Sex du Juor: The Sex Reminiscence

Sex du Juor: The Sex Reminiscence Sex du Juor: The Sex Reminiscence

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Summary

Sex is very good and so out of this world...and so much more brill and smashing excellent are memories and reminiscences of it!

Summary

Sex is very good and so out of this world...and so much more brill and smashing excellent are memories and reminiscences of it!

Content

Submitted: February 28, 2015

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Content

Submitted: February 28, 2015

A A A

A A A


I just don’t catch on to it. What is this guy—surpassingly and exceedingly and truly nice-looking—looking for in a worthless and low-grade and for-the-valueless-birds girl like me. Well, if you opinion and think that because I see myself as this chicken-shit and wretched and trashy and miserable I can be plainly and definitely taken advantage of, then you are far and away and beyond question off target and fallacious and erroneous about me. Really!

 

He is long-legged and towering high above my steep and lofty stature and highness itself. I mean it…I am positive and confident and free from doubt about it. Other than this, he seems much convinced and self-assured and bold of himself than I can note practicable and realizable. Hmmmnnnnn! No wonder he is the cracking and super awesome Don Juan or lady seducer that girls and misses everywhere chitchat and blether and buzz about. Story and hearsay is it that one noteworthy woman professor and don was come across in her office by her aider and assistant while self-abusing and touching and masturbating herself with the exploit and utility of Stian’s dazzling and gee-whizz photos, which, the gossipers carried on to tot or sum up, she was eyeing and staring at that randy, erotic, and lewd way while yelling and whooping his name out. I don’t know how bona fide and factual and true this is…but it sure has made buzz and scandal and dirt news everywhere, even on social media, where it even got conferred about on some well-liked and sought-after radio show with hundreds and hundreds more thousands of listeners and freaks.

 

The man I am talking about here is Stian Elberd. I am not a lover or fan club subscriber of him, though my best friend and china, Brogan Dunn, is—and she do in and blow away someone’s life just to have Stian lust and itch after her, she blurted it all out clean to me. I mean, can you think that up. It is dumb-ass and meaningless.

 

Stian is straightened up and on his feet before me, all smirking and beaming and smiling. Hmmnnnn…what is here to be smitten and bewitched and swept off one’s feet about here? Perhaps he should cut it clean and share it out with me so that I can in the very end bust a gut and cackle and roar out at me. Womanizer…lady-killer!

 

“How can I help you?” I ask gently and mildly nice while I peep and check a glimpse out at him. He is well-proportioned and very nice-looking. This is the generously truth and it hits and batters me up in the face like I have been slapped hard and severely. Damn him for his lady-hypnotizing winsomeness and handsomeness. I do not have to be bewitched and cast under a prevailing, all-supreme spell like the others. No, I don’t have to as well end up this way. No!

 

“I imagine that I am the one who can lend you a helping hand,” he pitches back at me. I aim and strive to be cold-blooded and remorseless and unfeeling with my facial mien and countenance, but he ploughs on being gentle and lenient and unselfish with me, up till I have no any other alternative than to succumb and give way to him. Oh darn yeah!

 

That was two years rearwards or backwards in reverse. Now I am wedded and hitched to this very selfsame flirt of a man that I quailed and shied away from just at his approach and advancement towards me. He is taking a nap. Soundlessly and sweetly mild in my very own arms and watch care. I look at his hair. It is terribly and for the most part pitch-black and little, if not hardly any maroon and roseate. Yes. It is scantly kinked and coiled and curlicue. I love its stylishness, I adore and savor its dressiness and fashionableness. This is Stian Elberd stunning and elegant; this is my very own Stian Elberd personable and fanciable and comely-looking. I kiss and snog him on the forehead smoothly and rhythmically before I get on to set down my head on his chest and doze there silently and in hushed tones.

 

These are the hours of heavy and non-stop sunlight outside. Albeit there be sunlight and sunshine, it is somewhat a bit gray and foggy and overcast out there, with liquefying and unfreezing snow evanescing and dispersing slowly and gradually. The trees are alive and kicking, jigging vigorously and actively this side and that other, and furthermore swinging here and there. I am not telling pork pie untruths here. Come see this for yourself if you mistrust and have doubts about it.

 

Stian and I are butted and stalled down on our vast, snug, and cozy settee, grasping and clasping each other well and lovingly. He is the one who is taking me in his muscular, virile, and well-built safeguarding arms and I am sloping and tilting and heeling myself against his chest  leisurely and at my own relaxion and breathing space. He is carrying in his hands pictures of us when we were first falling in love and I am eyeing and scouring through at them in a laid-back and lazy comfortable fashion.

 

“Do you guess how far it is that we have come from, Ragnhild?” He queries me coolly and unperturbedly. Of course! How can I ever fail to remember and let slip from the memory all that? I cannot. I mean…we have traveled and tripped and toured a cheerful and joyless excursion and errand all in all. Yes. We have made a move and staggered our footing that deep and long mile away distance indeed. It is true…

 

Without resolving or answering anything back to him, I go on to kiss and jar and clash and collision my lips against his. At first I do it steadily and by degrees and at my very own leisure and snail’s pace. It feels good and wonderful; it is sensational and super and fantastic indeed!

 

Arghhhhh! Stian is super and mega hot and enjoyable. This man is the awesome and cracking top and smashing great example and specimen and representative case of what it means to be sexy and come-hither and beddable. His blooming and robust and in-fine-fettle muscles are powerful and vigorous and hard-wearing than ever before. I can picture and conjure up them sweating and drudging and laboring intensely hard to cheer and satisfy and gratify and give uttermost pleasure to me. Oh yes! They assuredly and certainly will be doing that. Without a doubt indeed!

 

“I cannot presume and maintain that you are finally mine,” he counters and ripostes selflessly and lovingly. I can heed and make it out in his eyes; I just hardly can blab and take it off its toll. What Stian is putting to words is but the sheer and dyed-in-the-wool fact and no any ilk of make-believe. I can cross my heart and take an oath on that!

 

Nimbly; seemingly brusquely; and incisively; Stian’s lips skim and graze against mine, igniting and making my blood boil and foment with lewdness and libido. Deep down all this, I wish and yearn and long to gasp and gulp both inside and outwardly. I ache and itch to do all this and so much more. Yet I am not fitted and proficiently endowed to transact and pull off it. Why methodically, you may ponder and be curious? I have no any slight dealings or knowledge or awareness of that. Maybe it is because I have given way and knuckled myself over to Stian’s slurping and siphoning and supping like kisses. Perchance yes; peradventure not!

 

As he smooches and cannodles and pecks and snogs me all the more jellified and stiff and jelled, he takes me in his arms and grasps and squeezes me, patting and fondling my spread out and charming flame brown hair pleasurably and pleasingly well. How am I supposed to respond and take the bait back to this? I merely and solely cuddle and hold him taut and hermetic-like as well, straightening and stretching myself out so he can brush and scrape my velvety smooth, silky cushiony-like skin with his lenient, easy-going, and touchy-feely lips. Yes! He is the exemplary and superlative crown and beau ideal of this! He far and away and come hell or high water is this and so much more further.

 

The keenness and ardor and fire between the two of us is vehement and heartfelt and frenzied and lustfully aroused. We nibble and snap and champ each other’s gloopy, squidgy lips with our fixedly dense and fit-as-a-fiddle teeth. Not that we work it out with objectives and designs and intents to whisk and blend and rouse the other’s soreness and trouble and shooting twinge! Everything that we effect is worked out roguishly and jokey-like and coyly. Precisely that at most!

 

Back once again to the university days, as I relax in my bed this very night, my mind wanders back to those glorious moments that I have spent with Stian Elberd. His appearance, his excellent smile, his spotless-looking olive skin, his pleasing hair, his insane-like-charming eyes, especially during when they are lit up with that blooming glow and brilliance that lights them up whenever he smiles. Everything about him is to the hilt fascinating and enchanting. Oh yes, it definitely is!

 

With Stian in my mind, I sleep like a newly born baby, pathetically pitiable and feeling unaffected by anything and enveloped in a protective sheet of whole and guarding love. When I break my eyes open, morning has curtly dawned with the birds chirping and caroling and twittering outside. My custom is as usual. Eat and then wash and finally doll myself up for school. I am not going there to learn. Classes for first year students have not yet began and neither have the results of our interviews come out yet. Meaning that I do not know whether I have been accepted for attendance at the institution or not.

 

I stroll the library and designing division of the institute like mad. My objective? To find out if there were ample and sufficient Fashion and Design textbooks and property supplies and any other applicable and suitable stuff. There are to my excessive delight and joy. I almost scream and throw myself down to the floor in madness and paroxysm. This morning is one of the happiest days in my entire life! Yes, I have had my very own fair share of unhappy and broken-hearted days and as such do I not deserve to be entitled, even for a split second, to one fortunate and blessed and happy and prosperous day? In my perspective I sure am qualified for that.

 

They have a library specifically for those who were studying Fashion and Design here at the institute. A massive and elaborate and well-ornamented library, and not a subdivision or subsection within one large library. They also have a practical hall where there are all sorts of equipment and machinery used in the manufacture and designation of clothes; sewing machines; knitting machines; designation tools and gadgets. The list and market, sorry, it should be treasure, is this endless and infinite. Everything is there. Not precisely every little bit of thing. For the foremost part, almost everything required is available.

 

This is how I had dressed up: Blue cotton pants, a blue blouse, white mid-heels, and a gray farther-reaching jacket. I am this immaculate and stainless, but by no means heavily bedecked and ornamented. No, I am not.

 

While grabbing away from the shelf one F&D textbook, a manful voice, still and low, addresses me from behind, “Morning, sweet angel.”

 

I turn around as quickly as I can. My eyes stretch wide in endearment and shock, my mouth dropping low, my forehead puckering and creasing up. I am just plain damn shocked and entranced at the same time. Whoowy! Stian is just plain damn…gorgeous and magnetic!

 

 

Stian smiles gently and strokes my cheek lightly as he did so. Wow! It feels like…like…like bliss and rapture. As much as I become still and quiet as though I am averse to it, I fancy and crave it like nothing else. It is the most delicate and precious touch in my life. Ever.

 

“Are you okay?” He asks, having noticed how so quiet and unresponsive I am after a long time.

 

“I am fine.”

 

He arranges nicely threads of my hair that have been disordered and messed up by the gushing wind. I like that too. Even though I do not inform him about it. Being touched by the man that you are lusting after? How many of you know how pleasant and delightful that is? How many of you understand how delirious and light-headed it makes the world around you go?

 

“What was it that you really wanted to tell me? I am curious to know.”

 

“How really curious are you?”

 

While we walk, Stian’s hand is firm and unshakable on mine. His fingers play and handle mine in such a thrilling and electrifying manner that makes it obvious that he as well has got a crush on me. Whoohoo! Hurray! Not only am I in love with this boy. He is also in love with me on the other hand. Which assures me that things between us are headed somewhere at least. Oh yes, they are!

 

We chat and giggle and stare and smile as we go on our way. That has some group of guys and girls hovering nearby stop what they are doing and discussing and pay unreserved and unwavering attention to the two of us. The reflection and study of most guys stays and lingers on me. It disturbs and unsettles some even. It sure does. I glare back at them lamentably and woefully. What is it about us that deserves to garner such kind of attention and watchfulness? What precisely?

 

At reaching his friend’s door—located on floor ‘Thirteen’ of the ‘Pine’ building—Stian tries it and scowls at discovering that it has been locked up and bolted. He snaps, “Damn,” to himself and then flashed me an apologetic smile.

 

“Is there any problem?” I am alarmed and up on my toes in no time—not specifically standing up on my physical toes but immaterial ones as I am in an apprehensive state of nervousness and anxiety.

 

“No,” Stian quickly replies, granting me another excusatory smile. “All is fine. It is just that Max, Maxwell I mean, has his room locked and kept out of bounds. Don’t worry though. I will ring him up to find out if he is nearby or not. Just give me a second please.”

 

“No problem.”

 

He is like flames and combustion and blazes themselves. That is what he verily and genuinely is. He makes me go up in fiery and unbearably hot fire; he flickers and flares me up to sear and char and tingle and glow with lechery and wantonness of sex and him until I am nothing but vulnerable and incapable of rebutting anything come-hither and sexy and suggestive that he says to me. I crave and long for him so much…so, so much indeed…don’t you yourself?

 

 

 


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