked in the door, five minutes late after huffing it on the uphill bike ride.

In the sea of pale, female faces there he is. A bubbling hot oil flash of tanned masculinity. Greek features, legs spread apart. Large hands. Boots. I take a seat across from him and deny myself the gift of another glance. Forcing myself instead to feel him with the most outer edges of my skin. Feeling, feeling, expanding my body to the static borders of my energetic awareness. Expanding my ability to sense and send radiating tendrils through the air, weaving electricity between us. Across the circle, I connect into him. Drink him in and suck his information back into me where it blooms my plump lips into parting and unfurls undulating images through my body.

Him. His big hands grabbing me from behind, the thick fingers wrapping around my hips to snuggle perfectly into the bull’s-eye of my hip bone. Bending me over, folding me in half. Him coaxing, then demanding me back to standing in a slow S shape where the long, full fingers of his right paw caress my neck like water. Like an animal in control.

Dripping wet and taking feverish notes I’ll have to review later, I lick my lips savoring the consistency of my own saliva. A private make out session with the aftertaste of my own fantasy. In the compartment of my mind now specifically reserved for this imaginary exchange, I give in fully, wriggling out of my panties and letting him bang me hard and full from behind.

‘Nice to meet you’ I emanate, sending the silent message out from my seat to this man across the room. Feeling it land and now, yes, now… finally… slowly, with restraint, allowing myself a shy second look.

 

greek

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