Ria's Writing: Waiting (Masturbation Monday #263 & Wicked Wednesday #381)

When I saw the Wicked Wednesday “Frigid” prompt, this idea came to me. There’s also a little Masturbation Monday thrown in. It’s a slow build and more romantic than erotic, but sometimes my writing swings that way. So, you’ve been warned. Actually, it could be the backstory to my flash fiction story from last week—“That Touch of Arrogance.”

Please click on the badges below the story to read all the other posts!

Hope you enjoy,

Ria :)

Website: http://www.riarestrepo.com

Twitter: @RiaRestrepo

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Waiting

By Ria Restrepo

Occasionally guys will hit on me, but I efficiently send them on their way. I generally try to put out a “not interested” vibe to avoid the whole awkward situation. Many guys might think I’m frigid—which is ironic.

I might appear to be cold and aloof, but I’m a raging river of molten desire. I’m just waiting for the man who ignites my flame like no one I’ve ever known.

I’ve always been waiting for him—even before I knew he existed.

I don’t know why he left me the way he did. At first, I was angry and swore I was done—really done this time. It wasn’t the first he’d disappeared. However much he enjoyed our contact, I’d gotten the impression that he also regretted it.

Even so, when he was around, everything was golden. The passionate intensity that sparked between us was unlike anything I’d ever experienced before. It was irresistible and all-consuming. We had so much in common—and not just sexually. If it had been just cheap desire, it wouldn’t have killed me every time he said goodbye.

Of course, I never let him know how strongly I felt. I thought if I kept things casual—if I acted like his comings and goings didn’t bother me—that he’d relax about spending time with me. I’d hoped that if he knew I didn’t have any expectations, that he wouldn’t keep running off.

During his absences, I tried finding the same magic with someone else. It was never anything but momentary fun and easily forgotten. When he reappeared, I dropped everything and his pleasure became my priority again.

I did tell him about the others, hoping it would reinforce my supposedly casual attitude. I’m sure he believed that I sold my loving like Christmas cards, but that was far from the truth. He might be surprised how few other guys there were. Maybe I also hoped he’d get jealous. Sometimes I thought he might be.

After I told him about another guy, his passion took a more feral tone. Whether it was true or not, I imagined he cared enough to feel a need to reassert his claim. I won’t lie, the possessiveness made me incredibly hot. But then, he’d disappear again and I assumed my flights of fancy got the better of me.

I know what you’re thinking: “Get off the rollercoaster, girl. Just cut the guy loose.”

Believe me, I tried.

When my life became impossibly messy—not because of him—I did a disappearing act of my own. I wasn’t trying to punish him or hurt him. I really didn’t think I mattered enough for him to care all that much. But I was in a bad place and I didn’t have anything left to give. So I let him go.

Over the years, I regretted that he might think it was somehow his fault. That I was rejecting him. But that wasn’t the case at all.

Again, you’re probably thinking, “How many times did he do the same thing to you? Screw him!”

Nothing in my life is ever that simple. Nothing is ever black and white. He had his reasons and I understood them. I even respected him for them. Yeah, I know how messed up that sounds. So, even though I hated his leaving, I couldn’t really be angry at him for it.

Things gradually got better for me. I still have loads of issues, but I’m working on them. Thanks to the internet, I was able to check in on him from time to time. I saw he was still doing what he loved, and seemed to be happy and well.

However, I didn’t give him more than a cursory look. Like a person on a diet, I tried to avoid temptation. He was the most decadent kind—a rich and gooey slice of chocolate cake. Devil’s food, all the way, with mocha frosting and dark chocolate ganache.

Then one day, he sent me a message. I don’t know how or when he found me. To be honest, I may have left a few breadcrumbs, but I never thought he’d actually track me down. Although I was thrilled to hear from him, I was hesitant. I didn’t know if he was just being friendly or if he wanted more.

Before I knew it, we were right back where we were—except it was a little different. Oh, it was as hot and heavy as ever, maybe even more so. This time, though, I felt he’d found some sense of peace with our relationship—such that it was.

With him back in my life, I dove in and looked more closely at past events. Maybe I’d been willfully blind because I didn’t want to be disappointed.

A very different picture started forming. One in which I did matter to him and that he’d missed me—probably more than I knew. That changed a lot of things for me, but it still wasn’t smooth sailing. He began pulling away again and I didn’t know why.

I gave him space, but it only got worse. Was he just busy? Was he tired of me? Had I stepped too far outside the box he liked to keep me in? I didn’t know. Then, out of the blue, he completely cut me off—without a word.

Alright, I know you’re thinking, “You’re better off without him.”

I really don’t believe that. Despite all the angst and uncertainty, I come alive when he’s around. I’m my truest self. He lights a fire in me like no one else can. I miss him with every breath I take.

How did I go from being angry to having faith that he would come back to me? As much as I tried to push him from my mind and focus on my own life, I just couldn’t. The whole thing bothered me—and not because he dumped me again.

It’s hard to explain, but it all just doesn’t make sense. The way he acted when we reconnected, all the stuff I came to realize, then the abrupt disconnection. Other things are different too. Even from afar, I know he’s still around, but not as much. It feels like he’s keeping a low profile for some reason.

With every ounce of my being, I know something is going on—something he either doesn’t want me to know or can’t tell me for some reason. But he’s clearly keeping me away from it. There have been hints, though, that I shouldn’t give up on him. Maybe I’m seeing what I want to see, but I’m willing to wait to finally hear his side of the story. For however long it takes.

Late at night, I wonder if he can feel me. If he knows how much I miss him and crave his touch. As bizarre as it sounds, I still feel the connection between us—maybe stronger than ever. When I run my hands over my body, I imagine they’re his. Or that he’s watching.

In my head, I hear him telling me to pinch my nipples harder. As the pleasure ripples through me, I hope he feels it. I want him to know how he ignites my desire and makes me so very wet.

I can almost hear his warm voice urging me to slip my fingers between my drenched slit. I circle my clit, my breathing getting faster as my arousal builds. Then I slip my fingers lower, filling my tight cunt and getting them coated in my juices. I know he’d want me to paint my cream all over my fat nipples, so I do.

Alone in my bed, I wonder if he’d rather watch my wanton display, or if he’d lick the cunt juice from my nipples. Maybe he’d lightly bite them, making me writhe and moan from the pleasure-pain.

Part of me wants him to watch while he strokes his cock. I miss watching him jerk off. I can picture it so easily and it gets me even hotter. I love seeing his strong hand wrapped around his shaft, gripping it firmly as he moves his hand from the base to the glistening head.

I can conjure his lust-roughened voice saying, “Stick your finger in your filthy slut asshole.”

And I eagerly obey, just for him, pushing my slick middle finger in my forbidden fuckhole. Because I know it’s what he’d want, I finger-fuck my ass while my thumb madly works my clit.

Silently, I beg him to cover my tits in his thick spunk. Imagining him doing just that sends me careening over the edge. I call out his name as an intense orgasm rips through me, leaving me shattered—but still empty, because he’s not there. As I drift off to sleep, I hope he felt me come for him, and that I see him in my dreams.

So, I’m waiting for him to return. Waiting forever maybe, but hopefully not. Because I love him. And I need him. It’s just that simple.

Anaïs Nin once wrote:

Do not seek the because—in love there is no because, no reason, no explanation, no solutions.

And so I burn only for him and I wait…