“How do you want me to torture you?”
I press my lips together. My freshly applied vanilla lipgloss glides as I get a whiff of the sweet scent. I drift into a daydream.
Typically I slip into my fantasies with the sound of music. I frequently stare off into the distance while sitting in traffic; but this particular fantasy arises out of complete silence.
A familiar tune, “Bette Davis Eyes,” plays in my head, and I picture myself naked with my hands cupping my breasts, immersed in bedsheets. I’m in a swanky hotel, and a man is getting dressed in the corner. He’s relaxed. Satisfied. I swing my bare foot to the beat of the music.
My mind transfers back to my bedroom as I watch my foot tap out of the corner of my eye.
Real life. Isn’t it strange how capable our minds are? A fantasy inside my brain can create a real life orgasm. How fucked up is that? I mean really, when you think about it. Real people who can create other worlds are the people I like to be around.
Take my hand and bring me into never never land.
His nose is pressed against mine and his eyes are wide open. “She’s got Bette Davis eyes….” he bops his head as he slowly moves back and breaks out into an air guitar solo. He’s naked. I’m naked. The air is filled with sex. I’m wrapped up in sheets and he appears to be gliding across the floor. I lean over the side of the bed exposing my bare ass cheeks up in the air. I look down and see paragraphs of writing on what used to be the hardwood floor. I swing back and flip myself over to the other side. I see him singing and floating across the room. His bare ass is so fucking hot. It’s no wonder I love pressing my tongue inside it. I watch the pages turn rapidly beneath me. We’re somewhere in the sky and I’m miles away from a place called home.
He nods his head along to the music. I smile and laugh as I pull the sheets in tight to my body, playfully flirting with my hair. Just a few moments prior we were immersed in a very different chapter.
His hand on my neck, building in intensity as I gasped for air. He spared me no mercy. I asked and he delivered. His cock inside me, punishing me with every thrust. I orgasm over and over, leaning back further and further off the bed. My hair hangs down. My chest stretches out as my breasts follow, releasing my neck and hair to the floor as I cum again. The room continues to float in the air and I have no fear of falling.
He flips me over and turns the page. I lie on a bed of sand. Water moving peacefully just beyond the edge. He grabs my face and pulls me in close. He follows his finger along my face, tracing over every line. The sensation gives me goosebumps. I feel them tingle along my outer thighs and lower back. He keeps my sensations heightened. He places his mouth gently on top of my pussy and breathes out warm air.
“She’s got Bette Davis eyes…” he comes up.
The music gets louder. We’re outside and I’m sitting naked on the edge of his motorcycle wearing nothing but his jean jacket. He finishes his smoke and casually leans over me. I wrap my legs around his as I mount the seat. My pussy is warm and wet; it seeks shelter on his lower back. He looks back and smirks.
“She’s got Bette Davis eyes…” he mouths silently. He revs his engine and takes off.
I lose track of time and find myself back in my bed. My hand slides over my bare stomach and I can feel my breath slow down. I take off my panties and run the water in the shower.
I like to dream in the shower. I let the water run over my eyes draping them shut. I pretend I’m standing in the rain. I move my head up slowly and open my eyes. I stare off into the distance and pretend I’m face to face with a lover having an intense conversation. The rain pouring down, smearing my makeup and clinging my shirt to my body. My nipples pierce through. I shout, “I can’t!” as I stare desperately into his eyes. It’s a fictional argument, but it is loosely based on my deepest thoughts and desires. Perhaps one of them is to have large enough breasts to protrude obscenely in a wet t-shirt (women with small breasts fantasize over this shit, it’s totally normal).
I find innocence in the suspension of disbelief. I gravitate towards people who are capable of playing around with life. Living beyond the border of the mind, crossing frequently over to imagination.
I’ve never needed anything more than what I have. When you find that place, the world becomes a nice place to live.