The Suit, Friday 20th July

How and where does one begin with this sort of thing? I think I’d like to keep this as personal sounding as I can, so I’m not going to go seek out other people who are doing a similar thing, to see what they do. Let the masses come to me. Or not… Anyway, the memory, for the moment, is still incredibly vivid, so here goes:-

There is something very amazing about fucking a guy who hasn’t even taken off his suit. We shall call him the co-worker, though actually he habituates the floor below me, and we first met in an elevator, a few days into my job, when I accidentally tried to stab him in the butt with a lunchtime banana. Over the following few months, I became initiated into his circle of friends (attacking a hot guy with your fruit is a sure way to get his number), all the while watching his arresting gray eyes, the sort over which the poets go into paroxysms. No, I don’t know which poets either, and I digress. He was maybe 5’10, which isn’t a giant in this day and age but a good bit taller than me, (even in heels), which is always my preferred way of having things; sandy brown, hair, his jaw not prominent but sufficiently and intriguingly masculine to capture my interest a little more. Then, last Thursday, when we were by chance alone in the same elevator that brought us together, he asked what I was planning for dinner on Friday.

A bottle of wine shared between two, on top of a decent meal eaten over the course of several hours, isn’t a lot even by my naively abstemious standards, but by the time it came to finding enough between us for a respectable tip, my head swam with utterly unworthy (and, for a first date, probably rather risky) thoughts of the four iron corners of my bedstead, and someone slung between them at their partner’s mercy. Just a very little, most playful, bondage is a certain way to a night of perfect fun. The taxi, which I recall smelling like it had only just been fished out of the Hudson, disgorged us onto the sidewalk, and somebody mumbled something about coming in for coffee, seeing as how my roommates were out. We sat on my stoop and surveyed the passing traffic a few moments, before without warning, and from nowhere, he and I were making out. Thoughts of coffee forgotten, I leaned back against the wall as he pressed forward, at the clawing insistence of my hands behind his head, lips touching softly, then more powerfully, my mouth falling a little open to feel his tongue in my mouth.

We made it up to my door, he following; I felt, rather than saw, his eyes from their position a few steps below me gazing upwards at my lower legs, and the vague thought that he should see a little more of them kept me a moment from unlocking the door. We nearly fell inside, in the clichéd way of lovers that until that moment I thought only existed in fiction, and in the dank darkness he pressed me up against the wall, as one hand sought the right switch, the other cradling my head, looped over me, running back to stroke my cheek as he bent, and found my mouth again with greater passion, excitement than before. I knew just how the night should fall, and in an inner sanctum of my person my body became aware too, a faint, at first imperceptible tingling in my stomach, a warmth a little further down, inside.

He forwent the light, and his hands instead gently tugged at the little belt around my waist over my dress, my tongue burrowing backwards into his head now, touching his neck in one hand, tracing gently down his back with the other. The belt fell away, and tenderly a hand reached up my back, finding the zipper, bringing it softly down, the hum of it running smoothly the loudest, sexiest thing in the apartment. I grinned against his face, as I slipped out of my shoes, leading him, walking backwards over the detritus of the main room, and into mine.

We stopped at the threshold, his hands both on my butt, as I nuzzled into his chest unable to reach his mouth. He held me close, quite tenderly, a moment passed and he whispered – the first words either of us had said since climbing the stairs – “This is okay, right?” I was taken aback; it was the first hookup/date since moving here where the possibilities of sex had materialized a little unexpectedly, rather than the deliberate implicit discussion of a dinner or a drink – and this realization startled me, I giggled: “I want it – you – now…” trailing off as he pushed away from the doorway against me, so I fell hungrily back onto the bed, looking up at my man standing over me, looking down my body with my dress half crumpled against it now.

I reached for his hand in the semidarkness, noticing in passing that I’d left the curtains nearly shut all day, pulled him towards me. He was on me, not heavy, his weight on his arm and partly still on his feet. I remember next his warm breath against my neck, as out of my sight I felt his right hand run fingers up my arm to my shoulder, where he slipped away the strap of my dress, then again the other side. The zipper undone earlier he leaned away a moment, pulling it down where the bra, slightly lacey, alternating black and white stripes on the cups, I’d put on in haste that morning, seemed to suddenly entice him further, and as we panted in our abrupt exertions he pulled down my dress further – no thoughts of sneaking a hand up from my legs then – as I undid my bra.

I lay back as, the dress around my feet, he moved to be over me again, his mouth on mine. The surprising softness of his suit jacket gently teased my nipples, which became harder, eagerly, as the moments of our kissing lasted, and his hands cupped my breasts, fingers squeezing, undulating gently, like he was miming playing piano against them, and his mouth moved by tiny kisses from my lips to my cheek, chin, neck, chest, and as he stroked away the hair from my face I felt his teeth press very gently against my nipple; wetness forming within me, feeling it for the first time sticking invitingly against my underwear. I wanted him.

With surprising strength I pushed him off me, and he stood up in surprise, maybe concerned a moment that I was changing my mind. But I rose from my bed, and pressed him up against the bedroom wall, on my tiptoes even to reach his chin properly, and as my body fell into his I felt in his pants a little intriguing hardness. My thoughts of jacket, shirt coming off moment by moment as I felt him there, abandoned, I knelt, looking up at him as he squinted down at me, absolute desire on his face as I cupped my hand over the slight protuberance below his belt. In unwholesome haste, I just groped, while he unfastened his belt; I pulled his pants down, and his boxers, in one movement, his cock, not overly long but hard, and wide and round, tumbling out, and I looked up at him.

I laughed at the eager motion he made with his eyes, and I leaned in, and kissed the very tip as I brought up my hands to hold him. I sucked him slowly for only a minute at most, I felt all the while a little throbbing in my mouth, happy even for him to cum right away, before I stood, and pulled his body, trapped in half-lowered pants, against mine as I lay back in the bed in the same moment that he touched the elastic of my underwear, pulling them in an abrupt, exhilarated moment, my wetness almost sticking at the same time that I stretched up to the bedside drawyer. I fumbled and found a condom as he began to kneel, with watching me watch him, and to start to pull off his jacket, but for only the second time I remember, speaking, handing it to him: “We’re further on than that already…I want you…” and he smiled, and nodded, and post a moment of wresting with the packet, I felt his head press at the moist folds of flesh, and all in an instant he entered me, filling me and fulfilling both our fervent desperations.

That first moment – even if the rest of the sex is pretty ordinary – is always an exhilarating, joyous little experience, as you feel yourself part, a hotness enter you for the first time, and so it was this time. In the stuffiness of the room – air con forgotten – and he still in all his clothes I think, I lay back and let him fuck me, slowly and deeply, his hands on my breasts in a part-grope, part-tease, part-support. It was only then as I wriggled up the bed, that he finally took his clothes, short now soaked in sweat, away, and his body, trim but not overdeveloped, fell with a grunt against me. His hands clasped my face, mine his back, as his cock with tiny little half-thrusts founds its own way inside me again, and with my legs drawn up around him we built up a faster rhythm, before at a half-murmured indication we rolled sideways across the bed, with me now on top, rising and falling across his slickened shaft, which is always the best way to cum.

After it was over – perhaps ten minutes of wrestling in the humidity, he opened the curtains and the window as far as it would go, and we lay across my bed, arms around each other, our flesh become one in sweat. We had barely spoken since entering the apartment, and it was only now that resumed a conversation that drifted away as we went to sleep.

I woke about two hours later. He had hardly changed position but I had wriggled round in my sleep to be almost upside down from him, and in a horny sleepiness I brought my head up to nuzzle at his drowsy member, which stirred of its own accord, bringing him to wakefulness, and we did it again, tenderly, slowly at first but building to an almighty climax of shouts, grunts and groans.

In the morning, we woke very early, and at a little coaxing from him, we started it again, in a matter of minutes becoming a heaving mass of dawn flesh as I opened my mouth to him, and my mound wetness was against his lips, and both of us on our sides we ate and ate until it was all gone. We hunted round my room in silence for his clothes, and I followed him quietly all the way down the stairs to the front door in just my underwear, which I had scrabbled to put on. We kissed on the stoop again, we said we would call.

That was Friday. We met on the Monday, briefly, at lunch, but have yet to arrange something else. But we agreed in the meantime that unless we become a proper thing it would be fine to see other people. Now my morning migraine has abated a little in the hour or so it took to remember and write, I half think that I would like to, half to see him again, in my bed, raising himself over me…

Ok now I’ve really no idea how one ends this either. It’s taken some time to compile my thoughts, and it’s been fun to write it and relive it. I don’t know if it is actually a successful piece; I’m just starting, over all – but I shall persevere in the lively hope that much more happens in the coming days.