Great Sex
As I straddle him, my legs seem longer than I’m used to.
He exposes his prominent chest while dark hair outlines his chiseled face. The feel of his stubble makes me swoon as I feel him with my fingers on the outside and his appendage deep inside.
His hands support the weight of my breasts while teasing my stiff nipples with a finger of each muscular hand.
“Oh God!” I shout in a raspy voice, tinged with the aftertaste of a cigarette.
My hands press on his firm chest as I push down and back with my hips. His guttural grunt signals his approval. I pull back up and forward and feel him shifting inside me. He’s pushing just in the right spot when I get the angles right. I move up even more so that the base of his cock slides near my ass and is touched by my two cheeks.
But as amazing as those other sensations may be, I am most focused on the tip that is just riding against my inner section. Right near my G-spot! As much as I want to stay right there, I realize that the transition into that spot is what drives me most crazy.
I move up and down him again, getting his tip right near that spot again, making me pant harder than the time before.
I’m feeling sparks throughout my body. That spot is the generator.
I lose focus on the spot. I can’t concentrate enough anymore.
But it doesn’t matter. My whole vagina is filled with electrostatic pulses as long as I keep him moving. Rubbing. Pushing. Pulling. Sliding. In. Out. Up. Down.
“Oh fuck, Donna! Fuck me! You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, Donna! Oh God!”
Those would be great words to hear, except my name is not Donna. Not even close.
Chelsea. Chelsea Portman. That’s my name. And supposedly named after the football club. One of the few legacies I have from a father I barely knew. Neither did my Mom for that matter.
But, until I wake up from my dream, I am glowing with the sound of the name Donna as much as the sounds coming from this dark-haired hunk of a man. I’m the source of his pleasure. I’m making him feel ecstasy. When he cums, he cums shouting my name.
When I cum, I’m soaking up the rewards from my efforts.
When I wake, my panties are wet. I hadn’t cum... I don’t think so at least. I still feel the way the wave of pleasure shot up my torso as though forced up from the intensity of his sperm rushing into my body. It’s as though his sperm filled me all the way to my fingertips and the tips of my toes.
And I love it!
Well, I’m not a fan of him calling me “Donna”. Yes, I was at the time, but now I feel kinda robbed. Even as I revel in the electrified sperm rushing through my body, I feel disrespected.
It’s just a dream. I shouldn’t feel that way. I know.
My therapist told me as such.
I hoped a therapist would help. If only there was just a natural explanation. The hidden images nesting in my head might make more sense.
Dr. Jannie says that my thoughts of other people are just me trying to live through others and not respecting myself enough.
It’s hard to believe her when even she is dumping me.
She says that we’ll continue, but she recommended me to someone else. I guess I’m such a nutcase that I need stronger medicine.
Dr. Philips.
I’ll meet him in a few days.
I can’t wait.
I can. I’m just being sarcastic. Sarcasm is something else Dr. Jannie suggested I stop doing.
“You’re avoiding truths,” she said.
“You mask everything you believe,” she said.
“You fuck up your life more than you know,” she said.
She didn’t say that last part, but she might as well have.
I’ve fucked up my life so much that I have these dreams of fucking. All the time!
Except they’re never me.
