Been meaning to write

I’m always a bit mystified by what it is that moves me to write, how much, and when. Sometimes, I find myself writing about what it is that occupies my mind (or my cock) at a given time. Sometimes, though, not so much.

Julie, for example, occupies much of my mind (and my cock) quite often. But rarely do I write about her.

Yesterday – as she does many days – Julie helped me start my day with her pretty parts in my face. She wore a one-piece bathing suit I hadn’t seen before. I’m a connoisseur of her outfits, and of her body. From my perspective, this swimsuit had three primary virtues: the teasing view of her pretty, small-ish (B-cup?) breasts it offered; the impeccable framing of her round, strong ass; and perhaps most notably, the way the crotch gripped – and just barely covered – her pussy’s lips.

This isn’t the swimsuit, but the cut is close to it:

I’m extremely familiar with Julie’s body. There isn’t, truthfully, an inch of it that I haven’t at least glimpsed once or twice. But if you’ve read me in any depth, you’ll know that I would much prefer to see Julie’s labia obscured by fabric, or by shadows, or by shorts just making way for my eyes to sneak under them, than I would to have her splayed nude before me.

As I write that, I see the limitations to its accuracy: I would much prefer to have her splayed nude before me for me to devour than just about anything else. But given that, this far at least, we see each other on Zoom for the purpose of Pilates? Well, given that, I like a little obscurity, a little tease. Not necessarily a lot: the glimpses I’ve had of Julie’s cunt, of her breasts, have been ecstatic for me. But part of what makes them ecstatic is precisely their rarity, their obscurity, their being given only partially willingly.

I leer at Julie’s sexy body. I do so openly. I text her that I enjoy glimpses of her ass, of her cunt, of her breasts. She knows that, from time to time, she’s showing me more that she might show the average bear. And this turns her on. It makes her wet.

But I don’t want her nude before me (if we aren’t together; I do want her nude before me, but we aren’t at that stage of our relationship).

So yesterday, I drank in the outline of her cunt seen through her bathing suit as Julie maintained her downward dog.

As she did so, as I did so, my mind spun out fantasies, as it often does when we are “together.” Perhaps one day I’ll buy her an outfit or three and deliver it/them to her by hand, instructing her to change for me, and for us to work out together (in person) in her new outfit.

Or maybe as she lifts her hips to the sky, as she thrusts her ass high and back, I’ll slip a finger, or two, or three, into her wet pussy. (Yes, I have the distinct sense it will be wet: Julie gets off on showing herself off to me.)

Or I won’t slide my fingers into her, but instead, will cup her cunt, pressing my palm up against it, collecting the sensations of heat and pulsation it surely has to offer that particular grip.

Or I’ll ask her to use her hands on me, to guide me into position, to press my thigh back, my ass down. To lift my hips up, stretch my legs out, and maybe, maybe, to adjust my stiff cock, getting it out of the way. Holding it out of the way.

Or maybe I’ll be more subtle, more teasing: I’ll have her have a drink in a bar near me, and will drop off a package (from Lululemon, or ASOS, or Agent Provocateur) at her table on my way to the restroom. With a note. Reading: “Take this to the bathroom. Put it on. Come in it. Now.”

Or more subtle still: just sitting across from her, I’ll blow up her phone with images of outfits in (and out of) which I’m imagining her.

Another thought: Julie has made clear she’s not comfortable with explicit in-person talk. She likes getting a dirty text from me. She likes to read me saying, “I’m imagining my fingers sliding into you.” She’s not so sure she wants to hear me say it in real time. And….

I’m pretty sure she really isn’t so sure she wants to say, “I need to feel your fingers slide into me.” But. I’m pretty sure I want to hear her say that. As she thrusts her ass back toward me, legs apart, and no doubt is thinking that very thought…. And so maybe that’s what I’ll ask of her.

Regardless: my point is not what I will or won’t, one day, do to, with, Julie. Rather, it’s that it surprises me I haven’t written more about all that given how much space the thoughts occupy in my mind, and in my cock.

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