Plasticman

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Bdsm

He hadn’t always been. Plastic I mean. Static. Absent in the sense when there’s no movement, no one notices you. Or worse, they do notice and wish they hadn’t, preferring the company of others, more human like them, more companionable. He couldn’t remember when he wasn’t Plasticman most of the time. Pre adolescence probably. And those infrequent moments when he wasn’t plastic, moments of charm which might not have surprised others, those being charmed, surprised the shit out of him. But lately it seemed as if he might not be so plastic anymore.

When are you old enough to know enough to know enough is enough?

“How old are you?” she asked him. A rude question, especially if the shoe were on the other foot, you know, petite and delicate being asked by massive and ungainly. But she being young and he being decades older, well, it had a purpose that made it not rude.

“Old,” he answered.

“Not that old,” she objected.

They smiled.

“How old?” she insisted.

“I could be your father.”

“I hope not,” she said.

Another smile shared, this one much more complicated. Hers revealed the verb she used, “hope,” had been appropriate. His revealed his confusion. And hope as well, though guilt twisted it, contorted it, made it misshapen, unattractive.

He had long experience with the unattractive. Not physically, at least not until recently where age began transforming him from the inside out. Like Dorian Gray’s portrait or that Twilight Zone where a gift of a mask turns out to distort the face revealing the truth of ugliness in a person’s character.

No, physically he couldn’t be described as unattractive. When he was her age, he had looks that, while not conventionally handsome, too soft bordering on pretty, it attracted the opposite sex. The bit of prettiness actually attracted the same sex, but he never wanted that. Though his shyness and a lack of awareness of his attractiveness kept him limited in sex partners, it didn’t limit hopeful eyes from trying to catch his attention, especially since his height made him stand out. I suppose for the sluttier of the girls, it also promised a more substantial cock to fuck. Another factor in gaining more sexual experiences he had never really considered.

No, being unattractive had more to do with his character or lack thereof and his clueless understanding of dress and even hygiene and, probably worst of all, his knack for turning conversations into exercises in discomfort. His plastic aspect.

Sure, he had friends in high school and then colleges. But, while many of his friends drew friendship as easily as drawing breath, he had to work at it. To sustain friendship, he had to do all the work. No one called him, he called them. No one stopped by, he intruded on their spaces. And when the social environments of schools ended, so did friendships. Oh, he had made an occasional friend in his work environments, but that dried up as well when he moved from the more social climes of record stores to the closed in solitary spaces of a print shop.

Which made the situation of the young woman sitting beside him both unique and peculiar. A situation that had lasted nearly a year and had grown into as strong a friendship as either one of them had known, even if it remained exclusive to work, to breaks and brief after work conversations. Perhaps it had something to do with her being unique and peculiar. In a way they were two peas in a pod, a pod he had figured would be a strictly solo vehicle.

“Uhm, you want to see some movies?” he asked her, his eyes shying away. It was a huge step for him.

“Movies as in plural?” she smirked.

“Uhm, yeah. This weekend there’s an international film festival, and I…”

“Cool,” she said.

Her smile was infectious. So pretty. Features on her deep brown face, long and lean like the rest of her, just so pretty. Twice her age and as pale as she was dark, they did share long and lean and pretty, though that last aspect of him had all but faded, and hers positively glowed.

Much later that day, after seeing a movie set in and made by people from her homeland, Somalia, they strolled hand in hand through the cool early spring night, traipsing around one of his alma maters, lost in thought, silent, but together.

“Let’s sit,” he said, gesturing towards a bench in the Quad, the center of the university.

“Sure,” she smiled.

“How old were you when you left?” he asked her, settling close to her, touching knees as he shifted his torso and head to attend to her response.

“Five, barely cognizant,” she replied.

“Cognizant,” he chuckled.

“Don’t do that,” she muttered.

“What?”

“Don’t condescend. I get enough of that from my family.”

“Sorry. I just find it remarkable. I mean I find you remarkable. Just a year out of high school and you talk better than me, and me with my masters degree.”

“That’s because I’m smarter than you.”

“That you are,” he chuckled.

“Take me home,” she said.

Hand in hand, silently, they walked to his car that casino siteleri had nothing special about it like nothing special about him; a four door Japanese compact, even with a silver skin, the most popular color.

He twisted the embedded key twice, unlocking the passenger side. They climbed in.

“Where to?” he asked her.

They had not separated. After leaving work, they had eaten dinner at a nice vegetarian restaurant, and headed to the first of three movies. So he hadn’t picked her up. He had no idea where she lived.

“Home,” she reiterated.

“I don’t know…”

“You don’t know your own home?”

“You sure?” he asked her, beginning the drive.

“Take me home.” Her eyes gazed steadily at his. At least every time he glanced at her, her eyes gazed back as he drove them silently north to his small house just past the border of the city. Her large, lovely eyes had a slight shine to them made of unshed tears.

He parked in his garage, a one car one, wooden and old and small like his house. Shutting off the ignition, he asked her, “Why?”

“Make love to me,” she said matter-of-factly. “After you make love to me, I’ll tell you.”

With a confused smile, he said, “I suppose I shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“I suppose I have a horse face, long and lean…”

“It’s a…”

“I know what it is,” she finally smiled. “Come on.”

They traipsed single file over the cracked stones that made up the narrow pathway to his back door. He unlocked it and opened it for her.

“I can see what they mean about a bachelor pad,” she sighed.

“I’m a bit of a slob,” he shrugged.

“Just a bit,” she chuckled, looking at clutter everywhere. Everywhere a surface stood higher than the floor, there was clutter. And even the floor wasn’t completely exempt from it.

“Something to drink? I could make tea?”

“Take me to bed,” she replied. “Perhaps bring a bottle of water.”

The bed wasn’t just unmade, it was a mess. Two blankets and a sheet created three tangled rolls, long and narrow like stretched out taffy, mostly independent of each other. “King size?” she asked him.

“Queen. It looks bigger because the bedroom’s so small. I don’t think a king would fit.”

“Grab the blankets,” she ordered him, taking hold of the sheet and popping it to flatten it out to its full dimensions. Particles hung in the air, but not an inordinate amount. The sheet had been freshly washed a couple days before.

Once it settled gracefully on the bed, he flung out the blankets similarly though with much less finesse so they lay unevenly, but good enough in his mind. She straightened them.

Then she stripped.

He wondered if he should too, but he decided not to. It would distract from her unveiling.

She hid well what she had been blessed with. Even in the warmth of an unusually warm early spring day, she wore a shirt long enough to cover her wrists and high enough to cover her up to her neck, and a skirt that covered her ankles. She had worn a head scarf that morning as she always did when she went outdoors, but he hadn’t even noticed she had not worn it when they left work or anytime afterwards.

He never really understood the point of Moslems covering their women so completely. I mean, he understood the need to discourage temptation and all that, but in the end he found it not only ridiculous, but disrespectful to both women and men. Women were forced to be encumbered to the point that many even covered their faces. Taking away such freedom, the freedom to dress as they wished (he figured they couldn’t possibly wish to be so stifled, especially in the heat of summer), disrespected their ability to express their uniqueness, at least at the physical level. And for the men to be so forcefully removed from temptation, it spoke of a lack of restraint, like they were all innately mad with lust, all rapists at heart or something.

Her unveiling didn’t make him mad with lust, but it definitely perked up his libido, physically displayed as his pants expanded at the groin bringing a tightness there that bordered on discomfort, but more the pressure brought greater pleasure. Inside him, his heart sped up, throbbing out excitement that spread from his brain out towards his extremities and especially in that tight area where his balls seemed to throb in counterpoint.

She was exquisite. So perfectly formed. Her breasts stood out full and resilient, like two dark melons, except much softer. Her torso curved in below the chest, her waist high and subtle yet sublimely narrow, before expanding to lovely hips, not quite what might be called birthing hips, but the contrast with the narrowness of her waist made them stand out.

When she turned away from him to remove her skirt and the matronly white panties, the ovals of dark flesh she brought to his eyes excited him even more than her incredible breasts. They had the same kind of fullness and the same kind of resilience, even more so. Firm and perfectly shaped, they had some length to them, looking more canlı casino like avocados, rather large avocados, the kind with the smooth skins not the pebbly ones, than say apples or even pears. He was an ass man, and found himself gazing at the perfect ass.

A leg man, too, though a distant second to asses, the length and suppleness of those two limbs, with thighs that shouted power but were too long and not nearly thick enough to be called thunder thighs. Like her waist, the thinning to knees and calves had subtlety to them. Absolutely lovely.

“Shower?” she asked, turning to him. When he finally looked up, reluctantly because her dark bush of curly hair on her prominent mound, and the exquisite frame of pelvis, thighs and abdomen, the last a miracle of tautness and softness with just enough convexity to look appropriate and healthy, had caught his attention most profoundly, he saw her lovely face showed amusement. “I think I need one,” she said.

“Okay,” he barely croaked, causing her to giggle most delightfully.

“I’ll be quick so you can too,” she grinned.

“Let me get you a fresh towel,” he offered, sliding by her to enter the hallway and the linen closet. The intimate touch of flesh, so soft and smooth, added more fuel to his inflamed libido.

“I’ll just be a few minutes,” she said. “Why don’t you relax and maybe find some sexy music?”

He watched, transfixed, as her naked flesh moved. “Yep,” he thought. “A perfect ass.”

It took him nearly the entire time she showered trying to decide on the music. At first he thought of Al Green, but decided such a high voice wasn’t quite sensuous enough. Barry White, just the opposite, tempted him, but he couldn’t help feeling that would be too obvious and a little silly. Surprisingly he considered Leonard Cohen but the rough voice and the cleverness of his lyrics might distract. Leonard Cohen led him to Jeff Buckley and Grace. “Grace,” he murmured to himself, smiling loosely.

By the time she emerged from the bathroom, warm and damp and naked, he managed to remove all but his t-shirt and boxers. He hadn’t gone soft really, about halfway hard, but as soon as he saw her emerging from the steam, a goddess emerging from a cloud, the tent pole became obvious.

“No music?” she pouted, leaning against him, grabbing the hem of the t-shirt and lifting. His move to separate his body from the heat and sleek sensuality of hers in order for her to complete the motion was a reluctant one. But as soon as she tossed aside the shirt, their flesh met again, fully, in a hug, naked to naked this time, and he wondered how he could have thought anything else could be better.

And they kissed. For the first time. Her lips. More perfection.

Lips barely touched, just brushing against each other. And yet even with the slight contact, they both felt a spark. A series of kisses followed, with each kiss becoming firmer, leading to a final one, lips pressed together powerfully while shifting as if massaging the other’s lips. His tongue tip touched her mouth, surprising her, almost ending the kiss, but she opened to it and let it in. His tongue met teeth, which he explored rather than fought against, until she opened the gate to her interior and greeted the invader with her own tongue tip. They both hummed at the intensity of the spark, far and away greater than the first.

The lingual meeting, like a sparkplug exploding petroleum sending a piston into violent motion, sent the two lovers from revving neutral to top speed instantaneously. While tongues swirled and lunged and retreated, his tongue luring hers inside his mouth, hands moved all over backs, rubbing and pulling and exploring everywhere. His moved in opposite directions eventually. One took hold of her scalp pulling her into an even deeper kiss, while the other went exploring the exquisite flesh of her bottom. Her hands kept moving ever lower until they grabbed both cheeks of his small butt and squeezed. This brought genitals to meeting with intensity. For the first time she felt what a cock felt like against her cunt, sliding along the slit and pressing against her clit. The fabric of his boxers which tightly surrounded his cock became sodden from her pussy’s juiciness.

“Joe,” she murmured when their lips finally separated, hers guiding her breath just below his ear.

“Syrie,” he moaned back.

“Where’s the music?”

He chuckled breathlessly. “I wanted to share it with you. I wanted to wait until after I showered.”

She pulled his head back so she could look into his eyes. Her eyes danced with desire. “Then you better hurry up and shower,” she said. They shared a chuckle, not so much from the words, except maybe the hurry up part, but more from the horniness they saw in each other’s faces, and the impatience that provoked.

He had to have one more kiss before leaving her for even a little while. It was short but intense.

In the shower, he masturbated. He knew he’d have cum way too soon otherwise. And though age had lessened his ability to recharge, he wasn’t that old kaçak casino that he wouldn’t recover, and with her, even if he were old, he’d probably have no trouble. It didn’t take long. All he had to do was contemplate her amazing ass, which he had seen move and felt in his hands. He imagined holding those incredible hills of flesh while stroking deep and hard into her deepest depths. His moan hid beneath the cascading water.

Only the sheet covered her when he returned to her, and the way her dark nipples peeked from the top made it even sexier than seeing her sprawled out naked.

The way she had kissed, the shock she felt when his tongue entered the fray, told him of her lack of experience. He figured everything about this night, from hanging out with him on the unplanned date, to holding hands and walking through the night, to stripping naked for him, and of course the kiss and everything that was about to happen, had never happened to her. She was as virgin as anyone could possibly be. He knew he had to make love to her as carefully and thoroughly as he ever had before. He knew he could never be selfish like he’d been so often in his youth, letting the demand of his balls take command of him. He knew he couldn’t cum until he made her cum as many times as possible.

“You are so beautiful,” he told her, “you take my breath away.”

She smiled shyly. Something else new for her, praise from the heart for her beauty.

He pressed the “play” button on the small box, a Bose so it sounded good. Jeff Buckley’s sweet voice entered the room, welcomed. She opened the sheet for him to get in beside her and for him to see her body again in all its glory and grace.

As he nestled beside her with a kiss, she pouted. “I thought it would be hard for me, your…”

“Cock?”

“Yes,” she grinned. “Your cock.” He could see the amusement she found talking dirty.

“It will be, sweetie. I masturbated.”

“Really,” she kept grinning. “How come?”

“I would have cum to quick.”

“You should have invited me in the shower. I would have loved to see it, even more that I made it happen.” She reached for the rod of flesh, already hardening. He very gently slapped her hand away.

“Later, lover,” he told her. “For now I do all the work.”

And he began. Between kisses, he asked her, “Tell me what you like and what doesn’t make you squirm with pleasure. Can you do that for me?”

“Okay.”

“Nervous?”

“Why should I be? This is exactly what I want. This is what I wanted for quite a while. I know you’ll be good to me. Why worry?”

“Good,” he chuckled and kissed her deeply, his hands beginning their caresses, beginning with her face and scalp and ears. Fingers combed through surprisingly soft hair.

But her breasts called to him, sturdy, prominent hills of flesh topped by deeply dark tips as black as her wavy tresses.

He resisted squeezing her breasts too harshly, having done so with his infrequent lovers far too often. Instead he weighed them and fondled them, measuring their give and resilience, his fingers gentle in their curiosity. It didn’t take long for them to reach her nipples, again resisting hard squeezes and giving her easy caresses which resulted in the tightening and erecting of those tips made of flesh and nerve endings. Her sighs filled his mouth which lifted off hers to give her access to air while also allowing his lips and tongue to move to the accentuating of what his fingers had begun.

He loved the texture of her areolas and her nubs against his tongue. He loved her moans and her quiet wriggles. He might have stayed longer to see how close nipple play could bring her to orgasm, but she had other ideas.

Gently he felt her hand take his off her nipple and bring it between her thighs. Placing it, her hand remained as guide; the narrow and long fingers, just an inch shorter than his own lengthy digits, spread above his hand as if attached and in control. And the pressure on his middle digit guided him to the crest of her pussy, warm but not quite wet enough.

Slowly, with her hand still piggy-backing, he brought the middle and pointing finger of both his and her hands into his mouth to bring saliva lubricant to them. Withdrawing his damp fingers with a surprising jerk left her fingers in place, and he sucked on them giving her an extra, unexpected thrill.

Left to their own devices, his fingers circled her vagina, several stirring strokes delaying the inevitable clit caress. Even when they reached the top of her cunt, he pressed his middle digit inside her instead of rubbing above. It sought and found the roughened texture behind her pubic mound making her squirm and arch a bit and moan extra loud. She relaxed and sent out a complaining mewl when the touch ended, but he realized a mistake. He needed to dampen his thumb as well. Though getting ever wetter, her pussy hadn’t made enough juices to do the job, so back into his mouth went his fingers.

“Delicious,” he told her, which made her grin.

“I’m glad you approve,” she said.

After sucking his thumb, his fingers returned to play at her pussy, going through the same preparatory motions he’d gone through before. She didn’t mind, especially with a more aggressive sucking of one nipple and then the other accompanying the return.

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