Part II: Wherever the Wind Blows Me

For Part I, and the background information of this encounter, please read Infatuation. This post is dedicated to Lilu's TMI Thursdays and Three Word Wednesday. Offering the words journey, rigid, and hinder.


DISCLAIMER: The following story delves into erotica. Read at your own risk.

* * *

He came to me in a dream once. After we'd exchanged the usual Facebook fare. Browsing through his pictures made me remember why I was so attracted to him 6 years ago. Why I was still attracted to him...

The dream was sexual in nature. Flesh upon flesh. A night's romp affair. Embrace. Touch. A fresh fuck. I woke up in a daze and I had to tell him. "I wonder if it has to do with seeing me again on Facebook," he said.

"I always have sex dreams," I reply nonchalantly. I always do, but it was the first, and still, the last dream of him.

* * *

Walking up to me, we embrace in a hug and it's easy. It's natural. Like old friends. He's even better looking in person, though, with his perfectly tousled black hair. The night leads us to the bars. Tonight, I learn how to drink beer. I experiment with different beers that I'm not sure I'll like but I do. He buys me drinks. I notice our body language. I am leaning towards him and engaged in conversation. He is leaning towards me, mirroring the same.

We talk about relationships, ideas on marriage, our travels. He is going to Japan, China and India, backpacking through Asia for a year and I am going to India and then the Philippines for a year...possibly Japan, if I win a contest. Possibly other Asian countries, too. Who knows where the wind will blow me? He expresses interest in wanting to visit me in the Philippines a couple times throughout the night. We've talked about it before, online, but I don't want to push him to a decision, just make it clear that the offer's out there.

Somehow, we end up at an international hostel. His friend bunks in the male dorm and we take a private room. I did not realize I would be spending the night, let alone in a private room. We are in the company of a Scottish character, going on a world titties tour by way of various strip clubs throughout his travels. That's not all he's doing, of course, but there's a lot of titties. He brought his bag pipes too. Literally. Though, figuratively is open to interpretation. Other people we meet from Japan, South Africa, Germany and an "asshole from New York" gather for drinks and I feel the sense of community that a hostel has. I've never been to a hostel before, and I like it.

* * *

"If you're not comfortable with this, I have a sleeping bag I can use," he tells me. No, it's fine, it's fine. He strips down to nothing but his briefs and I can't help but notice how incredibly sexy he is. The skinny, but chiseled body that a rock climber has. I strip down to my t-shirt and undies and get in. It is the same side I used when I was in a relationship. This seems familiar but different. I wonder if its possible to sleep together in a platonic way. I've done it before, with a boy. We shared a pillow but didn't even cuddle.

"Would it be weird to cuddle?" he asks. Shy, unaggressive me. I let him make the first moves, but who am I kidding? I knew this would happen the moment we got a private room. The moment we were walking in Portland and I showed him my purple Adidas boots and joked that someone told me they looked like boxing boots and he asked if it meant we were wrestling later.

We start to make out. It's so strange. I haven't made out with anyone in a long while. There were my drunken make-outs but does that count? When it feels so emotionless, I don't even enjoy it. Making out with a friend you actually care about is different. As my mind tries to process the moment, I let my senses take over and my hands start to wander. Letting go of the awkwardness, I start to enjoy the moment as our tongues dance. He is a good kisser. Soft. With lips that match mine.

As the making out becomes heavier, he lifts my shirt off and I am almost naked. I don't feel bad, or insecure. After all, I had my first topless photoshoot with a female photographer just weeks before. I wasn't nervous then, either. My mind doesn't worry me. Maybe I am finally becoming comfortable in my own skin. I just enjoy the moment, as he creeps down to my underwear and tastes me. First through my underwear, then peaking underneath it, and finally, taking it off.

He's good. Damn, he's really good. I've never enjoyed this before until now. The men have always been too harsh and I have always been too insecure to enjoy it. But, not tonight. Tonight he is good. Really good and it's hard to muffle my sounds, hindering my orgasm. His pacing is perfect. Not too strong. I imagine what this must feel to have a woman go down on me. Not as harsh. Better. Softer. Just like this. I imagine his tongue to be like that of a woman's. Not as harsh. Better. Softer. Just like this.

He comes up for air and kisses me again. We make out and he kisses my neck. The details are blurry. I'm just reacting. More tongue with the taste of my juices. I'm not sure if I'm ready for multiples but I guess I will be. Lather, rinse, repeat, as they say. My back arches as I squirm around uncontrollably to the pleasures. I try to grab a hold of the bed, the sheets. Something. I bite the back of my hand so I don't make noise. Wanting to be quiet, but wanting to be loud at the same time.

"I told you I could do this all night," he whispers. It's true. We've talked about this online more than once before. This is his favorite, to go down on a girl, as I typed jealous fingers of never meeting men who even like it. Who think it's gross, like my cunt is gross. Like cunt is a bad word and pussy is foul. But, my pussy is beautiful and I know he thinks the same.

We embrace and kiss some more. I want to be on top of him. He must have sensed it, or maybe I signaled somehow, because in minutes, we have rolled over so I am on top. It's easy. It's natural. Like our bodies understand eachother. Like we are both plugged in to the moment. I gently ruffle his hair. Kiss down. Stop at his single nipple pierce and play with it for just a little while. I kiss down some more. Hip bones. Stomach. I nudge at his briefs with my tongue, gently swirling against his rigid erection. He helps me take it off. I like to reciprocate.

It's been years since I've done this. Given head. I had a horrible dream once that [punk-rock boy] said I sucked at it. But maybe he just meant that I suck. As I suck up and down and lick his sack. He groans in approval. I can almost take him entirely in my mouth; lubricating him with my saliva, and swirling my tongue around. I position my body against his, and he takes his cue and moves underneath me for reciprocation. I've never done this either, and enjoyed it. It's always been awkward, but not tonight. Tonight, it's easy. It's natural. He quivers a bit and I can sense when he's about to come. I let him come in my mouth as I swallow. I love his taste. Smooth, and not too strong.

Afterwards, we cuddle together and fall asleep, with my head against his chest and his arm resting underneath me. This feels familiar but different. The ways in which we cuddle. The spooning, placing his hand against the side of my thigh, and his head on the crevice of my neck, brushing up against my hair. We stay like this in the morning. He mentions he had a sexy dream. Rare for him. A night's romp affair. I want to know more but I am just glad to be a harbinger of dreams. He came to me in a dream once, and he's here now.

* * *

The next day was spent walking all around rainy day Portland sharing an umbrella. We both ‘aww’ at the same time when we see an old couple doing the same. That kind of thing warms my cynical heart. We seek shelter at the local art museum and witness an original Raphael painting of The Woman With a Veil and Chinese graphic design. Followed by sushi for lunch. It's a great day, and I can tell he wants me to spend another night with them, but I have some obligations.

"Hopefully I can come visit you in the Philippines if the wind blows me," he says, when we depart. I'm bad at endings just as much as I'm bad at writing them. Who knows where the wind will blow us? Who knows where the wind will blow any of us, really? We hug one last time and go our separate ways. Two separate people with two separate journeys meeting at a junction. Perhaps, we'll meet again, but our moments, and our time, is limited. For now, I'm reminded of what we've shared and the importance of living in the moment; the impermanence of it all.