A few months into the pandemic, I was hungry for any kind of new human connection. Sure, I had my weekly Zoom hang, plus a new appreciation for banana bread, and I was dabbling in microdosing as a means of getting through. But that wasn’t enough. I dreamt of finger nails tracing my back, deep kisses, biting lips and hips pressed together. I desperately needed to cum. Not just casually-cross-it-off-your-to-do-list kind of cum — I needed to lose-all-control, give-into-the-sensation, mind-goes-blank cum. So I swiped and scoured and picked away at the available queers online until I came across her.
She was tall and fat, like me. She had a broad smile and perfect hips and a soft little belly. Her hair was naturally gray, falling just past her shoulders, and looking at her photo brought me a new kind of peace. I had to know her. We matched, thanked the universe, and exchanged messages all night until we settled on a phone call that Saturday. Three hours into our call, I had butterflies in my stomach and a date on Monday.
She came to pick me up, and as soon as I got into her car, we kissed. A kiss so deep and beautiful after nearly twelve weeks alone — that’s a special kind of magic. After pulling onto the nearest busy intersection, a man flagged us down to alert us to a flat tire on our passenger side. Panic flashed before her eyes, but I knew it was my time to shine. I jumped out of the passenger side, hiked up my dangerously slinky skirt and assessed the damage, turning from Femme to Butch in seconds. Promptly, I directed her to the nearest Autozone, where we grabbed a bottle of Fix-A-Flat, and soon enough, we were back on the road from Humboldt Park to the quaint local queerville known as Andersonville. For those of you unfamiliar with Chicago’s sprawling neighborhoods, these ares are about thirty minutes apart, and any relationship between lovers of these respective spots would be considered long-distance. We spent the ride up laughing, hands clasped, silently praying that my Fix-A-Flat job would last through the pothole-littered streets. She lived on a gorgeous, tree-lined street. Beautiful flowers in raised beds adorned lawns as we walked to her third floor walk up. It felt so safe and familiar. As soon as we entered her charming apartment, I felt her hands around my waist — I was already wet just thinking about what was yet to come.
We kissed deeply with velvet tongues as she slowly started moving me towards the couch. Lying near the open window, she straddled me, her hair the color of moon beams cascading down around me. I gripped her ass with both hands as I let my tongue wander, tracing the length of her neck to nibble at her collar bone. Gentle at first, I began to suck on her neck. I wanted to leave a little mark to make sure she’d remember me. Her fingers danced across my breasts as I steadied my knee for her to ride. There were no words — only instinct and giggles as she slowly rocked on my thigh, each motion opening her inch by inch. I could feel how excited she was as she easily slid across me with every grind of her hips.
I slid my fingers up to delicately trace her clit as she took my nipple into her mouth. I reached up to grab her hair as I slid my fingers deep inside of her, curling up to feel each silky ridge that lies beneath. I laid her down as I continue to explore her with my fingers, deeper each time. Her hands gripped me tightly as I pressed my knee into the back of my hand, applying more pressure as she began to melt, and I slipped deeper and deeper. My hand dripped with her as I moved down to taste her. She opened her legs and let out the most beautiful sound as my tongue pressed into her clit, and I scratched across her thighs. She was sweet and salty, moaning as my fingers plunged deep inside, curling up with increased pressure until she finally came. She let out a laugh so rich and full as we lay there for a minute in awe of one another. I couldn’t believe I’d found her.
Before I could say anything, the doorbell rang — our pizza had arrived. She quickly dressed to retrieve it. But soon as she left, she was back, her eyes filled with mischief. She pushed me back onto the couch, holding my hands above my head as she kissed me slowly. She was in control now. She worked her way down my body, taking in every inch of me. She slipped her fingers into my mouth as she teased my nipples with her tongue. I had never been more ready to be touched, to give in. She dug her nails into my thighs as she made her way to my pussy. She pushed my thighs open and took me in as I pressed my hips into her. I begged her to put her fingers inside of me as she pulled me on top of her. She tickled my clit as I rode her, hard and deep. She played me like a well-worn instrument, and I felt grateful to be in such capable hands. She found my spot, and as soon as she has located it, she was relentless. I screamed and moaned as she persisted, until it happened — that losing-all-control, mind-going-blank kind of orgasm. I collapsed onto her chest. We were silent for a moment. Then we let out a collective roar of laughter.
She headed into the kitchen to grab us pizza and tiramisu as I searched for something to watch. She set the food down and kissed me, and we spend the rest of the night naked and entangled. I braided her hair and she fed me tiramisu and we fell in love right there. She felt like home in a way I’ve never really felt home before, and now I know that I’m here to stay.
art by Laura Lee Benjamin
Whew. Gorgeous. And directly to the point which I stan.