Seashells

There’s something different in the air in the final days before a cross-country move. 

The sunlight hits softer and beams brighter through the usually dingy basement window. Its golden tendrils entice me to unpack and stay forever. Spring in Seattle tends to have that effect on people. Its effortless beauty envelopes you so completely, that it’s almost enough to forget the unforgiving winter.  

I’m telling myself that’s why I’m struggling to pack my things and fly away. Winter will come again and make me wish I left my sleepy city for a more thrilling venture. I’ll be glad once I’m at a cocktail party dressed to the nines in a city where nobody knows my name in a matter of months. But for now, I’m sitting on my bed thinking of everything I can’t take with me. 

Mostly, I think of Andrew. 

Lovely Andrew. Devout Seattlite Andrew. Strong, muscular, sweet-smelling, Andrew. Will be here in one hour Andrew. Shit. 

I run a hand down smooth, freshly shaven legs. Inhale my own laundry-fresh perfume, light and airy on the nose. Squish flesh that spills over my jeans. Quickly let my mind wander, thinking of Andrew’s hands caressing the folds of my body, running his hands through my wild chestnut hair and down my chest like a renaissance woman in a painting. My arms stretched for the heavens while my face contorts in pleasure.

Andrew and I are an unfortunately new item. He’s unassumingly attractive. At first, he was just a toothy smile, broad shoulders, and a hearty laugh. In the final moments of our first date (when I had just made up my mind to let him down gently), he squeezed my shoulder. We stood on the crisp bank of the Seattle shoreline and my body flushed with heat against the unseasonably chilly air. His calloused hands were surprisingly strong and a sense of desire filled my body. That one moment of connection set fireworks in my stomach and it hasn’t stopped flipping now. 

When I broke the news that I was leaving town just a few weeks after our first meeting, Andrew’s reaction was a strange mix of sadness and emotion I couldn’t quite place. Desire? Anticipation? Hunger, perhaps? Moving isn’t all bad, it’s left my senses heightened and urgent. My appetite for pleasure is one of the last possessions I have to my name, after all. 

I hear his knock and run to the door, feeling once again the sense of bubbling desire bursting against my chest. Between my legs, I feel myself begin to pulse, sensing him so close. The slickness threatens to show against my already moist panties. Though our last date maintained a sense of decorum, the impending moving day has left my brain warped and eager. 

“Hey,” he smiles easily. His arms are thin but toned, leaning against the frame of my door. His teeth glow white against his smooth, tan skin. Hands once again beckoning me closer, closer still. “I brought something for you.” 

From his pocket, he produces a small handful of tiny seashells. 

Though a small gesture, this minute act of kindness is more thoughtful than anything I’ve experienced in a long time. I’m already putty in his hands. 

“Wow,” I say, irritated with the tear threatening to spill at the corner of my eye. 

I guide him almost wordlessly to my bed. The tiny diameter of the bedroom results in the two of us sitting knee to knee on the bed, facing the window as if we’re waiting for a show to begin. There is a moment of silence. The heat from his body radiating to mine. The simultaneous closeness and far-awayness is overwhelming. I am pulled in either direction. He is already a ghost of my past while he’s just barely entered the center stage of my life.

“I can’t stop thinking about you moving,” he says. It cuts the tension like a knife. There is palpable energy between us. Our energies swirl above our heads, our subconscious beginning to intertwine before we even have the chance. I reach for his hand and he strokes a thumb soothingly over my knuckles. The rhythmic stroking only exacerbates the wetness between my legs. 

“I can’t either. It’s like we just got started,” I say, though I can’t exactly say what we would’ve started in the first place. 

Andrew seems like the picture-perfect boyfriend. The type to give a girl his jacket in the rain. The type to call your mother on her birthday. At least, this is what I’ve imagined about him. The truth is, I hardly know a thing about the boy. I know he grew up with two mothers. He had a long-term girlfriend who he is still on good terms with. The rest is blank.

And maybe that’s part of the appeal. The blankness about him. My brain is allowed to smooth the edges and craft a perfect lover. His chiseled arms become the ones that hold me in times of sorrow. His smile the one that celebrates my joy. His abs the ones that press against me as we sleep. The unspoken agreement, that we are each other’s perfect lovers, is mutual. 

I imagine myself once again as a renaissance woman. Lying legs open, pussy throbbing, soft, moist, plump. My body the perfect supple mass to take his load. 

“I wish you would stay,” he says, interrupting my daydream. His sturdy palm has made its way down to my thigh, edging dangerously close to my pussy. My clit hums with anticipation. I allow myself to wonder briefly what it would be like if this were real. If our rendezvous left the bedroom and entered center stage. But this is nothing more than a fantasy. We have tonight and tonight only. 

“I wish I could too. We could really do this, like really.”

My words are scarcely out of my mouth before he’s pressed against me, smashing his luscious brown lips into mine. Our saliva mixes as we battle for dominance, only for Andrew to emerge victorious, his tongue pressed to the back of my throat. 

His hand works slowly but meticulously. His long, slender fingers trace the edge of my hard, pink nipples. He squeezes them ever so slightly, teasing me. With one deliberate motion, he pulls my flowy top over my head. My bare nipples throb as they wait for his touch. My body aches for him. 

I pull up his shirt to reveal his chiseled figure. His waist is smaller than mine, weighing almost a full fifty pounds less––and yet we are perfectly suited for one another. His sharply defined abs prod perfectly into the tenderness of my round belly. 

“Harder,” I hear myself moan out, almost involuntarily. He smiles against my lips. He is enjoying pleasing me—he holds the power to make me feel like a Goddess or a little slut in a moment's notice. He teases me achingly slow, running circles again and again around the nipple before pinching it. He cups both my breasts in his hands giving them a long, hard squeeze before he allows his hand to trace further down my body. 

Just before he reaches my still clothed pussy, he pulls back. I writhe against him, wordlessly begging for his hands, his fingers, his dick, anything. 

“I don’t know if you want it bad enough,” he coos. 

“I want it. I want it.” I can barely make a sound, my words scarcely louder than a whisper. 

He pulls down my lacy panties and I notice—extremely annoyed large, red stain. I move to shove my thighs together, doing mental math to figure out how to make this work with the added factor of my period. Andrew pulls up, following my gaze. A smile creeps across his lips. 

“So that’s why you’re so wet.” 

“I’m sorry, ugh––”

“Blood hasn’t stopped me before and it won’t stop me now,” he says, matter-of-fact.

My pussy oozes. It has never been more wet or willing to be fucked. I am completely under his spell. In my haze, I remember an old wives’ tale that prophesied that any man who fucked a woman on her period would forever be in love with her. I like this thought. 

His fingers plunge inside of me and I feel a river of desire fill my body. I throw my head back involuntarily and my tits are thrown into the night sky. I am bathed in the patch of streetlight pooling in from the slightly cracked window.. He is kissing me, harder this time. 

I moan into his mouth again and thrust against his hand. Andrew feels my gyrating hips and gladly adds another finger, then another, then another. I am stuffed to the brim, bringing my hips up to meet his hand again and again. His hips begin to sway with the motion and I gently graze his bottom lips with my teeth, inviting more. 

Flooded with newfound confidence, I push him so we are side to side facing each other on the bed. I sling a leg over his and continue grinding against his palm. I graze his dick and feel the blood rush even further into it. 

“I wish you didn’t have to leave,” he whispers. 

We are an amalgam of each other’s hopes, dreams, fears, desires, and biggest wishes. At that moment we are a tangle of forgotten social balances, and manners––just two bodies pressed firmly against each other. I do nothing but moan against him, feeling the rush of power that comes with it all. I could love him, I could hate him. It wouldn’t matter one bit. 

I guide his hand out from between my legs, allowing the blood to stain my thighs and chest as he claws at them. 

I press him against the bed and I make my way down between his legs. His long cock stands erect as I stroke it, feeling its hardness against my cheeks and palms. I ease his dick into the back of my throat, pushing it further back than I thought was possible. 

His head cocks back, his tight curls bouncing ever so slightly against my pillows. The look of ecstasy scrolled across his face asserts once again our absolute power over one another. At this moment, I am completely his, he is completely mine. His legs spread further, allowing me to nestle even deeper onto his shaft. A metallic tang hits my nose. I inhale, taking in his scent even deeper. 

“You’re so beautiful like that,” he moans, “my pretty girl.” 

I suppress a wave of desire, my pussy craves him as I feel precum coat the back of my throat. I jerk his cock from one side of my mouth to the other, allowing one edge of my teeth to softly graze him. He moans again in a mixture of pleasure and pain. 

Andrew tips my chin up to look at him, using one finger to beckon me toward him. I crawl to meet his lips once again but this time I feel his dick pressing the lips of my pussy. He slips in easily with the mixture of wetness and blood and I tangle my fingers in his hair as he pushes deeper than I thought possible inside me. 

Once we are situated, he begins thrusting upward to meet me. In a flurry of passion, I sit up on his dick, bouncing up and down, feeling him plunge deeper with each motion. Our moans are in sync as we scream out for each other. For the first time in that small apartment, I have no regard for the finicky neighbors, I’m only able to focus on pushing Andrew further inside of me. My stomach slaps against his firm body and the pounding noise sounds like doves flying.

Wordlessly, he coaxes me onto my back and I tip my chin to look at him towering over me. He positions my legs above my head, daring me to push back against his will. His dick grazes my ass slowly as he makes his way to my pussy. Then he stops. 

“Don’t cum yet, baby.”

The far-off land of the real world might make me question this pet name, bestowed so soon, but here, I am pulverized by the term of endearment. 

“Whatever you say.” 

“I want us to cum together.” 

Andrew finds a rhythm that is more fervent than before and my knees begin to quake with the force of it all. Willing myself not to burst into orgasm, I look into his eyes. His deep, brown eyes are dilated with desire and we are locked into a moment of divine connection. Though we scarcely know each other’s last names, it’s like we’ve always been here, locked in this position. 

“I’m gonna cum,” I yell, the words escaping my mouth without permission. 

“Not yet!” he commands. 

Once again, Andrew uses his strong hands to push me into submission. I lie flat on my back as he thrusts into me, my eyes seeing stars as I look blearily toward the ceiling. It is taking every fiber in my being not to cum. His pace quickens and I feel him begin to tighten his grip on me. His hands work once again toward my ass and his palms are filled with flesh. I push myself deeper into him and he groans against the pressure. 

“Now?” I say, almost begging. He pauses for a minute, relishing the slight control once again before throwing me a quick, wry smile. 

“Now.”

We release into each other, feeling our fluids mingle on the bed and inside of my pulsating pussy. For a few seconds, I am left stunned and shaking on the bed, Andrew still hard inside of me. We lie there motionless, processing the ecstatic ride we disembarked from. 

“Shit,” I moan. 

“Shit,” he agrees. 

His cock pulses against me, still shooting out cum into my body. 

Andrew pulls out and his cock releases yet again. He is still impossibly hard and his body is left trembling from the impact. He lies on his back with the force. 

“You still wanna move?” he asks, laughing. 

I think for a minute. Andrew is not the perfect lover. Eventually, our cracks and grooves would grow and tear us apart, heavy silence replacing our peaceful moments of mutual understanding. But right now, Andrew has been everything I needed him to be. Hard to my soft. Fast to my slow. Dominant to my submissive. Where he is blank, I fill in the gaps. Tonight, on the night before I pick up my bags and leave, he is perfect. 

In the back of my mind, I know I’ll keep those seashells as a token of our pleasure for the rest of my life.