Top

"I have to practice,” he says. “I have to meet the guys at 3:30. I haven't practiced all week..." he murmurs as I pin him gently against the wall.

"I know," I say. "I don't want to occupy your entire afternoon. I'll leave." I lick his ear. Bite the lobe.

"Yeah,” he says, sighing. “And I don't want you getting all sweaty. For meeting your, your friend." He sucks on my bottom lip. I do the thing where I fuck his mouth with my tongue.. He takes it.

Somewhere along the way, I ask, "What’s this?” feeling his hard-on through his jeans. I look into his eyes. He looks so lovely, so tired. That's what you get for two hours sleep. He'd woken me up before breakfast with that prong that is his gorgeous hard cock nestled up against the small of my back. I don't mind waking up to that. I don’t mind him knowing that when he's ready, I'm ready. He doesn't even have to touch me these days. He can just breathe in my ear and I get wet.

Moments before, he was sitting in his chair by the coffee table. Patti Smith was playing again. I stood before him. He looked up at me with puppy dog eyes. I played with his hair. I felt large. In a good way.

"I like the way you look down there," I said.

"I'd like the way you'd look if I were on the floor, you standing over me,” he said.

Sigh.

And now, he's up against the wall, my tits pressed against his chest. I position my pussy so it's below his cock. I remember flashes of me humping his knee, him swinging his leg, rubbing his knee back and forth between my legs. I remember the rhythm he kept, his panting, his breath. His cock is generally readily available, but the way he uses all his other parts is something else. The way he explores my body with his body. The way he remembers all of his other parts. All of my other parts.

i like my body when it is with your body. It is so quite a new thing. that e.e. cummings poem. Bodies are revelations.

Against the wall, I pin his arms above his head. He has the nerve to pin mine behind my back. I suppose we take the lead together. And then he's on the couch. His shirt's still on. His pants unzipped his balls, plump, high, rolling out over his jeans. And his cock strong and hard. Majestic.

"God, you make me so hard," he says. It's a terribly obvious thing for lovers to say, but really, he makes me so wet. I can't believe how wet he makes me. My juicy cunt, a slick highway, an all-access pass. I can't believe how much I want to make him happy with my pussy and my mouth and my tits. It is such a good thing to want to make someone happy.

The night before, I had said, over and over again, as he fucked me: "You own my pussy right now, you own it, it's yours, it's all yours…" That was the night before, though.

Back on the couch: "I’m not sure if you can manage, but you should get on top. And fuck me that way," he says. Suddenly, I get a bit nervous. I'm never on top. I suck at being on top. I say that all the time. For whatever reason. But at this moment in time, I don't say anything like that. I might grumble quietly for a second, but then I just say:

"Okay," and I kiss him and smile at him and try to focus. I straddle him. He guides his cock in. It slips out a bit. He's still so hard. It makes me giggle. I am mostly dressed. He takes my left tit out of my bra and starts sucking on it. I slide his cock back in. I start to move my hips back and forth. Like the magazines say. I am trying to recall the things the magazines say. I know how silly that sounds. I am trying to understand why it is girls like this position so much. I am looking deep into his eyes and then suddenly, I close them, turn my head away as he sucks on my tits and I rock, back and forth, and suddenly, quite suddenly, this is feeling quite good.

ee cummings...Muscles better and nerves more.

This is feeling like it feels when he's fucking me. But I am fucking him.

I want to be a top.

My fear of being, geographically, on top has prevented my dream from happening in some ways, but right now, at this moment, I can feel my pussy just get wetter and wetter and wetter. I am doing it. I am topping him. More importantly, I am topping myself.

"I'm so hard," he says. “Fuck."

And then I start fucking him harder, hips moving back and forth, and then I pause, and I look down and he's pumping his cock in and out of me, and biting his lip and I'm thinking, I need to go up and down on his cock, none of this back and forth, I need to fucking stab my cunt with his cock right now, and so I position myself to go up and down. Up and down. And I do. And suddenly, I am riding him hard. I really, really am, up and down up and down, and I making the sounds of a girl who is on fucking TOP, and my thighs and ass are slapping against his gorgeous hairy quads and he's groaning and grunting and so am I and my legs are burning, and I am not strong enough for this, but suddenly, I am strong enough, and I continue to pump up and down on him and goddamn it, if I don't start to tremble, and it's hard to keep myself upright, and it's hard to keep fucking like this when I'm about to cum, but I know if I stop I won't cum, so I muster up every bit of strength I have to keep going and he can tell, he can really tell and he says:

"That's it, baby, that's it, cum for me, cum for me."

And I do. I cum for him. I cum for me. I am so proud of my body.

And I gasp. And I collapse onto him, kissing his neck, sweating and shaking and feeling so strong. So fucked.

"That was fucking hot," he says, beaming, his cock still hard.

My heart is fluttering about in my chest, like a bird in a cage.

"I've never been able to, you know...” I smile and suddenly feel bashful. How often do I feel bashful? “This is just. This is so exciting. Thank you,” I say. Dorkily, sweetly, with gratitude.

"That was so hot," he says again, his hard on still blazing. "You don't have to worry about taking care of my cock. I'll be hard for another hour or so."

God, how I wish I had that hour, we had that hour. But there are other hours to come.

And right now, I really do have to go.

God in Heaven: I want to take it all from him. And give it all back. Because he has given me. So much. Already. So unexpectedly.

Sometimes, I wonder, in general, not just with him, but with the world: Will I have enough to give? Is there enough of me? Will I run out of me? There seems to be more of me right now than ever. A surplus. But I'm afraid. I'm afraid of giving it all away too quickly. But really. Luckily. Time is an invention. A concept. There is no fast or slow. There is only the moment. And all that I can give, right now, is all that I can give. I can give a lot. And I think there's a lot to get from giving.

I don't want to leave. But I have to. I'm very sweaty. I have to powder my face. And I have to meet my friend to go see a cooking demo down by Chelsea Market.

"I really have to go," I say, kissing him, letting him feel my smile on his lips. I look at his mouth. The twitching corners of his smile. The adorable resistance of a smile. Like it’s too much for him. Like his happiness sort of embarrasses him. I am a bit embarrassed myself. But this sort of embarrassment is just beautiful. I am blushing at how good I feel. But I do have to go. To meet my friend.

And he’s gotta practice.