A Bear & His Girl

On reflection it seems uncanny we should have ever found each other.

It feels odd to say, even stranger to examine. But honest is the goal and it has to start somewhere. Billions of people in the world, millions in the tri-state area, and it’s you. With your smile, your laugh, and the same inclination to self-effacement as me. Even through wires and electricity the spark was keen. It took to tinder like a stray ember in a thirsty forest.

But enough with the Bogart schtick.

I could write for days on all the lovey dovey. It would be near enough, though you’d blush and swear you love the whole cheesy affair. And me, I’d swear it’s all your influence. 

Typical to that, and us together, there was hardly any differentiation between a regular day and what was about to happen.

I’d been feeling unwell for a few days. You were visiting and while we’d succeeded in an early Valentine’s dinner, as well as a few movies, three days in and I was nursing a head cold. Between that and the emerging cabin fever I was feeling somewhat inadequate. 

The truth is, without a chunk of change, touring in New York gets a fair bit exhausting. I’m sure others have more stamina for it, but I’m a home body and the best of times and with my head clogged up, it’s all I can do to not turn into the prototypical sufferer of “man-cold.” Let it never be said I don’t take advantage of the injunction to “never travel sick.”

But! That day. We were dressed and aimless. Our now ritualistic bagels had been consumed and I wanted nothing more than your company. While I would qualify you as restless, I think it’s safe to say both of us were growing expectant. Any effort to name what for would be hopelessly tainted by know what was to come.

Giddy, full of something mischievous, I launched a merciless attack. Fingers deftly moved over you, find the spots I knew as weak points. No one ever speaks of tickling as foreplay, and yet most often it is such a battle that turns to kissing between us. The effort to control both ourselves and one another becomes haphazard wrestling, you putting all your weight into controlling my hands while my hips buck and we both grow winded.

A truce is called, but you hold my hands over my head, waiting for a sneak attack. Instead I wrap my arms around you, shamelessly breaking your hold and giving up the pretense we are evenly matched.

And we kiss, hungry for one another. Gasping as our bodies come together in a crush of recklessness.

I can’t say if what came next was verbalized. I know I told you to wait, an infrequent tone of command to my voice as I snuck off, abandoning my pants en route to my bedroom.

When I came back out, my cock was nestled in the folds of fabric most men take for granted. The base and gear obscured by green and gray stripes while the silicon form rose with an excitement to match my own.

You smile and moved over on the couch, and there we began. You sat astride me while we worked off your bra. With a free hand, I reached between us and gripped my cock to angle into you. With both of us novices at this, our reality paled before the fantasy of you riding me, splay legged, on the couch.

The next try, both of us giggling at our mutual need and clumsiness, was with you bent before me, supported by a plush armchair. While closer to satisfying, we were left laughing over a similar failure to execute. What could have turned frustrating only added to the excitement of anticipation.

We wanted this, and if we lacked the skill to perform our fantasies just yet, we would succeed in the conventional manners. We kissed, and I spanked, our way to the bedroom. It was there we found our rhythm.

First, I slid in behind while you balanced on hands and knees, and stroked the tip of my dick between your lips, slicking the silicon with your juices. I eased in, savoring how wet you’d grown with anticipation. At the beginning, we moved slowly. I buried myself in you and raised a hand to bring to bear against your rump. That slight cupping at the end reminding you that if I was cruel, it was only for love.

Just like that, we were together. Your voice rose every so often with something nearing a moan, though never quite so carefree. We switched positions, you laid crosswise on the bed and I stood between your legs. At that moment there was no more thinking. And trying to put it to words could never do it justice. But I must try; after all, what is a story where the key scene is missing?

In such a position, it became easy to nip at your breasts and stroke that beautiful clit. I could look down and see your cunt enwrap my dick, drawing me in as, with each stroke you moved closer to coming. 

Obviously, I encouraged you, breathlessly urging you, my girl, to come for me. And I watch as your chest grew red with the rush of arousal. You made that face, the look of unrestrained need I had once mistaken for upset. I reached for your throat and took firm hold, my other hand clutching your hip as you began to whine and cry out. Cursing, a finger stroking between your folds, working your clit while I held you as if you would float away you came. 

The sounds were ripped from you, as you whimpered, cried out, whined your climax. I felt it as a sudden tightness; your pussy at once trying to hold me in and send me away. I kissed over you, telling you what a good girl you were as sweat cooled between my shoulders.

Afterwards, when you had collected yourself, you asked if I would write this out. The story of your first time coming on my cock. Teasingly, I said I wasn’t sure. I’m confident both of us heard the lie in my words.