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My clit is on fire, and I'm moaning now, deeper and louder. I don't know who I am, who he is, where I am, but oh my God, I'm coming hard.
"Oh God," I moan. I get off as I touch myself. I close my eyes, needing this like I have never needed anything.
My back arches. I moan louder. "Oh my God. Oh my God." I finish. I collapse. I'm panting, catching my breath. I pull back my fingers, and I close my knees. I draw my finger to my mouth, and I lick my juice.
Is this who I am? The kind of girl I am? I have no fucking clue. Oh my God. Internally, my body is begging for more. My whole body is on fire.
"Who are you?" I repeat. "Do I know you? Are we together? Are you my person?"
He stands, stepping back fast. "No," he says. "I'm not your person, but, fuck, I want to be. Oh my fucking God, I want to be."
"What do you mean?" I say. I sit up. I press my hand on my forehead. "Oh, God. My head really hurts."
He walks to the kitchen, gets a rag, runs it under water. In a cabinet, he grabs a bottle of Advil. He brings it over to me with a glass of water. I'm sitting on the couch now, and he's kneeling before me. He hands me the Advil and the water. I drink up.
He presses the rag to my forehead. We're so close. I want him to kiss me, lick me, eat me, have me.
Is this what we do? Who are we? Who is he? I want him to be mine.
"I don't know you. I just saw you for the first time about 30 minutes ago. I've been gone on a family trip."
"You have a family?" I gasp. "A wife?" My eyebrows raise.
He presses the rag to my forehead, wiping away the blood. "You've just got a small cut," he says. "Thank God. And no, I don't have a wife. I was visiting my parents and my two brothers. They live in Boston. We live in Washington, just outside of Seattle in the Puget Sound, a ferry ride from Seattle. And I don't have a wife or kids or anyone." He chuckles, "I mean, before you."
I smile. "Before me? What do you mean?" I open my legs. I want to let him in. "What did you just do to me?" I ask. "I opened my eyes, and all I wanted was you. I was so hot. Is that what I always do?"
"I don't know," he says. "I have never met you before in my whole fucking life. I came home, and you were asleep on my couch. And then you bolted. Do you remember that? Running out of my cabin, falling?"
I shake my head. "I don't remember. Did I have a purse? Any identification?"
He shakes his head. "No, you were barefoot. You didn't even have a coat. I should take you to a hospital. Maybe a police officer can get you fingerprinted, something."
"I don't want to go anywhere," I tell him. "I want to stay here. I want you to do things to me. I want to feel like that again. Like what I just did to myself.”
He shakes his head, stands up again, steps away from me, pacing.
"No," he says. "I can't do that."
"Why not?" I ask. "You don't find me attractive? Because my whole body is on fire," I tell him. "I want you like I've never wanted anything."
"You don't know that," he says. "You don't even know my name, and you don't know what you've wanted before because you don't seem to know anything."
I bite my bottom lip. "I guess that's true, huh. Shit." I run a hand through my hair. "Oh my God. I could be married myself. I could have kids."
"Your pussy didn't look like you've had kids," he says.
I lift my eyebrows. "So you could see my pussy?" I ask, my voice soft. "I wondered if I moved my panties far enough for you. You could see when I touched myself?"
"Barely, but I could see how tight you were, and your belly, it's pretty flat, taut. I don't think you've been pregnant."
I lift my shirt up, examining my body. I unbutton my jeans and let them fall to the floor, shove my panties past my hips. I examine myself. He's right. I am pretty lean.
"Don't," he says. "You can't strip in front of me.”
"You don't want to see my cunt?" I ask him. I'm standing right before him. My pussy is well trimmed, and I want to explore it. I want to press my fingers inside of myself all the way. I want him to touch me too. I want to see his cock. I want to taste it, lick it.
