Speaker 1: Hello, my love Lies.
Speaker 2: I'm Roxy Callahan and welcome to my Erotic Whispers, the
podcast where I celebrate the sexual, joy and empowerment of
women through stories. This week's story was submitted by an
anonymous writer who said that reconnecting with a crush from
her distant past had made her want to write it.
I love stories like this where two people who are
meant to be together finally find themselves together. What makes
this story one of my favorites is that the couple
are never really a part, They're just incomplete. You see,
when I think of two people in love, I can't
separate the emotional, the physical, the friendship, and the sexual.
And that's exactly what this story is about. It features
a wonderful pair of voice actors, Amanda and Mike, and
before we begin, please note that this podcast is intended
for adult listeners. I escape my date Mark mid sentence
as he's explaining the nuances of collateralized debt obligations to
a senior partner who looks even more bored than I feel.
My excuse is a desperate need for another drink, but
it's really a desperate need for a moment of silence,
for a pocket of air in this stuffy high rise
party that isn't filled with financial jargun. I find a
small opening at the crowded bar and slide in. My
mission is singular, get a glass of champagne and retreat
to a corner. As I lean in to catch the
bartender's eye, my arm brushes against the man next to me,
the wool of his sooue jacket soft against my bare skin. Sorry,
the apology dies on my lips. He isn't one of
the slick predatory types that pogulate these events. He's handsome,
but it's a warm, approachable handsomeness. His hair is a
little unruly, his tie is slightly loosened, and when he
turns to me, his eyes are filled with a kind
of intelligent, amused light. Here's a ghost of a smirk
on his lips that isn't arrogant. It feels more like
we're sharing a secret joke. An electric jolt, tangible and
completely unexpected, shoots up my arm.
Speaker 1: It's a combat zone up here.
Speaker 3: His voice is a low, pleasant rumble over the din
of the party.
Speaker 1: I think I saw someone get elbowed over the last
mini keiche.
Speaker 3: I laugh, a real laugh. The first one of the
night a worthy cause. At least my date was just
explaining the beauty of the bond market. He winces sympathetically.
Speaker 1: Ouch, my date's a litigator. I've just been treated to
a ten minute monologue on tort reform.
Speaker 3: They share a look of profound and mutual understanding.
Speaker 1: I'm Jay.
Speaker 3: He holds out his hand grace I take it. His
hand is warm and firm. Another cholt. This is ridiculous.
I'm here with Mark. He's here with a litigator, and
yet this feels more real than any conversation I've had
all night.
Speaker 1: I feel a present slide in next to me, a
subtle scent of Gardenia's and something citrusy that cuts right
through the stale, recycled air of the party. I turn
as her arm makes contact with mine. A polite smile
already forming, it becomes something genuine when I see her.
She's beautiful, but it's not just that. Up close. I
cann't see a flicker of wrye humor in her eyes,
an intelligence that seems to be assessing and dismissing the
absurdity of this entire event. She isn't performing for anyone.
She's an island of authenticity in a sea of schmoozing,
and standing this close to her, I feel an immediate
magnetic pull. Our conversation starts in. It's instantly shockingly easy.
We talk about the terrible music, the even worse cannopas,
our shared belief that any party without a dog wandering around,
wagging its tail and snagging dropped food is fundamentally flawed.
I'm mesmerized by the sound of her voice. Boy. She
gestures with her hands when she talks about a book
she's reading. Her passion is intoxicating. I find myself leaning closer,
drawn into her orbit, wanting to close the tiny gap
between us. She's an urban planner, and suddenly, in a
way that makes absolutely no sense to me, I am
utterly fascinated by urban planning. Before she can describe the nuances, however,
she nods over her shoulder.
Speaker 3: Well, Mark thinks it's boring. Mark, I'm sorry, She looks, flustered.
He's my boyfriend, She points.
Speaker 1: To the bond market. Guy. I feel a genuine sinking disappointment.
It's a physical sensation, like a stone dropping in my stomach.
Of course she is, and thena thought, I believe all
too deeply lucky guy.
Speaker 3: It's just he's so focused.
Speaker 1: She lowers her voice and leans in toward me.
Speaker 3: Everything is a transaction, a means to an end. It's exhausting.
Speaker 1: I know exactly what you mean. I watch as my
own date laughs loudly at a joke a senior partner
just made. Sometimes I feel less like a boyfriend and
more like a well chosen accessory. The look she gives
me is one of such a profound recognition that it
almost hurts. It says, I see you. I get it,
and I get the insane, overwhelming urge to tell her everything.
I want to tell her that I find her perspective
on things deeply fascinating. But I'm really thinking, what's screaming
in my head is you're the most incredible woman I've
ever met. But I can't, so I just smile.
Speaker 3: The way he says, well chosen accessory hits me right
in the chest. That's exactly how I feel, an adornment
from Mark's career. I'm about to say something to tell
him how much that resonates, but Mark is suddenly there,
his hand on the small of my back.
Speaker 1: The here you are, Come on, I want you to
meet my boss.
Speaker 3: His hand is a proprietary weight, an anchor, pulling me
back to my reality. I give Jay a small, helpless
shrug and let myself be led away. The vibrant, colorful
world I was in with him bates to monochrome. I
feel a mask slide back over my face. How long
have we spoken? It felt like a moment, It felt
like an eternity. Later, by some miracle, we find ourselves
alone again, near the massive windows overlooking the glittering Chicago skyline.
Speaker 1: Survive the boss, barely? You survive the tort reform? Well,
it appears that torts still need reforming.
Speaker 3: His smile makes my stomach to a slow, lazy flip.
Speaker 1: So urban planning, what is that all about?
Speaker 3: I start talking about the lines of old buildings, how
a CD is a living thing, and the whole time
he just listens. He's not waiting for his turn to talk.
He's actually hearing me. His focus is absolute, and it's
the sexiest thing I've ever experienced. He makes a comment
about how I make urban planning not just interesting but captivating.
Speaker 1: My cheeks flush.
Speaker 3: It's a simple compliment, but it feels intensely intimate. I
wonder what conversations with him over breakfast would be like
or in the car or in bed. Stop, Grace, this
is wrong. You can't do this. You have a boyfriend.
A thought is a necessary splash of cold water. Well,
thank you, Mark just says I'm a nerd about it.
I re establish the boundary by mentioning Mark's name, and
I hate myself for it.
Speaker 1: The party is winding down. People are collecting their coats,
and my date is talking to the CEO by the
main exit, a final bit of networking before the night
is a fifth over, and suddenly in the distance is Graze.
A wave of sheer panic hits me. This can't be it.
I can't just let her walk out of my life.
I watch her turn to leave, a small sad smile
on her lips. It's now or never. But then my
date is next to me and takes my arm. No,
not my date, She's Alice, my girlfriend. What is wrong
with you? Jay? We head to d exit. It's total chaos.
At Valley Parking. Alice is talking to some coworker near
the door, and I wander over to get some fresh
air near a large bush that separates the side parking
lot from the entrance. Hiding something so banal as cars
from the powerful people who are there to do powerful things.
I glance back and she's stare grace. She's standing by herself,
looking at her watch. I don't know what possesses me
other than a fundamental belief that this is what I
need to do, what I am meant to do. I
walk over and simply ask her, can I ask you something?
Of course, her face lights up in private. I nod
to the hedges. I don't have a plan. Hell, I
don't even know what I'm going to ask her. I
just feel like I need to connect with her, one
last time alone, just her and I doing what I
don't know, sending each other energy as my mind is
trying to make sense of what is clearly me going insane.
She takes my arm.
Speaker 3: Sure, let's get away from this mess.
Speaker 1: I don't remember the walk. We're just suddenly alone behind
the hedge. She looks up at me with possibly the
most beautiful, erotic, and amazing look I'd ever experienced.
Speaker 3: What do you want to ask me?
Speaker 1: I lean in and kiss her. It's not a questioning,
tentative kiss either. It's a kiss full of the pent
up energy. Spoken words of the entire night. It's desperate
and certain all at once. Her lips are soft and full,
and she meets my kiss with an equal immediate fervor,
her hand coming up to cut the back of my neck,
pulling me closer. It's a kiss that says I know,
I feel it too. For a few perfect, timeless seconds,
the rest of the world and all its complications cease
to exist.
Speaker 3: I'm lost in the feeling of it, all that everything.
It's not just a kiss, but let me tell you,
it is the absolute best kiss I'd ever experienced in
my life. It is like a connection of souls, like
two balls of electricity being joined by this bolt of lightning.
He pulls away, and we're both breathing heavily. The silence
is charged, thrumbing with what has happened. The taste of him,
of champagne, and something uniquely his own. It is still
on my life lips her.
Speaker 1: I I'm sorry.
Speaker 3: He pulls back and looks panicked. I can see the
conflict on his face, the exhilaration and the concern that
he did something horribly wrong. Don't be sorry. My voice
is steady, tour because I'm not sorry. That kiss was
the most real and honest thing that has happened to
me all night, hell whole month, or all year, maybe
even my whole life. It was a confirmation of everything
I felt, the electricity, the rightness of it, a connection
that I didn't even know was possible. This isn't just
a moment of indiscretion. It's a confirmation of that deep connection.
I see him fumbling for his phone and I take
it from his hand before he can ask. My fingers
are trembling slightly as I type in grace and my
phone number. I save it and hand it back to him,
my gaze holding his It's a promise. This isn't over
justa and I hear his date calling for him. He smiles,
turns and is gone. A thousand things are left behind
with that one smile. I eventually walked back to the
wrong man, greeting me and saying the wrong things. I
don't care. I have the feeling of the right one's
kiss still burning on my lips, the stark shining light
of my real life waiting for me someday.
Speaker 1: I don't remember the right home, I just remember what
came before.
Speaker 3: His first text comes three days after the party, three
days i'd spent replaying that kiss, the feel of his lips,
impossible rightness of it, in the hollow ache of walking away.
I was in a meeting, staring blankly at a zoning proposal,
when my phone buzzed, Hope.
Speaker 1: This is okay. Just wanted to say it was really
nice meeting you the other night.
Speaker 3: My heart hammers against my ribs. It's so so, so polite,
so completely j I was nice meeting you too. What
you're doing urban planning, meeting proposals, stuff like that.
Speaker 1: Oh I love that you make urban planning sound like
the most fascinating thing in the world.
Speaker 3: And you make tort reform sound well, he were.
Speaker 1: There, ll exactly.
Speaker 3: And so it begins a series of texts, carefully spaced out,
always casual. We never mentioned the kiss. We rarely mention
our partners. We build a fragile friendship in the spaces
between our real lives. And it's probably not a surprise.
A few months later, Mark and I imploded under the
weight of his ambition. In my quiet dissatisfaction, I took
a job offer in San Diego. It felt like running away,
but also running towards something new. One of the first
people I tell is Jay.
Speaker 1: That first text took me an hour to write. I
typed and deleted a dozen versions. I can't stop thinking
about that kiss. Wholl too much? Are you as miserable
as I am? Come on, man, that's insane. I set on.
I'm polite, safe, but something that I hoped was still me.
Her reply was the same, safe, but it was enough
because it was her and it was a lifeline. Our
texts are a secret highlight in my life with Alice,
a life that on the surface is perfect. We look
good together, our careers are on track. We moved to
New York, we get married and a tasteful ceremony in
the Hantns. But it's a life built on compatibility, not connection.
It lacked the effortless understanding i'd felt in ten minutes.
For ten hours, I still didn't know with Grace at
the party. I never tell Alice about her. Grace is
a private reality, a quiet what if that I nurture
through our carefully worded text. I'm sitting on the couch
Alice reading legal briefs next to me, and my phone
lights up.
Speaker 3: You will not believe the sunset here tonight. The whole
sky is on fire.
Speaker 1: A single text and for a moment, I'm not in
my sterile Manhattan apartment. I'm in San Diego watching the
sky burn with her.
Speaker 3: My phone rings on a Tuesday night. It's chay. We've
been texting for a year, but never had the courage
for a phone call. I think we both realized that
a call would be the difference between us chatting at
the bar and kissing behind a hedge. If it isn't
my favorite urban planning.
Speaker 1: Groupie, you know, urban planning really does deserve more groupies.
Speaker 3: Just like that, we're in the most comfortable place, no hellos,
no acknowledgment of names. We just fall into a conversation
like it was one we've been already having, because it is.
Speaker 1: I just wanted to check on things. My phone is
being weird with texts. Did you get the one of
me with the home run baseball I caught?
Speaker 3: Oh shit, I thought, I replied. I meant to text
you saying you didn't steal that from some ten year
old kid?
Speaker 1: Did you? Holy gosh, no one I actually gave it
to a kid after I caught it, of course you did.
And two, I love how you're so connected to me
that you thinking you texted me is almost the same
as you texting me.
Speaker 3: I'm not sure how to reply, but I know exactly
what he means. We've been texting daily for a year,
and sometimes I honestly feel we text via our minds
or souls even more than that.
Speaker 1: She's quiet, and I'm standing on the balcony of my
apartment looking out at the city lights, a class of
whiskey in my hand. Alice is asleep inside. I lied
about my phone being weird. I just needed to hear
her voice.
Speaker 3: We should just cut out the texting entirely and move
it to lepathy.
Speaker 1: I swear we already do that. I say it as
a joke, but she doesn't laugh.
Speaker 3: I think we do too.
Speaker 1: It's an intense moment, and me being me, i'd back
up a bit grace and I couldn't be closer. But
we need to somehow act like we are far apart,
and that reminds me of our physical distance. How's the
Land of Eternal Sunshine treating you? Before she replies, there's
a loud series of car horns. New York, by the way,
is loud.
Speaker 3: I can't complain. At least it's quiet, and that David
is nice.
Speaker 1: She says, the word nice in the same way you
describe a piece of toast. She had texted about how
great he was and how she felt like she finally
found a guy that wasn't a flake or a manchild.
But the way she says nice is couched in more
meaning than any words in the text. I feel a
ridiculous surge of relief, followed by a wave of guilt
for feeling it. That's great by Lie. Alis and I
are good keeping busy. We talk for twenty minutes about
nothing and everything. A movie we both saw, a stupid thing.
My boss did a new restaurant she found. It's effortless,
it's perfect.
Speaker 3: Well, I should let you go, time zones and all that.
Speaker 1: Yeah, I should. I lie again. I want to talk
to her forever. It was really good talking to you,
Grace too, Joe. We hang up, and I'm left with
a profound, echoing loneliness. I have a wife asleep in
my bed, and I've never felt more alone in my life.
Speaker 3: Years pass. My relationship with David ends, and another one
begins and ends. Jay is the constant, the one person
I tell everything too. He knows about my job, frustrations,
my terrible dates, fear, that I'll never find what I'm
looking for. He never talks much about his marriage, but
I can read between the lines He's not happy. We
are two lonely people, the pastist of friends, surrounded by
people who aren't the bestest of anything. One night, after
a particularly frustrating date with a guy named Ken, I'm
drunk and feeling reckless. I text Jay, Can I ask
you something weird? A guy question?
Speaker 1: Shoot? Rumor has it? I'm a guy who may actually
understand guy questions?
Speaker 3: Is it a normal guy thing to be incredibly insecure
about your dick's size even when it's totally completely normal,
and I mean, like pathologically insecure? I hit send an
immediately cringe. Oh my god, what am I doing that?
The wine has silenced my internal censor?
Speaker 1: L ol. Define normal guy thing? But yeah, I've heard
it's an issue.
Speaker 3: I have faced this regularly, but Ken is obsessed. Every
time I give him a blowjob, it's like he's apologizing
for it not being bigger. If I touch myself when
we're having sex, he takes it as a personal insult
that his dick isn't big enough. It's a total turnoff.
There is a long delay before Jay replies, and I
wonder if I've gone too far?
Speaker 1: Fuck?
Speaker 3: Who am I kidding? Of course I've gone too far.
I wonder if I've ruined jay'son my perfect, well as
perfect as it can be, relationship. But then I hear
the ding. I frantically look at his text.
Speaker 1: He just sounds insecure, maybe super insecure, but insecure. Do
you really get that from a lot of guys?
Speaker 3: He is off the scale insecure. And yes, a lot
of guys seem to have this hang up. It's usually
not so obvious. There'll be offhand comments that make it
clear it's an issue.
Speaker 1: Well, that's sad for them, and it has to be
frustrating for you.
Speaker 3: I read his word in them, and suddenly it hits
me that I may have offended Jay. He undoubtedly is
living in this same guy world with insecurity. Is he
trying to deflect from my having hurt him as he
suffers the same thing? Oh my god, I'm being so awful.
I don't mean to be critical of male insecurity of
penis size. Women have all these insecurity issues too. I mean, Jesus,
my tits are tiny, and it's bothered me since I
was twelve.
Speaker 1: Your tits are perfect.
Speaker 3: I stare at Jay's text, and then another one quickly.
Speaker 1: Follows, I mean, all of you is perfect.
Speaker 3: This conversation is in the honesty and trust place that
we both cherish, but it's also interesting in the crossing lines.
But why does they feel like we're crossing lines? Every
conversation feels so natural with Jay, including this one. I'm
definitely not perfect, but I'm positive you are. I say
the words, hoping that we can get past as my
blundering into questioning Jay's penis insecurity.
Speaker 1: I read her text in a laugh escapes me. She
has no idea. Do I say it? It would be
extremely inappropriate, but she brought the whole damn subject up,
And besides, I'm intensely curious how she'll respond. Fuck it,
I'll open the door and see what happens. Well, I'm
definitely not perfect, and I have a different problem, and
it's not so much insecurity as dealing with the perception
around those insecurities. I'm not sure if that makes sense.
Speaker 3: That makes no sense at all, So clearly you need
to explain more.
Speaker 1: I take a deep breath. Fuck it, I have a
larger than average dick. Seriously, Yeah, and while the insecurity
isn't there. It's not exactly a nice feeling when the
first thing a woman says after you had sex is
had hurt.
Speaker 3: Holy shit, how large are we talking about?
Speaker 1: My heart is pounding. This is definitely crossing the line,
a big one. But I can't stop myself. Let's just
say I'm statistically significant about two inches longer than average,
and the girth is apparently in the top one percent,
actually more like top half of one percent.
Speaker 3: First of all, wow, Second of all, how do you
even know that? Lol?
Speaker 1: You're the one that asked about guys knowing guy things,
And if you want to know, every guy in creation
has measured and had gone to this thing called the internet.
I'm smiling now. This is insane. I'm sharing things I'd
never share with anyone. I'm wondering how to get the
conversation back on a normal track. When her reply.
Speaker 3: Comes, you have to send me a photo. The words
are out of my fingers before I can stop them.
It's impulsive, driven by wine and years of pent up curiosity.
I've had enough sex in my life to know that
I'd never had sex with a cock as big as
Jade was describing, and it fills me with this insane
combination of friendly curiosity and intense desire. I half expect
him to laugh it off, to say no. A minute passes,
and two. When it reaches five minutes, I panic and
I begin to frantically type kidding. When an image appears
on the screen, my preth catches in my throat. He
wasn't exaggerating. He's holding it in his hand, and his
cock is rock hard, extending beyond his palm. It's beautifully shaped, thick,
and undeniably impressively huge. It's more than just a cock.
It's the physical manifestation of a man I've secretly longed for.
And the sight of it is intensely, shockingly arousing. And
the way the photo is framed, it's like he's holding
it in his hand offering it to me. I take
a deep breath and then take another drink. Drunker is
better at this moment, definitely better. Holy shit, dude, you're
packing a monster. I send it, still reeling. A response
is almost instantaneous, and the tone is completely different. All
the playful intimacy is gone, replaced by sheer panic.
Speaker 1: Please delete that. I'm sorry I shouldn't have sent it.
I'm married, Please grace delete it.
Speaker 3: The words are like a slap. He's right, we went
too far. I feel a hot flush of shame. Why
did I even ask? Done deleted? I'm so sorry, Jay,
I shouldn't have asked.
Speaker 1: It's okay, good night.
Speaker 3: Good night, And just like that, the door slam shut.
The line we crossed has been hastily put back in place,
but we both know it's no longer a line. It's
never been a line. All that's been stopping us from
crossing it and being together has been distance in our
self control. I didn't actually delete the photo. I stare
at it, and I'm not staring at Jay's huge cock.
I mean, I am fuck, It's gorgeous, But more than that,
I'm staring at his offering. I made a request, and
he offered it to me. I run a finger along
his cock in the image, feeling the glass under my finger.
But what I'm really feeling is the emotion behind it,
in my heart, in my soul. He's married, I think
to myself as I finally do delete the photo.
Speaker 1: Twenty years. It feels like both a lifetime and a
blink of an eye. Alice passed away from cancer three
years ago. The grief was real, a deep sadness for
a life shared for a good woman I cared for
and shared some of the most important moments of my
life with. I loved her. That her absence has left
a hole in my life throughout it all. Chrice was
my rock, my best friend, the one constant in a
world that had completely fallen apart. We talk on the
phone now least once a week. The lines we so
carefully drew have blurred into the comfortable intimacy of two
people who know every secret corner of each other's souls.
I'm on the phone with her now, walking through my
quiet New York apartment.
Speaker 3: I just spoke up with Robert.
Speaker 1: Her voice seems tired, but also resolute.
Speaker 3: Three years. I think that's my limit for trying to
make my life work with someone else.
Speaker 1: I'm sorry to hear that, grace, but also not sorry.
He never got your obsession with weird old maps. She laughs,
a sound that still makes my chest ache in the
pest way.
Speaker 3: He didn't, anyway, enough about my tragic love life. What's
new with you?
Speaker 1: Well, I have a work trip coming up. It's in
May Paris. If he can believe that She's quiet, which
is not an uncommon thing. She likes to think things through.
I can actually picture her doing it now, perhaps assessing
the weather for a Presian may or wondering if she
had heard of some restaurant I may like.
Speaker 3: To try Harris in May.
Speaker 1: Yes, Paris, Paris, France, by the way, not Paris, Texas.
Speaker 3: What dates in May? I tell her, Jay, I'm in
London the week before for a conference.
Speaker 1: My heart stops. It actually physically stops for a second,
before restarting with a heavy, hopeful thud. They're sitting not
at all.
Speaker 3: I can extend my trip. I could take the Channel,
I can fly, I can meet you in Paris for
that weekend.
Speaker 1: For the first time in nearly twenty five years. There
are no barriers, no boyfriends, no girlfriends, no wives, just
two people in Paris the whole weekend. My voice is
full of the excitement of two best friends planning an escape,
because that's just what it is. But who am I kidding?
It's more than that. Without even thinking, I add, it
will be just.
Speaker 3: Us his words, just us hang in the air. That's
all I've ever wanted. For the next three months, my
life is a blur of anticipation. Every waking moment is
filled with him. The what if that had been the quiet,
constant companion of my adult life, is suddenly screaming. I
think about that kiss, the one that ruined all other
kisses for me. I think about our phone calls, his
voice a balm on my lonely nights, and God help me.
I think about that photo. For twenty years, that image
has been seared into my brain. The fantasy of what
it would feel like is so vivid, so all consuming,
that I find myself touching myself from the middle of
the day, my pussy getting wet at the thought of
him finally, finally bearing it deep inside me after all
these years. Will it be as good as I've imagined?
Of course it will be. Neither of us at all
mentioned that we'd be having sex, But for two people
as connected as we are, we don't need to say it.
It was a Jay or me that said years before
that we speak via telepathy. Our communication of trust is
so complete that we don't even need to say it.
I had bought a mess of dildo years before, and
whenever I used it, I dreamt it was Jay. He'd
be fucking me with it, and might just be consumed
with each other. As he filled me completely and I
took all of him in every orgasm with that dildo
was unbelievable. I buy a new one and I use
it nearly every day. On the build up to the trip.
Speaker 1: I wait for her at the arrivals gate of Charles Dugall.
My hands are shaking. I feel like a nervous teenager.
What if over two decades of fantasy can't survive the
harsh light of reality. But then I see her. She's
walking through the gate, looking around, a small, hopeful smile
on her face. Her hair has threads of silver now,
and there are fine lines around her eyes. But she
is so unmistakably grace my breath catches in my chest.
I'm looking at undeniably the sexiest and most beautiful woman
that has ever walked the earth. All my fears evaporate,
replaced by a single overwhelming thought. There you are. Our
eyes meet across the crowded terminal, and the decades between
us vanish. The magnetic pull is still there, stronger than ever.
Speaker 3: I see him and my legs almost give out. His
hair more salt than pepper now, but the smile is
the same. The warmth in his eyes is the same.
He opens his arms and I drop my bag and
run into them. His embraces everything I imagined, strong, safe,
like coming home. We don't say anything, We don't need
to say anything. We pull apart and he touches my cheek.
My knees get even weaker. He leans down and we kiss.
It's a soft, simple and short kiss, but it is
the second best kiss I've ever experienced in my life.
I don't want it to end, but we're in an
airport and a full weekend. The waits A taxi ride
to his hotel is a blur of laughter and conversation.
We hadn't seen each other in person in years, but
it's like we never have left each other side. He
pats my leg and laughs when I make a stupid
joke about urban planning in London. It's so intimate and
so comfortable. We approach the hotel and the air between
us changes. It crackles with all those years of unspent energy.
In the elevator, he finally takes my hand, his fingers
lacing through mine. This simple touch is an inferno. The
ding of the elevator arriving at his floor is the
loudest sound I'd ever heard. He fumbles with the key card,
his hand shaking slightly. The moment the door clicks shut
behind us, he drops the bags to face him. He
looks at me, his eyes dark with a lifetime of wanting,
and then he causes the distance. The kiss is not
a greeting, it's a continuation. It's the second half of
the kiss we started behind the hedge twenty five years ago.
It's desperate and full of a torrent of emotion and
desire unleashed. His hands are in my hair. Mine are
clutching his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer. He backs me
up against the door, his body flush against me, and
I can feel his hard cock pressing against me through
his jeans, through my slacks. I feel like I can't breathe,
and here's my oxygen. He pulls back, his forehead resting
against mine.
Speaker 1: I've waited my whole life for this price.
Speaker 3: There are no more words. He lifts me up, my
legs wrapping around his waist as he carries me to
the bed. Our clothes come off in a frantic, tangled mess,
and then we are skinned to skin and I finally
see him, all of him. My hand reaches down and
wraps around his cock. It's impossibly thick and shockingly larger
than the dildo my friends would always joke around, knowing
you've had a good dick if your fingers don't touch
when wrapped around it. There's at least a quarter inch
of space between my thumb and fingers. I stroke at once,
and Jay moans. It's as hot as a brand, and
so much more magnificent in reality than in the photo.
Holy shit, dude, I whisper the words from our long
ago text message, falling from my lips. He whaffs, I
told you. I stroke him as his fingers find my pussy.
Speaker 1: Talk about holy shit. I usually need to grab lube,
but you're so wet you're tripping down your thigh.
Speaker 3: Before I can reply, he slides a finger around my
clip with a touch that makes me throw my head
back and moan. I look at him above me, and
he's licking his fing.
Speaker 1: You taste so good.
Speaker 3: He starts to luwer himself, but I grab his arm.
No way, I need this. I squeeze his cock inside
me right now.
Speaker 1: Act that.
Speaker 3: He leans forward and kisses me, and I feel his
cock pressed against my pussy. The whole thing, extending from
the bottom up to my clip. I realize I could
probably just come from riding his cock without it even
inside me, and that thought is lost in the kiss.
Her tongue slide and touch, and then he closes his
lips and sucks my tongue. I moan again, the feeling
of the deepest passionate kiss combined with the pressure of
his cock against my whole pussy. Oh God, Jay, you
need to fuck me right now. He lifts himself up,
and I just can't wait. I reach down and take
his cock and slide the head between my pussy lips,
but he just stays there, the head of his cock
pushing my lips apart. Look up at the man I've
loved from Afar for decades, the one that got away,
and now he's here. He pushes forward, and the feeling
of him entering me is slow, sick, overwhelming. He is
so big, stretching me, feeling me in a way that
I've only fantasized about. It's not pain, It's a deep,
profound pleasure, a feeling of completely and utterly possessed by
the only man you've ever wanted to possess.
Speaker 1: You Craigs, you are so perfect.
Speaker 3: He holds himself there, and I reach down and grab
his ass, holding him as he's deep inside me. Fuck,
this feels so good. It's like your cock was made
from my pussy. He starts to move, long, slow, deliberate thrusts.
This isn't just fucking. This is an act of loving connection.
Every stroke is a declaration, every retreat and push a rediscovery.
I look into his eyes and see years of longing
reflected back at me. I can't believe how wonderful it
all feels. I've never had a guy fucking me feel
as good. He is so thick that my clit is tingling.
I realize that I'm so turned on, so connected, so
fucking aroused, that I may just come from Jay fucking me.
His pace quickens, the slow, reverent strokes, turning harder, more desperate.
He's pounding into me now, and every one of my
nerves is on fire. Every single part of my pussy
is feeling the friction of his cock, and as he thrusts,
my clit is also on fire, increasing its heat, not
like with the direct intensity of a tongue or a finger,
but with the slow, intense buildup of being consumed. His
thrusts increase in pace and are harder and deeper. It's
a frantic, glorious rhythm that is the sound of a
lifetime of waiting finally coming to an end. Orgasm builds
a tidal wave of pent up desire. It had grown
so slowly and so unexpectedly that it hits me with
the force of a lightning strike, a scream tearing from
my throat as my whole world explodes into white hot pleasure.
My release triggers his, and with a deep moan, he
empties himself deep inside me. He is so large that
I can easily feel his cock throb as his hot
comb surges into me in a final, absolute surrender. We
collapse together, a tangled mess of sweat, slicked limbs, our
hearts hammering in unison. He's still inside me, and I
never want him to leave. He rolls onto his side,
holding me and taking me with him, still inside me,
his arms wrapped around me. I bury my face in
his chest, inhaling the scent of him, of us. It's
the smell of a promise, finally kept promise we both
knew we made in an office bar years before, but
we never acknowledged until now he kisses the top of
my head.
Speaker 1: Was it worth the way?
Speaker 3: I tilt my head back and look at him, At
the man who was once a stranger at a bar,
then a secret friend in my phone, but always always
my bestest and closest friend, Until now he's finally my reality.
I never waited. You were always there.
Speaker 2: Thanks so much for listening to my podcast. I'm Roxy
Callahan and my Erotic Whispers are brought to you by
tenth Mus Studio.
Speaker 3: Normal stops respected
Speaker 1: To this detest