“Oh, my God. I……am….going…to…cum. Oh….I…Erik…I am…,” she got louder with each word spoken.
I slid my hand to her mouth, covered it, muffling her voice, and whispered into her ear, “Shhhhh, cum for me, Kelli, keep cumming.”
Her pace slowed as she reached full climax. She lowered herself onto my lap, my erection still inside of her. She leaned back, twisted at the waist, and grabbed my face in both of her hands.
“Your cock feels amazing, just saying….”
She kissed me lightly, lifted herself from my lap, and slid to the seat beside me. As she did, I noticed that there were two younger males in the seat two aisles directly in front of her. I had not noticed them before. One of the two was turned in our direction, looking at us, and not watching the movie. As she moved, and exposed me, he turned to his friend and spoke. The friend turned and looked our direction, and then they both turned to the screen.
“I didn’t realize there were two kids in front of you,” I said, apologetically.
“I didn’t either until it was too late. When they started watching, it was too late to stop,” she said, smiling.
“Watching?” I asked.
“Yes, they were watching the entire time. It was hot,” she began repositioning her dress.
I pulled my pants up, smiling. I zipped and buttoned them, then quietly buckled my belt. As I lifted my hands from my belt, Kelli looked at me, surprised. She leaned toward me and with a puzzled look on her face, whispered.
“What are you doing? I’m not done. Not even close.”
She reached down, grabbed my belt, and unbuckled it. Taking both hands, she unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans. As she looked into my eyes, she reached down and pulled my still somewhat erect shaft from my pants. Lowered herself into the seat, she turned and looked at me.
“Hold my hair this time, Erik,” she said. Then she turned and swallowed my complete erection.
As her head bobbed up and down, I gathered her hair in my hands. Getting ahold of it, and attempting to collect it in my hand, I lost mental control of what was going on for a moment. That loss of control combined with her capacity to perform orally proved to be more than I was prepared for.
As I began to cum, she forced herself onto me fully. As I climaxed, my feet pressed hard against the floor. Naturally, my legs rose as I balanced on my toes. Raising my thighs forced me deeper into her mouth, and as I did, she forced herself further into my lap, and growled. The feeling of her lips quivering on my sensitive shaft as I climaxed was a new experience for me. Interestingly, it was as pleasurable as the oral performance. After my final ejaculation, my muscles became lose, and I collapsed into the seat.
She continued to lick the tip and suck on the shaft until she was convinced it was free of any cum. After she was satisfied that she had completed her task, she sat up and smiled. Without a spoken word, she placed my now flaccid member into my jeans, zipped them and buttoned them. After buckling my belt, she leaned back into her seat.
“Satisfying you satisfies me,” she said.
“You’re a good girl, Kelli. You make me happy. I’m proud of you. Of
who
you are,” I responded.
“You can’t say that enough. I love hearing it. I just love it,” her eyes sparkled in dim lighting of the theatre as she spoke.
“I’ve never came so hard in my life. Your cock is huge. It felt so good,” she whispered.
“Mostly from the excitement of being in the theatre, I suppose,” I responded.
“No, it’s weird, there’s something about you. It’s well, weird. With you, I actually… well…I feel. I feel an odd connection. Don’t freak out and run. I’m not falling in love. It’s just. Well, it’s just that sexually, you fit me. You fill a void I have had my entire life. You make me actually
feel
when you fuck me. Everything about you,” she took a drink of her water and continued.
“When we were fucking, I felt full. Not just full of your cock, I felt
full
. Full emotionally. Safe, protected, I wasn’t worried. I never felt that way before. I have felt that way since we talked at the coffee shop and you told me to go to the bathroom. I like it. It’s different. It’s different and it’s a great kind of difference. Don’t ever stop fucking me, Erik. Ever.”
I looked into her eyes and started to speak. As I did, a lump rose in my throat. I tried to speak, but words wouldn’t come out. My mouth open, and incapable of speech, I reached for my bottle of water. Hoping the water would bring comfort; I raised the bottle and took a long drink.
“Nothing, you have nothing to say?” she asked.
I lowered the bottle back into the arm rest, and responded, “Kelli, you’re making me happy, extremely happy.”
“Don’t ever stop, Erik…..”
“Fucking me,” she continued.
I’m going to have to. I’m afraid I’m going to have to….
ERIK.
Looking beyond life’s imperfections allows one to be able to find happiness. Life is not perfect, ever. For me, remembering that life is flawed, people are flawed, and therefore relationships are flawed, allows me to look at the flaws and imperfections as part of life itself. A perfect life includes all of the flaws associated with what and who you surround yourself with. My life and my means of living it are no exception. I was, as all people are, flawed. I accepted myself as being flawed no differently than I accepted others as being so.
This way of living and thinking has allowed me to maintain a level head and a peaceful mind regardless of my surroundings. The types of things that tend to cause other people to develop feelings of disappointment don’t typically faze me. They’re part of living life, and what make life interesting to live. Realization of the fact that people and life are imperfect; and minimizing my exposure to these imperfections was something that I did on a daily basis.
For me, being single is smarter than being in the wrong relationship. I had always told myself that if I could find the perfect woman, the one that could convince me, by merely being herself--by simply existing--that she was perfect, she could make me stop. Otherwise, being in a relationship would be
settling
, and I refused to settle.
Being single, for me, never meant that I was lonely. It meant that I was waiting for the closest thing to perfection that I could find. The person that was perfect
for me
. My requirements, however, were difficult for most to understand, and certainly more difficult to meet. At times, I would look at what I had done or was doing in a relationship, and realize that my target, or my partner’s goal, was a moving target; something that they could never obtain. As soon as I felt that they were getting close to meeting the requirements that I had set, I would change them.
Unaware of what the goal was in the first place, the women would never know how close they came to meeting the almost impossible standard that I had set for them. The relationship would inevitably end, and they would believe all along that I was a person that they were incapable of pleasing. The fault, in their eyes, was always them, and never me.
The death of my father when I was young never really became a conscious issue with me. My mother did a fabulous job of raising me, and of instilling her beliefs in me. She was a strong woman, and she always maintained a predictable nature about what her expectations were of me. I had rules and regulations that I was required to follow, and I followed them. I never dreamt of failing my mother or of failing my mother’s expectations of me.
In school, everything I did was perfect. I always figured if I was provided with the answer, I could remember it, find it, or apply it. My grades, for the majority of my education, were perfect. My mother would have accepted something fractionally less of me, but I would never accept it of myself.
Although I was smarter than the rest of the children in school, I never separated myself from them. I never talked down to them, nor was I ever perceived as being different than anyone else in class. I realized early that I was a kid that all of the other kids liked, and that I was a kid that the other kids migrated to for answers. I was the neighborhood psychiatrist for all of the girls that went to school with me, regardless of their age. They came to me to talk, and I always enjoyed listening.
Although I was not amazed at the time, as I grew older and looked back upon it, I was amazed at the amount of girls that were sexually active at such a young age. These girls, at that time, were sexually active, and easily convinced to do things, sexual things, with me. My perception of my ability to convince them to do things, during that period of time, was not one of manipulation. I always looked at myself as being more able, more intelligent, and maybe fractionally better looking than the rest of the boys. There characteristics, not my manipulative tactics, afforded me these opportunities.
As I grew older, it was easy to see that I was manipulating these girls all along. This was my first exposure to codependency, submissive behavior, and lack of self-esteem. A girl that lacked self-esteem, to me, was the perfect friend. I could explain to her how beautiful she was, how beautiful she acted, and almost immediately she would be willing to do anything for me, sexually speaking. This, for me, was the beginning of what would become a lifestyle of dominant behavior.
The loss of my father, the early loss of my mother, and the fact that I was an only child caused me to suffer greatly from fear of abandonment. As I got older and was aware of this fear, my never having been in a meaningful relationship began to make more and more sense. Although I did not suffer from all of the characteristics of someone with Borderline Personality Disorder, I did have many.
Dealing with the normal peaks and valleys of a romantic relationship was something that I was incapable of doing, and doing well. Realization of this shortcoming allowed me to go into my adult relationships with an understanding that the relationship would eventually fail, and that I was in control of this failure. No one would ever leave me in a relationship, because I would always leave them first.
After the death of my mother, I anticipated my feeling of need to be in a relationship would grow, and I would eventually succumb to the desires of one of the women that I encountered. Ultimately, I would fill the void my mother left with that of another woman. Not only had this not happened, but I had not felt the desire to make this happen with anyone. I continued to enjoy my single life, without commitment, more so now than I had in my early adult life.
My desire or feeling of necessity to be in a dominant role in a relationship was separate from my lack of commitment to a relationship. The dominant role, sexually, for me, was one that I found extremely satisfying. I had learned that it was even difficult for me to find mild satisfaction in a relationship in the absence of me being dominant. Dominance, once experienced in a relationship, ruined any chance of my being satisfied in a non-dominant role.
This required sexual dominance, this need to be in charge in a relationship, limited the women that I could expose myself to. To try to be in any form of a dominant role with a woman that was not submissive was a recipe for disaster for both parties. There is nothing more disappointing to a dominant male than to have to try to convince or to argue with a woman about fulfilling his sexual desires. Having that sexual met when requested was the portion of the sexual relationship that was just as satisfying as an orgasm. It wasn’t the performance of the act as much as it was the performance of the request itself. The request could be a simple one. The performance of it was the satisfaction, regardless of the depth or degree of the request.
I always told myself if I found a woman that was satisfactory in appearance and personality, and was willing to do whatever I asked of her, as I requested it, I would commit to her. Eventually, I always raised the requests to a level that the submissive woman found to be beyond her willingness or capabilities. This lack of desire to fulfill my request was one of my many potential reasons for dismissal of a partner from my life.
Finding a woman capable of or willing to do
anything
was every bit of impossible. It was a matter of asking the right question, the question that they were incapable or unwilling to answer,
“Yes sir”
to.
As I cleaned my pistol, I wondered what Kelli’s true threshold would be. What her true willingness to satisfy me would be. I would test her, and would determine her limitations. I had every intent of raising the bar, allowing her to truly realize what her limits were. This would make her a great submissive for the next man that came along. Eventually, I would have to determine what she was unwilling or incapable of, and use that as a means of dismissing her. For the time being, however, she was going to satisfy me greatly.
This dismissal of my partner was, in my mind, part of the control. Part of the satisfaction that I received in dismissing a woman from my life was the same satisfaction of being Dominant. It was the control, the ultimate control of ending the relationship, and ending it on my terms, at a time that was in accordance with my mental, emotional, and physical needs.
The adoption of a law allowing concealed carry of a hand gun in my state of residence was something that pleased me. I carried a pistol with me at all times regardless of the allowance in accordance with the law. Now, however, I could carry it legally. Since the adoption of the law allowing it, I have carried a Glock 9 millimeter with me at all times. My means of carrying it concealed it well, and made it difficult to detect.