CBMused

I stroll down to the beach with a notepad in my beach bag. And I barely write a word.

Instead, I sink my bare feet into the warmth of the fine sand and feel my soul rejuvenate. I sit at the water’s edge studying the palette of colour before me. Dry golden sand meets its wet counterpart. Tiny white waves curl with shyness then flirt with the shore. I marvel at the kaleidoscope of clear turquoise that merges into aquas and blues and onto that line of sharp indigo at the horizon, curved, like a smile.

With the sun on my back, I take to my feet and approach the sea. My fair skin merges with the tanned sand. My form traces an outline on the clear shallow waters beneath me.

I am one with the sea.

He walks into the room and everything stops. The hostess greets him with a flamboyant “Hullo Dahling!” and kisses both cheeks. The ones on his face. At least that’s where your mind has wandered, where your thoughts were heading. Immediately you sense your body stiffen. You’re standing more upright. Your posture emphasises the curve of your breasts and the outline of your hips and thighs. You suck your tummy in. And hold it. Unconsciously. Until your cheeks start to tingle and you think about exhaling.

He works the space like a professional on stage, moving around the art gallery admiring the hostess’s work. While you admire the work of art before you. That sculpted body. That chiselled face. The warmth in those ice blue orbs. The biceps that bulge from beneath his fitted white T-shirt. The bulge. Yeah… And the cute tight pinchable ass. The kind you would hold on to while… Stop it. Your body is betraying you.

You turn your back and remember to breathe. And you smile wickedly to yourself as a flash fantasy paints the high ceiling, above your head, like a spectacular bolt of lightening. You capture the moment and bottle it. Ethereal. Ephemeral. Ensnared.

You sip your red wine and look away. You can’t let him know. Your body shouldn’t be a transparent canvas for your wanton thoughts. You’ll savour these in the quietude of the night, when your mind wanders off with the possibilities. Later. After the moment has passed. After you’ve seared his image in your memory, after the instant animal attraction has passed. Later. Much later. When you’re lying in bed in the dark, eyes wide open fixated on the ceiling, working that piece of art.

The package was left on my office chair. I lifted it in my hands, sat down and positioned it flat on my lap. Its heaviness and firmness exacerbated my anticipation. I reached for the scissors and removed the outer plastic cover with surgical precision. I am not one to rush certain things.

I opened the box and marvelled at the packaging. Carefully and slowly, I undressed it from its opaque wrapping. And my jaw gaped.

It looked nothing like I had expected. I picked it up and placed it on my desk, totally awed by its size, its sleek contours and the way it adorned my desk. I could no longer resist. Then and there, I had to give it a test run.

I touched it. I stroked it. I ran my index finger over its contours. It felt so smooth and strong. I measured its thickness, its girth and something stirred within. He is going to fit just fine. I turned it on. He blinked and whirred then sprung to life. This is going to be long and lustful relationship, one that will satisfy all my needs.

Max… Oh Max… where have you been all my life!

When it comes to a satiny matt new black toy, size certainly does matter.

All 750GB of it.

It had been an ordinary evening, its triteness somewhat calibrated by fine foods and mediocre company whose moods flickered and changed as often as the waiter topped up the aged Cabernet Sauvignon. It was meant to be a special night, a memorable double celebration with friends and the pinnacle of a planned weekend but personalities flared and flambéed with each course. I shrugged the peppered ambience and indulged my carnal desire into the finely prepared meal.

Until I spotted him. Sitting directly opposite me with his back to the wall mirror that spelled the specials in cursive handwriting. And I was incontrollably drawn to him.

Casual and stylish, with large eyes that appeared greenish in the dark, short dark hair with a teased wave that was meticulously unkempt, and a two-day beard that accentuated his full mouth. The silver ring on his little finger caught the reflection of the subdued light.  I watched him converse with his friends, occasionally raising his wine glass to those plump lips. His presence was the coup de foudre of an evening that suddenly lost its mediocrity.

I studied him discreetly, unable to shift my gaze away from him, my eyes drawn towards him like magnets. He, of course, was in total oblivion to my existence; his attention solely focussed on the exuberant mixed company at his table.

When it was time for our party to leave, I stepped into the ladies room for a quick touch up. Upon my return, the earlier moods had not dissipated with the empty Armagnac glasses. On the way out, I innocuously glanced towards him, for that once more, that one more chance to sear his features into my memory. He looked up from his company and gave me a knowing look. My lips hid a smile and silently told him, “You look gorgeous”.

Then I stepped out into the cold dark night.

I felt my knees squeeze him tight, or was it the warmth of him against my inner thighs that I initially sensed. I held him close, my arms wrapping his figure, my face mere inches from his neck. He was concentrating at the task at hand; after all, it was our first time together.

Our melded figures moved well together. Every muscle in my body clenched and released leaving me in a heightened and sensitised state. I could have closed my eyes to immerse myself in the swelling sensations but I chose to look, to open myself to the experience. I knew I would remain excited all the way, not wanting it to end too soon yet aching for that inevitable gasp of satisfaction.

I felt every bounce reverberate through my body. I looked between my legs in awe. It was so red and smooth, throbbing with need and larger than I had imagined. I wiggled and lowered myself further, screaming my pleasure to the wind. Until we finally stopped. Until the ride was over. Until we removed our helmets and gloves and toasted to our first motorbike ride in the setting sun.