Four writers for the price of one blog
Bread & Water
An erotic doodle by Redbud
“Are you coming too?” she asked.
She glanced at her boyfriend in the mirror.
He was sitting on the edge of her bed, watching her dress, chewing on a toothpick. Friends waited for them outside the apartment. She tugged her sleeveless T down tight over her breasts. Her boyfriend was quiet. He’d arrived before she was dressed, after yoga and a shower. She could hear her friends outside and below the window. Her clean laundry was dumped in a pile at the bottom of the open closet. She bent over.
One of her apartment mates called from the kitchen, “Do you know where the bottle opener is?”
“It’s in the dishwasher!”
“Who the hell puts a bottle opener in a dishwasher?” Her housemate asked rhetorically.
She found her panties.
She turned to her boyfriend, wiggling them up her legs and over her hips. “Did you say something?”
That’s when she knew. She felt the necessity, like thirst for breath or water. She turned.
A warm breeze blew through the open window. She smelled cut grass and heard wind in the early summer’s leaves. She tugged her jean shorts over her hips, left then right, and buckled their slender leather belt. All the while, her boyfriend watched from the edge of the bed. She bit her lip.
She rubbed her knees together. Their eyes met. She rose up and down on the balls of her feet. She glanced at the door, then at him, then hurried out and to the bathroom. She put on lipstick. Her hand shook. She put a little something in her eyelashes. Her hand still shook. She pushed down her jean shorts. She sat on the toilet, knees together, shins diagonal and peed.
She hurried back.
Her boyfriend watched her. He stood. She felt dizzy. She needed one last thing. She needed car keys. She brushed past him, then looked back. He stood behind her, waiting. She knelt with one knee on the mattress, she saw her purse half covered by the slipping bed sheets. She glanced back once more. She turned away, facing the wall. The palm of his hand pushed at the small of her back, forcing her to arch.
“Are you almost ready?” her friend called downstairs.
His other hand pulled the crotch of her shorts and panties aside. If he could have seen her expression, he would have seen her frown, her momentary confusion, then her mouth open wide, then her wide-eyed gaze flutter as the smooth, brown head of his cock opened and pushed into her from behind.
She gripped the sheets of the bed with the full length of him. Words weren’t necessary. He drew back and thrust hard. Their friends talked and waited for them just below her window. Each thrust was answered with her own stifled gasp. The bed sheet knotted between her fingers.
Then, unexpectedly, in the middle of a bright, sunny day, she orgasmed on a man’s cock. Another gust lifted the curtains of her window and she felt her lover’s twitch. He warmly poured himself into her. She waited. He held her a little longer. She waited and then he slowly withdrew. He zipped the fly of his jeans.
“What’s taking you?” her house mate called .
“I needed a minute!” She widened her stance. She stood on tiptoe and moved the crotch of her shorts back over her pussy.
Her hips swung. She was liquid with the quick lovemaking. Call it the first time she had ever had sex: when words weren’t necessary; when the need was understood, when the sex was like breathing, like laughter, or like bread and water.