Hello, my love Lies.

I'm Roxy Callahan and welcome to my Erotic Whispers, the podcast where I celebrate the sexual, joy and empowerment of women through stories.

This week's story was submitted by an anonymous writer who said that reconnecting with a crush from her distant past had made her want to write it.

I love stories like this where two people who are meant to be together finally find themselves together.

What makes this story one of my favorites is that the couple are never really a part, They're just incomplete.

You see, when I think of two people in love, I can't separate the emotional, the physical, the friendship, and the sexual.

And that's exactly what this story is about.

It features a wonderful pair of voice actors, Amanda and Mike, and before we begin, please note that this podcast is intended for adult listeners.

I escape my date Mark mid sentence as he's explaining the nuances of collateralized debt obligations to a senior partner who looks even more bored than I feel.

My excuse is a desperate need for another drink, but it's really a desperate need for a moment of silence, for a pocket of air in this stuffy high rise party that isn't filled with financial jargun.

I find a small opening at the crowded bar and slide in.

My mission is singular, get a glass of champagne and retreat to a corner.

As I lean in to catch the bartender's eye, my arm brushes against the man next to me, the wool of his sooue jacket soft against my bare skin.

Sorry, the apology dies on my lips.

He isn't one of the slick predatory types that pogulate these events.

He's handsome, but it's a warm, approachable handsomeness.

His hair is a little unruly, his tie is slightly loosened, and when he turns to me, his eyes are filled with a kind of intelligent, amused light.

Here's a ghost of a smirk on his lips that isn't arrogant.

It feels more like we're sharing a secret joke.

An electric jolt, tangible and completely unexpected, shoots up my arm.

It's a combat zone up here.

His voice is a low, pleasant rumble over the din of the party.

I think I saw someone get elbowed over the last mini keiche.

I laugh, a real laugh.

The first one of the night a worthy cause.

At least my date was just explaining the beauty of the bond market.

He winces sympathetically.

Ouch, my date's a litigator.

I've just been treated to a ten minute monologue on tort reform.

They share a look of profound and mutual understanding.

I'm Jay.

He holds out his hand grace I take it.

His hand is warm and firm.

Another cholt.

This is ridiculous.

I'm here with Mark.

He's here with a litigator, and yet this feels more real than any conversation I've had all night.

I feel a present slide in next to me, a subtle scent of Gardenia's and something citrusy that cuts right through the stale, recycled air of the party.

I turn as her arm makes contact with mine.

A polite smile already forming, it becomes something genuine when I see her.

She's beautiful, but it's not just that.

Up close.

I cann't see a flicker of wrye humor in her eyes, an intelligence that seems to be assessing and dismissing the absurdity of this entire event.

She isn't performing for anyone.

She's an island of authenticity in a sea of schmoozing, and standing this close to her, I feel an immediate magnetic pull.

Our conversation starts in.

It's instantly shockingly easy.

We talk about the terrible music, the even worse cannopas, our shared belief that any party without a dog wandering around, wagging its tail and snagging dropped food is fundamentally flawed.

I'm mesmerized by the sound of her voice.

Boy.

She gestures with her hands when she talks about a book she's reading.

Her passion is intoxicating.

I find myself leaning closer, drawn into her orbit, wanting to close the tiny gap between us.

She's an urban planner, and suddenly, in a way that makes absolutely no sense to me, I am utterly fascinated by urban planning.

Before she can describe the nuances, however, she nods over her shoulder.

Well, Mark thinks it's boring.

Mark, I'm sorry, She looks, flustered.

He's my boyfriend, She points.

To the bond market.

Guy.

I feel a genuine sinking disappointment.

It's a physical sensation, like a stone dropping in my stomach.

Of course she is, and thena thought, I believe all too deeply lucky guy.

It's just he's so focused.

She lowers her voice and leans in toward me.

Everything is a transaction, a means to an end.

It's exhausting.

I know exactly what you mean.

I watch as my own date laughs loudly at a joke a senior partner just made.

Sometimes I feel less like a boyfriend and more like a well chosen accessory.

The look she gives me is one of such a profound recognition that it almost hurts.

It says, I see you.

I get it, and I get the insane, overwhelming urge to tell her everything.

I want to tell her that I find her perspective on things deeply fascinating.

But I'm really thinking, what's screaming in my head is you're the most incredible woman I've ever met.

But I can't, so I just smile.

The way he says, well chosen accessory hits me right in the chest.

That's exactly how I feel, an adornment from Mark's career.

I'm about to say something to tell him how much that resonates, but Mark is suddenly there, his hand on the small of my back.

The here you are, Come on, I want you to meet my boss.

His hand is a proprietary weight, an anchor, pulling me back to my reality.

I give Jay a small, helpless shrug and let myself be led away.

The vibrant, colorful world I was in with him bates to monochrome.

I feel a mask slide back over my face.

How long have we spoken?

It felt like a moment, It felt like an eternity.

Later, by some miracle, we find ourselves alone again, near the massive windows overlooking the glittering Chicago skyline.

Survive the boss, barely?

You survive the tort reform?

Well, it appears that torts still need reforming.

His smile makes my stomach to a slow, lazy flip.

So urban planning, what is that all about?

I start talking about the lines of old buildings, how a CD is a living thing, and the whole time he just listens.

He's not waiting for his turn to talk.

He's actually hearing me.

His focus is absolute, and it's the sexiest thing I've ever experienced.

He makes a comment about how I make urban planning not just interesting but captivating.

My cheeks flush.

It's a simple compliment, but it feels intensely intimate.

I wonder what conversations with him over breakfast would be like or in the car or in bed.

Stop, Grace, this is wrong.

You can't do this.

You have a boyfriend.

A thought is a necessary splash of cold water.

Well, thank you, Mark just says I'm a nerd about it.

I re establish the boundary by mentioning Mark's name, and I hate myself for it.

The party is winding down.

People are collecting their coats, and my date is talking to the CEO by the main exit, a final bit of networking before the night is a fifth over, and suddenly in the distance is Graze.

A wave of sheer panic hits me.

This can't be it.

I can't just let her walk out of my life.

I watch her turn to leave, a small sad smile on her lips.

It's now or never.

But then my date is next to me and takes my arm.

No, not my date, She's Alice, my girlfriend.

What is wrong with you?

Jay?

We head to d exit.

It's total chaos.

At Valley Parking.

Alice is talking to some coworker near the door, and I wander over to get some fresh air near a large bush that separates the side parking lot from the entrance.

Hiding something so banal as cars from the powerful people who are there to do powerful things.

I glance back and she's stare grace.

She's standing by herself, looking at her watch.

I don't know what possesses me other than a fundamental belief that this is what I need to do, what I am meant to do.

I walk over and simply ask her, can I ask you something?

Of course, her face lights up in private.

I nod to the hedges.

I don't have a plan.

Hell, I don't even know what I'm going to ask her.

I just feel like I need to connect with her, one last time alone, just her and I doing what I don't know, sending each other energy as my mind is trying to make sense of what is clearly me going insane.

She takes my arm.

Sure, let's get away from this mess.

I don't remember the walk.

We're just suddenly alone behind the hedge.

She looks up at me with possibly the most beautiful, erotic, and amazing look I'd ever experienced.

What do you want to ask me?

I lean in and kiss her.

It's not a questioning, tentative kiss either.

It's a kiss full of the pent up energy.

Spoken words of the entire night.

It's desperate and certain all at once.

Her lips are soft and full, and she meets my kiss with an equal immediate fervor, her hand coming up to cut the back of my neck, pulling me closer.

It's a kiss that says I know, I feel it too.

For a few perfect, timeless seconds, the rest of the world and all its complications cease to exist.

I'm lost in the feeling of it, all that everything.

It's not just a kiss, but let me tell you, it is the absolute best kiss I'd ever experienced in my life.

It is like a connection of souls, like two balls of electricity being joined by this bolt of lightning.

He pulls away, and we're both breathing heavily.

The silence is charged, thrumbing with what has happened.

The taste of him, of champagne, and something uniquely his own.

It is still on my life lips her.

I I'm sorry.

He pulls back and looks panicked.

I can see the conflict on his face, the exhilaration and the concern that he did something horribly wrong.

Don't be sorry.

My voice is steady, tour because I'm not sorry.

That kiss was the most real and honest thing that has happened to me all night, hell whole month, or all year, maybe even my whole life.

It was a confirmation of everything I felt, the electricity, the rightness of it, a connection that I didn't even know was possible.

This isn't just a moment of indiscretion.

It's a confirmation of that deep connection.

I see him fumbling for his phone and I take it from his hand before he can ask.

My fingers are trembling slightly as I type in grace and my phone number.

I save it and hand it back to him, my gaze holding his It's a promise.

This isn't over justa and I hear his date calling for him.

He smiles, turns and is gone.

A thousand things are left behind with that one smile.

I eventually walked back to the wrong man, greeting me and saying the wrong things.

I don't care.

I have the feeling of the right one's kiss still burning on my lips, the stark shining light of my real life waiting for me someday.

I don't remember the right home, I just remember what came before.

His first text comes three days after the party, three days i'd spent replaying that kiss, the feel of his lips, impossible rightness of it, in the hollow ache of walking away.

I was in a meeting, staring blankly at a zoning proposal, when my phone buzzed, Hope.

This is okay.

Just wanted to say it was really nice meeting you the other night.

My heart hammers against my ribs.

It's so so, so polite, so completely j I was nice meeting you too.

What you're doing urban planning, meeting proposals, stuff like that.

Oh I love that you make urban planning sound like the most fascinating thing in the world.

And you make tort reform sound well, he were.

There, ll exactly.

And so it begins a series of texts, carefully spaced out, always casual.

We never mentioned the kiss.

We rarely mention our partners.

We build a fragile friendship in the spaces between our real lives.

And it's probably not a surprise.

A few months later, Mark and I imploded under the weight of his ambition.

In my quiet dissatisfaction, I took a job offer in San Diego.

It felt like running away, but also running towards something new.

One of the first people I tell is Jay.

That first text took me an hour to write.

I typed and deleted a dozen versions.

I can't stop thinking about that kiss.

Wholl too much?

Are you as miserable as I am?

Come on, man, that's insane.

I set on.

I'm polite, safe, but something that I hoped was still me.

Her reply was the same, safe, but it was enough because it was her and it was a lifeline.

Our texts are a secret highlight in my life with Alice, a life that on the surface is perfect.

We look good together, our careers are on track.

We moved to New York, we get married and a tasteful ceremony in the Hantns.

But it's a life built on compatibility, not connection.

It lacked the effortless understanding i'd felt in ten minutes.

For ten hours, I still didn't know with Grace at the party.

I never tell Alice about her.

Grace is a private reality, a quiet what if that I nurture through our carefully worded text.

I'm sitting on the couch Alice reading legal briefs next to me, and my phone lights up.

You will not believe the sunset here tonight.

The whole sky is on fire.

A single text and for a moment, I'm not in my sterile Manhattan apartment.

I'm in San Diego watching the sky burn with her.

My phone rings on a Tuesday night.

It's chay.

We've been texting for a year, but never had the courage for a phone call.

I think we both realized that a call would be the difference between us chatting at the bar and kissing behind a hedge.

If it isn't my favorite urban planning.

Groupie, you know, urban planning really does deserve more groupies.

Just like that, we're in the most comfortable place, no hellos, no acknowledgment of names.

We just fall into a conversation like it was one we've been already having, because it is.

I just wanted to check on things.

My phone is being weird with texts.

Did you get the one of me with the home run baseball I caught?

Oh shit, I thought, I replied.

I meant to text you saying you didn't steal that from some ten year old kid?

Did you?

Holy gosh, no one I actually gave it to a kid after I caught it, of course you did.

And two, I love how you're so connected to me that you thinking you texted me is almost the same as you texting me.

I'm not sure how to reply, but I know exactly what he means.

We've been texting daily for a year, and sometimes I honestly feel we text via our minds or souls even more than that.

She's quiet, and I'm standing on the balcony of my apartment looking out at the city lights, a class of whiskey in my hand.

Alice is asleep inside.

I lied about my phone being weird.

I just needed to hear her voice.

We should just cut out the texting entirely and move it to lepathy.

I swear we already do that.

I say it as a joke, but she doesn't laugh.

I think we do too.

It's an intense moment, and me being me, i'd back up a bit grace and I couldn't be closer.

But we need to somehow act like we are far apart, and that reminds me of our physical distance.

How's the Land of Eternal Sunshine treating you?

Before she replies, there's a loud series of car horns.

New York, by the way, is loud.

I can't complain.

At least it's quiet, and that David is nice.

She says, the word nice in the same way you describe a piece of toast.

She had texted about how great he was and how she felt like she finally found a guy that wasn't a flake or a manchild.

But the way she says nice is couched in more meaning than any words in the text.

I feel a ridiculous surge of relief, followed by a wave of guilt for feeling it.

That's great by Lie.

Alis and I are good keeping busy.

We talk for twenty minutes about nothing and everything.

A movie we both saw, a stupid thing.

My boss did a new restaurant she found.

It's effortless, it's perfect.

Well, I should let you go, time zones and all that.

Yeah, I should.

I lie again.

I want to talk to her forever.

It was really good talking to you, Grace too, Joe.

We hang up, and I'm left with a profound, echoing loneliness.

I have a wife asleep in my bed, and I've never felt more alone in my life.

Years pass.

My relationship with David ends, and another one begins and ends.

Jay is the constant, the one person I tell everything too.

He knows about my job, frustrations, my terrible dates, fear, that I'll never find what I'm looking for.

He never talks much about his marriage, but I can read between the lines He's not happy.

We are two lonely people, the pastist of friends, surrounded by people who aren't the bestest of anything.

One night, after a particularly frustrating date with a guy named Ken, I'm drunk and feeling reckless.

I text Jay, Can I ask you something weird?

A guy question?

Shoot?

Rumor has it?

I'm a guy who may actually understand guy questions?

Is it a normal guy thing to be incredibly insecure about your dick's size even when it's totally completely normal, and I mean, like pathologically insecure?

I hit send an immediately cringe.

Oh my god, what am I doing that?

The wine has silenced my internal censor?

L ol.

Define normal guy thing?

But yeah, I've heard it's an issue.

I have faced this regularly, but Ken is obsessed.

Every time I give him a blowjob, it's like he's apologizing for it not being bigger.

If I touch myself when we're having sex, he takes it as a personal insult that his dick isn't big enough.

It's a total turnoff.

There is a long delay before Jay replies, and I wonder if I've gone too far?

Fuck?

Who am I kidding?

Of course I've gone too far.

I wonder if I've ruined jay'son my perfect, well as perfect as it can be, relationship.

But then I hear the ding.

I frantically look at his text.

He just sounds insecure, maybe super insecure, but insecure.

Do you really get that from a lot of guys?

He is off the scale insecure.

And yes, a lot of guys seem to have this hang up.

It's usually not so obvious.

There'll be offhand comments that make it clear it's an issue.

Well, that's sad for them, and it has to be frustrating for you.

I read his word in them, and suddenly it hits me that I may have offended Jay.

He undoubtedly is living in this same guy world with insecurity.

Is he trying to deflect from my having hurt him as he suffers the same thing?

Oh my god, I'm being so awful.

I don't mean to be critical of male insecurity of penis size.

Women have all these insecurity issues too.

I mean, Jesus, my tits are tiny, and it's bothered me since I was twelve.

Your tits are perfect.

I stare at Jay's text, and then another one quickly.

Follows, I mean, all of you is perfect.

This conversation is in the honesty and trust place that we both cherish, but it's also interesting in the crossing lines.

But why does they feel like we're crossing lines?

Every conversation feels so natural with Jay, including this one.

I'm definitely not perfect, but I'm positive you are.

I say the words, hoping that we can get past as my blundering into questioning Jay's penis insecurity.

I read her text in a laugh escapes me.

She has no idea.

Do I say it?

It would be extremely inappropriate, but she brought the whole damn subject up, And besides, I'm intensely curious how she'll respond.

Fuck it, I'll open the door and see what happens.

Well, I'm definitely not perfect, and I have a different problem, and it's not so much insecurity as dealing with the perception around those insecurities.

I'm not sure if that makes sense.

That makes no sense at all, So clearly you need to explain more.

I take a deep breath.

Fuck it, I have a larger than average dick.

Seriously, Yeah, and while the insecurity isn't there.

It's not exactly a nice feeling when the first thing a woman says after you had sex is had hurt.

Holy shit, how large are we talking about?

My heart is pounding.

This is definitely crossing the line, a big one.

But I can't stop myself.

Let's just say I'm statistically significant about two inches longer than average, and the girth is apparently in the top one percent, actually more like top half of one percent.

First of all, wow, Second of all, how do you even know that?

Lol?

You're the one that asked about guys knowing guy things, And if you want to know, every guy in creation has measured and had gone to this thing called the internet.

I'm smiling now.

This is insane.

I'm sharing things I'd never share with anyone.

I'm wondering how to get the conversation back on a normal track.

When her reply.

Comes, you have to send me a photo.

The words are out of my fingers before I can stop them.

It's impulsive, driven by wine and years of pent up curiosity.

I've had enough sex in my life to know that I'd never had sex with a cock as big as Jade was describing, and it fills me with this insane combination of friendly curiosity and intense desire.

I half expect him to laugh it off, to say no.

A minute passes, and two.

When it reaches five minutes, I panic and I begin to frantically type kidding.

When an image appears on the screen, my preth catches in my throat.

He wasn't exaggerating.

He's holding it in his hand, and his cock is rock hard, extending beyond his palm.

It's beautifully shaped, thick, and undeniably impressively huge.

It's more than just a cock.

It's the physical manifestation of a man I've secretly longed for.

And the sight of it is intensely, shockingly arousing.

And the way the photo is framed, it's like he's holding it in his hand offering it to me.

I take a deep breath and then take another drink.

Drunker is better at this moment, definitely better.

Holy shit, dude, you're packing a monster.

I send it, still reeling.

A response is almost instantaneous, and the tone is completely different.

All the playful intimacy is gone, replaced by sheer panic.

Please delete that.

I'm sorry I shouldn't have sent it.

I'm married, Please grace delete it.

The words are like a slap.

He's right, we went too far.

I feel a hot flush of shame.

Why did I even ask?

Done deleted?

I'm so sorry, Jay, I shouldn't have asked.

It's okay, good night.

Good night, And just like that, the door slam shut.

The line we crossed has been hastily put back in place, but we both know it's no longer a line.

It's never been a line.

All that's been stopping us from crossing it and being together has been distance in our self control.

I didn't actually delete the photo.

I stare at it, and I'm not staring at Jay's huge cock.

I mean, I am fuck, It's gorgeous, But more than that, I'm staring at his offering.

I made a request, and he offered it to me.

I run a finger along his cock in the image, feeling the glass under my finger.

But what I'm really feeling is the emotion behind it, in my heart, in my soul.

He's married, I think to myself as I finally do delete the photo.

Twenty years.

It feels like both a lifetime and a blink of an eye.

Alice passed away from cancer three years ago.

The grief was real, a deep sadness for a life shared for a good woman I cared for and shared some of the most important moments of my life with.

I loved her.

That her absence has left a hole in my life throughout it all.

Chrice was my rock, my best friend, the one constant in a world that had completely fallen apart.

We talk on the phone now least once a week.

The lines we so carefully drew have blurred into the comfortable intimacy of two people who know every secret corner of each other's souls.

I'm on the phone with her now, walking through my quiet New York apartment.

I just spoke up with Robert.

Her voice seems tired, but also resolute.

Three years.

I think that's my limit for trying to make my life work with someone else.

I'm sorry to hear that, grace, but also not sorry.

He never got your obsession with weird old maps.

She laughs, a sound that still makes my chest ache in the pest way.

He didn't, anyway, enough about my tragic love life.

What's new with you?

Well, I have a work trip coming up.

It's in May Paris.

If he can believe that She's quiet, which is not an uncommon thing.

She likes to think things through.

I can actually picture her doing it now, perhaps assessing the weather for a Presian may or wondering if she had heard of some restaurant I may like.

To try Harris in May.

Yes, Paris, Paris, France, by the way, not Paris, Texas.

What dates in May?

I tell her, Jay, I'm in London the week before for a conference.

My heart stops.

It actually physically stops for a second, before restarting with a heavy, hopeful thud.

They're sitting not at all.

I can extend my trip.

I could take the Channel, I can fly, I can meet you in Paris for that weekend.

For the first time in nearly twenty five years.

There are no barriers, no boyfriends, no girlfriends, no wives, just two people in Paris the whole weekend.

My voice is full of the excitement of two best friends planning an escape, because that's just what it is.

But who am I kidding?

It's more than that.

Without even thinking, I add, it will be just.

Us his words, just us hang in the air.

That's all I've ever wanted.

For the next three months, my life is a blur of anticipation.

Every waking moment is filled with him.

The what if that had been the quiet, constant companion of my adult life, is suddenly screaming.

I think about that kiss, the one that ruined all other kisses for me.

I think about our phone calls, his voice a balm on my lonely nights, and God help me.

I think about that photo.

For twenty years, that image has been seared into my brain.

The fantasy of what it would feel like is so vivid, so all consuming, that I find myself touching myself from the middle of the day, my pussy getting wet at the thought of him finally, finally bearing it deep inside me after all these years.

Will it be as good as I've imagined?

Of course it will be.

Neither of us at all mentioned that we'd be having sex, But for two people as connected as we are, we don't need to say it.

It was a Jay or me that said years before that we speak via telepathy.

Our communication of trust is so complete that we don't even need to say it.

I had bought a mess of dildo years before, and whenever I used it, I dreamt it was Jay.

He'd be fucking me with it, and might just be consumed with each other.

As he filled me completely and I took all of him in every orgasm with that dildo was unbelievable.

I buy a new one and I use it nearly every day.

On the build up to the trip.

I wait for her at the arrivals gate of Charles Dugall.

My hands are shaking.

I feel like a nervous teenager.

What if over two decades of fantasy can't survive the harsh light of reality.

But then I see her.

She's walking through the gate, looking around, a small, hopeful smile on her face.

Her hair has threads of silver now, and there are fine lines around her eyes.

But she is so unmistakably grace my breath catches in my chest.

I'm looking at undeniably the sexiest and most beautiful woman that has ever walked the earth.

All my fears evaporate, replaced by a single overwhelming thought.

There you are.

Our eyes meet across the crowded terminal, and the decades between us vanish.

The magnetic pull is still there, stronger than ever.

I see him and my legs almost give out.

His hair more salt than pepper now, but the smile is the same.

The warmth in his eyes is the same.

He opens his arms and I drop my bag and run into them.

His embraces everything I imagined, strong, safe, like coming home.

We don't say anything, We don't need to say anything.

We pull apart and he touches my cheek.

My knees get even weaker.

He leans down and we kiss.

It's a soft, simple and short kiss, but it is the second best kiss I've ever experienced in my life.

I don't want it to end, but we're in an airport and a full weekend.

The waits A taxi ride to his hotel is a blur of laughter and conversation.

We hadn't seen each other in person in years, but it's like we never have left each other side.

He pats my leg and laughs when I make a stupid joke about urban planning in London.

It's so intimate and so comfortable.

We approach the hotel and the air between us changes.

It crackles with all those years of unspent energy.

In the elevator, he finally takes my hand, his fingers lacing through mine.

This simple touch is an inferno.

The ding of the elevator arriving at his floor is the loudest sound I'd ever heard.

He fumbles with the key card, his hand shaking slightly.

The moment the door clicks shut behind us, he drops the bags to face him.

He looks at me, his eyes dark with a lifetime of wanting, and then he causes the distance.

The kiss is not a greeting, it's a continuation.

It's the second half of the kiss we started behind the hedge twenty five years ago.

It's desperate and full of a torrent of emotion and desire unleashed.

His hands are in my hair.

Mine are clutching his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer.

He backs me up against the door, his body flush against me, and I can feel his hard cock pressing against me through his jeans, through my slacks.

I feel like I can't breathe, and here's my oxygen.

He pulls back, his forehead resting against mine.

I've waited my whole life for this price.

There are no more words.

He lifts me up, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carries me to the bed.

Our clothes come off in a frantic, tangled mess, and then we are skinned to skin and I finally see him, all of him.

My hand reaches down and wraps around his cock.

It's impossibly thick and shockingly larger than the dildo my friends would always joke around, knowing you've had a good dick if your fingers don't touch when wrapped around it.

There's at least a quarter inch of space between my thumb and fingers.

I stroke at once, and Jay moans.

It's as hot as a brand, and so much more magnificent in reality than in the photo.

Holy shit, dude, I whisper the words from our long ago text message, falling from my lips.

He whaffs, I told you.

I stroke him as his fingers find my pussy.

Talk about holy shit.

I usually need to grab lube, but you're so wet you're tripping down your thigh.

Before I can reply, he slides a finger around my clip with a touch that makes me throw my head back and moan.

I look at him above me, and he's licking his fing.

You taste so good.

He starts to luwer himself, but I grab his arm.

No way, I need this.

I squeeze his cock inside me right now.

Act that.

He leans forward and kisses me, and I feel his cock pressed against my pussy.

The whole thing, extending from the bottom up to my clip.

I realize I could probably just come from riding his cock without it even inside me, and that thought is lost in the kiss.

Her tongue slide and touch, and then he closes his lips and sucks my tongue.

I moan again, the feeling of the deepest passionate kiss combined with the pressure of his cock against my whole pussy.

Oh God, Jay, you need to fuck me right now.

He lifts himself up, and I just can't wait.

I reach down and take his cock and slide the head between my pussy lips, but he just stays there, the head of his cock pushing my lips apart.

Look up at the man I've loved from Afar for decades, the one that got away, and now he's here.

He pushes forward, and the feeling of him entering me is slow, sick, overwhelming.

He is so big, stretching me, feeling me in a way that I've only fantasized about.

It's not pain, It's a deep, profound pleasure, a feeling of completely and utterly possessed by the only man you've ever wanted to possess.

You Craigs, you are so perfect.

He holds himself there, and I reach down and grab his ass, holding him as he's deep inside me.

Fuck, this feels so good.

It's like your cock was made from my pussy.

He starts to move, long, slow, deliberate thrusts.

This isn't just fucking.

This is an act of loving connection.

Every stroke is a declaration, every retreat and push a rediscovery.

I look into his eyes and see years of longing reflected back at me.

I can't believe how wonderful it all feels.

I've never had a guy fucking me feel as good.

He is so thick that my clit is tingling.

I realize that I'm so turned on, so connected, so fucking aroused, that I may just come from Jay fucking me.

His pace quickens, the slow, reverent strokes, turning harder, more desperate.

He's pounding into me now, and every one of my nerves is on fire.

Every single part of my pussy is feeling the friction of his cock, and as he thrusts, my clit is also on fire, increasing its heat, not like with the direct intensity of a tongue or a finger, but with the slow, intense buildup of being consumed.

His thrusts increase in pace and are harder and deeper.

It's a frantic, glorious rhythm that is the sound of a lifetime of waiting finally coming to an end.

Orgasm builds a tidal wave of pent up desire.

It had grown so slowly and so unexpectedly that it hits me with the force of a lightning strike, a scream tearing from my throat as my whole world explodes into white hot pleasure.

My release triggers his, and with a deep moan, he empties himself deep inside me.

He is so large that I can easily feel his cock throb as his hot comb surges into me in a final, absolute surrender.

We collapse together, a tangled mess of sweat, slicked limbs, our hearts hammering in unison.

He's still inside me, and I never want him to leave.

He rolls onto his side, holding me and taking me with him, still inside me, his arms wrapped around me.

I bury my face in his chest, inhaling the scent of him, of us.

It's the smell of a promise, finally kept promise we both knew we made in an office bar years before, but we never acknowledged until now he kisses the top of my head.

Was it worth the way?

I tilt my head back and look at him, At the man who was once a stranger at a bar, then a secret friend in my phone, but always always my bestest and closest friend, Until now he's finally my reality.

I never waited.

You were always there.

Thanks so much for listening to my podcast.

I'm Roxy Callahan and my Erotic Whispers are brought to you by tenth Mus Studio.

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