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It is hard in August in Milan, friends and acquaintances almost all away, some on the beaches, some in the mountains, some abroad. But I don't mind being alone, at most it's for a week, I needed a small period of recollection.
That asshole Franco!
We sent each other to shit, but the shit is him. I never asked him for anything in four months. Great chemistry when we made love, no promise of a lasting relationship, just sympathy, complicity and sex. Who knows, I might even have fallen in love with him, after all, he's intelligent, he's good with women and particularly with me. Besides, he's nice. But he's an asshole, like all men, I have to say. Lightweight, vain, lover-boy. What kind of maturity, but what am I saying, what dignity can someone have who suddenly starts drooling over a slut like Debra and expects me to pretend nothing?
And this while we were dining by the sea by candlelight, I was already caught up in the atmosphere and I was already dreaming of a night of passion with my man. She came by and said hello. He immediately started fooling around.
- What are you doing here, Debra? You can't tell me you haven't found company tonight...
- Look, I left the restaurant Al Porto, there was Luigi and Anna, then there was that unbearable Giovanni, and rather than stay with them I found an excuse.
Debra was dressed like a killer, with a white tank top/top, a smooth belly outside with a belly button adorned with rhinestones, white trousers still fitted with a sailor's style (maybe not so much fashionable anymore, but on her a great look), black Gucci shoes with high heels. Taller than me, i.e. taller than me, elegant, sexy, with long dark hair, a small but perfect breast, judging by the shapes hidden by the top. But it was the eyes so blue, so alive, that made me nervous.
Every once in a while she would look at Franco and he didn't even have the decency to hide the delirium he was falling into!
I endured the three-way dinner, I saw how they greeted each other, because she wanted to go to the disco, but I wanted to go to the hotel, to quarrel with Franco. And so it happened, without much screaming but with a lot of anger. At three o'clock in the morning he left, closing the door louder than necessary. I cried a little, still angry, then I fell asleep.
The next morning I packed my suitcase, I paid the bill to humiliate him at least a little bit, and on the first train I went back to Milan, home. The trip wasn't long, I arrived between noon and one. I did a few things, I fixed the laundry, I put some order in an abandoned house in a hurry, I read a few chapters of a book listlessly. I didn't have an appetite, I just had a little cheese with crackers, then I went to sleep, without trying to phone anyone.
But I couldn't find peace, I kept seeing Franco rushing to the disco, hanging up the bitch and then taking her to bed somewhere. It bothers me so much that I can't get to sleep, it forces me to watch some television just to distract myself. Then finally, around one o'clock, I fell asleep with the TV on.
In my restless sleep I see Franco, Debra and me in a whirlwind of different and confused situations, winking smiles, unclear sentences, even from me. One thing is evident: Debra's beauty and seductive power, I can't get her out of my mind, not even in the morning at eleven, when I get up and go straight to the bathroom, hoping for the relief of a total immersion in the scented foam of a tub of hot water.
I stay there for an hour, determined to relax as much as possible, a good bath always has magical virtues. And in fact I almost fall asleep again, like this; only my head emerges, my blond hair floats on the surface of the water for a while.
When I get up, rinsed with the shower, I'm definitely another, I feel different, I've left the piss behind me: and I'm ready to spend myself in other situations and other adventures.
(continues)
I can see I'm beautiful, sexting man. I have a natural power over men. I can't complain. I can find as many Franks as I want, so cheer up. I dry myself in front of the mirror, put on a bathrobe, then blow-dry my hair. I'm beautiful like this, natural, without make-up: and now that I don't feel sorry for that asshole Franco, I feel I'm in love with myself, I like myself. I take off my robe and I look at myself in the mirror in my bathroom. Matilde, you're really pretty, I tell myself. I look very jaunty, with this not very long hair, but each one on his own. I inspect my body, I move my toes, I see the nerves that agitate them, my nails painted red, ready to wear one of my many pairs of shoes. I'm crazy about shoes, I really have so many, I like to change them several times a day, because I have beautiful feet and I grow them like flowers, with a thousand attentions. I wear a pair of very high heeled shoes, the ones I wear mostly when I'm alone and I want to seduce myself.
I linger on my legs, which are long for my height (1.70), tanned. I turn around to look at my ass, to see that it is always in place, under my back, but high on my thighs. After the feet, important is the ass, proud, noble, self-supporting. Then I turn around and look at my belly, I feel like I have a masterpiece of belly. Men love my belly, everyone I've dealt with was able to look at my belly without saying anything for whole minutes. Smooth, well set between two pelvic bones that hold it like a treasure trove of fabulous promises.
Even today I'm satisfied with my belly, last night I ate little and nothing, this morning as first thing I went to the body and now I think of my clean belly outside and inside, of love and agree with the hole of my ass, a pink love that I can't see myself in the mirror but that I imagine.
The climax of admiration and satisfaction, however, I reach it contemplating my breast. I don't have big tits, second size, but they are perfect and remember Debra's tits, which I didn't see well but which, from what we guessed, must have been like mine, firm, erect, proud of the uselessness of the bra, with two nice nipples small but ready to harden.
I'm wearing a black, see-through tank top with thin straps.
Looking at my tits in the mirror and falling in love with them is often a whole. I caress them with my hands, as if they were someone else's, with the same hesitant respect. A shiver runs down my back, flies over my anal area and stops me in the form of a languor at the end of my belly. All it took was a caress on my tits to make me feel like a woman deep down, to make me realize that I won't come out of this bathroom without having enjoyed it at least once. Because it didn't take long to get me excited, all I needed was a caress and the thought of Debra.
But why her?
I've always enjoyed masturbating. I do it myself, I let myself do it, I find it an essential part of sex and life. Men like to see a woman masturbate, even if I've never given myself a why. I do it with my fingers, I do it with my dildo, as it comes. Better if my man is watching me, we both get even more aroused. But what's Debra got to do with it? I don't remember ever having erotic fantasies like that, but this time it seems to me that she's had her fair share of responsibility for getting me into this state of agitation.
Slowly, crawling on her belly as if pushing down all the languor, I go down with my hand on her pussy, which I can see well in the mirror, now that I've spread my legs a little. I comb the hair with my fingers, so that I can better see the pink slit and the pleasure button. Then, all of a sudden, I'm surprised to think that Debra is kneeling in front of me and has taken to licking my pussy with decision. Then I don't hold back anymore and I repeatedly touch my clit with the tip of my index finger.
That's how I want to enjoy it, to think Debra licking me and me stroking me. No penetration, just a little something between women who kind of hate each other.
But this orgasm that's about to arrive needs more comfort: I can't stand up and get high, I have to run to my bed, lie down, close my eyes, open them with my imagination about Debra who has her head between my legs, spread obscenely, and licks me and tells me dirty things, like: - You didn't expect to be like a lesbian, did you? I wanted you to see what could send you to heaven. Touch yourself, bitch, show me how you enjoy it, while I lick you, look at you and talk to you. Just do what I say, just enjoy it.
- Lick me, Debra, make me come... it's true, making love to you is wonderful, I like that you hate me like this, I like to show you how I enjoy it, you make me feel like a lesbian slut... come on, like this, like this, suck my pussy, love. Look how I'm shagging for you. It's wonderful, gorgeous, I enjoy, I enjoy, aah, aah, I cum Debra, I cum in your face!
.
That asshole Franco!
We sent each other to shit, but the shit is him. I never asked him for anything in four months. Great chemistry when we made love, no promise of a lasting relationship, just sympathy, complicity and sex. Who knows, I might even have fallen in love with him, after all, he's intelligent, he's good with women and particularly with me. Besides, he's nice. But he's an asshole, like all men, I have to say. Lightweight, vain, lover-boy. What kind of maturity, but what am I saying, what dignity can someone have who suddenly starts drooling over a slut like Debra and expects me to pretend nothing?
And this while we were dining by the sea by candlelight, I was already caught up in the atmosphere and I was already dreaming of a night of passion with my man. She came by and said hello. He immediately started fooling around.
- What are you doing here, Debra? You can't tell me you haven't found company tonight...
- Look, I left the restaurant Al Porto, there was Luigi and Anna, then there was that unbearable Giovanni, and rather than stay with them I found an excuse.
Debra was dressed like a killer, with a white tank top/top, a smooth belly outside with a belly button adorned with rhinestones, white trousers still fitted with a sailor's style (maybe not so much fashionable anymore, but on her a great look), black Gucci shoes with high heels. Taller than me, i.e. taller than me, elegant, sexy, with long dark hair, a small but perfect breast, judging by the shapes hidden by the top. But it was the eyes so blue, so alive, that made me nervous.
Every once in a while she would look at Franco and he didn't even have the decency to hide the delirium he was falling into!
I endured the three-way dinner, I saw how they greeted each other, because she wanted to go to the disco, but I wanted to go to the hotel, to quarrel with Franco. And so it happened, without much screaming but with a lot of anger. At three o'clock in the morning he left, closing the door louder than necessary. I cried a little, still angry, then I fell asleep.
The next morning I packed my suitcase, I paid the bill to humiliate him at least a little bit, and on the first train I went back to Milan, home. The trip wasn't long, I arrived between noon and one. I did a few things, I fixed the laundry, I put some order in an abandoned house in a hurry, I read a few chapters of a book listlessly. I didn't have an appetite, I just had a little cheese with crackers, then I went to sleep, without trying to phone anyone.
But I couldn't find peace, I kept seeing Franco rushing to the disco, hanging up the bitch and then taking her to bed somewhere. It bothers me so much that I can't get to sleep, it forces me to watch some television just to distract myself. Then finally, around one o'clock, I fell asleep with the TV on.
In my restless sleep I see Franco, Debra and me in a whirlwind of different and confused situations, winking smiles, unclear sentences, even from me. One thing is evident: Debra's beauty and seductive power, I can't get her out of my mind, not even in the morning at eleven, when I get up and go straight to the bathroom, hoping for the relief of a total immersion in the scented foam of a tub of hot water.
I stay there for an hour, determined to relax as much as possible, a good bath always has magical virtues. And in fact I almost fall asleep again, like this; only my head emerges, my blond hair floats on the surface of the water for a while.
When I get up, rinsed with the shower, I'm definitely another, I feel different, I've left the piss behind me: and I'm ready to spend myself in other situations and other adventures.
(continues)
I can see I'm beautiful, sexting man. I have a natural power over men. I can't complain. I can find as many Franks as I want, so cheer up. I dry myself in front of the mirror, put on a bathrobe, then blow-dry my hair. I'm beautiful like this, natural, without make-up: and now that I don't feel sorry for that asshole Franco, I feel I'm in love with myself, I like myself. I take off my robe and I look at myself in the mirror in my bathroom. Matilde, you're really pretty, I tell myself. I look very jaunty, with this not very long hair, but each one on his own. I inspect my body, I move my toes, I see the nerves that agitate them, my nails painted red, ready to wear one of my many pairs of shoes. I'm crazy about shoes, I really have so many, I like to change them several times a day, because I have beautiful feet and I grow them like flowers, with a thousand attentions. I wear a pair of very high heeled shoes, the ones I wear mostly when I'm alone and I want to seduce myself.
I linger on my legs, which are long for my height (1.70), tanned. I turn around to look at my ass, to see that it is always in place, under my back, but high on my thighs. After the feet, important is the ass, proud, noble, self-supporting. Then I turn around and look at my belly, I feel like I have a masterpiece of belly. Men love my belly, everyone I've dealt with was able to look at my belly without saying anything for whole minutes. Smooth, well set between two pelvic bones that hold it like a treasure trove of fabulous promises.
Even today I'm satisfied with my belly, last night I ate little and nothing, this morning as first thing I went to the body and now I think of my clean belly outside and inside, of love and agree with the hole of my ass, a pink love that I can't see myself in the mirror but that I imagine.
The climax of admiration and satisfaction, however, I reach it contemplating my breast. I don't have big tits, second size, but they are perfect and remember Debra's tits, which I didn't see well but which, from what we guessed, must have been like mine, firm, erect, proud of the uselessness of the bra, with two nice nipples small but ready to harden.
I'm wearing a black, see-through tank top with thin straps.
Looking at my tits in the mirror and falling in love with them is often a whole. I caress them with my hands, as if they were someone else's, with the same hesitant respect. A shiver runs down my back, flies over my anal area and stops me in the form of a languor at the end of my belly. All it took was a caress on my tits to make me feel like a woman deep down, to make me realize that I won't come out of this bathroom without having enjoyed it at least once. Because it didn't take long to get me excited, all I needed was a caress and the thought of Debra.
But why her?
I've always enjoyed masturbating. I do it myself, I let myself do it, I find it an essential part of sex and life. Men like to see a woman masturbate, even if I've never given myself a why. I do it with my fingers, I do it with my dildo, as it comes. Better if my man is watching me, we both get even more aroused. But what's Debra got to do with it? I don't remember ever having erotic fantasies like that, but this time it seems to me that she's had her fair share of responsibility for getting me into this state of agitation.
Slowly, crawling on her belly as if pushing down all the languor, I go down with my hand on her pussy, which I can see well in the mirror, now that I've spread my legs a little. I comb the hair with my fingers, so that I can better see the pink slit and the pleasure button. Then, all of a sudden, I'm surprised to think that Debra is kneeling in front of me and has taken to licking my pussy with decision. Then I don't hold back anymore and I repeatedly touch my clit with the tip of my index finger.
That's how I want to enjoy it, to think Debra licking me and me stroking me. No penetration, just a little something between women who kind of hate each other.
But this orgasm that's about to arrive needs more comfort: I can't stand up and get high, I have to run to my bed, lie down, close my eyes, open them with my imagination about Debra who has her head between my legs, spread obscenely, and licks me and tells me dirty things, like: - You didn't expect to be like a lesbian, did you? I wanted you to see what could send you to heaven. Touch yourself, bitch, show me how you enjoy it, while I lick you, look at you and talk to you. Just do what I say, just enjoy it.
- Lick me, Debra, make me come... it's true, making love to you is wonderful, I like that you hate me like this, I like to show you how I enjoy it, you make me feel like a lesbian slut... come on, like this, like this, suck my pussy, love. Look how I'm shagging for you. It's wonderful, gorgeous, I enjoy, I enjoy, aah, aah, I cum Debra, I cum in your face!
.
