The intensity of the first time with someone new. Female friendly erotica

Friday night. We are dining on a boat on the Danube. I know how much you enjoy food. It’s one of those last nights that you can sit outside on the deck.

You are wearing a tight fitting gray and black dress. You’re not showing cleavage, because you are too tasteful, too elegant, and too hard to get to put bait in front of guys like that.

We are not sitting across from each other, but side by side in a corner.

Our fingers our exploring and interlocking under the table. One of my hands is running along your thighs, sqeezing your firm flesh under the cruelly restricting textile. I can feel your energy go up. You seem quite calm on the outside, but I know what’s stirring inside. I slip my hand under your dress and up to your back. I can’t go much higher, but I stroke your lower back. I draw circles with my fingers. I don’t think I’ve ever felt anyone as smooth and soft as you. You press your leg against mine, hard. You look all feminine and fragile, but you are strong. I feel the power of your leg rubbing against mine. Most of all I want to cling you in my arms, hold you tight and press you against me, but we have manners. We do have manners, so we are trying our best to keep this sort of decent, sort of inocuous still. Inside there’s this frantic fever to try and figure out how I can give you more pleasure, what would be nicer for you, what would feel better, which spot would delight you more, which speed, how much pressure. The only force even more distracting than this is the hunger I feel for you. If I don’t sink into you tonight then life doesn’t make sense, existence becomes some sick game with arbitrary rules, and me the pawn of some twisted upper being who likes to play tricks on me. That can’t be the world we live in. Tonight I will sink in you, bathe in your spirit, and you will open up for everything that nature wants me to give to you, man to woman.

You think you are the one who is nervous. You are so worried about how you will please me, that you can’t see how nervous I am. I am deadly afraid of dissapointing you. It’s like the ultimate test of manhood, will I be enough for you? I know, sure, mentally yes, you can drink of me, like a source of mineral water when it comes to the mental level, but the physical level? I suddenly feel like a overly courageous, naively eager dwarf who is trying to wield weapons that are totally outsized.

We eat steak. We need it for the night that lies ahead. You are brimming with energy, it’s burning in your eyes. I suppose others can’t see it, you can often seem so delicate, so innocent, but not to me. I see fire in you. I see passion. I see hunger. I see someone who wants to take my hand and dive way deep all the way down the well of human emotion, of interconnectedness, of blending with an other human being. Merely feeling your fingers gently squeezing mine, running all over my hands, as though they are excited mice sniffing on cheese, merely that fulfills me with such warmth, such wholeness. It’s completion I feel with you.

The waitress is trying to stay professional, and perhaps she really isn’t noticing, or perhaps she is very good at pretending to be noticing. I mean, it’s not so clear if she can actually see that my hand is firmly between your legs, pressing hard against your crouch, and hating textile for throwing up a barrier between my skin and your most intimate parts.

We go to our cabin, feeling giddy even though we didn’t drink any alcohol. I’m so nervous from you, so boiling inside, that I’m terrified my equipment will not do what it’s supposed to do. The last thing I want to do is increase the risk of malfunction by pouring alcohol on it. I will be concentrating on kissing you, on licking your pussy until you can’t anymore, but still, am sure you’re expecting more than that and I don’t want to fail you. The bloody irony is that there’s physically nothing wrong with me, it’s just the nerves, the damn nerves, the ball of pent-up energy in my stomach that wants to get rolling just to glide with you in a cloud of tenderness.

Even before we close the door of our cabin behind us, I am already holding you. We are breathing at the same speed now, it adds to our feeling of unity. I kiss you very deliberately on your forehead, because I want to make sure you feel safe. We are only going to do things that you actually desire.

How does one begin a night that you desperately hope will be one of the most memorable nights in the memory of an other person?

I want to slow down time. I don’t want to rush. Slower is better.

Instead of jumping you, I take a very good look at you. Your big, bright eyes. So full of goodness. There’s not a speck of real evil in those shining pools of love, of generosity.

You are beautiful in a way that is highly uncommon. You have the figure of a barbie, but the glow of an experienced woman, a woman who knows lust, a woman who’s not afraid to give and receive pleasure. In a way it’s common what we are about to do. It’s maybe mundane in the eyes of others, but to me it feels like magic and I thank my lucky stars that am here with you.

We stand and touch for a long time. We are not kissing yet. My fingers crawl slowly along your lips, and you, ever the sensual one, suck one finger in your mouth. My hands drift along your arms, your waspy waist, your face, and there’s this almost tangible vibe around us, almost dictating that we should merge. I see flashbacks of all the outfits you were wearing in that long, long string of moments that I couldn’t touch you. You in a girly shirt and blue yeans. You in a grayish pullover. You in a yellowish dress. The many times you walked away and I was two minutes of stroking -max- away from a wild orgasm just from spending 90 minutes in the same room with you with a big table between us.

I turn you around and wrap my arms around you. My hands cup your breasts, you tilt your head back and we finally kiss. You have the fullest natural lips I have ever tasted. You kiss gently, there is so much love in every of your gestures, you give me a feeling of belonging that must be almost certainly Freudian in nature. I move one hand through your hair, I can finally breathe in your perfume as deeply as I want, am really taking it in.

I take off your dress and it slips off. You only have your underwear now. You turn to me and say, softly, but with firm determination: ‘You too’.

The clothes come off, but just like you I keep my underpants on.

We fall down on the bed, and I kiss you everywhere, except on the parts still covered by textile. I’m tasting you. I want to postpone licking your pussy or kissing your breasts, until you are almost screaming for it. In my mind, playing this evening before me a zillion times, it didn’t occur to me that you also would be active. Your hands are everywhere, touching everywhere, with a tender, but firm pressure that am not used to. I think in my head I still haven’t woken up to the fact that maybe, just maybe, you want to be here with me just as much as I want to be here with you. And your every touch is telling me just that and it almost makes me cry from gratitude. Am now so hungry for you that here and there am practically biting you, not just kissing anymore, and all I want is to make your body my home and my body your home. Am not a religious man, but am basically praying that I will be able to give you everything, to excite all your senses, to make you feel like the most attractive, most appreciated, most desired woman on this planet. I so wish you can feel exactly how intensely I desire you. I’m in physical pain from it, but it’s good pain. I know you will release it, I know you will do anything to calm the storm in me, and right now, I want to savour that pain, enjoy the feeling of anticipation more and focus on you, focus on you first and foremost. Because I know that you being here isn’t something easy, it’s not something you allow to happen, but we are here, and it is happening, and I want you to feel it was all worth it.

That’s why it’s already way past midnight, and we still haven’t moved past foreplay. I am not here for sex, I am here to make love to you.

I slip a finger under your knickers, I run it along the slippery lane between your labia, it’s wamr and wet, and you are pulling my hair and stroking my back and shoulders. I can’t wait much longer, I want to taste you. I unhook your bra and suck your pointy nipples. My hand is still roaming your body, sometimes halting at your pussy, and slowly running my fingertop around your clitoris. At this point you start moaning, softly, and it makes me cramp up with lust for you.

I move down and kiss you all over, everything that makes you a woman, everywhere, tenderly and long.

Soon am pulling down your knickers. They are soft and delicate and colorful just like you are.

I start licking you like you are my first ice-cream and I have grown up in the Arizona desert.

My hands go up and cup your breasts, I grip them and massage them rhythmically.

You are arching your back and pushing against my tongue.

When I think you are close to climaxing you suddenly stop me, turn to your side and tightly squeeze your legs together.

‘I don’t want to have an orgasm this fast’, you say. ‘I want to enjoy penetration fully, I will enjoy it less if I come now. You mind?’

‘No, of course I don’t mind.’

You rise up and pull my underpants down in one swift motion.

You lie down and say, ‘come’.

With the top of my penis I caress your pussy from the outside, kissing your neck, looking deep into each other’s eyes, then I put the tip in, but pull back out, put just the tip in and pull back out, maybe 50 times, until I can feel you can’t open up more wide than you are doing now.

Then I plunge it in, I open you, push the walls of your vagina aside and you take me in. Your heels are pushing in the back of my thighs, pushing me deeper inside you. You are moving so vigorously up and down that I almost don’t need to thrust, you are controlling the movement. ‘This is good, this is good, oh, my God, this is good’, you whisper and I could just eat you right now.

I push myself up on my hands and now I start thrusting much harder. Leaning on one arm I move my other hand down and put my thumb on your clitoris and hold it there. Because you are moving you are rubbing your clit against my thumb, two minutes of that, maybe less, and I see your breath get much more intense, inhaling and exhaling very deeply, and I see you shake towards an orgasm with quick jerks of your head. You look majestic.

I stop for a while as you seem somewhere between death and life, but you turn your head back to me and say: ‘Come, come, shoot me full, I want to feel it shoot inside me.’

It doesn’t take me long to fill your request. My hands dig under your back and I am squeezing your tiny, slim body against me, draining myself in you, feeling the cramp fade away, am kissing you almost violently now, and for a second I think I might be hurting you.

We lie locked in each other until my penis becomes flacid and drops out on its own.

We take a break then, and lie on our side, facing each other and talking. We talk about everything I’ve witnessed and experienced in therapy, my weird childhood, my crazy student days, your teenage years, of which you have kept the body, but have surmounted the spirit.

After maybe two hours of talking we start touching more again, and our engines get fired up again. This time we are much wilder. We’ve come close to each other now, and our inhibitions go straight out the window and drop into the Danube with a releaving plunge.

I carry you in my arms, standing up, and you ride my dick, which, we discover, is a good position to make you come fast. We do it doggy style, sometimes you moving back and forth and controlling the speed of the thrusting, sometimes me. We sit on a chair. You lie flat on your belly with me on top of you. You put your legs on my shoulders. I fuck you from behind while you are lying on a big balls of pillows and blankets. We stand faced to the window overviewing the Danube, athletically letting your head hang down with your hands almost touching your feet. We lose track of how many times we come. The whole room smells of us. And when we are finally exhausted we are still touching, keeping each other warm, wrapping ourselves up in the blankets. We talk till we drift off to sleep. When we wake up we are still holding hands. I put a kiss on your irresistible nose. All the colors are brighter, I smell you, breathe in deeply to lodge you inside me. I lick you to one orgasm and you give me a slow blowjob to wake up. We shower and go for breakfast. The rest of the day we spent at a Christmas market, somehow attracting funny strangers to have interesting conversations with, and running around hand in hand, like two smitten children on the playground, with not a care in the world.