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Whispers and Brush StrokesWhispers and Brush Strokes©2018By Camille Part of me searched for excuses, but I knew exactly what I was doing. I wanted it to happen. To my knowledge, I had done nothing to make these guys think I was a slut. My friend Sarah and I had had a few drinks with them, yes, but I never so much as uttered a dirty word. I wore jeans and open-toe shoes. Under my blouse, my bra contained my breasts, and I’d barely dabbed Obsession on my wrists.I am thirty-two now. I was twenty-four then. I have done nothing like that since, and I have tried like hell to regret that night. It started in the club with a young man named Michael. To this day, I can’t quite figure what drew me to him initially. He was cute, but not my type. He was a smooth talker, yet I could see through his attempt to pick me up. As the evening wore on, however, he seemed genuinely interested in listening to me talk about graduate school, my background, and a few alcohol-infused shots at philosophy. I was interested in the fact that he owned a business marketing tanning products in the Caribbean, and that He had expanded to Costa Rica. He told me that he loved the place- a place I’d always wanted to visit. It was later in the evening, nearing midnight, I believe when I took a sip of my fourth margarita. Partially surrounding me with a semicircle of bar stools, Michael and his friends told me repeatedly how beautiful I was. I appreciated the compliment, though I began to feel a bit for Sarah. Through the eyes of friendship, I found her attractive, and I think the boys did too, but I unwittingly stole the show.”We need to go,” Sarah said after returning from the restroom. “Where are you going? The night’s just getting started,” Michael protested.”Some of us have to get up in the morning,” Sarah shot back before snatching up her purse. “Let’s go, Alex,” she added.I smiled at Michael. “I have to go. It was great talking to you,” I said.He leaned close to whisper in my ear. “Do you always do what Sarah tells you?”I moved his hand from my inner thigh then, not because I was offended, not because I didn’t like it, but because it turned me on. I was wet from touch and a whisper.And Sarah was irritated. “Let’s go, Alexandra,” she repeated sternly. “I’ll give you a ride,” Michael said with a hint of a smile. A few minutes later, after the muffled “you don’t even know this guy” speech, Sarah left in a huff.I was alone then, with a bartender, Michael, and four of his friends. The sense of danger was slight, but real nonetheless. The boys had been having a good time all night, but they seemed happier now that Sarah was gone. They talked of partying all night as they exchanged high-fives like middle-aged adolescents at a ball game. Whatever turns them on, I thought; these guys probably have a stripper coming in or something.I then excused myself and went to the ladies’ room, where I stayed for what seemed like a short eternity. I don’t even remember what I did- all alone in that restroom- I only recall that I was still turned on from Michael’s touch. I do recall that, in the solitude of the dim light, I’d pondered the compliments and flirtations, replaying them in my mind. Somewhat inebriated and perhaps a bit full of myself, I admired my reflection before returning to the bar. “Did you fall in?” asked one of Michael’s friends, upon my return.My swollen ego assisted me in ignoring the sophomoric question, as did staring into Michael’s eyes.”Last call was ten minutes ago,” he said. “Are you ready to go?” “I’m ready.”I studied him some more as he confidently entered my number into his cell phone. Yes, I thought you can see me again, though he had not even asked. Yes, I contemplated a real date with a guy I had met only hours earlier. I pondered a date with a guy whose most endearing quality was his ability to turn me on with a touch and a whisper, and I considered sleeping with him, just before the words “not in this lifetime” echoed across my mind.“Got the number. What are you laughing about?” he insisted.“Nothing.”“Ready to go?”He stood, and it hit me then that he could not have been more than five-nine. I like tall men. I like my blonde hair, I thought; but I prefer men with darker hair. His eyes were brown. I love blue eyes, like mine. Somehow, though, I thought less of these things when the night air hit me, and I took in the sight of his car in the parking lot- a convertible that probably cost more than the little house Sarah and I rented. About ten minutes later, I was riding in that machine, and I reached to turn the music down. “Where are you going?” I asked him.“Me? I’m on a mission. Why do you ask?”“Because, mission man, you were supposed to take a left at that last light, remember?”“You can party with us for a while.”“No. I have class in the morning. You have to take me home.”“I’ll write you a note.”With a phony pout, I crossed my arms and sat quietly as the car stopped at the next light. As he let down the convertible top and the warm smell of the coastal breeze enveloped us, but my thoughts were interrupted, and, a moment later, my legs spread slightly when his hand moved again to my thigh. For the first time, I began to fear what might happen. Was it fear or eagerness? Either way, it was real- as real as my wet anticipation. At that moment, I knew that, at least for tonight, he owned me; but my incoherent thoughts quickly turned to rationalization. If I had to sleep in the next morning bahis siteleri and miss one class, fine. Michael is a fun guy, I thought. Let your hair down, I said to myself. You’ve been working hard; tonight, have some fun.The house was huge and secluded, with a romantic landscape and a lighted gazebo at some distance on the stately lawn. The beach was not far, and the distinctive bouquet of the inner-coastal waterway stimulated me as a stiff breeze came once more. I heard the music coming from inside as the car came to a stop on the circular drive, and, once inside, I saw Michael’s buddies from the bar. There were a few new faces, but I was surprised to learn that I was the only girl there. More than an hour and nearly a whole beer later, I began to feel comfortable. This was just like the bar- I was just hanging out with the guys.A little light-headed, I eventually made my way to the bathroom, suddenly thinking what a bitch Sarah had been. She needs to lighten up, I thought. She could have had fun too if she were here. But thoughts of my roomie vanished quickly, and Michael gave me a start when I came out of the bathroom a minute or two later. “You know what I want,” he said, his eyes piercing me in the hallway. “Well, you can’t have it. I need to go home now.”That’s what I was supposed to say, I guess, and I waited then for something like a movie scene. I wondered if Michael might approach me slowly, his voice deep, his perfect body moving in slow motion. Instead, he forced me to the wall, kissing me with a vulgar passion, and I breathed heavily as he groped me. I fought hard for the words… “Michael, stop it. Stop this! I am not a whore,” but the words would not come. Then, from the party room, the music eased down the long hall, flowing in like a breeze from the waterway. It was an old song from the 80’s. It might have been from the 60’s. I struggled to focus on that damned song as Michael ripped my shirt. I felt faint as he unfastened my jeans. “What song is that?” I inanely asked.He threw my shirt to the floor before peeling my bra straps from my shoulders.“Who sings that song? Oh my god, who sings that song”, I babbled. My breasts were exposed then to the warm chill of the hallway, and he peeled the bra away. It hurt a bit as he moved the obstacle to my waist, and he began to suck and bite my erect nipples alternately. I moaned and groaned against the onslaught of glorious pain, unable to form lucid words. He was too rough, and I loved it. I was just beginning to perspire a bit. I gasped loudly, and my head turned to the right, taking in the sight as his friends watched, shouting vulgarities, the specifics of which I recall no better than the song. Their applause echoed in the hallway as Michael released my breasts, and he kissed me again. The song continued, and the applause continued. The vulgarities reverberated in my ears.In those moments, I had been transported into a surreal world. I had no idea whether I had been told to remove my jeans; I only knew that they had to come off and that Michael’s thumbnails lightly sc****d my skin as he removed my panties. Until then, I’d been oblivious to the fact that we were moving towards a bedroom. His friends followed. They shouted, whistled, and clapped as Michael took my right hand. He twirled me like a dancer, and I looked at my clothing on the floor. It was tattered and snaked- a reminder of my surrender to a****l lust. Briefly, the realization set in that I liked his friends looking at me; but I was Michael’s prize, and he had shown me off with a brutish arrogance that made me want him even more.I don’t remember entering the bedroom. I don’t remember Michael taking his clothes off. I do, however, recall a song playing, a different song with a passionate female voice romancing the Spanish language as I stood trembling in the middle of the room.“Nube de Agua,” he said, regaining my attention and sensing my curiosity about this music. My eyes moved from his eyes to his torso, to his erect penis as he sat on the edge of the bed. I was no virgin, but there was no way I could take that, I thought. He was thick, with what I guessed to be at least nine inches. “I can’t,” I whispered, finally able to speak. “Come here” was his only reply.I moved to him pensively, and a moment later, I was on my knees in front of him. He held my hair back as, without a word, I tasted pre-cum and did his bidding. I wanted him to cum now, in my mouth. I wanted to be spared what I anticipated as the pain of intercourse with Michael. He whispered vulgar things as I continued what would amount to no more than foreplay, then let my hair fall. He placed his hands on my shoulders.Unable to form words, I moaned in protest; but it was no use. He moved me with a force that nearly caused me to go over backward.”I can’t,” I said…the words matriculating from my mind to my lips.“Come here.”“I can’t.”He took my hand, and the experience became more surreal as I moved on his lap. I swallowed hard as he ate at my breasts, and my eyes closed. I was filled with longing and terror, feeling the tip of his rock-hard hard penis at the lips of my vagina. I felt myself stretch then as his tongue entered my mouth. He squeezed my breasts before moving his hands to my hips. His grip was forceful and determined. He was guiding me. “Do you have a condom?” I asked. Safe sex had always been a priority, and I needed an excuse to alleviate my fears. Why had I not thought canlı bahis siteleri of this earlier?He raised me slightly before lowering me a bit more. It was uncomfortable, but I was taking him.”I can’t,” I repeated. He ignored me, his hands gripping my hips. “You need a condom,” I said. He ignored me, his hands still gripping my hips.“What was the name of the song?”“Nube de Agua,” he said.“And this one?” I asked breathlessly. “I like this one even more.””Love can sing,” he answered. He raised me again and then lowered me. I was taking him deeper now. I began to moan with pleasure and pain. Never had I felt anything like this. This time, I moved myself up, then down until he was about halfway inside me. I pondered his dominance as my orgasm began. Instinctively I knew that his friends were listening through the door. I wondered if they would come in and film me. He was huge; I was wet. I was soaking all over it seemed. He’d been gentle until my first orgasm. Now it was his turn. I felt his swelling and throbbing.“No, Michael, don’t!” I screamed.I then screamed in agony, wondering if my uterus was being crushed along with my hipbones, and he thrust himself into me like an a****l. Another of my orgasms followed. I felt faint until he lay on his back. On top of him, I was thankful now, sensing a bit more control. I moved…moved in the manner I knew he desired. He commanded me without words as the erotic music flowed over us, and pheromone filled the air. I screamed as his massive presence stabbed then, as his hot cum flooded me. I had yet another orgasm as I felt his ribbed throbbing and he grabbed my hair.Our little corner of the world was wet. Contented with what I had, I still wanted more. Our breathing was nearly as loud as our screams had been when I spoke his name. I kissed his fingers as he gently placed his hand over my mouth. After several minutes, lying there quietly, I was overcome with the “now.” This was my world, my existence. How I would love to have that again, to feel that again, to be there again- in that void where exists no apprehension, no dread, and no judgment. Happiness comes in measures, in shades, in moments.I moved slightly with the realization that he was still hard. I giggled breathlessly, giddily, as he moved me from the bed and across the room. My back was against the wall, and I knew that, like me, he wanted more. He held my ass tightly, spreading it as he thrust himself into me over and over. I was on the verge of another orgasm when he moved me again. As though with a single motion, he laid me on the floor, removed himself from me, and rolled me over. He then placed his hands on my hips again, pulling me up so that I was on all fours. I waited for him to take me again, but he walked around me in a circle, holding himself like a proud b**st. I remained still, aware that now was not the time for words, dreading more pain. This was different. It was, oh, so different. I was wet, and I’d already accommodated him; yet this provided a distinct pain, a distinct pleasure, as though the base of my spine might move from its proper place in my body. My arms collapsed. My face hit the floor. I had never dreamed that orgasms like these were possible. I wanted so for him to be pleased again, and I hoped that his pleasure might at least compare to mine.He stopped then, suddenly, and I knew that he was studying me. With my eyes closed, I sensed that his vision was moving about me. I could feel it burning my legs, my raised ass, my back, and the outline of my spine, even the damp hair caressing my shoulders. I was nothing more than his cheap slut, a place for him to deposit pleasure; yet, in that brief moment, he wondered if he might love me.It was a matter of seconds after Michael started again that I felt his cum once more. Mortal men cannot cum like this, I thought. It was beautifully messy, as though his first orgasm had only been a prelude. Minutes passed, then more minutes passed before I suffered the unwelcome, cold feeling of Michael leaving me once again. I did not love him, and I knew that he did not love me, yet I wanted him to hold me. I wanted to snuggle with him, pretending that things were different, as that cold feeling melted away. In the shower, I quickly found the warmth I’d desired. The erotic music was on shuffle, and steam filled the bathroom. The water was a bit too hot, stinging my back as I went to my knees in front of him, wondering if I could ever let go of the beauty that had frightened me so earlier. Again, with my eyes closed, I could feel his eyes burning through me. Again, I read his thoughts. I was a fuck- a cheap whore he’d picked up in a bar. I was on my knees in the shower with his impressive manhood in my mouth like a porn actress; yet, he wondered again if I might love him. I felt it in his touch as he gently pulled wet hair from my face.We dried each other off without a word, only smiles and an occasional laugh to break the silence. I loved him, I realized, but now and only now. When we said goodbye, there would be no more Michael, and, for some reason, that saddened me. But the melancholy faded, and I stood naked, smiling at him in the mirror as he brushed and blow-dried my hair a few minutes later.“Do you know how beautiful you are?” he asked softly after switching off the drier.In the mirror, I studied my body for a moment. Yes, I was beautiful. I then looked at my face. Even with no makeup, yes, I canlı bahis was enough.”You,” I said with a note of humor, “Turned me into a whore. Can whores be beautiful?” “If you’re a whore, then yes,” he said…and he lightly kissed my neck. He turned me around then, and the next kiss was sweet. It was passionate, and it was oh, so real. Through the kiss and the gentle touch of his hand on my left breast, I once again read his thoughts. This time, simultaneously, he read mine.“Something’s here,” he said softly. “Something, but not my clothes. Will you please go and get my clothes?”“No.”“Michael…”“You want this to be what it is and nothing more, don’t you?”“What do you want?”He kissed me quickly, then stroked my hair twice more with the brush. “I want you to be the party whore that you said I turned you into.”I stared at him silently.”I think we know each other,” he added.My hand trembled a bit, but I moved it to his face. Lightly, I ran my finger over his lips. Our eyes were locked, and a clam resignation followed.He would not let me dress, but my shyness was long- gone. These guys had already seen me naked, and so it was that I passed the night in my birthday suit, enjoying a few more drinks, and partying with his friends. I was accommodating, like the “party whore” Michael wanted me to be. I was kissed. I was fondled and touched. I was the belle of the ball. These boys in the bodies of young men loved seeing me naked. They envied Michael and, despite the unspoken rule that said that for tonight I was his girl, they all wanted to fuck me. If they could not fuck me, they at least wanted a blowjob.None of Michael’s friends got any of their wishes. Never, I realized, had I felt such power. Never had I admired so the strength of an ordinary man- if one could call Michael ordinary.Hours later, he gave me one of his sport coats for the ride home, as my blouse was torn. His friends hugged and kissed me on the cheek as if they were bidding adieu to someone who mattered. I did matter, because I knew that, as the years passed and life wore on them, I would serve as the subject of one of their beloved war stories. Before leaving his house, I stuffed my shirt and bra into my purse. The coat was big on me and nicely covered my naked breasts.The miles passed silently, and dawn’s sun peeked through clouds colored purple and pink. I rode in Michael’s car and wondered why I had no regret. It saddened me that I had no compunction. No, I was proud of myself, proud of this realization — screw regret. This is it, I thought, as Michael stopped his car at the walk of the small house Sarah and I rented- This is goodbye. I detected the sadness in his being as we sat silently. None of the bullshit lines were forthcoming, though we both waited for the other to say something like the “I had fun” or “call me” line.At once, I removed my jeans, and my panties soon followed them to the floorboard. Michael smiled. I needed to be caught. I needed to let the world know what I had done without saying a word. As he entered my vagina again, I realized how sore I was from the night before. I fucked him in his car as the city stirred to life. We kissed like lovers in a cheap novel, those who experience fictional, once in a lifetime love. I was the woman whose being was not complete without Michael. Michael was the man who felt like a whole man because he knew that I loved him and needed him with all my heart. We both absorbed the fiction as we fucked.There would be no orgasm for me this time. This time, I was in control. This time, I just needed his love in me, and my vagina hugged him tightly as I moved. I opened my eyes to see Sarah She stared at me with her Tupperware-contained lunch in one hand and her book bag over her shoulder. She shook her head in disgust before making her way to the bus stop.It was perfect.The cars of early passers-by slowed. I was on his lap facing him, kissing him, with only his coat to hide my bare, hard, erect breasts from the curious.I smiled at Michael as I got out of the car. Now my panties were in my purse, along with my blouse and bra. I took part of him with me, still feeling his wet warmth. Once inside, I was struck by the silence. When I moved through the kitchen and into the den, that silence gave way to the ticking-clicking of the antique clock, Sarah’s mother had given her. I then heard a thumping noise. It was a sound made by my dog, Jack. He was lying on the rug in the living room. He had not moved, and the sound was that of his tail thumping the floor. He smiled, and I knew that he sensed all- he probably smelled the sex.Sarah quit speaking to me for quite a while. When we talked again, she wanted to know nothing of that night. This was fine, as I wanted to tell her nothing. Seeing me on top of Michael in his car, told her all she needed to know.The next day I received flowers. I put them in water and enjoyed their beauty until they wilted and withered. When they did, I threw them away. I had no regrets for the dead flowers then, as I have no regret for the night with Michael now. I love having a secret. I love knowing that there is a passion within me- something no one can ever take away- that none of the men passing through my life will ever understand. I love the fact that, in the midst of work, responsibility, deadlines, and headaches, that for one night, I was the “party whore.” From time to time now, when I find time for myself, I look at myself in the mirror, and I dance to songs like “Love Can Sing” and “Nube De Agua.” Most of my female friends have probably never heard of these songs, but then, I doubt that they can achieve orgasm from whispered memories or a brushstroke either.

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