Cotton

girl-before-a-mirror1
Picasso-The Girl Before the Mirror 1923
Why were boys so oblivious? She watched and waited, wet and oh so ready, just inches away from their blatant erections. How ridiculous —a hard-on with nowhere to go. Would any of them even know what to do if they managed to get a willing partner to fuck? Had all their primal instincts been so dulled that a layer of cotton was enough to obstruct what their senses should have detected? What was it going to take? Her guiding a pair of shaking hands to her overheated, soaking flesh? Shoving him flat on his back to sit on his face and drown him in the flood from the delta between her thighs? She bit her lip in frustration.

She liked one boy in particular. Gloomy, androgynous and so very pretty —she had been immediately attracted to him. He was just her type. And although he was initially curt and surly, she could tell that he liked her too. They inevitably found each other at the same parties. And though his attitude remained inarticulately hesitant, his eyes told a different story. He wanted her. The question was how to transform this unstated desire into a demonstrated reality. Surely she wouldn’t have to make all the moves?

Back in her room, she slowly undressed in front of the full length mirror. She studied her body with clinical detachment. What would he see when he looked at her? Would he find the shape of her breasts pleasing? Would he stare at them, unable to resist touching them with his long, clever fingers, caressing them with his palms, running his tongue over the stiffening nipples and across the bruise-colored aureoles? And then would he suck them? Pull each tightened peak into his mouth, simultaneously gaining comfort and driving his lust? Maybe he would French fuck them, thrust his cock between them, rub the tip against her nipples until, at last, the moment arrived and every drop of come had been squeezed out, adorning her elegant neck with a glistening pearl necklace. The girl in the mirror touched those taut peaks, feeling them pucker in anticipation of something more. Would the boy know what to do? Would he know how? Would he be shocked and offended at her lust, the desires that she needed so desperately and immediately to fulfill?

She ran a hand over her heated skin to her navel. Maybe he would flood her belly button with his semen. Maybe he would trace a finger through it and write his name on her stomach or across her rib cage. Her own fingers swirled the four letters of his name. She was soaking now, heart beating rapidly, breathing quickened. What else would he do to her? Would he stroke the peeled wands that were her slender arms, the serpentine smoothness of the skin in the hollows of her thighs? Would he find arousal at the overripe strawberry of her anus? Or would he be satisfied with her breasts, her eager and willing mouth, her slick cunt? Her fingers trailed lower. The girl in the mirror sighed.

Absorption in such questions while you are alone and naked in a room in front of a mirror can only lead to one thing. Her body flushed with the heat of arousal, her depths drenched and aching to be filled with his length, she took one last look in the mirror and moved to the bed. She imagined him coming to her as she lay back and spread her legs wide. With both hands she lightly caressed the inside of her thighs, her need now urgent, the delay a sweet torture. When finally parted her labial lips, she was so wet she could easily insert three fingers. With a soft moan, she pushed in deep.

(This wouldn’t have seen the light of day without the invaluable editorial advice of Megan from Murmer and Sigh. Please visit her wonderful site.)

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125 thoughts on “Cotton

      1. Well… I doubt they’d be shocked I brought it up but they probably will blush and giggle and say they couldn’t possibly. Sigh. It’s hard to be me sometimes… 😉

        Liked by 1 person

      2. These ladies need to expand their horizons. All they like are historical fiction novels. I suggested sci fi and they hated it and another odd book that they mostly liked. I have to push them.

        Liked by 1 person

      3. Hmmm, but not them. I’m going to suggest it. I’ll let you know what they say. Actually, let me read some first so I know what I’m suggesting.

        Liked by 1 person

      4. It’s been a while so you will have to remind me of the actual story. The decadent aristocrat (usually English) is a stock figure in erotica. My favourite one and the one I remember the most is a story about two women going to a party in the back of a taxi, the title is a woman’s name. Are you not enjoying?

        Liked by 2 people

      5. It’s the guy who took advantage of women and then took their money- The Hungarian Adventurer. But most of it is about pedophilia and/or incest. Just not what I was expecting and definitely not something I can recommend to my book club. I didn’t buy the book so only read that excerpt on Amazon.

        Liked by 2 people

      6. It was shocking, yes. Perhaps it was a poor excerpt to choose then. I should see if it’s at the library. I’d like to check it out. 😀

        Liked by 2 people

      7. She is Spanish and it was pronounced Ann- I- EE so I didn’t put it together with Anais Nin. I wonder if she was named for her. I was named for a poet/writer. These are random thoughts…sorry…

        Liked by 1 person

      1. I would refer to J G Ballard spirited defence of pornography in the foreword to Crash as being the purest form of literature as the writer has to fashion a compelling narrative within a narrow boundary. Of course I could just be justifying.

        Liked by 1 person

      2. You don’t have to justify anything to me, Mr. Cake. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with sex- writing it, reading it, or enjoying it. And some of my toughest things to write are sex scenes. You did a really good job making this interesting and arousing while pushing at boundaries.

        Liked by 1 person

      1. Henry Miller was a working class guy from Brooklyn who ended up in Paris and had an affair with Anais Nin… he wrote Tropic of Cancer which was subject to a famous obscenity trial and banning while she wrote erotica for which she was paid for by the word. A couple of movies have been made of them Henry and June and Quiet Days at Clichy

        Liked by 1 person

  1. This is an excellent piece, not merely for its delicious eroticism, but also because it hits on the idea of us never really being sure of how someone else will react: an insecurity of youth that stays with us. Great work.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Thank you Chris, I am glad that you enjoyed and that I appeared to have conveyed some psychological depth in this short piece. We never do know how others will react, we think we know but we are only ever guessing and people can be surprising.

      Liked by 1 person

  2. Erotica at it’s best. I love how you describe this boy/man’s hesitancy.
    It is not easy to pull off erotica without it coming across as cliche but you showcase your piece wonderfully. I think it is because she is alone and looking in the mirror and fantasising . I love the idea that she is so confident about her sexuality. It’s alluring. I wonder why she is drawn to androgynous men?

    Liked by 2 people

  3. What a brilliant name. Cotton was a genius title. I couldn’t stop reading this one from the beginning to end. Is this something women do in front of the mirror? I hope so. We would like to thank Cake for coming by our Gastradamus blog, Cake has been very generous with his feedback. I noticed that Roger follows your blog, that guy was nice enough to to edit my Blue Jasmine story. Will be reading more cake, I’ve got to go comfort a women now after reading that, stay fresh and sweet

    Liked by 1 person

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