Fucking Eja
The night of the Television reunion concert at BSP Kingston
“Do you want to fuck me?”
The question emerged from her spontaneously, with both of us dressed and heading out the door to the rock club BSP for the reunion concert of the band Television.
We were already a little late for the show and I knew many people who were going. Kingston is a small town and three of my friends ran the venue. As the unofficial photographer, I was on the press list and she was my plus-one. I prefer to be early to events. This is a core value and anyone who travels with me knows this.
This was a big night in Kingston — and a rare night at BSP, also called Backstage Studio. The show was in the rarely-used back room and was sold out to 3,000 capacity. We were both dressed impeccably for the occasion. I don’t usually wear a suit but tonight I was. And here we were, stepping out the door from Blue Studio for the short walk around the corner when she popped the question — after more than a year of our being together.
We were already running late because, well, I’m not sure.
The thing about Eja, besides her astonishing beauty and her strange seductive quality, was that she knew how to start a fight. Start and keep it going. She was amazing at it. I’m not one for fights with lovers. Yet I found myself in more fierce arguments with her than all of my other lovers combined, at triple the average intensity. She was provocative and knew how to get a response.
We’d just had a big one, over absolutely nothing, I am sure. Maybe it was Bernie Sanders. She loved to argue about him. Eja alone seemed to understand the true nature of every disagreement, and they were over when she decided they were over. I was stressed, emotionally exhausted and wanted to be with my friends. And here she was making me an offer she knew I could not refuse.
You might ask how it was that we had been together for more than a year and had never fucked. The answer was that until that time, our sexual relationship was based on cunnilingus. That is to say, I had the honor of being permitted to lick her pussy.
We began on those terms. She had the ability to ejaculate — to gush — and I wanted to experience this at full strength. We had worked up to this exchange over the first few weeks of being together, and became good at it, much to my fulfillment. We had true simpatico.
Yet this gave her power, in what was essentially a dom/sub relationship. She could withhold at any time. She was horny and also accustomed to sexual frustration. She chose me, I believe, to lick her out of that.
I was willing to do this because I loved to drink from her. It was a deep source of nourishment for me, and an exchange never before experienced by either of us. Despite her unique talent for being disagreeable, I liked her and respected the power of her mind; and was gradually becoming in love with her. And I loved to worship her orally with total devotion.
Thanks to this, I was able to have experiences that few men will ever have, including experiencing her orgasm and full ejaculation with my tongue deep inside her cunt. I held her hips as she submitted herself to the pleasure of this, her little body and breath heaving as she did.
Also there is one important sexual detail about her. In order to ejaculate into my mouth, she had to masturbate. She would do this in front of me with my mouth inches from her vulva, and when she was ready she would tell me and I could make contact with my mouth. For other forms of cunnilingus, I could get her off with my mouth and tongue. And sometimes we would masturbate together.
I had deep empathy for one particular biographical fact about her: this intense little woman’s sexual career didn’t really begin until she was about 30, for reasons of involvement in a religious organization. So she was working out her pent up frustration and also learning about her sexual power at the same time.
She kept me at bay when it came to fucking her, knowing I was burning inside. I was familiar with her emotionally and physically and loved the feeling of gratifying her. But for some reason, she decided this was not happening. And once she had made up her mind, there was no discussion.
For fucking, she had another lover in Colorado she would visit, who would put it to her. He was a kind of acrobat/magician, somewhat older than me, with a far stronger male presence. I suspected that in their association, she was the submissive one. To her, that’s what being fucked meant. And in our affair, she was dominant. So when she needed to be fucked, she would go to him.
Yet she spent most of her time with me and got plenty of sexual attention and gratification. I knew her well enough to understand how good it would feel for her to be aggressively fucked, to let go of her control drama and release herself into a state of delicious passivity. Encrypted into our exchange was our mutual delight in my eating her where her other lover had penetrated her.
For my own release, she would study me as I masturbated, often into a mirror, though sometimes facing her. She would observe as I licked back my dry cum off of a mirror, though she never held the mirror for me. And in the sheer urgency of admitting my need to fuck her, out loud, I could fuck myself…and would orgasm onto my own dry semen and lick myself back. When I was feeling courageous, I would show her my full mouth and let her watch my face as I swallowed.
I had to. I craved these experiences deeply. We both knew that I was in the process of weaning off of fucking. She knew, as I did, that she was giving me what I needed, and at the same time, this worked for her needs and purposes. And yet through this, she held the tension of not fucking me as her choice. I did not have the strength to say no; the no had to come from her, until I was ready to choose.
As to her question.
I assumed this would be my one chance not because it had to be but because I knew how she thought. Neither of us had any hesitation what I would do. I looked at her in her hot black dress and black pumps and snug little winter coat.
What a time to ask. I had a flash of insight into how this was designed to instill maximum conflict for minimum necessity. She hadn’t just come up with this now that I had my keys in my hand. What a little cunt.
I said yes. She gleamed with satisfaction as I put my camera down onto the table.
“Then take my dress off,” she said, raising her hands. I slipped it over her head and was looking at her perfect nearly naked body. I knelt down and slipped her out of her panties and tossed them. A year of pent up desire, truly, of need. Then I learned in and smelled her pussy, my face and mouth against her little brown muff.
She knew I could live with my face buried between her legs. Musky and a little sweat and a tiny hint of her perfume. I sniffed again and again. Then I sat he down on the bed, gently opened her knees, and slipped my tongue inside her luscious twat lips.
“Undress,”
“Undress,” she instructed, as I licked out her little hole and sucked her waddle. I pulled back from my delight. My lips were wet with her and filling up my scent.
I slipped out of my tie and dropped it, the same with my shirt and kicked off my shoes and slipped out of my pants. As I did this, she laid down on her back and dropped her knees apart. When she said “fuck me,” that’s what she meant.
In a moment, I was naked, standing by the bed where she lay.
“Here,” she said, handing me a natural skin condom. I wanted to fill up her pussy and lick the mix of us both. We had talked about it before. But that was not her plan.
My cock was stiff and ready for her. For whatever. I slipped on the condom.
“Do it,” she said. I spun with disbelief, straddling her as she guided my penis deep into her pelvis. “I want it hard and fast,” she demanded.
She must have known if I did that I would spin out of control. I wanted to explore her and the delight of being inside her. Her pussy squeezed tightly around me and was hot. Not warm, but hot and feverish, gripping me. I looked at her face and her eyes were fiery and possessed of her feelings. She was intent. She wanted something and I didn’t understand quite what.
I fucked her harder. She put her hand on my ass and pushed me in deep.
I looked at her face. She was staring intently at my eyes.
“Thrust,” she said. “Fuck me till you cum.” I wanted to make it last, but I gave in and did it, fucking her like a teenager might, with no sense of control. Her pelvis was tipped up and her legs were in the air above and behind me and I plunged down into her again and again wanting the exquisite beauty to last forever.
When I closed my eyes, I would feel hers burning into me and resume eye contact, which is what finally drove me into a spiral of surrender. I began crying out, groaning helplessly to her, I felt like I was drooling, and then felt my face melt in the heat of her stare…like a bright light was shining into my eyes. She studied me with a little smile on her face as I lost control and began throbbing into her, my breath and my voice heaving, snorting ,my face twisted, until I was seized by the thunder of my orgasm and collapsed onto her. She held me lightly with her hands.
I relaxed into the bliss of being surrounded by her and deep within her. I had a moment to pretend we were bonded.
A few moments later, she said, okay let’s get dressed and go.
I was wholly disoriented. My mind spun and turned. I was covered in sweat and not exactly fulfilled. I don’t think that was the point. I suspected she did that just to see my desperate face as I lost control and orgasmed into her. We got dressed, she wriggled into her black dress, I tied my tie, we put on our coats and went to the show.
Years later she said you were right. “I wanted to watch you lose control of yourself. I knew you would. That’s all I wanted.”
Immediacy!!!