Last night I had a dream that I had just met you for the first time. You were this twenty-something-year-old man that moved into the apartment across from mine. We exchanged pleasantries a few times when checking the mail. I hate to admit it, but I would sometimes wait until I saw you coming before I nonchalantly strolled outside to walk with you to the mail boxes. Your quiet disposition was accompanied by your intelligence about everyday subjects, and I yearned to hear the next thing you would say, to glean what knowledge I could get about you and the world.
I started getting into the habit of wearing my cutest skirts during these mail walks of ours. And sometimes I would brush my hand against you, walk a few steps ahead, then turn and smile whilst twerking my ass ever so casually. I'd catch your gaze seconds before it was drawn to my ass. In that moment, I couldn't help but hope you were imagining the same thing I was, because my arousal was unable to be contained under the flowing, thin fabric of my skirts.
Every time I touched you I imagined that one day you would follow me back to my house, push me inside, and bend me over the couch, lifting up my skirt to reveal the secret I've hidden from you all this time. My ass bares the truth; I've never worn underwear during our little walks. Then you would lean into me and let me feel the full girth of your manhood against me. You would grind against me a few times and then leave, to return home with your mail.
But instead of inviting you in and allowing you to access any part of me you wished, I waved goodbye and walked into my house alone.
Later that night, it's around dusk when I decide to take a walk past your apartment to get to my car. This time I notice your shades are open, from the bottom up, and a soft glow is peering out from the bay window. An aroma filters out of your screen towards me, and then I see the soft glow of a blunt dying out on the ashtray on your window sill. The smell brings back great memories and I wish to be with you, sharing drags together. As I sit down in my car I see you pick up the blunt and set it back down, lit and steaming. I sit in my car for a moment enjoying the smells and picking out some music from a playlist on my phone that I save for when I'm feeling particularly randy.
As I look up from my phone I notice that I can see into your living room, and I catch a glimpse of your bare ass as you sit down on your couch. I can't see your face, but I can see everything else. My thighs begin to burn and clench as I begin to feel my arousal throbbing. Your dick is just as I imagined it, your defined head curving to the right ever so slightly as you become semi-firm in your naked state.
You lean back on your couch and begin to rub your hand back and forth over your trimmed pubic hair, occasionally gently stroking your member. I can feel that I am overly wet and have probably spotted the back of my skirt, but my hands are drawn to my aching button, which is begging to be pleased and teased. I see you grab a black tube and slowly descend it onto your throbbing cock.
I started getting into the habit of wearing my cutest skirts during these mail walks of ours. And sometimes I would brush my hand against you, walk a few steps ahead, then turn and smile whilst twerking my ass ever so casually. I'd catch your gaze seconds before it was drawn to my ass. In that moment, I couldn't help but hope you were imagining the same thing I was, because my arousal was unable to be contained under the flowing, thin fabric of my skirts.
Every time I touched you I imagined that one day you would follow me back to my house, push me inside, and bend me over the couch, lifting up my skirt to reveal the secret I've hidden from you all this time. My ass bares the truth; I've never worn underwear during our little walks. Then you would lean into me and let me feel the full girth of your manhood against me. You would grind against me a few times and then leave, to return home with your mail.
But instead of inviting you in and allowing you to access any part of me you wished, I waved goodbye and walked into my house alone.
Later that night, it's around dusk when I decide to take a walk past your apartment to get to my car. This time I notice your shades are open, from the bottom up, and a soft glow is peering out from the bay window. An aroma filters out of your screen towards me, and then I see the soft glow of a blunt dying out on the ashtray on your window sill. The smell brings back great memories and I wish to be with you, sharing drags together. As I sit down in my car I see you pick up the blunt and set it back down, lit and steaming. I sit in my car for a moment enjoying the smells and picking out some music from a playlist on my phone that I save for when I'm feeling particularly randy.
As I look up from my phone I notice that I can see into your living room, and I catch a glimpse of your bare ass as you sit down on your couch. I can't see your face, but I can see everything else. My thighs begin to burn and clench as I begin to feel my arousal throbbing. Your dick is just as I imagined it, your defined head curving to the right ever so slightly as you become semi-firm in your naked state.
You lean back on your couch and begin to rub your hand back and forth over your trimmed pubic hair, occasionally gently stroking your member. I can feel that I am overly wet and have probably spotted the back of my skirt, but my hands are drawn to my aching button, which is begging to be pleased and teased. I see you grab a black tube and slowly descend it onto your throbbing cock.
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It must be a flesh-light because your movements become rhythmic, as if you are being fucked cowgirl style.
I try to keep up the pace you have set, but my fingers know how to get me off all too well and I finish before you do. I sit in my car in awe as I witness you please yourself, wishing it was me doing it to you. Once you are done, you set your toy aside and casually clean up. I feel as if I am drunk and can't even see straight from the forceful orgasm I experienced. I take a swig from a half empty bottle of water and start my car to go for a quick drive, to enjoy what's left of the beautiful autumn night.
When I return I see you sitting outside on your porch with a cigarette in one hand and a beer in the other. You almost seemed posed, as if you were waiting for my return. I wave at you and walk over as if we are old friends. You offer me a sip of beer, and then I ask why you're smoking that shit when you were clearly enjoying a roasted blunt earlier. You smirk and admit you enjoy toking up when you feel in the mood, and I question what sort of mood that is. Instead of waiting for your response I nod to your door and say I would like to be in the same mood if I could share a hit.
Your movements seem awkward, but you make it to the door and beckon me in. I walk in and am hit with a musty, woodsy smell of incense masking the earthy, overpowering aroma of pot. You go to your kitchen and pull out your stash from a cookie jar and begin to roll another. I sit down exactly where you were before, and this time I notice your blinds are fully closed. That's when I realize you could have seen me leave for my car and intentionally exposed yourself to me. That revelation caused another rush of throbbing arousal between my legs.
When you return with a freshly rolled blunt, I asked you if it's okay if I become more comfortable, as I always get too hot when I smoke; you shrug and say of course. I take off my sweater and my long ribbed shirt, leaving my thin, black bra and lace tank top that matches my flowing skirt. Then I sit cross-legged on your couch, facing you, with my sweater on my lap to not reveal all to you just yet. You turn on some old folksy tunes with acoustic guitars and raspy voices and begin to tell me about the time you saw them live.
As we continue to smoke and laugh I spread out my legs one at a time over your lap, and slowly, as you begin to feel more comfortable, you place your hand on the soft skin of my thigh and gently rub back and forth. You take the last drag and set the full ashtray aside.
Suddenly you notice where your hand is and pull it away. I grab your hand with mine and say please continue what you were doing. I remark that I am now in the same mood you were earlier, when you were playing with your big black toy.
Your eyes widen, and your mouth smirks and says but I barely know you in that way.
I slowly inch up my skirt, revealing my small patch of hair that trails directly to my labia. Then I continue, saying that you are welcome to get to know me whichever way you want to.
I try to keep up the pace you have set, but my fingers know how to get me off all too well and I finish before you do. I sit in my car in awe as I witness you please yourself, wishing it was me doing it to you. Once you are done, you set your toy aside and casually clean up. I feel as if I am drunk and can't even see straight from the forceful orgasm I experienced. I take a swig from a half empty bottle of water and start my car to go for a quick drive, to enjoy what's left of the beautiful autumn night.
When I return I see you sitting outside on your porch with a cigarette in one hand and a beer in the other. You almost seemed posed, as if you were waiting for my return. I wave at you and walk over as if we are old friends. You offer me a sip of beer, and then I ask why you're smoking that shit when you were clearly enjoying a roasted blunt earlier. You smirk and admit you enjoy toking up when you feel in the mood, and I question what sort of mood that is. Instead of waiting for your response I nod to your door and say I would like to be in the same mood if I could share a hit.
Your movements seem awkward, but you make it to the door and beckon me in. I walk in and am hit with a musty, woodsy smell of incense masking the earthy, overpowering aroma of pot. You go to your kitchen and pull out your stash from a cookie jar and begin to roll another. I sit down exactly where you were before, and this time I notice your blinds are fully closed. That's when I realize you could have seen me leave for my car and intentionally exposed yourself to me. That revelation caused another rush of throbbing arousal between my legs.
When you return with a freshly rolled blunt, I asked you if it's okay if I become more comfortable, as I always get too hot when I smoke; you shrug and say of course. I take off my sweater and my long ribbed shirt, leaving my thin, black bra and lace tank top that matches my flowing skirt. Then I sit cross-legged on your couch, facing you, with my sweater on my lap to not reveal all to you just yet. You turn on some old folksy tunes with acoustic guitars and raspy voices and begin to tell me about the time you saw them live.
As we continue to smoke and laugh I spread out my legs one at a time over your lap, and slowly, as you begin to feel more comfortable, you place your hand on the soft skin of my thigh and gently rub back and forth. You take the last drag and set the full ashtray aside.
Suddenly you notice where your hand is and pull it away. I grab your hand with mine and say please continue what you were doing. I remark that I am now in the same mood you were earlier, when you were playing with your big black toy.
Your eyes widen, and your mouth smirks and says but I barely know you in that way.
I slowly inch up my skirt, revealing my small patch of hair that trails directly to my labia. Then I continue, saying that you are welcome to get to know me whichever way you want to.
