Tuesday, February 22, 2011
The first time Eric and I were together was on November 23th, 1993, at his Grandmother’s house where he was living at the time. When I found out he was only going to be 24 years old in December, I lied about my age and told Eric I had just turned 28 in November when in actuality I had celebrated the big 3-0! I had just moved backed to my mom’s after finishing my last semester at the Art Institute that past summer even though I didn’t finish my degree or study art. Which baffled every one including my saner, rational, more grounded self, who did actually have a idea what was going on in the world just rarely had got the chance to see the light of day.
Eric’s Gram was in the hospital that particular evening and it wouldn’t be long before I knew all about her and the battles she fought with her health. After Eric and I left the bar, (yes, I ditched my sister Cathy but we had a prearrangement that covered just such situations) he made two stops. The first was to Taco Bell, where he entertained me for thirty minutes by being able to eat an entire taco in a single bite. The second was to Sheetz to get gas and a pack of Winston 100’s for himself and some Marlboro Light 100’s for me. Then it was on our way to “his” place. I felt like a school girl I was so excited and nervous, even though I technically picked him up, I didn’t have a plan of action and NEVER thought like that if I went home a guy, I just let things come as they did, I went with the flow, I had a good time, it was part of the fun. Nonetheless, I found myself feeling differently around Eric. Although once at Gram’s he made me feel so comfortable it wasn’t long before we were both rummaging around in the kitchen looking for a snack, both stark naked and me with an almost empty bottle of Two Fingers Gold tequila in one hand and a hair brush in the other that I was pretending was a microphone and I was singing Jimi Hendrix into it to accompany Eric on the guitar he was playing.
Just a few hours earlier we were humping like rabbits upstairs in Eric’s bedroom. When Eric first undressed me I slightly uncomfortable with my body because I had a few small stretch marks on my tummy but he made me feel beautiful, sexy, and desirable. It was my first husband, Bill, who had torn down my self esteem and put my confidence in the toilet. Eric asked if he could tie me to the old fashioned four posted bed and I could barely breathe deeply enough to answer but I managed a breathless “yes. If he wouldn’t have been kissing me I’m certain I would have been panting as I allowed my brand new lover to tie my wrists wide open one to each post then my ankles just as wide to the same posts my wrists were tied to. After he was done tying me up he got one of his leather belts and folded in half while he slowly undressed. He kept telling me how good I looked all tied up and what a bad girl I’d been how I needed to have a spanking. After Eric finally had his clothes off he began to pace around the bed like a wild dog completely naked, 6’ 1” tall in his bare feet, 220 lbs and fully 8” erect snapping his belt against itself making a loud “crack!” every time he did. Teasing me with it every once in awhile by giving me a little smack on the behind. By this time I was so ablaze with desire I felt my juices running down between my buttocks.
Finally, we did make love, for hours, in every position. And I showed him how I could please a man with my mouth, lips, tongue, and hands. There was only one thing I refused to do with Eric, maybe because I had never done it, perhaps because my first husband was bi-sexual. I only refused him that one act.