More Smut: Sexual Fantasy Number 3
Sunday, February 26, 2006
My pizza fantasy goes something like this:
I don’t like pizza but this friend of my roommate’s brings it over for dinner. He brought it over as this like, offering, because he’s going to be spending a few evenings in our apartment and I think that pepperoni-and-cheese is supposed to be some sort of advance payment.
Oh and my roommate isn’t home. He’s got this night class, and he forgets to tell me his friend is going to be coming, so when the doorbell rings I’m right in the middle of taking my late-evening shower, and I just kinda throw on my bathrobe and go down to answer the door. And at first it’s kind of awkward, you know, me in this big fluffy pink robe and my roommate’s friend behind the barred protection door of our apartment holding a large cardboard Domino’s box asking where my roommate is saying he’s going to be staying here for the night.
And he’s speaking in this low-toned naturally-sexy kind of voice, saying, “Could you please, open up,” but me not doing it at first because it’s late and the light is burned out on our front porch-step and suddenly I’m aware I’m totally naked beneath this terry-cloth-robe unable to SEE this guy I’m about to well let INTO my apartment. Still, I open the door. I bring him up through this private staircase we have and into our dimly lit living room and I guess he’s really hungry, because he doesn’t introduce himself or ANYTHING he just OFFERS me a slice and sits down and starts to eat.
And here’s the thing: he has this really SENSOUS way of eating a pizza (especially for a guy) and I’m getting kind of turned on, and it’s weird because I didn’t think pizza would ever DO that for me. But you know how sometimes your roommate has a really masculine-beautiful kind of friend, well this guy, he’s LIKE that, he’s totally MASCULINE. And also, it helps that I only know a few facts about him. I know two. 1) that he’s from South Dakota, and 2) that he won’t be here for long, and I like that he’s mysterious. Transient. Alluring.
OK. So. I’m in my pink robe, just LOOKING at him from across the room, making all this small talk about how I really like (slash) kinda hate my job, and how I had this really good (slash) stressful day. But beneath my masked, politely coded conversational skill-set, all I want to do is just STROKE HIM and I guess this guy from South Dakota GETS that because he turns this stare on me and locks in, and says, “Come here.”
And he says it in this commanding electric sort of way and it can’t be denied, you know. So I approach him. And he motions me over so that I’m standing BETWEEN his open-seated leg-stance. And he asks me how come I’m still in my bathrobe. And there’s a silence (a little thrill of a silence) until I answer:
“Um I don’t know. I mean. This robe covers up a lot.”
And it does, it’s like a full coverage dress or coat, only granted I don’t have anything on underneath, and he KNOWS that–mainly because he reaches up and undoes my bowtied-sash and looks at the vertical line of my naked skin where the robe falls open at the center.
And as he reaches down to undo his pants I kind of hold my breath because you never know what that moment of pants-undoing is going to bring. But for ME it brings sheer delight because his cock is really hard. And it fits nicely in my hand. And he guides me on top of him and he’s mostly clothes-covered (except for his cock) and I’m mostly clothes-covered (except for where my robe is open) and we’re fucking like that you know, only certain parts of our skin exposed. And I’m GLAD. Because he’s going to be here for several days. And for me fucking naked is something I enjoy WORKING UP to.
© 2005 Milly Sanders All Rights