eric liked to come on me ; can you imagine?

eric liked to come on me

Eric liked to come on me.

I would enter the dark room of his first floor studio on East 9th Street, and the pinky-misty filtered light from the street lamps would stream into the sole window in the apartment. It was always night time. The room was always dark except for the little plug-in night-light of the virgin mary that glowed green and eerily illuminated the side of the studio that had no window.

The whole procedure was very systematic. I would take of my clothes and lie back on his narrow twin bed, and the merging pink and green glows would converge on my pale olive body, highlighting my jutting hipbones and full round tits. Eric would take off his clothes slowly, folding them and putting them on the wooden folding chair in the corner of the sparsely furnished room. He had a skinny, hairy body that you could tell was gonna get flabby in a few years when he got to be over 30 and all that beer and whisky drinking caught up with him.

He would straddle me, his skinny hairy legs around my full hips and he would begin to stroke his already hardened cock. I was supposed to watch but not touch as he pumped and squeezed his swollen dick. This reminded me of a procedure my mother told me about where, in the old days, you had to squeeze the margarine to mix it.

It was hard for me to remain interested, but in the dark you couldn't really tell. With my eyes half-shut it was easy to mistake my boredom for ardor. He sometimes would begin to fondle himself with his other hand; play with his balls, pinch his nipples or stroke his thighs. He would coax out his pre-cum like toothpaste and with his little finger rub it on my lips. When he was about to ejaculate, he would say, "I'm coming," in this really quiet voice and then huge buckets of hot jizz would come pulsing out onto my taut stomach, sometimes in little squirts and sometimes in long streamers that would reach to my tits and still be connected to the mouth of his dick.

It always seemed like such a waste to me, all that cum all over my stomach, especially since I was a vegan and could have really used the protein.

can you imagine?

I am walking through a park slowly, deliberately. I feel like the girl in the Doors' song. I am wearing tevas. Can you imagine me in tevas? And a flowered dress. Can you imagine me in a flowered dress? I wonder sometimes, how do you imagine me? Naked except for a black velvet choker and an ankle bracelet? Stockings, garters, g-string and a silk teddy? Or in an apron over a housedress with fuzzy slippers on my feet. I am beating the cake batter languidly eliminating the lumps as you beat your rancid meat, stroke, stroke, 300 to match my cake batter stirring and as I finish and bring the spoon dripping with gooey chocolate betty crocker batter to my red-stained lips, you spatter your measure of batter straight up on to your waiting stomach.

As I walk, I clutch a glacier ridge bottle to my breast with reverence. It sits in the hollow between my tits, clenched firmly in my right hand, much like I held your dick a few night ago when you tittyfucked me and when you were about to spew and I could see your cock swelling and gushing hot gurgling pre-come, I put your cock in my mouth and your orgasm blew my head right off. The police investigated and labeled it a suicide and you were a free man. And so was I.

It's a beautiful day.

--constance marie lingus, 1994

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