A Writer's Rose

We talked online for some time. There was a lot of flirting, but we were both honest with one another from the beginning. He wasn’t looking for anything serious, and I was still in love with an old flame that was dying out. He was a college professor who taught English and I graduated with my bachelor's in English a few years prior. There was an age gap, but he was someone I could look up to and admire. Besides, the intellectual conversations were much more intriguing than the random meaningless conversations I was used to.

When the topic came up about meeting finally, I couldn’t help but squeal with excitement. He agreed to read over some of my recent work and edit anything that needed it. I would never tell him, but the majority of my love and erotica pieces were inspired by him.

My confidence dropped a little when I saw him for the first time. He was much more handsome than anticipated. His whole demeanor and the way he carried himself was incredibly sexy. If he didn’t wrap me in a hug, I think my knees would have given out. Feeling his body against mine was a rush. I think he could tell by how red my face was afterward.

We spent the day exploring his city. He showed me some of his favorite spots and foods to eat. It was easy being around him. The conversations flourished and I just enjoyed watching the way he loved life. I stared a little longer than I should have and anytime we brushed against one another, I wanted it to last longer. The sun was starting to set, and I had to stop myself from staring into his eyes for too long. We made our way back to his place, I almost forgot I asked him to review some of my work.

We sat at the table as he began reading over some of my pieces. It was intense watching him through the day but watching him at work was turning me on. I squeezed my thighs tightly under the table as he read my work silently as I admired him.

He pushed a few pieces towards me asking me to read them aloud to him. When I saw the title of each, I realized he knew they were written about him.

“Why these pieces?" I asked while trying to remain calm.

“Read them." His once playful demeanor now seemed serious. I almost thought he might have been upset with me or I creeped him out.

I shook my head no, as I started to blush. Our conversations flowed so easily through the day, but the mood has shifted now. I found it challenging to speak.

He scooted his chair towards mine as he picked up one of the pieces and started reading it to me. Emphasizing the word “him” made it obvious he knew it was about him. My heart pounding as he read the words aloud that I’d written about him. After he read two pieces, he handed me the last one to read to him.

I shook my head again without speaking. He reached out and grabbed my hand. Pulling me onto his lap. I’ve written so many pieces about feeling him and being close to him. Finally, it was happening. Yet, I was mute. I couldn’t find the words.

“Read it.”

Struggling to even hold the paper, I did my best to read the words aloud.  

It felt like an eternity, but I finally made my way to the last word. My glance remained on the paper as I was nervous to look him in the eyes. I felt him gently grab my chin as he leaned in and kissed me for the first time. Feeling his tongue on mine was incredibly alluring. Instantly, I felt the sensation between my thighs. I couldn’t help but slowly grind into him. I wanted more and the second I showed it, he pulled his tongue out of my mouth as I whimpered.

“I’m proud of you. You did a remarkable job at reading your piece to me. Now I want you to focus on this very moment. What are you desiring at this second? Describe to me how it feels to physically sit on my lap. How does it feel to finally feel me?”

My eyes widened with anger and excitement. I knew he was trying to push me out of my comfort zone. I was speechless and all I could focus on was my breathing.

He flipped over my paper and grabbed the pen.

“Do what you do then. You like watching me at work, let me watch you.”

I could start to feel him grow excited under me. I picked up the pen with trembling hands. Trying to write while he watched over my shoulder was almost unbearable. I desperately wanted him, but it was difficult writing about it, about him, as he watched.

I wrote a few words down explaining how he felt under me.

“That’s not how you spell that word." He whispered.

I couldn’t focus. It was obvious. His hands now gripping my thighs tighter as I was on the verge of screaming. I couldn’t decipher if I was angry or incredibly aroused at the moment.

“If you can’t write, you could just tell me.” His demeanor seemed playful yet somewhat degrading.

I guess I was angry yet aroused.

I threw the pen down.

“I want you. I want this, now. I want to feel you. I want to hear your moan. I’ve wanted you for some time now, why are you teasing me like this?” I demanded an answer from him.

Not letting go of my thighs, he pushed me off his lap as he stood up. He pushed my hips into the table as he stood behind me. Lifting my dress as his hands traced upwards to the excitement between my legs that he caused.

Finally, I felt him push himself into me. Holding my hips to keep me in place, deeper and faster thrusts. My knees almost gave out as I lay over the table.

While leaning down, talking quietly to me through my moans and whimpers.

“I’m not teasing. I’m working on getting you out of your comfort zone. I’m giving you exactly what you wanted but I need you to be brave and tell me the thoughts and fantasies you have.”

Every fantasy and poem I’ve written about him now lay scattered around us as we made love for the first time over the kitchen table. To the world, it looked like two people making love over a table with a mess of work around. To us, since we were both writers, the papers were like roses as we made the table our bed, indulging in the intimacy that came from my work.