The Neighbors Already Know

I wake up in a pile of rumpled sheets. The dark maroon color stark against my white skin. From the depths of the evening before floats up the complement. ‘I like the contrast…’ But I can’t grasp the rest through the fog in my brain. The house is quiet and I’m alone. I recall passion. Fingers gripping tightly. Hungry mouths devouring acres of skin. Deep grunts of satisfaction and moans of pleasure. Squeals of delight. Then another hazy memory from the depths, ‘were those my squeals?’ As I shake my head in an attempt to focus the room spins a little.

I gently roll out of the rumpled cotton field of dreams, driven by the need to urinate. Warm feet on cold tile helps me focus. I stand over a shiny white bowl as my distended bladder shrinks. Glancing to the left I see a double sink with a huge mirror over it. There is another flash of memory. Of the reflection of pale hands running over my torso. Whispers of admiration; then of lust and need. I am bent over the sink and an angelic face floats behind me in the mirror. A grimace of lust painted on it. I feel the color drain from my face as the memory coalesces. Looking down I see the beginnings of bruises on the front of my thighs. In my ears echo the cry of that angel as she is satisfied. Clinching my sphincter creates a dull ache that has never been there before. 

The smell of back coffee draws me toward the kitchen and I slip on my cargo shorts to seek it out. I enter the transitional area between the kitchen and dining room and my eye is drawn to the sliding glass door that looks onto the deck. There stands the angel from the reflection. I flash back to her in the club. In that skin tight red dress she stood out like a flower in a field of noxious weeds. Images of her moving and dancing, a mermaid in a sea of fish, fill my head. Drinks flowed. There is an image of a dark place where the thump of the music has become a dull throb. Of looking up at her from my knees as I push the red line of her hem up creamy thighs. I remember her fingers curled in my hair as I gag and cough with her release. On the deck she turns and catches me staring at her. She looks surprised. I move toward her, the glass whispers aside and join her.

“Good morning.” She leans in and kisses my lips in an easy familiar way.

“Mornin” I mumble back. An awakward silence steps between us and hangs there till I nudge it out of the way. “About last night….” she intercedes.

“I’m sooo sorry! I just get so carried away sometimes! I like to think of it as being passionate, but I guess sometimes….” She trails off knowing that nothing flattering can follow that statement. She changes gears. “Actually, I’m a little surprised you’re still here. Most guys after a night like last night slink out the front door as soon as I come out here to give them an opening.” Her eyes drop to the deck. I’m acutely aware of her curves beneath the robe. “I guess I should be flattered that you at least had the nerve to come out here to say goodbye.” More and more of the previous evening is coming to light. The condition of the sheets makes perfect sense now. Her eyes return to me, hopeful, but resigned.

“I had an amazing night! Best of my life!” I tell her in a breathy rush and wonder blossoms over her face.

“Truly?” I nod, my eyes never leaving hers. “You didn’t come out here to tell me goodbye?” I shake my head. She unties the belt and pulls her robe open. The knowing look on her face says it all. She has finally found her match. “Well then, let’s not waste anymore time talking.” I look into the back yards of the other houses.

“What about your neighbors?” She smirks.

“The neighbors already know all about me.” 

#reddressneverfails

Stepping into the restroom cut the thump of the techno music to a distant throb, but she had a throb of her own. The guy she had been dancing with all night wants to meet her in the Rumpus Room. He knows she is packing and that she wants to get inside of him and he’s cool with it, even eager for it. She’d had to adjust herself before she could leave the dance floor.

She looks in the mirror as she comes in and watches herself walk behind the other girls touching up their faces. She isn’t vain, but she looks as good as any of them and in that red dress she looks better than most. There is no muffin top showing over her panties, no little roll around her bra strap. She is tight clean curvy lines with a hard ball of intent where her legs meet. 

She steps into an empty stall. Part of her wants to pee standing up, just to freak the other girls out a little. Not that anyone would say anything. Even if they clocked her they wouldn’t mention it. But she never got clocked unless she wanted to. She was a ghost among them. That girl with a little something they could never provide, a competitive edge that sends some guys to the moon, like the cute Clark Kent look-a-like she is fixing to dip her wick in.

She knocks the last drop of pee off the tip and stands up to fix it back in place for the trip to the Rumpus Room. She pulls the dress down, but just before she tucks her little girl away she thinks of a selfie. She sets up her phone and looks at herself on the screen. She loves shots like these. She looks amazing and sexy, and then you get to the bottom of the dress and get that little twist at the end. Perfect. She takes the shot and posts it. Her girlfriends will know what the hashtag means. 

#reddressneverfails

Top Girls: Rare but out there.

My stories frequently depict very dominant scenes. Strong top girls taking the men they want and not caring about anything else. I love to write these stories.  They set my mind free from the everyday hum drum, allowing me to explore a world that I want to visit, even if I am not sure I want to live there.

Top girls take my breath away. The more beautiful they are the more I stand in awe of how they can make a guy feel. I am sure that if I ever met my muse, Foxy Angel, or any of the the other amazing tops that grace adult entertainment I would be completely tongue tied. Stammering out how beautiful she is while shivering in my skin, sure in the knowledge that she could spread my legs and take me places I have only ever dreamed about.

I read in chat rooms that there are no true tops out there. The ones that do top are only doing it for the money. I wonder if that is true? Is it a simple case of economics? As soon as there is enough money in the bank for that last big surgery will they walk through that hospital door and knock those last dusty bits of maleness from their pumps? Maybe. If you spend your whole life dreaming of having wings to fly and the doctor tells you he can make it happen, are you going to continue riding around in a plane? Doubtful.

But I don’t buy into that chat room BS that its all about the money. If that were the case wouldn’t more girls take the final cut as soon as possible? Okay, so I can hear the cynics out there saying their just riding the gravy train till time and gravity forces them into the station. I’m sure some are doing exactly that, which is no different than a pro athlete milking his talent to the end so who can blame them?

I think there are changes just over the horizon. To my eye there are more top girls out there than ever before and finding their work on the internet is easier than ever. They are still rare and special, but not unicorn rare, more like eagle rare. Which means that you can find them if you know where to look.  I believe there are girls out there who have realized being a beautiful top is to be worshiped. Guys are begging and pleading you to take them and make them your own. If you are a top girl, whether all the time or just when it suits you, I would encourage you to embrace it. Be that Eagle so many guys are searching for and know what it is to be worshiped.