A newfound sense of unearned power burns deep inside me. Maybe it’s the endorphins. Or maybe I’m just a slut. Regardless, I embrace it and let my hands wander. They crawl up the woolen front of his coat and slip precociously beneath the collar to rest on the nape of his neck. He flinches at the shock of my frigid fingers gripping his warm, bare flesh but it quickly morphs into a low, lusty groan. The guttural sound dances around inside my mouth and I swallow it down hungrily. It encourages me to pull him closer and he responds eagerly. His arms coil themselves around my midsection and he presses into the small of my back. I squeak and moan at his touch and wantonly suck on his lower lip. I think I’m definitely a slut.
I need more. I can’t think. I shouldn’t think. If I put too much thought to this I’ll back out of the whole thing and I’ll run away and hide. So instead of putting conscious thoughts into how stupid and brash this all is, I lean into the sensuality and the feelings. I didn’t know how much I needed something like this until I found myself deep in the throes of it. It feels right to let this complete stranger cling to my body and huff steamy breaths into my open, willing mouth so I embrace it and respond in kind. I let him manhandle me and manipulate my tired body to his whims. I let him kiss me like a reunited lover after far too much time apart. I let him cradle the back of my head like I’m fragile and precious. I let him know without words how badly I want this and how far I’ll go to get it.
Something in me snaps and ignites. Without warning, I find myself flinging one leg forward to attempt to wrap it around whatever part of him I can reach. I want to feel him with as much of myself as I can. This isn’t some well-practiced and choreographed routine, but he responds as though it is. His hand swiftly grips the back of my thigh and he holds me against him. I think I might be floating in a liminal space. It should be scary, but my whole world is so fraught with ever-present anxiety I’m instead filled with a deep sense of nostalgia. I feel known, like this moment is both transpiring currently but also as though it’s something I’ve missed dearly and I’m able to reflect upon it. I don’t even know this guy’s name but I somehow feel like I can recall the way he used to hold me just like this. I’m shivering and I’m trembling and I’m latching onto him with my legs, my fingers, my teeth, and my lips. Before I know it he’s pulling me onto his lap and I’m straddling him on the bench. He holds me to his midsection dearly like I’m an old, beloved guitar that he’ll tune and lull like he’s done for years.
The bench is so cold on my knees. His hands are warm on my thighs and my insides feel pleasantly tight. I’m sitting on his lap with my legs spread wide, contented and gratified. It feels so right. Who’s got daddy issues now, Dr. Norris? The warm yellow tones of the dingy floodlight mingle overhead with the cool luminescence of the pale moon as I loom over him. I’m casting strange shadows over his angular face as he gazes up at me with soft parted lips and my reflection in his eyes. I wonder how I must look to him from down there. His expression is lustful, but I can see the concern written on his features, too. I’m sure I look deranged. I’m unhinged and desperate and greedy. I’ve gone too deep and I don’t even care right now. I can worry about the security footage and my strange behavior later. For now, I just want to be closer. I boldly peel open his handsome navy blue peacoat and rudely expose his torso to the cold air. It’s a little jarring to note that beneath such nice outwear, he’s wearing a ratty old NASA t-shirt. It’s threadbare and there’s little hole beneath the logo. If I wasn’t so swept up in the moment, i’d probably be a little charmed by the disparity between the garments. It makes him feel familiar– like he’s a bit like myself.
I burrow my way into his chest and nuzzle my way up the soft cotton until my chin finds its way to the crook of his neck. His irregular breaths tickle my ear as his hands fumble along my sides. Soon enough, they rest comfortably on my hips and hold me in place. I’m inadvertently twitching again. My body tries to fight against him and resist the command of his grasp, but it’s only because i’m teeming with urgency and greed. My compliance is imminent, though, and he takes control and guides me with ease. He nudges me with his shoulder in gentle invitation to turn my face back to his. I readily obey and resume our sloppy, inelegant mashing of lips and tongues. We’re rolling together now, rocking our hips together in a choppy yet measured cadence.
“Fuck,” he groans into my lips, and it’s the first intelligible sound either of us have made since this began.
I give him a pleased little coo in response. Or at least, that was my intent. In actuality, it comes out as more of a garbled, frantic wheeze. He seems to like it all the same in any case, because he grinds into me forcibly and presses his palm flat against my spine to anchor me in place. He’s undeniably hard. I can feel it through his jeans, slotted between my legs like a perfect fit. It’s like he’s meant to be wedged snugly right between my legs. My mind is swimming, overflowing with that nauseating and addicting slurry of agonizing nerves, selfish desires, and chaotic paranoia. A needling voice tries to crop up in the mix, warning me of the peril that could be lurking here. There’s always the chance that this stranger is a serial killer or something even worse. By some unknown grace, however, I’m able to squash down that fear. A louder voice in my head spurs me on and tells me to just let go. I take the gamble and wriggle in his lap, grinding my hips down against his length.
He responds with a buck, a lurch, and a gasp. I do it again, and he thrusts with greater purpose. Oh god, we’re really doing this, aren’t we? My heart is racing, my blood is pounding, and i can feel the prickly beads of sweat pooling in the small of my back. My cheeks sting with the disorienting mix of the cold air and the flush that’s overheating my skin. I want to touch him. I want to know every inch of this stranger and feel all of his body. His name and his story don’t matter– it feels like I already know him so well. My hands sneak their way inside his coat and I run them along his body above the thin material of his shirt. I count his ribs one by one as I taste him, swallowing down each breath he exhales and taking that small part of him into myself. Our teeth are starting to clack as he bounces me on his lap like I’m a ragdoll. Our sloppy kissing gets so messy we have to pull away. He pushes me upright, and although I’m breathing heavily and my body is desperate for oxygen, I already miss the acrid taste of his tongue against my own.
“Can…can I…?”
He rasps out the question and darts his eyes between mine and the spot between our legs as he starts fumbling with his jeans. I nod so hard I feel like one of those corny bobble-head things people sometimes have in their cars. The heat from our bodies has definitely warmed my hands quite a bit, but they’re still so cold. I want to undo his fastenings myself. I want to unwrap him like he’s a special little present just for me. But I can’t because I’m shaking and clumsy and I can barely feel my fingertips. So instead I press my palm flat against his length and impatiently stroke him through the denim. It definitely impedes his progress and slows him down, but the way he bites his lower lip makes me never want to stop. Eventually he unfurls himself, and even though he initially winces from the shock of the frigid temperature, I’m practically drooling at the sight of him.
“Jesus!” I yelp in awe, downright gawking at his dick.
He felt pretty sizeable beneath the clothing, sure, but I wasn’t sure if I was imagining it. I’m not sure how he fit that thing in his briefs. Shit, there’s no way I can handle this! The thought that I can’t is almost more exciting. It twitches a little and his head glistens with visible excitement. I’m burning up from the inside out and I’m sure any minute now I’ll implode. I’ll disintegrate like the ashes of the burning end of a cigarette and I’ll flutter away into nothingness. An embarrassing series of gross sounds and fragmented noises escape past my lips as I try to formulate anything akin to thoughts or words. I want to praise him or compliment him or say anything at all, but I’m tongue-tied and any semblance of coherent language dies in my mouth and spews out as a jumble of grunts and jitters. I’ll let my actions do the talking instead and reach forward to grasp him.
“W-wait,” he hisses through his teeth and stammers the moment I so much as graze my fingers against his bare flesh.
I hear myself whine. I don’t want to wait. But then he reaches forward and takes my hands into his own. We lock eyes and I stare deep into the depths of the unknown. He pulls my hands to his mouth and blows. The heat of his breath and the caress of his palms warms my fingers. I can’t breathe. He’s looking right at me and I can’t turn away. I’m a dysfunctional mess but it’s fortunately masked by my state of temporary paralysis. I feel seen and known and I can’t help but wonder as I look into those stony eyes if I’m capable of love. My chest heaves with staggering effort and my lungs ache with a sharp pain but otherwise I sit completely still on his lap and panic in silence. I think I’ve finally broken and gone completely and irreversibly insane.
“Okay,” he assures me, just above a whisper.
“Okay,” I respond, just below a squeak.
The stranger beneath me places a gossamer kiss to my passably-warm fingertips then guides my hand back down to his cock. I coil easily around the length and savor the low groan it pulls from him. It’s velvety and smooth yet rigid and intimidating. My curious, eager hand gives it a jerky twist. It’s not at all that I’m unpracticed– I’m just not accustomed to something of this size in my own hand. The thoughts attempt to spring forward in my mind again. We could get caught. I could be put on a sex offenders list. This guy could suddenly turn around and kill me. An unpredicted blizzard could roll in out of nowhere and freeze us both over, eventually melt, and reveal two undignified corpses in a severely compromised position. Somehow now that I’m in the midst of freeing myself and engaging in these highly questionable acts, it almost seems funny. A giggly sort of feeling bubbles up in the back of my throat and I have to steady my shoulders from shaking as I hold in the gleeful laughter that threatens to spoil the mood. I can’t help it. I’ve ascended to a new and whorish realm of insanity induced happiness.
I’m throbbing under my clothes. I’m so fucking stiff and desperate for friction, if this guy so much as moves the right way I’ll come in my pants like a desperate little freak. The most twisted part of me hopes he will. I keep up my pace, pumping his shaft and feeling wilder and more exhilarated with the way he whimpers and moans and lets his eyes roll into the back of his head. I can hardly believe I’m doing this to him. His hands are on me and he’s trying to instinctually fuck into my hand but the weight of my body is making it difficult for him. So i move my hand faster, harder. An ugly whining sound pours out of me as I work with more and more effort. He’s grabbing at me from all directions and I’m loving it. Each time he grasps for me, his frantic hands move again. I need him to touch me everywhere. I need him to pull me and bend me and use me.
“Pull it out,” he grunts out the demand, but his voice warbles with desperation.
That was so unfairly sexy I could die on the spot. Before the life can slip away from my body from the sheer overload, I jump to attention and my neglected dick bounces with excitement. For the first time since this guy has laid eyes on me, I’m grateful I’m wearing a hideous pair of ill-fitting sweatpants. It takes less than five seconds to expose myself. My cock is flushed pink and looks almost dainty compared to his even though I’m fully hard and throbbing nearly to a point of pain. Before another wave of clarity can hit me like a sandbag, his voice breaks up my thoughts.
“No underwear?”
“Ack!” I respond simply.
I couldn’t say anything else if I tried. And besides, I don’t have to explain myself to him. Who would wear underwear with sweatpants, anyway? What am I, a weirdo? He’s the fucking weirdo, man. He’s the weird guy who’s got his dick hard for a twitchy little creep. I can’t hang on to that glimmer of resentment, though, because before I know it he’s got one hand firmly wrapped around my shaft and the other has reached up to cup the back of my head. He ushers me forward until our foreheads meet and our arms brush against each other. Our hands each work in unsynchronized paces, but our task is the same. The familiar yet foreign feel of another cock on my hand is driving me just as wild as the feeling of another person stroking me with purpose.
“Shit,” he hisses sharply. “I’m not gonna last…”
My stomach rolls over itself. I’m drenched in sweat and I feel so pathetic yet so powerful.
Re: craig/tweek outdoor sex, sex with a stranger
A newfound sense of unearned power burns deep inside me. Maybe it’s the endorphins. Or maybe I’m just a slut. Regardless, I embrace it and let my hands wander. They crawl up the woolen front of his coat and slip precociously beneath the collar to rest on the nape of his neck. He flinches at the shock of my frigid fingers gripping his warm, bare flesh but it quickly morphs into a low, lusty groan. The guttural sound dances around inside my mouth and I swallow it down hungrily. It encourages me to pull him closer and he responds eagerly. His arms coil themselves around my midsection and he presses into the small of my back. I squeak and moan at his touch and wantonly suck on his lower lip. I think I’m definitely a slut.
I need more. I can’t think. I shouldn’t think. If I put too much thought to this I’ll back out of the whole thing and I’ll run away and hide. So instead of putting conscious thoughts into how stupid and brash this all is, I lean into the sensuality and the feelings. I didn’t know how much I needed something like this until I found myself deep in the throes of it. It feels right to let this complete stranger cling to my body and huff steamy breaths into my open, willing mouth so I embrace it and respond in kind. I let him manhandle me and manipulate my tired body to his whims. I let him kiss me like a reunited lover after far too much time apart. I let him cradle the back of my head like I’m fragile and precious. I let him know without words how badly I want this and how far I’ll go to get it.
Something in me snaps and ignites. Without warning, I find myself flinging one leg forward to attempt to wrap it around whatever part of him I can reach. I want to feel him with as much of myself as I can. This isn’t some well-practiced and choreographed routine, but he responds as though it is. His hand swiftly grips the back of my thigh and he holds me against him. I think I might be floating in a liminal space. It should be scary, but my whole world is so fraught with ever-present anxiety I’m instead filled with a deep sense of nostalgia. I feel known, like this moment is both transpiring currently but also as though it’s something I’ve missed dearly and I’m able to reflect upon it. I don’t even know this guy’s name but I somehow feel like I can recall the way he used to hold me just like this. I’m shivering and I’m trembling and I’m latching onto him with my legs, my fingers, my teeth, and my lips. Before I know it he’s pulling me onto his lap and I’m straddling him on the bench. He holds me to his midsection dearly like I’m an old, beloved guitar that he’ll tune and lull like he’s done for years.
The bench is so cold on my knees. His hands are warm on my thighs and my insides feel pleasantly tight. I’m sitting on his lap with my legs spread wide, contented and gratified. It feels so right. Who’s got daddy issues now, Dr. Norris? The warm yellow tones of the dingy floodlight mingle overhead with the cool luminescence of the pale moon as I loom over him. I’m casting strange shadows over his angular face as he gazes up at me with soft parted lips and my reflection in his eyes. I wonder how I must look to him from down there. His expression is lustful, but I can see the concern written on his features, too. I’m sure I look deranged. I’m unhinged and desperate and greedy. I’ve gone too deep and I don’t even care right now. I can worry about the security footage and my strange behavior later. For now, I just want to be closer. I boldly peel open his handsome navy blue peacoat and rudely expose his torso to the cold air. It’s a little jarring to note that beneath such nice outwear, he’s wearing a ratty old NASA t-shirt. It’s threadbare and there’s little hole beneath the logo. If I wasn’t so swept up in the moment, i’d probably be a little charmed by the disparity between the garments. It makes him feel familiar– like he’s a bit like myself.
I burrow my way into his chest and nuzzle my way up the soft cotton until my chin finds its way to the crook of his neck. His irregular breaths tickle my ear as his hands fumble along my sides. Soon enough, they rest comfortably on my hips and hold me in place. I’m inadvertently twitching again. My body tries to fight against him and resist the command of his grasp, but it’s only because i’m teeming with urgency and greed. My compliance is imminent, though, and he takes control and guides me with ease. He nudges me with his shoulder in gentle invitation to turn my face back to his. I readily obey and resume our sloppy, inelegant mashing of lips and tongues. We’re rolling together now, rocking our hips together in a choppy yet measured cadence.
“Fuck,” he groans into my lips, and it’s the first intelligible sound either of us have made since this began.
I give him a pleased little coo in response. Or at least, that was my intent. In actuality, it comes out as more of a garbled, frantic wheeze. He seems to like it all the same in any case, because he grinds into me forcibly and presses his palm flat against my spine to anchor me in place. He’s undeniably hard. I can feel it through his jeans, slotted between my legs like a perfect fit. It’s like he’s meant to be wedged snugly right between my legs. My mind is swimming, overflowing with that nauseating and addicting slurry of agonizing nerves, selfish desires, and chaotic paranoia. A needling voice tries to crop up in the mix, warning me of the peril that could be lurking here. There’s always the chance that this stranger is a serial killer or something even worse. By some unknown grace, however, I’m able to squash down that fear. A louder voice in my head spurs me on and tells me to just let go. I take the gamble and wriggle in his lap, grinding my hips down against his length.
He responds with a buck, a lurch, and a gasp. I do it again, and he thrusts with greater purpose. Oh god, we’re really doing this, aren’t we? My heart is racing, my blood is pounding, and i can feel the prickly beads of sweat pooling in the small of my back. My cheeks sting with the disorienting mix of the cold air and the flush that’s overheating my skin. I want to touch him. I want to know every inch of this stranger and feel all of his body. His name and his story don’t matter– it feels like I already know him so well. My hands sneak their way inside his coat and I run them along his body above the thin material of his shirt. I count his ribs one by one as I taste him, swallowing down each breath he exhales and taking that small part of him into myself. Our teeth are starting to clack as he bounces me on his lap like I’m a ragdoll. Our sloppy kissing gets so messy we have to pull away. He pushes me upright, and although I’m breathing heavily and my body is desperate for oxygen, I already miss the acrid taste of his tongue against my own.
“Can…can I…?”
He rasps out the question and darts his eyes between mine and the spot between our legs as he starts fumbling with his jeans. I nod so hard I feel like one of those corny bobble-head things people sometimes have in their cars. The heat from our bodies has definitely warmed my hands quite a bit, but they’re still so cold. I want to undo his fastenings myself. I want to unwrap him like he’s a special little present just for me. But I can’t because I’m shaking and clumsy and I can barely feel my fingertips. So instead I press my palm flat against his length and impatiently stroke him through the denim. It definitely impedes his progress and slows him down, but the way he bites his lower lip makes me never want to stop. Eventually he unfurls himself, and even though he initially winces from the shock of the frigid temperature, I’m practically drooling at the sight of him.
“Jesus!” I yelp in awe, downright gawking at his dick.
He felt pretty sizeable beneath the clothing, sure, but I wasn’t sure if I was imagining it. I’m not sure how he fit that thing in his briefs. Shit, there’s no way I can handle this! The thought that I can’t is almost more exciting. It twitches a little and his head glistens with visible excitement. I’m burning up from the inside out and I’m sure any minute now I’ll implode. I’ll disintegrate like the ashes of the burning end of a cigarette and I’ll flutter away into nothingness. An embarrassing series of gross sounds and fragmented noises escape past my lips as I try to formulate anything akin to thoughts or words. I want to praise him or compliment him or say anything at all, but I’m tongue-tied and any semblance of coherent language dies in my mouth and spews out as a jumble of grunts and jitters. I’ll let my actions do the talking instead and reach forward to grasp him.
“W-wait,” he hisses through his teeth and stammers the moment I so much as graze my fingers against his bare flesh.
I hear myself whine. I don’t want to wait. But then he reaches forward and takes my hands into his own. We lock eyes and I stare deep into the depths of the unknown. He pulls my hands to his mouth and blows. The heat of his breath and the caress of his palms warms my fingers. I can’t breathe. He’s looking right at me and I can’t turn away. I’m a dysfunctional mess but it’s fortunately masked by my state of temporary paralysis. I feel seen and known and I can’t help but wonder as I look into those stony eyes if I’m capable of love. My chest heaves with staggering effort and my lungs ache with a sharp pain but otherwise I sit completely still on his lap and panic in silence. I think I’ve finally broken and gone completely and irreversibly insane.
“Okay,” he assures me, just above a whisper.
“Okay,” I respond, just below a squeak.
The stranger beneath me places a gossamer kiss to my passably-warm fingertips then guides my hand back down to his cock. I coil easily around the length and savor the low groan it pulls from him. It’s velvety and smooth yet rigid and intimidating. My curious, eager hand gives it a jerky twist. It’s not at all that I’m unpracticed– I’m just not accustomed to something of this size in my own hand. The thoughts attempt to spring forward in my mind again. We could get caught. I could be put on a sex offenders list. This guy could suddenly turn around and kill me. An unpredicted blizzard could roll in out of nowhere and freeze us both over, eventually melt, and reveal two undignified corpses in a severely compromised position. Somehow now that I’m in the midst of freeing myself and engaging in these highly questionable acts, it almost seems funny. A giggly sort of feeling bubbles up in the back of my throat and I have to steady my shoulders from shaking as I hold in the gleeful laughter that threatens to spoil the mood. I can’t help it. I’ve ascended to a new and whorish realm of insanity induced happiness.
I’m throbbing under my clothes. I’m so fucking stiff and desperate for friction, if this guy so much as moves the right way I’ll come in my pants like a desperate little freak. The most twisted part of me hopes he will. I keep up my pace, pumping his shaft and feeling wilder and more exhilarated with the way he whimpers and moans and lets his eyes roll into the back of his head. I can hardly believe I’m doing this to him. His hands are on me and he’s trying to instinctually fuck into my hand but the weight of my body is making it difficult for him. So i move my hand faster, harder. An ugly whining sound pours out of me as I work with more and more effort. He’s grabbing at me from all directions and I’m loving it. Each time he grasps for me, his frantic hands move again. I need him to touch me everywhere. I need him to pull me and bend me and use me.
“Pull it out,” he grunts out the demand, but his voice warbles with desperation.
That was so unfairly sexy I could die on the spot. Before the life can slip away from my body from the sheer overload, I jump to attention and my neglected dick bounces with excitement. For the first time since this guy has laid eyes on me, I’m grateful I’m wearing a hideous pair of ill-fitting sweatpants. It takes less than five seconds to expose myself. My cock is flushed pink and looks almost dainty compared to his even though I’m fully hard and throbbing nearly to a point of pain. Before another wave of clarity can hit me like a sandbag, his voice breaks up my thoughts.
“No underwear?”
“Ack!” I respond simply.
I couldn’t say anything else if I tried. And besides, I don’t have to explain myself to him. Who would wear underwear with sweatpants, anyway? What am I, a weirdo? He’s the fucking weirdo, man. He’s the weird guy who’s got his dick hard for a twitchy little creep. I can’t hang on to that glimmer of resentment, though, because before I know it he’s got one hand firmly wrapped around my shaft and the other has reached up to cup the back of my head. He ushers me forward until our foreheads meet and our arms brush against each other. Our hands each work in unsynchronized paces, but our task is the same. The familiar yet foreign feel of another cock on my hand is driving me just as wild as the feeling of another person stroking me with purpose.
“Shit,” he hisses sharply. “I’m not gonna last…”
My stomach rolls over itself. I’m drenched in sweat and I feel so pathetic yet so powerful.
“Me neither,” I croak.