Fridge Magnet Erotica (fantasy, anal, mastrabation) Adults Only copyright: 2001 I have tried to erase you from my mind. Every morning you are there, reading quietly, with the kind of posture that it would be easy to call dainty-if that term did not seem to denote weakness. Every morning I pass you by on my way into the kitchen to make coffee. I look down at the waterfall of beige blonde hair and remember how it felt when I kissed the side of your face, your left ear, and the back of your neck. You thought it was him that night at Joy. That night when you wore my clothes to usher in another thousand years of man. My clothing draped on your body, brushing against your skin. I will never think of it the same way. But you thought it was him. I think of him and a ball of guilt forms in my stomach. It threatens to kill my appetite for breakfast as I walk through the kitchen. Then I see the vast spray of words on the refrigerator. Absurd. Absurd that among my most pressing needs of the morning I count seeing refrigerator magnets. I smile sardonically, recognizing the amusement but acknowledging, and perhaps in deference to, the guilt. I walk with my head down and perhaps that too is a "nod" to the way I feel. I stop in front of the 'fridge, and slowly look up wondering what you will say today. probe the tight hot pucker push deep inside my ass I moan and grip your slick shaft that elegant ache makes me shudder I glance back at you. Your music pipes silently into your ears and you do not even acknowledge my presence. Now the "dainty" upright posture seems oddly perfect. How like a goddess. In utter seclusion in your own world you share your secrets, proclaiming them even, without a care. The goddess image is fleeting. My head spins, taking in what I have just read. In four lines of poetry you have called together such dark imagery that terms like goddess seem alien. I open the freezer door instinctively-not to get the coffee (which I do anyway) but to hide my expression. For one brief moment as the cold blast of air accelerates me, I am alone to think of you. Probe Push Moan Grip Ache Shudder I want to hide my face longer. For at that moment, when I close my eyes I imagine something so desperately primal that it takes all one million years of evolution to master my instincts. The door is open. I close it. I turn back to you. I see you. I cannot help but gaze at you now. Your words are so fresh in my mind. I long to touch you. Guilt is burned away, replaced by lust and so I begin to make my coffee, hoping that you will sit awhile. Sit awhile and let me look at you. Sit awhile and talk with me. I make the coffee mechanically. You take off your headphones and bid me good morning. I turn in time to see your lips curl into a smile as you pronounce the "ing." Just a little smile. Inferring good wishes, nothing more. I eat my cereal while the coffee brews. I do not talk. I eat. And think. And try not to close my eyes as I imagine those words were written for me. Oh if only... I see your face turned to the side on the pillow I am inside you. I pull back and your anus slides up my cock I push back...sinking inexorably into the moist heat God this is madness. I am only wearing an oversized tee shirt and a pair of silk boxers. I shift in my seat and as I do the silk caresses my shaft which uncoils itself of its own accord. A momentary reality check. I force myself to think of something else. My erection seems imminent. I try to think how I can slip by you if I have to. I am bemused by the thought. I am done with my cereal. The coffee is finished. I get up. My cock, now relaxed somewhat, falls reassuringly against my leg, the tip grazing delicately against the silk. When I turn from you I smile a lecherous little smile. Perhaps the mystery of not knowing is preferable. But in the back of my mind I know better. I desire you...no...I crave you. I want crawl to you on the floor under the table, in supplication, and place my head between your beautiful pale thighs. I want to inhale great lungfulls of you. I want to feel the wetness of your sex against my lips.... and set the bowl in the sink. I go to take a cup from the cupboard. I breathe slowly...my cock is stirring. I shake my head this time. I need to clear it. I can almost feel your muscles milking me.... I turn back to you. I feel a trickle of sweat run down into the small my back where the fabric of my shirt does not touch the skin. Sweat. I imagine you lying prone in the afterglow. I bend down to taste the salty sweat of our sin. I set the coffee mug down. I have forgotten the creme. I smile again at my own private joke. I return to the refrigerator. This time I reach down instead of up, since the fridge is on the bottom. I see your words below and freeze. Caress my glistening skin with a torrent of hot golden spray I pull the fridge door open with a jerk, falling to my knees as I do. Slowly I raise my head to read those words again. Caress my glistening skin with a torrent of hot golden spray I am in a dream as I squat down...my hair falls over my face and I fight the urge to take my cock in my hand. Instead I reach inside to fumble for the creme. Caress my glistening skin with a torrent of hot golden spray Now I have no reference. I have know way of knowing how it feels to release my bladder over anyone-let alone someone who has already driven me out of my mind in ten short minutes. Once, only once, I tasted a drop that had been left on my hand after a shake. It was bitter, and salty, neither pleasant nor unpleasant. Now I can only imagine what it must look like, running in across your back and across your ass...running down between the cleft of your buttocks still moist from my penetration.... I am a living corpse. I am only animated now...no longer human, but running on some failsafe computerized auto-pilot reserved for situations I can neither predict nor fathom. I sip my coffee in silence. We talk. Slowly I relax, enchanted by the way your eyes light up as you come across new words in your book. I on the other hand am filling out "the form." I can hardly believe I am doing this in front of you but at the same time I feel remarkably comfortable. We do not talk about "the form" excessively, nor do we avoid it. I make some weak attempts at humor. Not so weak really. But in my overawed state I am prone to overvaluation of self. And you get up. You go to the refrigerator. And I hear you say something as you take a magnet. "What did you say?" "I said "rim" is both a noun and a verb." You say it as though it were the most ordinary thing in the world. I turn away... My tongue runs down the cleft The musk of sweat and semen, piss and ass I part your cheeks to pay you tribute I push my tongue inside Later...I lie in bed. Whispering your name as I come....