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Once inside we fed the dog, felt each other's body and fell on the bed kissing. It was a damn good night. With all the drinking done I had forgotten my promise to not touch my lips to hers so I slid my tongue in her mouth, while at the same time taking her skirt off.
She went down on me right away, such an innocent and American thing to do, and then got on top, moving her hips rhythmically up and down my legs. I could feel myself going deep inside and rubbing the most sensitive of my ends against her cervix. I kept chafing and chafing for a few more minutes until my penis felt raw, while she took my hands and cupped them against her breasts which my fingers grabbed hard, pulled and twisted on the nipples. A moan sounding close to a cry of pain came through her lips, the hips moved faster, while at the same time her inside got wetter. The sensation from down under became moister then moistest and I let her orgasm, feeling the sap of her vagina pouring around my penis like a tropical rain which made me cry out too, aroused by her pleasure.
Once her rhythm slowed I moved her to the side, turned her face down, got on my knees, pulled her strong legs between mine and penetrated her from the back. Her behind shined round and muscular in the dark so I put the palms of my hands on it and kept going in and out of her. After a few minutes I moved back a little, spread her legs, touched her vagina with my fingers and then pressed against her anus. She turned her head and asked:
"What do you want, Carlos?"
"You know," I answered.
"Ok, do it quickly. Rush," she told me.
I did not say a word since I was afraid that she would change her mind, but rather I dipped a finger in my mouth, then pressed it gently against her anus once again, penetrated her with it and hence lubricated the pink entrance to that tight and bottomless pleasure. Once I felt it wet enough, I moved forward and sunk my penis fully in her behind. She screamed now, a muffled scream, somewhere between agony and ecstasy. The backdoor seemed initially narrow but once inside it was fluid, powerful and endless, like one of Hawking's black holes. It was a baby black hole for a baby spaceship.
"Oh, Giorgio," she said "oh, Giorgio. I missed you so much."
"Giorgio," I answered. "My name is .... nevermind."
"Rush," she told me, not even realizing her previous faux pas.
"Limbaugh," I answered.
"Ruush!"
"Limbauugh!"
"Ruuush!"
"Limbauuugh!"
I was moving a lot faster by then, excited by her screams of possible pain. A delightful pressure was building more and more intense in my groin, and then, with a slight yell of relief, I finished, I was done, my essence inside her body.
"Ruuuuuuuuush!" she let out a cry for a last time.
"Limbauuuuuuuuugh!" I whispered.
It all felt like one small victory for me, one giant leap for the Democratic Party.
It is the purely savage aspect of anal sex, the hurtful possession, coupled with the feeling of defloration that interests a man. The simple act of being where no other has been before, or at least where we hope that not too many men have been before, is highly exciting in these times of relative depravation and, despite its brutal aspects, it actually feels more like a taste of innocence, a return to the years of virginity. The hygienic aspect of such an act is the only thing that actually keeps me from proposing it too often and there are just a few women with whom I am willing to try it. In this case I had done it more out of resentment despite the fact that the poor NRA chick did not really do anything bad to me. Maybe Scott's Slott left such a deep mark that I cannot help but feel some hatred toward people in general even if I wish so often for the ability to answer my detractors with kindness.
I stood up and went to the bathroom to take a shower. There I forced myself to pee in the stall then with soap I scrubbed and scrubbed my genitals, trying to just enjoy the memory of the finished sexual act and not think about how close I was to actual human waste. It is interesting, in just a few isolated cases such a thought would not bother me, and with Scott's Slott I would touch and taste anything, every part of her, everything originating from her body. Once I was done showering I went back to bed and collapsed. The fun was over, I needed to rest.
Sometimes I wish so much that exceptional sexual acts of my life would last forever and I would go into darkness enjoying a good ride. But it will not happen since I will mostly likely die alone, in an overpriced hospital bed if I am lucky, killed by bad habits and good doctors.
I fell asleep in her bed and the morning came too soon. It was time to slip out of there, so I took another shower, dressed quickly and on my way out gave the NRA woman a slight kiss on her naked bottom. It still looked nice, firm and attractive, but she did not, her face tired and somehow angry, so I started to understand that her "Oh Giorgio" screams from the night before might not had been expressions of pleasure only. Well, there was nothing I could do by then since sexual defeat and surrender are always painful and she had to get over them on her own.
I left her house and eagerly found the path to the freeway. On my way out I stopped for a few minutes on the side of the road and stared at the water. The lake seemed endless there; to the naked eye it looked as large as the ocean. We humans definitely perceive so much less than we can envision with our minds. I felt a pain in my heart and did not really understand why. Was I experiencing a hangover so deep that it affected my soul, I wondered. Maybe the mother of all hangovers just hit me and Fat Jesus was nowhere in sight to save the day. But then I realized, it was yet again the sign of unfulfilled affection. I missed my true love so much, even after a night of drinking and debauchery that I just wanted to dissipate into thin air. Damn love, I hated it.
Good sex does not come from the technique of partners, from the actual physical things we do to each other. It is a feeling embedded in our brains to an unreachable depth, to unconscious levels and expressed instinctively in our bodily behavior. When I made love to my married girlfriend I did not think about what I would do next, it just came naturally and as a result of what was almost a fluid of emotions flowing between us. That was chemistry. The best sex of one's life always comes from mind and heart, not the body.
I was trying to let the regrets go away, but it did not seem to work. Maybe I just needed more alcohol, maybe I just needed more time, maybe I just needed to perish a little more and then grow my spirit back. My spirit that does not belong to an inexistent god but it was rather formed around an intangible feeling, my soul that only exists when I love someone and dies when the love disappears.
I drove home, with a quick stop for coffee at Starbucks. The night had been nice and it helped me forget. The day ahead was looking ugly with one hundred percent chances of a hangover, so I sent a text to the NRA chick, thanking for the evening we spent together. She never answered, so I realized that anal sex with anyone else but Giorgio must not have been her thing. I guess I just missed my chance to have some conservative ideas rubbing off on me, I will continue being the only democrat in the South. Before that night I had never known the true meaning of backdoor politics.
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