Friends with Benefits

The first time I fucked a friend who I had zero romantic (or sexual, for that matter!) interest in was on New Year’s Eve, 2002.  I don’t remember why we left the party and went back to his place; likely we were outside smoking together and he said he needed to get something, so I opted to go with him.  We were both drunk, but not too drunk – just drunk enough to be warm and aroused. The night was still young – not quite midnight.
We went into his bedroom to get whatever it was he needed to get, and then… honestly, I don’t remember what happened next.  I remember we were kissing, and he was smiling, and then we were in the shower, and then we were wet and fucking on his bed.  I remember discarding a condom wrapper on the floor and laughing about how no one was missing us.  I remember how nice it felt to be intimate and sexual with someone without any expectation that it would happen again but also with care for each other’s feelings and pleasure because we’d known each other for years; how I didn’t worry that it would affect our friendship.  I didn’t think about where it would go or what I should do to make him happy, because I just wanted it to be what it was in the moment – an authentic connection, a mutually-enjoyed sensual experience.  Every time I saw him afterward, we would share a secret smile that said, “Thanks – that was lovely.”      
I’ve been thinking about this lately because I recently opened up a couple of friendships into sexual relationships, and both have been truly amazing.  I’ve always been strict about compartmentalizing my life; I suppose I still am in some ways.  But I refused to mix friendship and fucking because I was always afraid of hurt feelings.  Now that I’ve had my heart broken a couple of times in the past few years (and I mean really fucking broken), I’m not so afraid anymore.  I’m still here.  These broken hearts have improved my communication skills and opened my heart and body to new ways of experiencing love, friendship, and intimacy.  I definitely don’t want to fuck most of my friends, but when I do, it feels like a safe space in which to explore, to feel sexy, and to be cared for without so much on the line. 

Also, one of these new friends with benefits is a service sub, and how can you say no to that?        
Advertisements

Double Vision

Jack sat cross-legged next to their tree and shook the bright-red foil-covered package playfully.  “Bigger than a cock ring,” he mused.  “And you know that’s all I really wanted for Christmas.”  Rita laughed from her recliner, her curls bouncing slightly with each convulsion of her body.  “Just open it, jackass,” she retorted. 
He ripped the paper carelessly, threw it aside, and opened the lid of the small shoebox inside to reveal a dull orangeish-red View-Master.  “You got me a toy?” he asked.  “Is it from the Penney’s catalogue?”  He picked it up to inspect it more closely, noticing there was a round photo slide reel inserted in the top.  “If this is a snuff film, I’m going to be very upset,” he told Rita with a smirk.  “Let’s hope it’s not, then,” she replied. 
Jack took off his large, square glasses and held the small toy up to his eyes, bringing into view a photo of Rita clear as day – Rita in the same flannel robe she was wearing at this moment, standing in front of him, looking into the camera while untying it.  He grinned and took the View-Master away from his eyes.  “You’re a clever – ” he began, but was startled to see Rita standing in front of him in the middle of their brown shag carpet, beginning to untie her robe.  He laughed.  “I see,” he said.  He held the plastic stereoscope to his eyes once more, felt for the lever on the right side of it, and pulled.
The next photo featured Rita with her robe draped around her shoulders, revealing a scarlet teddy that hugged her curves.  He felt the blood rush to his cock as he looked at his wife, looking back at him through the lens, looking back at him hungrily in real life as he took the toy away.  “Red is your color,” he said huskily, now excited to see the next photo.
He pulled the lever again to see Rita looking over her right shoulder with a wicked smile, her nipples hard and visible under the thin fabric, her robe now around her ankles.  Jack looked into the corner of the image to see what she was looking at, and his breath caught in his throat – standing in the doorway between their living room and the hallway was their neighbor, Rob.  Tall, lean, and confident, he had one hand on each side of the doorway, looking back at Rita. 
Jack glanced the photo quick as lighting for what he was hoping to see – and there she was, standing in the other doorway connecting their dining room.  Carol.  They had always called Rob and Carol “The Golden Couple” because of their deep tans and golden hair.  The four of them grilled together on holidays when they weren’t required to be with family; they played tennis together.  They laughed at each other’s jokes and eyed each other’s spouses when they thought no one was looking.  Suddenly, Jack had a memory of sitting in bed with Rita one night not too long ago, talking in hushed tones about their fantasies.  About what they wanted to do before they had kids.  Jack had said that he often thought about what it would be like to be with the most perfect couple they’d ever known – did Rob have a golden cock, too?  Was Carol’s bush as honey-sweet as her hair?
Overwhelmed with sudden nervousness and desire, Jack lowered the View-Master to see Carol standing to his right in a men’s pajama top and soft blue cotton panties, biting her lip and breathing hard, her hand on her stomach.  His eyes moved over to Rob, still standing in the doorway to his left, shirtless and smiling at him.  Finally, he looked at Rita, whose eyes burned and flashed as she nodded ever so slightly.  He brought the stereoscope back to his eyes slowly and once again put his index finger on the lever, his cock now straining against his own drawstring pajama bottoms. 
He pulled.  There stood Rita with her legs spread shoulder-width apart and Rob on his knees in front of her, pulling the crotch of her teddy to the side to lap at her glistening lips, blooming and red like the satin against her skin.  Behind her, Carol had one hand cupped around Rita’s breast and the other pulling her auburn curls away from her shoulder to brush her lips against it, sending chills up and down Rita’s body.
Jack let the toy tumble to the floor.    

                                                                                                    Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

Elust #83

Elust 82 Header Holden and Camille 
Photo courtesy of Holden and Camille

Welcome to Elust #83

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #84 Start with the rules, come back July 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!  

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

London Crows and London Kisses
I am Her. She is Me.
You Say You Want to Cook for Me  

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Unusual Liaison
Community. Respect. Friendship. Fucking.

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

Dirty Little Secrets

Poetry

You Know
O

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

My Bed 
Secular Submission 
My therapyfrom “hard limit” to “want”
We Measure the Nostalgia 
The Cure and The Cause

Events

Smut in the 6ix – Porn Conference & Gala

Erotic Fiction

Typing Errors
La Belle Dame
Sex and chocolate
The Imprisoned of HIM-HER-THEM
The GiftaudienceBecca’s Story
Rope and Fixtures
As salty as his cum…
Dominating the Doctor

Erotic Non-Fiction

Teen Sex in Woolly Tights with 60s Beat Music
Dear Sadist: Your Cruelty Is Your Love
A male dom, the straight girl and the bi girl
Owned, Leashed, & Beaten
Jan 2015 Owned & Collared by Mistress Claire
Rinse The Days Filth Away
Power On
Keeping tally

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Formative Kink Epic Fail: “Buck Rogers”

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

If it was easy anyone could do it
What’s a service submissive?
Prescient Words

Writing About Writing

What if aspirational meant something else?

   ELust Site Badge

Rock On (NSFR)

Some days, you just can’t stop wanking.
It’s been a rare week for me; I’ve played with three different partners this week, and instead of satisfying my desire, it’s just stoked the fire.  I want more.  It’s been one of those days where I think I’ve decided that I just want to spend the rest of my life naked in my living room and have rotating lovers come in to please me.  Sounds like a good life, no?
Sinful Sunday

Momentary Perspectives

In the past year, I’ve come to really love my pubic hairafter having a partner (The Texan) who didn’t want me to shave it, ever.  It was as if having permission to let it growout – a permission that stemmed from desire – allowed me to experience how good it felt.  I love the way it feels physically when I push my fingers through it, how protective it feels, and how it’s come to be symbolic of a love that embraced a natural version of myself, just as I am.  For so many years, I’d shaved because I thought that was what was expected of me – I lived with the razor bumps and itchiness and never stopped to consider my own feelings.  It took a partner’s preference to make me reflect on my own.
I thought about writing a narrative piece for this, but when I think of pubic hair, several small and fleeting moments and memories pop into my head all at once, disjointed:
          a friend with benefits refusing to go down on me (that didn’t last long) because he thought shaved vulvas were pre-pubescent in appearance and it freaked him out;
          the first time I saw a shaved cock and balls and how much it freaked me out.  I didn’t say anything, but I was surprised and a little bit turned off.  Obviously not surprised anymore, but it’s still not my thing;
          a former partner who loved having her pubic hair tugged, just a little, while being eaten out, which was super hot;
          randomly finding The Texan’s pubic hairs all over my apartment and smiling every time, even weeks after he left;
          experiencing the different textures of the hair of different partners and relishing those differences
          running my fingers through the soft mound of hair that grows and grows when I travel (along with some pretty luxurious armpit hair, which I also really like growing out);  
          burying my face in a partner’s pubic hair after particularly sweaty sex to deeply inhale the scent of our fucking
Maybe that’s it.  Pubic hair catches the smell of us moving together in sync.  Maybe that’s why I’ve come to love it.  Or maybe it was finding one hidden behind my couch and suddenly remembering riding him, wave after wave of orgasm crashing down around me.  What was once a burden is now a deep well of pleasure, a replenishing source of desire.
   

Surprise!

I didn’t have time to take a photo for the prompt this week (the end of the semester is always busy); however, I remembered that I had an old photo taken in my apartment years ago before heading to the Dore Alley Fair in San Francisco.  I had a friend visiting from Wisconsin and taking her to Dore on a leash was absolutely delightful… especially given that I was hiding a secret under my leather skirt.  You never know what’s underneath, ladies and gentlemen, unless you ask politely.

For other secrets, click the lips below!

Sinful Sunday

Groove

We met on the street, sitting on a curb, drinking cans of beer that were sweating as much as we were.  It was Seoul Pride 2013, and we were both waiting for friends to group up post-parade (back when the parade went on as scheduled without a bunch of dickwad protestors either lying down in the streets in front of the floats or trying to block it on permit regulations); she was cracking jokes about the lesbian organization in my city, and I was giving her shit about where she lived.  Soon after we started talking, my friends hollered at me that they were headed to dinner; I said goodbye, smiling at her, never expecting to see her again.    
I was surprised and delighted later that night when, rum and coke in hand, she strode up to me on the dance floor in a Hongdae gay bar, her tall, lean figure bathed in strobe lights.  She had swagger.  She looked down at me, smiled a broad smile, and said, “It’s good to see you here.”  Likewise, I told her.  As we danced, the floor began teeming with undulating bodies, strangers holding each other by the waist, grinding against each other.  I put my drink aside so I could place my hand on the small of her back, eventually sliding it down onto her ass; she had the same idea, but her hand found its way into my back pockets, then into my pants.  She crouched a bit and I stood on my tiptoes to kiss her – a strong kiss, fueled by alcohol-induced confidence.  I snaked my fingers into her dreads and held onto her head, kissing her deeply, wanting more.  She moved her hands up the front of my shirt, cupping my breasts; we moved our bodies in sync to DJ-spun electronic music while exploring each other. 
Forgetting that we were in the middle of a crowd, she slid her right hand down the front of my jeans now, into my silky boy-cut panties, over the soft mound of hair that I’ve come to love and into the folds of my labia, gently moving her fingers forward and backward, dragging my fluids up and over my clit before finally pushing two fingers into me, pressing upward and inward.  I moved my whole body against her hand, begging her not to stop, continuing to move with the music.  She fucked me harder with her fingers, making me gasp and moan into her ear; no one else could hear me.  Perhaps no one else noticed what was going on; even if they had, I wouldn’t have cared.  After I’d come onto her fingers and my body was quivering, she slid out of me, dragging her fingers up my cunt, out of my panties, and around my waist, then kissed me again. 
We went outside for a smoke; I finally asked what her name was (“Excuse me – now that you’ve had your hand inside of me, perhaps you could tell me your name?”), and we had the Standard Korea Expat Introduction Conversation.  She came with me and my friends as we went onto the next bar, and we continued to dance for hours.  She walked home with us when we finally stumbled out of the Pink Hole (yes, that’s the actual name of the bar) at dawn and asked to come in, but as I was staying in a dorm, I said no; we left it there and said goodbye, kissing outside of my hostel.
I don’t remember her name, and I doubt she remembers mine… but I remember her hands.
Happy Pride Month, everyone!  Go out and have sex on a dance floor.