The Movie Lovers Ch. 01

Bdsm

Dear Reader: The following story is a fictionalized account of some recent experiences. The names and many other details have been changed significantly to protect the ‘guilty.’ In order to make it more interesting and erotic I have followed the Christian Black’s suggestion in his essay entitled “A Philosophy of Porn” and placed my tale in “Pornotopia.” In other words I ignore such issues as safe sex, condom use, and other less than erotic aspects of human biology.

There won’t appear to be much connection between the title and the events in this first chapter but trust me its relevance will become obvious in the succeeding chapters, which will follow shortly.

I hope you enjoy and welcome all comments and constructive criticism. My thanks to my editor, funnygent32.

Marcy

*

As I think back over the last year, I hardly recognize the woman I was before meeting Nick. You see, I grew up in a conservative Catholic family where sex was literally never mentioned. In my 31 years I have never seen my mother — much less my father – naked. As a result I was quite shy about such things and so compared to most of my girlfriends, I was pretty naive.

As a kid I fell in love with gymnastics and I was pretty good. At eleven and twelve I had dreams of the Olympics but at thirteen a huge growth spurt – that never included my breasts – left me 5’10” and gawky and my coach discouraging my Olympic dreams.

Since I was popular enough to have my pick of the ‘nice’ boys, I managed to avoid the issue of actually having sex until I decided, just before heading off to college, to finally get it over with. Even then the idea of being naked in front of boy was humiliating because of my meager endowment ‘boob-wise.’ As you can imagine the outcome with two 18 year old virgins — especially with one of them as uptight as me – was less than spectacular and so I was in no hurry make sex a big part of my life in college. There were two boyfriends in college with whom I had sex but I guess neither was all that experienced and so I graduated never having experienced an orgasm involving anything but my own fingers. I liked men, a lot; I just didn’t see what was so great about sex and given my upbringing, I tended to avoid those conversations with my girlfriends that might have led me to expect more.

After college I went to work in NYC for a large ad agency that offered plenty of opportunities to meet and date men in both the art and business worlds. Maybe I was just unlucky but my experiences with artists led me to conclude that they were either gay, total narcissists, or both, and the investment bankers and lawyers I met mostly seemed to enjoy bragging about their deals and their fees. The last of these ended particularly badly. A handsome early-forties lawyer charmed me for a month before I discovered that his wife was summering in the Hamptons. My friends all laughed at me, saying that a transfer to San Francisco was like jumping from the frying pan into the fire as far as finding interesting, straight men was concerned; but having just turned 31, I was ready for a change.

I rented an apartment in the City and although I soon made new friends and quickly grew to enjoy the office’s more relaxed atmosphere, San Francisco is definitely a very gay scene. Now gay guys are great fun, don’t get me wrong, but as I settled in and started getting over “the Roger-who-rogered-me,” as my British friend branded him, I began feeling a little lonely and horny for some real, un-married, heterosexual male companionship.

About that time my best friend at the agency, Rita, a Mexican-American woman who dealt with the Hispanic side of marketing, invited me to a party at her home in Marin County, just over the Golden Gate Bridge. Rita is a true Latin beauty, amazing cheekbones and light brown skin that attested to some Mayan or Aztec heritage. But her height, 5’5″, and slender build suggested that some conquistadors were in the mix as well. One of the many things I love about her is her brash and bawdy sense of humor, which she often expresses in a rough Mexican accent that always makes me laugh.

“Come on up. You need to see some trees and grass and even though most of the men are taken at least they’re not gay.” She urged and I accepted and that sunny Saturday afternoon I was off to the land of hot tubs and chardonnay in my favorite new hip hugger Capri’s and a modest top that offered just a hint of midriff. While I may lack the boobs to be runway model material, I’m tall and thin and I’ve learned what flatters my figure.

The drive north to San Rafael was lovely, but I was surprised at Rita’s beautiful home, which was nestled back in the hills among huge trees. I knew that her husband, Carlos, was in the music business but I had no idea he was so successful. Rita must have been watching for me and as she opened the door she let the whole neighborhood know that “baby sister” had arrived (though I was barely five years younger) and that I had to meet her Carlos.

I knew that Carlos was Cuban but I surely wasn’t canlı bahis şirketaleri expecting this Carlos. He was big (6’5″ at least) and very dark, powerfully built, and obviously still in great shape for a guy in his early forties. Most of all, he was an absolute sweetheart as he swept me along, introducing me to their guests as he refilled their glasses. I was half scanning the other guests scattered around their patio and backyard when I realized that the man Carlos was introducing me to had no tell-tale ring (or tan line) and I was being introduced as the most beautiful single woman attending.

“But Carlos,” I demurred, “I think I’m the ONLY single woman.”

“Well, this is the only single man. So you should meet. Marcy, this is Nick. He lives up the street and he’s a lawyer, so don’t trust him!”

As Carlos moved off, leaving me with Nick, I said something really stupid: “So are you an ambulance chaser.” I stopped, suddenly realizing that unlike back on Wall Street, he actually could be one. Fortunately he laughed.

“No, I’m just another corporate type, though I am, shall we say, semi-retired and doing more interesting stuff these days.”

He went on to describe having been corporate counsel for an internet start-up during the late ’90s and how, after helping them go public, went to another and then another, acquiring along the way a reputation for getting those things done. He laughed as he added that fortunately he’d sold his stock right after he’d moved on from each company. All and all he seemed a charming guy: taller than me (6’1″); good-looking; probably quite rich; but at 45 or so, I was thinking perhaps a little old. Still …

A little later, Rita sidled up to me when Nick had gone off for drinks, and nodding in his direction said, “Good guy.” She told me that Nick’s wife had died not quite a year ago, that he was 46, and not “back in the market” so far as she knew.

Nick soon returned and I found myself very much enjoying his sense of humor as well. He mentioned his wife’s struggle with cancer briefly but moved on quickly to charm me with stories of the sybaritic ’80s and ’90’s when everybody was getting rich on the dotcoms and the telecoms and, ultimately, the con-coms – as he put it – and the parties were outrageous. When I observed that things seemed to have calmed down a bit, he laughed and said that things were not necessarily as staid as they might seem that night.

“A few of us still partake in the demon weed and the hot tub parties are just a little smaller.”

“Well believe it or not, pot did make it to NYC.”

“But nothing like the stuff I’ve got at my house.”

OK, so I was buzzed on the wine and he was so charming and I do like a little pot now and then – and he lived just up the street. Off we went with Rita leering as she saw us sidling out the gate.

Nick led me through his house stopping only briefly to get his stash and another bottle of bubbly before heading to his backyard. Not surprisingly, given the combination of a charming man, a warm August night filled with bright stars, several glasses of wine, and now stoned out of my mind, I was a pushover and frankly happy to oblige.

Kisses led to mutual groping and when he suggested we go inside, I asked, “Would it be too bold if I asked to see your bedroom? You know I’m only doing this because you’re a complete stranger and I never expect to see you again,” I warned as we began fumbling with each other’s buttons.

“Bedroom, sure, but let’s suspend judgment on the rest.”

I lay back on the bed with a sigh. His mouth tasted great and we sucked each other’s tongues for a bit before he kissed his way south.

“I haven’t done this in a while,” he said.

“You can practice on me,” I said as he spread my legs and nuzzled my crotch.

Wow, I can attest that he hadn’t forgotten a thing. He took his time kissing all around my nether lips before gently inserting his tongue. After probing deep inside my already quite juicy pussy he whispered, “Mmmm, so tasty,” (something I assure you every girl is relieved to hear). As he alternated between sucking on my lips and licking deep inside me, I could feel myself just gushing with pleasure but also starting to hope that he wouldn’t forget my clit.

Well that turned out not to be a problem. He was so gentle at first, licking just outside the hood, then finding my clit ever so lightly on the up-strokes of his tongue. Sensing my growing need, he moved in for the final assault. Well, not really an assault, rather I felt him pulling back the hood with his fingers and begin a gentle direct tongue massage that ever so slowly accelerated and intensified. Soon my hips were thrusting wildly against his face but Nick managed to stay right with me, working my clit cunningly as I thrashed to an incredible orgasm. He even sensed when ultimately it became too sensitive and moved down to suckle on my engorged lips.

Having given me a marvelous orgasm, I expected that Nick would now want to fuck me or have me suck him, which I would canlı kaçak iddaa have been happy to do; but he surprised me. He stayed right where he was. He kissed and licked and probed and sucked my pussy — making very nasty sounds that I found strangely erotic – until he sensed that my clit had calmed down. When he returned to it — WHOA — his expert tongue had me over the top again in seconds. Then he went back to my pussy once again, making it clear that he wasn’t done with me yet.

Now in my experience with men – not vast, say 10 or so … and maybe a few one night stands that shouldn’t count – most consider itde rigueur to give it a lick and some will try to satisfy, but no one had ever attended to my clit like Nick. OK, it’s true that I’ve since learned that he just generally really loves pussy but I was the current recipient and he was fantastic. I didn’t keep count but it seemed like he stayed with me through a half-dozen orgasms: some gentle, some intense, all were great. Finally, feeling almost guilty, I practically begged him to fuck me. Of course I offered to suck on him first, but, as he got up on his knees between my legs, it was clear that he was already rock hard.

“Tasting you and watching you cum does seem to have done the job,” he said. “You can suck him later. Right now I want to be inside you.” I was craving the feel of him as well and happy to oblige but I was a little surprised that he might want me to suck on him after getting himself all wet inside me.

Now Nick is tall and his dick is big, but it fit really, really well. “Goddamn, that is sexy,” he said, as he watched his cock slide deep inside me.

“I’m afraid I’m not going to last long,” he said as he tore his gaze away from our crotches for a moment and gave me a boyish almost embarrassed smile. “Play with yourself or I’ll never get you there in time,” he groaned as his dick plundered my delighted pussy.

Well that was something new. I had never masturbated with a man watching before; but then I’d never cum on a man’s tongue so many times either. He’d certainly earned a special request. So I did.

First I got my fingers nice and wet with the juices that were leaking from my pussy. Then I began stroking my clit as Nick fucked me and watched. In moments I realized that watching him watching me was getting me even more turned on. It was wild exposing myself so lewdly and masturbating for a man I barely knew.

“See what you’ve done to me,” I moaned as I pulled back the hood to expose my swollen clit as I stroked it. Several times he pulled out of me entirely and stared up into my open hole before plunging back in more forcefully than ever. His lust was almost palpable and I loved being its object. “Cum in me darling,” I cried, as I felt my moment arriving and together we shuddered as with powerful thrusts he pumped his load deep inside me.

Not sure if Nick would want to go another round, I gently fondled his softening member. “I think it will take him a bit to recover from that explosion. Please stay the night,” he muttered as he collapsed beside me and soon drifted off to sleep. I touched myself gently while I reflected on the fact that I’d never had even close to so many orgasms in one evening.

I awoke to a beautiful sunny morning. Nick was already up. After taking a shower, I slipped on the flesh colored thong (essential for the somewhat transparent white Capri’s I had worn the day before) and one of Nick’s robes. I found him in the kitchen ready with both OJ and coffee. He was wearing a pair of loose fitting gym trunks and a tank top that showed off his muscles nicely. Now I’m no runway model but I do have pretty good legs, which I decided not to hide as I sat on a stool at his kitchen counter and let the robe fell open. I caught Nick staring at the flesh colored thong that peeked out below.

“That’s a flesh colored thong not me.”

“I know, too bad,” Nick responded with a chuckle.

I did my best to ignore that comment while I ate the English muffin he offered. “Hey, show me your house,” I said to change the subject.

Nick’s house was just lovely. It was in an older neighborhood but whereas many of the homes had been rebuilt as mansions, he had kept the original almost cabin-like feeling. He had added a couple additional rooms and remodeled the others to make it beautifully light and airy. Most of the rooms opened onto a lovely backyard with towering trees (redwoods, I learned) and a small pool. One of the rooms that opened onto the yard was a fully equipped home gym with a hot tub just outside. Being a bit of a gym rat as a result of my years of gymnastics, I really appreciated his high quality equipment. In addition to free weights and a nice multi-position workout unit, he had an elliptical trainer as well.

“I’ve always wanted to try one of those.”

“Well now’s your chance,” Nick offered.

“I’m not exactly dressed for it,” I said, gesturing at the knee length robe.

“Take it off,” he suggested, “Nobody else can see you back here and I certainly won’t canlı kaçak bahis complain. Come on I dare you.”

He shouldn’t have said that. I may be a bit prudish, but I hate having other people know it.

“You seriously expect me to work out on this thing topless with only a flesh colored thong?”

“Yeah, sure.”

I don’t know what came over me but I took the challenge. “OK, show me how it works,” I said, as I shrugged off the robe and stepped onto the machine much more confidently than I felt.

Well in no time Nick had the thing going and there I was holding onto two ski pole type things and striding along. Fortunately the elliptical motion did not set my breasts to bouncing up and down too dramatically. Actually my breasts don’t bounce all that dramatically even when running. They’re solid B-cups: firm, and they still don’t droop; but they definitely don’t qualify as large or bouncy.

Nick seemed to appreciate them at least, “Nice, very nice,” he said as he ogled my chest.

I’m sure I blushed but secretly I was pleased to notice the bulge in his shorts had grown. About that time his phone rang and he went back to his office to take care of some business.

After about ten minutes or so I was beginning to work up a bit of a sweat and was beginning to wonder when Nick was coming back when I heard a noise outside the screen door. When it opened I was stunned to see a guy who looked familiar from the night before.

“Uh, hi,” he stammered, “I thought it was Nick working out. I was just returning his pole-pruner.” Of course he was staring right at my boobs and from his angle – off to one side – the thong probably wasn’t visible.

So there I was clutching these ski poles while semi-jogging on this thing. I couldn’t even cover my nipples for fear of falling off. “Could you please stare at something other than my tits.” I sounded annoyed but was really more embarrassed. It didn’t help that my nipples — with minds of their own – were jutting straight out as I fumbled for the stop button.

“Sorry,” he said grinning, “you’re so lovely I couldn’t help it. Please don’t stop on my account. By the way, I’m Ken. We met briefly last night.”

“I’m not naked,” I protested as I stepped off of the machine and headed for the robe.

“I see,” he responded, as he eyed my crotch for a long moment. I looked down and realized to my mortification that a trail of sweat had trickled down my belly and dampened the thong rendering it utterly transparent.

“Well not quite,” I muttered and then finally I just had to giggle. “Avert your eyes sir, they’ve seen enough,” I commanded rather uselessly as I slipped on the robe.

“Just tell Nick that I returned his tool and please excuse the interruption,” he said as he turned toward the door.

“He’s back in his office, if you want to talk to him.”

“That’s OK, gotta run. Nice seeing you, Marcy,” he added with a grin as he ducked out the door.

He left me feeling oddly confused. Certainly my first reaction had been embarrassment but then I had to admit it had also been a bit of a turn-on being so exposed and obviously appreciated. After a few moments reflection I decided to continue working out. Finding it difficult to do bench presses in a robe, I chucked it again, which was how Nick found me.

“Your neighbor stopped by.”

“Who, Ken?”

“Yes, and I was half naked on that elliptical trainer.”

“Lucky stiff! Bet you made his day.”

“Think so?” I asked a little miffed that he took my statement so casually.

“Yeah, I bet he’s chasing his wife all over the house right now.”

I had to laugh. We then worked out together for a bit and Nick showed me all his fitness toys. Afterward we showered, made love, and showered again before heading off to brunch.

“I want to see you again,” Nick said over his eggs benedict.

“I don’t know,” I teased, “I don’t sleep with men on the first date because now you’re going to think I’m some kind of slut.”

“Can’t we call that an accident. You know, ships passing in the night that just happened to get entangled. That will make dinner Wednesday night our first date.”

Well I didn’t want to play too hard to get; after all he was nice and absolutely great in bed, so I accepted.

Of course when I arrived back at my apartment there was a message waiting for me from Rita. She wanted all the details, naturally, and I gave her some. But I have to say I was struck by how happy she seemed for Nick. It was reassuring knowing how much she liked him. At least I wouldn’t have to worry about hooking up with some demented axe murderer.

The Wednesday evening dinner with Nick was delightful. I found that we generally shared worldviews, political views, and we made each other laugh. I suspect that sharing the same sense of humor is greatly underrated in falling in love. OK, it’s true that more than once I’ve jumped into bed with a guy who seemed hot only to discover shortly thereafter the narcissistic bore within. But Nick was proving to be different: smart, funny, rich, and not obsessed with getting richer. He didn’t even try to get me to sleep with him, insisting that it was only our first date. It was easy to accept when he invited me to his place for the weekend. We agreed to meet in Sausalito for dinner.

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