Peach frustration, Photo by Deon Black on Unsplash
After our forbidden night, I was left wanting more. The alcohol hadn’t helped, and the moment hadn’t lived up to my fantasies. Yet I was still convinced that our early chemistry was not in vain, and that we still had some naughty moments left to live out together.
Well, the young man is still in a relationship, and my karma may once again suffer. But no pain, no gain. Frustration and morality or pleasure, I had to choose…
Orange trafic light
It’s the middle of August, and we’re feeling depressed about the bad weather, so the three of us meet for a drink on the terrace. Him, a very good friend and me.
Confessions flow freely, and he ends up talking about his relationship. You can tell he’s lost, confused and not very happy.
If you’re not happy, my darling, I’m not going to hurt you… In fact, I’m going to do you a world of good.
For some, the light would have stayed red, but for me, it’s going green. The huntress is quietly preparing for her comeback with a great idea in mind…
Perfect Occasion
The first drink of the new school year lives up to summer expectations. Everyone is in top form.
At the start of the evening, everyone was announcing their resolution to go home early, but at over midnight, bodies are still undulating frenetically on the dance floor.
At first withdrawn, almost taciturn, he eventually allows himself to be invaded by the general euphoria.
Glasses and shots multiply, eyes glaze over and our movements become less and less graceful, but more and more joyful.
The evening goes by at breakneck speed, the intoxication, the joy of meeting them again and the desire to dance on and on almost making me forget my sensual mission of the day.
I’ve lost my mojo over the last few weeks, and I have a feeling that tonight my sex appeal won’t have much effect on him.
The evening starts to empty out, and there are only three of us left. Him, a mate and me. He’s not in a very good state, he’s had too much to drink and is tossing about a lot.
I reassure him and tell him to go home. I take care of HIM.
Persuasive
This is wrong. I should have let my buddy give him a lift home… and he thanked me for it, as if my gesture wasn’t worth anything…
At that moment, my hunter’s instinct overcomes my reason, my conscience, and I take him by the hand to leave the closing bar.
Hands clutched by our barely-begun cocktails, we sit down on a step in front of a store. He sips the contents of his plastic glass as best he can.
He smells of vodka, struggles to keep a straight face and talks a little under his breath. Why do I still have desire for him at this moment? I’ve no idea. The fantasy, the unfinished, the unattainable, no doubt.
We start chatting vaguely. I might as well tell you that it’s not the conversation of the century. Besides, I don’t remember much of what we said.
My hand gently begins to caress his back. He looks at me, defiant and scared, a little too… But I keep going, he lets me, I move closer, he turns to me, and we end up kissing.
Argh, this kiss is torrid, it dies, it devours, it grabs the back of my neck, almost even my hair. This kiss awakens my desire in an instant, I want him, right now, right now. I want you to be mine again tonight.
False hope and frustration
“I’ve got to get home,” he finally says.
Uh, no, are you sure? I think you’d better go back to my place, kitty cat… Of course, I don’t tell him. I pull away from him, my lips still warm and almost sore from his little teeth marks.
His clumsy fingers tap on his phone, he’s looking for an Uber. The app churns away, a car appears and then disappears… That’s what it’s like to live in a neighborhood that’s a little off the beaten track…
We kiss again. But he knows. He knows that if he doesn’t get into an Uber soon, he’s going to crack. I know it too.
His Uber doesn’t arrive, which I take as a sign. I order one myself. It arrives quickly. The big drunk looks at me, the Uber stops in front of us.
“Come on, at worst you’ll get one from my place, at least you won’t be standing outside.
He hesitates, steps to the door. My hormones are already screaming victory.
But at the last moment, when I’m almost settled, he backs out.
“I can’t do this.” Frustration when you hold us…
A little stroll… Romantic Naughty
My Uber’s pulling away. I didn’t take it. Reason is not in my vocabulary at this point. I want it, and I’m willing to sacrifice a lot more than an Uber for it.
We look at each other. He knows what I want, I think my pupils are unmistakable. Yet he holds my gaze.
I suggest we move away from the intersection, up the street. Maybe he’ll have better luck finding a VTC a little further on.
Of course, I don’t believe a word of it, I’m trying to save time. I try to slowly, step by step, metre by metre, bring him a little closer to my lair.
Very soon, his willpower diminishes, he looks at me stealthily, our bodies collide, our hands brush against each other, search for each other… And they end up grasping one end of the other.
His hands come to rest on my hips, and he pulls me to him. Our lips find each other, and our kisses resume. Romanticism goes out the window, we jostle, claw and bite each other, our desires fighting for the last word.
I push him into a doorway and he slams me against the wall. Careful, handsome, I’ll end up swallowing you whole.
His tongue assaults my cleavage, his canines nibble frantically at my neck, and I can feel his desire swelling through his jeans.
One doorway after another, the intensity increases. The road doesn’t go very far.
Building lobby
We finally reach the perpendicular street. Argh, we’ve only gone a couple of hundred meters, and my apartment feels like the end of the world.
I wanted a torrid night, but a torrid night at home. Yes, I wanted to wake up several times during the night, to take advantage of him, to try lots of things, to revel in his skin, to scratch him, to cuddle him, to lick him, to push him around, to pamper him, to straddle him…
In short, I wanted to have time. The street is terribly exciting, but far from ideal.
I move along beside him, torn. At each doorway, I let myself be kissed, ready to strip, but I always end up pulling us out of our foreplay and trying to move further along, closer to my cozy bed.
Suddenly, a woman passes us without seeing us, hurrying into the building next door. Moved by an almost animal instinct, I take advantage of the half-light and wedge my foot in the doorway.
We wait for her to pass through the second door and for the light in the hall to go out, then slip inside.
Naughty naughty
The door to the building’s lobby is entirely glazed, and every time we move, the room lights up with a whitish tint. One thing’s for sure, any passers-by would see our lovemaking if they came by.
But the street is empty, and this building lobby isn’t so bad. The room is rectangular, with several rows of letterboxes on one wall and a mirror on the other. And in the middle, as if waiting for us, a stone or marble bench (well, a hard one!) is ready to welcome our naughty bodies.
He barely has time to take in the details of the room before I’m pouncing on him. Never mind the sheets, never mind the alarm clock curled up against his chest, we’re not really in there anyway.
I keep kissing him, more and more voraciously, then my lips start to slip, my fingers to slip under his jeans. With a deft hand, I unbuckle his belt, and the zipper on his pants doesn’t hold very long.
There he is, out in front of me, ready to be tasted. So, of course, I taste him, I play with his pleasure. And the more receptive I feel him, the more the heat in my pelvis radiates.
I put a lot of energy and enthusiasm into it, but soon I can’t take it anymore. He has to come inside me, because right now I’m on the verge of exploding with desire.
He senses the ardor in my eyes. His gaze travels around the room and stops on the street. He’s just realized that our discretion is relative.
“We can do better, I’m sure. He tries to enter through the second door, so that we can slip into the corridor, away from any impromptu glances. But the door doesn’t give way. Frustration.
Test invalidated, frustration confirmed
“Come on, let’s go out and find something else.” He’s already getting dressed. Arghhhh my frustration reaches its peak, or so I think at the time…
I was already almost lying on the bench in the middle of the hall, skirt up, offered, sensual, greedy. And there he was, in a panic, between fire and ice, hesitating about what to do next.
Mymy 0 – Trouillard 1. We leave the building. Goodbye naughty bench, hello narrow half-lit street.
A few meters further on, we set our sights on a doorway. The kissing starts all over again. I don’t intend to leave it at that, I want my share of the cake.
We rub each other, he touches me, his fingers slide inside me, and I’d so like another part of him to replace them. I don’t have a condom, I’m hesitant, my desire is such that I’m ready to do something stupid.
Then, just as I’m about to do something stupid, a car pulls up alongside us. Without missing a beat, I pull my skirt down over my bottom. It’s a good thing I’m in his shadow.
“Oh shit, that’s my uber. He kisses me one last time and rushes into the car.
Wow… Ultimate frustration.
Bastard? Coward? Faithful?
When did he order his uber anyway? When I was too focused on his growing appendix?
I can’t believe it.
I put my thong back on and walk away frustrated, vexed. He left me there like that. Bastard.
On the way, we write to each other, he remains evasive. But I sense that the weight of fidelity has prevented him from going all the way. Which goes to show he’s got some moral compass…
A few weeks later, we meet again at another party. We each have our own rooms on site, and a thousand opportunities for the two of us to isolate ourselves. I aim to avoid any frustration, and make sure something happens tonight.
Yet, all evening, we ignore each other. It’s only at the stroke of 5 a.m., when it’s just us and two other boozers, that we seem to start coming together again.
I say “seems” because when the two party-goers give us the slip, and it’s finally just us… Well, nothing happens.
I’ve just closed the door on our two nocturnal animals. He’s at my back, I can hear his breathing. My hormones start to race.
I turn back to him, look him straight in the eye.
“What are we going to do?” “Well, I’m going to bed! Good night!”.
A sledgehammer blow! “Are you serious?” “Yes, yes, you can’t fool me this time. And the young man runs off.
I stand there dumbfounded, determined never to chase him away again. Desire stops when the ego crushes too much.
Farewell my little alchemist. And farewell frustration.