I think we have become sex addicts.
The first step to solving a problem is admitting that you have one... or at least that's what I've been told.
We have a problem.
It was the Monday after our do-nothing Sunday, a regular Monday that should have been no different than any other Mondays.
It was, until I got this IM from him, it came out of nowhere.
"Your car has pretty good tinting in the windows, right?"
"Yeah, why?" I replied.
"You know why." I can almost see the smirk on his face.
"I do?" Sorry to be dense, but our conversations can be so all over the place sometimes I have to be constantly thinking about sex to realize where this was going. And I don't constantly think about sex, except for the hours I devoted to write about how amazing it's been.
He patiently explained the idea of discreetly sneaking into the back of my car and making out after work. It sounded like he's got all the logistics figured out in his head. I quietly laughed as his IM messages scrolled in. Boys will always be boys.
That's not to say I didn't like the idea though. Naughty, risky, fun. Why not?
It was still sunny and warm when we rendezvoused in the parking lot. Too sunny, too warm, actually, so the two decisive eager individuals made the call of carrying out the plan elsewhere--a nearby CVS parking lot.
I was quite confident that today everything would go according to plan, especially considering that my selected wardrobe of the day was this lunch-with-grandma dress. A well fitted navy blue dress that spells conservative: there is no cleavage shown, and the narrowing pencil skirt falls at knee length. This is not a dress that would make anyone want to have sex with me. This is a serious dress that keeps me in check--I must keep my back straight, stomach sucked in, walk in small lady steps--just the way my grandma would appreciate it.
Grandma, or my parents, would probably not appreciate the dress if they had known that in this Monday afternoon, in the CVS parking lot, there is a man in the back of my car, encouraging me to join him so he can make out with me.
Like a moth to a flame, I made my way to him, into the fire.
We sat side by side and started kissing. But soon that was no longer enough. We wanted to be closer. I pulled my skirt up to the root of my thighs so I could move freely. He invited me to straddled him, and we continued to kiss. Through my tight fitting dress, his hands busily touched every part of my body that he could reach, my bare thighs, my womanly humps, my breasts, my neck. I couldn't take my lips off his, and I think he couldn't take his lips off mine either. He held me tightly and pressed my body against his. The kiss progressively became harder and deeper. I felt like I was going to melt into him, but even with our bodies so close and our sweat fused together, we still wanted more.
More, was not part of even his plan, but he was getting hard, I could feel it between my legs. As he rhythmically moved his hip, his excited body part stimulated mine with a teasing force, retreated, and came back even stronger. It has become a pretty wet reminder of all the highs we've experienced with each other.
Like an addiction, it was just too hard to stop. Like true addicts, we were prepared to do anything to get our highs.
When he finally entered me, under my skirt, while I was on top of him, when we finally came together, while he was on top of me, I knew that I am addicted to the fullness inside, physically and emotionally. I think he may be too.... I hope he is.
The realization terrified me as much as it pleased me. But of course, it wouldn't be as terrifying as it would be for the old lady who pulled her car up beside mine, had she parked 2 minutes earlier when we were just about the climax.
The first step to solving a problem is admitting that you have one... or at least that's what I've been told.
We have a problem.
It was the Monday after our do-nothing Sunday, a regular Monday that should have been no different than any other Mondays.
It was, until I got this IM from him, it came out of nowhere.
"Your car has pretty good tinting in the windows, right?"
"Yeah, why?" I replied.
"You know why." I can almost see the smirk on his face.
"I do?" Sorry to be dense, but our conversations can be so all over the place sometimes I have to be constantly thinking about sex to realize where this was going. And I don't constantly think about sex, except for the hours I devoted to write about how amazing it's been.
He patiently explained the idea of discreetly sneaking into the back of my car and making out after work. It sounded like he's got all the logistics figured out in his head. I quietly laughed as his IM messages scrolled in. Boys will always be boys.
That's not to say I didn't like the idea though. Naughty, risky, fun. Why not?
It was still sunny and warm when we rendezvoused in the parking lot. Too sunny, too warm, actually, so the two decisive eager individuals made the call of carrying out the plan elsewhere--a nearby CVS parking lot.
I was quite confident that today everything would go according to plan, especially considering that my selected wardrobe of the day was this lunch-with-grandma dress. A well fitted navy blue dress that spells conservative: there is no cleavage shown, and the narrowing pencil skirt falls at knee length. This is not a dress that would make anyone want to have sex with me. This is a serious dress that keeps me in check--I must keep my back straight, stomach sucked in, walk in small lady steps--just the way my grandma would appreciate it.
Grandma, or my parents, would probably not appreciate the dress if they had known that in this Monday afternoon, in the CVS parking lot, there is a man in the back of my car, encouraging me to join him so he can make out with me.
Like a moth to a flame, I made my way to him, into the fire.
We sat side by side and started kissing. But soon that was no longer enough. We wanted to be closer. I pulled my skirt up to the root of my thighs so I could move freely. He invited me to straddled him, and we continued to kiss. Through my tight fitting dress, his hands busily touched every part of my body that he could reach, my bare thighs, my womanly humps, my breasts, my neck. I couldn't take my lips off his, and I think he couldn't take his lips off mine either. He held me tightly and pressed my body against his. The kiss progressively became harder and deeper. I felt like I was going to melt into him, but even with our bodies so close and our sweat fused together, we still wanted more.
More, was not part of even his plan, but he was getting hard, I could feel it between my legs. As he rhythmically moved his hip, his excited body part stimulated mine with a teasing force, retreated, and came back even stronger. It has become a pretty wet reminder of all the highs we've experienced with each other.
Like an addiction, it was just too hard to stop. Like true addicts, we were prepared to do anything to get our highs.
When he finally entered me, under my skirt, while I was on top of him, when we finally came together, while he was on top of me, I knew that I am addicted to the fullness inside, physically and emotionally. I think he may be too.... I hope he is.
The realization terrified me as much as it pleased me. But of course, it wouldn't be as terrifying as it would be for the old lady who pulled her car up beside mine, had she parked 2 minutes earlier when we were just about the climax.
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