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3 great women.

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By (user no longer on site) OP     over a year ago

In life you meet beautiful people that, when you see them up close, aren’t always all that beautiful. And you also make some beautiful memories with people that turn out to be truly ugly. That’s just life. What are you gonna do?

Anyway, occasionally you meet people that are beautiful, completely, and with whom you’ll make beautiful memories even on the worst of days. ‘You only get three great women in your life’. You met the first of three you were just 16. She would catch you completely off guard and for a brief moment you won’t be able to see a thing at all but her and then suddenly you’ll see the world in front of you and her again but this time clearer than before. She’ll teach you, for the first time how to love someone and be loved back by them. How to show all of yourself to a person, not just your reflection in a mirror. She’ll stand on the edge of a cliff holding your hand tightly and she’ll leap with you, not knowing whether it’s rocks or waves waiting below. She’ll see you. In the dark when your lights are off, and tears wet your cheeks and soak your pillows, she’ll see you. And love you still. ‘She’ll put wind in your sails’. Your first great one. The greatest.

Your greatest love and you will make memories like no other. Like the time on a very very rainy twenty first birthday you took shelter under a tree on your hike but she ended up more wet under it than before. Her left leg wrapped around your waist as she held herself up with her right and the help of a strong tree to lean on, you would passionately, slowly kiss, whilst you deeply thrust your cock inside her. And then there was the time at your holiday apartment in Jamaica, when you were only nineteen, when you’d run back upstairs after breakfast to grab towels to place by the swimming pool but stopped and laughed your heads off at how ridiculous the entire thing was. And how that playful tussle resulted in blindfolds, handcuffs, nipple clamps, balaclavas and belts getting a taste of the holiday action.

You could be yourself with her and she saw you and loved you for it. Nobody ever saw you and loved you, not even your own family really saw you although they did love you. And those that did see you, precious Black boy, didn’t love you here. Not until her.

‘They come around like the great fighters; once every 10 years.’

But it won’t be until just before your twenty fifth birthday that you meet the next. Entirely different from the first, your greatest, this one you’ll find entirely on purpose. You were twenty one when you and your partner decided you were poly and people wouldn’t understand. But you both knew even then that you’d spend a lifetime together no matter whatever other great loves and/ or lovers may come along.

Good women will come and good memories will too. Good women will go but their memory will remain. You won’t forget the first good one- Mia- whose brown, golden skin would glisten under the summer sun when you met her and glisten forever in your eyes whenever you’d see again. You won’t forget the way that she looked teasingly at you in the pub on an evening that started off as a social but ended with her legs spread on the back seat of her car and your head between them. You won’t forget the way she softly moaned your name, your real name that she’d only learned that night, as she sat on your of lap and your cock slowly entered her. You won’t forget the way she pulled her dreads out of her face as her breath quickened whilst you took a nipple in your mouth and rolled it, wet with lustful saliva, gently between your teeth. It was nice… before she started screaming your name. Loudly. Which caused a passer by in the car park to peep into the car and get a good look at your bodies, wet with sweat, rhythmically rocking her car. Seen.

Even though the sex finished before you could, you’d leave with a good feeling. She was a good one. She ran across your mind as you sat at the bar of a gorgeous, expensive bookstore. You were surrounded by beautiful books written by beautiful writers hoping to yourself write the next great love story of your life. And then she’ll come in as you take a gulp of the sparkling water you’d ordered for the both of you. You’ll first notice her hair, how could you not? short and red it was was as bright as the sun. Her pale, freckled face was next. She sported black sunglasses to hide the eyes you’d waited what felt like lifetime to look into and you’d wait what felt like another lifetime to finally do so. You put down your glass of water and take in the rest of her. It was 30 degrees outside but she looked cool as she walked towards you with the warmest of smiles. Her dress was green (not your favourite colour) and loose at the bottom, floating through the air like a cloud. The top half of her dress hugged her tighter than the rest of the dress and showed off the beauty of her curvaceous figure. You rise to greet her and as you do, you knock the table, spilling sparkling water over the table which was housing your current reading material and a cocktail menu you’d asked to be left. ‘Shitting hell’ you mutter, completely flustered. You’re a mess. It’s perfect.

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By *ndtheswingersMan  over a year ago

colchester

Great read mate

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By (user no longer on site)  over a year ago

Ooh love it! What’s next? L x

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By (user no longer on site) OP     over a year ago

More to come

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By (user no longer on site) OP     over a year ago

The rest of the day flies by as you spend it talking and walking around the busiest city in the country. You end up somehow by the river, peering over at the city boat tours carrying waving tourists. It’s here that you share your first kiss. It brings a warm feeling to you on a cool night. As you hold her hair out of her face you feel yourself falling into her and your lustrous desires. You lose yourself in thoughts of taking her home, and giving her all of you, passionately. But you’re returned when she withdraws, with a wry smile and sets off along the Southbank towards the Tate- the direction of more adventure. She takes a third of you with her leaving you no other option but to follow.

She’d sing love songs to you- your favourites, her favourites, the classics. You’d dance to the sound of them in your dimly lit living rooms at night and to the sounds of more upbeat melodies in the day. When you had more energy you’d fuck your time together away - slowly, passionately, deeply. The taste of her sweet juices made fresh for you were always delightful. Her freckled skin was soft and it glowed in your eyes as you ran your fingers, lips and tongue along it. When you fucked her, or when she fucked you, both your eyes rolled back and forth with each stroke. Like an artist’s brush strokes, each was soft but deliberate. Occasionally it was rough and it was mindless but it was always art. There would be a time that, with mascara running down her face, she’d look up at you from between your legs and ask you to get behind her which of course you would. And the sight of her waiting for her reward- your drool covered cock- would unlock a character in you unlike one you’d let out before. Her arched back invited you further inside her fuck holes. What were you gonna do? Say no? Of course not. She felt you, took you, enjoyed you, like a good girl. ‘God, I fucking love you’ you say with a moan. To her- not to God. She struggles for words between moans but manages - ‘I love fucking you too’. Ha. You’re a mess. It’s perfect.

She’d tell you she loves you too a week later when you slow danced in her living room. She was a good girl. Your second great one

You wondered if you’d ever meet your last great one. You wondered if you’d already met your last great one and mistaken her for a good one. You were so happy that you considered maybe you only had two great ones. After all- this was just a line in a movie, you couldn’t live your life by it.

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By (user no longer on site)  over a year ago

And did you find your third yet?

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By (user no longer on site) OP     over a year ago


"And did you find your third yet?"

I’m hoping I’ll find her soon.

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By (user no longer on site) OP     over a year ago

But you did live your life by it. You weren’t always looking but you were always hoping. For the next great one to come along. You met women that you thought could be her- ones that took your breath away and then ran a mile with it before you could gather yourself to take it back. First dates came, third dates came but still nothing.

You’re forty two now and your son is at university. He (Your son) was the sunshine of your life but without him at home, your partners and you fill weekends with trips to countries where the sun really shines. Your skin shone here. Under the moonlight you glowed blue and purple. The world had bruised you but you shone still. You are older, wiser and the other things that come after a man’s fortieth. Does it really matter if this is it? No. But it wouldn’t be it.

Forty two makes you still a young man even if not as young as you want to be. Your knees, which used to serve you so well, ache after an hour of football with your friends. Your hair, in protective two strand twists, was greying and so was your beard. The skin on your body was looser than it used to be. The world had exhausted you. It was evident in the cynical look you wore when you stepped outside. There wasn’t a glow in your deep dark brown eyes anymore, they were just deep and dark. Like you. On a rare trip North, as far as Scotland, to clear your head and do some writing was when you’d finally find your last great one. Or rather that she’d find you. She’d stop on the same bench that you were on and comment on what a lovely day it was. You manage a smile but not much else. She’d ask what brought you here, about your trip and about your home. You warm to her and agree when she offers to buy you coffee and give directions to some great spots to go for writing inspiration.

Coffee would be the start of your fall for her. Her skin, brown like the caramel that dribbled from your favourite chocolate looked soft. She said she was in her fifties now but she looked better than you did in your early forties. She wore her short, tight curls out and the natural highlights of silver looked almost too perfect not to be professionally done. You loved the way her hair gently bounced as she laughed and later you’d love the way it bounced when you fucked her. She licked the top of her takeaway cup to catch the bits that had escaped her waiting mouth. You’d later find out she licked your cock the same way to make sure she got every last drop of your protein shake.

You first tasted the sweet sugar of her brown skin, on the last night of your trip. You’d asked her to dinner, finally, after playing texting tennis for four days after coffee. When she walked into your air bnb apartment you watched her in slow motion take in the space and find her way to sofa. Her loose trousers came up high as she crossed her legs and revealed flesh. Your bastard knees, unreliable as ever, wobbled at the sight. A deep breath, a word with yourself and you set off, one foot slowly in front of the other, to make her a drink.

She sat on your sofa drinking wine whilst you finished getting ready and asked you to join her for one before you set off for the restaurant. The time of your reservation would come but by that time you’d have your tongue rolling along her neck. Until then the moments had passed slowly, time had slowed for the both of you, but now everything was accelerated. Your tongue flicks over her clit were accelerated. Her heart rate was accelerated. The twitches of your cock were accelerated. Her breathing was accelerated. As you rose from between her legs, like a diver returning to surface, she wiped the glittering liquid from your beard and smiled before pulling you by the neck into her lips. You both felt comfortable, like you’d known one another before. You felt comfortable even though the sofa was far from it. After a pause to wrap up she held you whilst you entered her for the first time. Her breath against your ear as she took in your first strokes, was warm. The whole experience was hot just like the coffee you’d drank on the day you met her. As you pounded toward both your climaxes the thought crossed your mind ‘will I ever see her again’ but it got away from you when you came and lost control of yourself.

You’d see her hundreds of days more. And you’d love her, like the others, until your last day on earth. That was a cold, wet Thursday. You fell but not in love. To the waiting concrete ground. It was messy. You loved the 3 great women more than your younger self could’ve comprehended you’d love anyone when you walked home the day after your first fuck.

The last time they all saw you the read at the alter stories about how beautiful you were. And then read from your favourite poem:

‘I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,

Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,

I shall but love thee better after death.’

It was perfect.

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By (user no longer on site) OP     over a year ago

Fin.

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