Flowerpot and flokati

It was too hot for clothes, that Saturday night. So we were without, the nine of us in that small, Rotterdam-Crooswijk “house-below-the-rent-limit” of 32 square meters, which we proudly called our apartment. Just married and trusted by the parents of our Art-academy boy- and girl-buddies. Weed went around, we drank from five beer glasses and our hands slid languidly between each other’s thighs. Too hot to fuck and too stoned. Except Wáwá.

Small, Chinese punk of just one meter fifty-two, teenage body with B cup in a white bra and white cotton ‘hollandia’ panties, with those vertical ridges. Her black bush vaguely shone through the front. No, no nudity for her and no weed either. Beer, yes, she drank beer with the liter and not a bit tipsy. And she always smiled with her head slightly tilted, giggling a little.

She did photography with us at the academy, Monique (Mo, that is) dit fashion and I, Paul, painting and sculpture. And our friends around us, year mates or something vague at the Economic High School, whose subject didn’t interest us. Wáwá was fascinated by our bodies when we played together in the night. She made beautiful black and white images of us in large format and sold them as art to horny men for a lot of money. The images were beautiful and we were unrecognizable.

But she continued to click and flash, always in her underwear, between our swarming bodies, her heavy, black batteries whirring and high beeping briefly each time, as if those too were cumming.

That Sunday afternoon, as everyone else had left, Wáwá was sitting chastely in her underwear next to me on the couch in a cross-legged position. Monique said she wanted to sketch her, like she sat there. “But au naturel” I said, mischievous as ever.

And then suddenly, she shakes with her shoulders, shedding fat tears. “Surely no one thinks I’m something sketchable, with my teenage body, boy boobs? I see you all going at each other hard and I know I’d be passed over being like this. I’m only going to cum so much when I develop those pictures…”

I hesitate whether I should now pull her onto my chest to comfort and seduce her, or doing just that is typically a man’s move, and therefore wrong.

Monique rescues the situation, “Silly, why do you think I want to sketch you?” They look each other in the eyes, “You are so special, a porcelain doll, but also a woman, when you let your temper go! May we do you both, sketched with women’s eyes and a men’s mind? Will you see how we look at you. “

I don’t wait, put a hand on her back and finger-open her bra. I marvel at her beautiful ski slopes, fuller and larger than I had estimated, and so I say. “May I?” and slide the back of both index fingers from her neck to her nipples. I stop there and they jump stiff. She smiles at me.

When Mo grabs her by the hands, she stands up and I pull down that hollandia flag. She has a typical chinese ass, flat on top with her back and bulbous-round on the bottom, as if her slit never stops….

In her jeans I had guessed that, but her mons veneris, bulbous and nicely covered in black with manicured curls is the magnificent beginning of her valley, starting high and forked by her clit hat. And her legs, slender, are longer than I expected.

“You’re beautiful, the way I imagine Tolkien’s elves to be, at least not like one of those much-too-big, blonde ‘kaninefaten’ (= native to Holland since the Romans) bodies you probably compare yourself to.”

What strikes me is, that she allows herself to be admired, and she spins around one more time before resuming her pose in a cross-legged position, this time with her back straight. Mo arrives with our sketchbooks and we discuss her pose. I give her a cushion to sit on. Belly forward, she pronounces her venus mound. Mo puts one hand on her thigh and the other on her neck, making her breasts protrude. Suddenly she is a seductive woman.

We get down to business and she tells of her frustrating encounters with boys and men. Always skipped at dances with “I’m not a pedophile” and more such comments have made her insecure. And then it doesn’t help that your parents called you 玩具娃娃 (Wánjù Wáwá), playdoll, that is.

We both turn over a sheet of our sketchpad and I let her lie in the armpit of arm- and back rest of the couch,, one leg off the seat and the other raised. “Wider, this will be the sketch of promise. No, even wider.” And as I sketch, my erection betrays how I appreciate her. And so I say. She giggles.

Later, the three of us sit naked on either side against her and look at the sketches. Although we both note very differently, the seductiveness and sex awareness drips off of them. My very close-up of between her thighs, a sheet full of only pleasure lips, open, with slender inner lips, crowned with a mischievously peeping clit and the higher-lying dark woodland. “That’s why you were stiff all the time, and still are!” she observes, encompassing my rod with her small hand.

“Watch out, it’s a llama, it’ll spit at you!” I warn her just in time and the white rays spray across the glass coffee table as she steers me. Sneaking a peek, I see her lower lips glistening.

A few days later she takes Mo aside after lunch for a question and so the three of us drive to our loft that evening. It’s still lukewarm inside and Mo and I immediately get out of our clothes, slide our clammy bodies against each other and kiss unseemly. Usually, after a whole day of abstinence, we take each other, but now it’s just caressing and stroking my penis. Turning around, we see a naked Wáwá smirking at us. I kiss her on her flat nose.

Under the nasi-rice, Mo begins “We sat for a while talking about Sunday and what didn’t happen then, despite the hot tension between us. What really bothers her, she told me this morning, she is still a virgin! She doesn’t dare go out, because if that turns into anything, she’ll be ashamed. At twenty, she can’t confess that anymore.” Wáwá blushes when I look at her. “And she asked me if I thought it was okay for you to do her…” And now I’m really blushing, caught off guard by the lustful thoughts of the last few days. There you are sitting caught with your glans above the tabletop.

I pull her to my knees and hold her head straight in front of me “Dear Wánjù Wáwá, I’m not going to fuck you like a playdoll for my pleasure, I’m going to love you, so that your first time is your best memory…” I kiss her on her flat nose and her lips. We duel each other’s -already hot from the peppers- tongues and kiss for a long time. “After last Sunday, I follow you with my eyes when you walk around the academy and think you beautiful naked, like now. Imagine myself with my forehead on your mons veneris, making you hot with my tongue and shiny wet. I didn’t dare go any further with my fantasy.” I stroke her pussy mat and finger the tip of her slit.

She looks at me happily surprised “You covet me? You get horny with me, just seeing me in my jeans, when I get coffee from Paulien at the counter?” she giggles as she realizes the impact. “And were you sitting rigid, like in nude model drawing?”

I nod afirmingly and the girls laugh at me.

Mo asks “Are we going to massage you first to ignite the fireworks behind your navel, or does he have to ram it right in?”

“I like to cuddle so much, but massage me first. I want to feel Paul’s mouth on my slit. That’s what you were dreaming about, right?” and she looks hornily into my eyes. In them I read that she is ready.

Mo laid a large gray bath towel on the table and Wáwá stretched her body, illuminated by the two orange flowerpots, which I had just paid for from the sale of an unashamed nude portrait. Now, fifty years later I still think of this moment when I see a picture of them.

“Turn on your stomach” I say and look focused into the pussy between her seductively wide spread legs. Her lips still closed. Later I will know how she is shaped when I have explored her with my mouth and opened them.

“Paul!” exhorts Mo me ” Your cock is betraying your thoughts. Start with her feet, then I’ll start here.” She warms oil in her hands and skillfully works all the tension out of her neck and shoulders. I, meanwhile, take her soles of her feet in hand and see from her reaction, that this is one of those tickly spots. From between her toes to just below her heel. She tries not to squirm. Mind note for later, with a feather….

Then I lay her legs wide, feet on the table corners to caress her with long strokes over her calves to her high inner thighs. Again and again the sides of my hands touch her lips. I hear soft moans, but they coincide with Mo’s hands, which are searching for her nipples along the base of her breasts.

Then I get on the table and lay over her, carefully maneuvering my stiff cock into her butt crack, my still-hanging balls against her pussy. With light twisting motions, I massage her back with my torso, while Mo gently kneads her breasts. She purrs like a cat, horny and satisfied.

When I feel my warm spot between her buttocks become slippery from my drops, I know it’s time for the next round. Would be a premature waste, wouldn’t it?

We invite her onto her back and when she lies down we stand on either side, bending down, to each suck a nipple. She giggles, as I pour a stream of oil from there to her mons. Two hands caress her torso and belly and the inside of her upper thighs, carefully avoiding the strained lips between them. Oil is so yucky tasting when going down on her.

Again I get on the table, carefully avoiding the hot flowerpots with my ass, 75 watts is hot in an enameled steel bowl. Wáwá is now looking straight into backlight at my tight cock with swaying balls and I search her slit with my mouth. Beneath my belly, Mo mistreats her nipples.

She is smooth and aroused, I smell, I taste as I pass my lips over hers. I suck a little and wriggle her lips open with my nose, savoring her nectar -still virgin- and press her wider with my tongue. She has full inner lips and an invitingly smooth opening. She lets on that I’m teasing her, there, and rewards me with sweet smoothyness. I slide upward, careful not to scratch her with my 5 o’clock stubble.

Then I put my lips around her swollen and expectant clit and lick and suck at the same time. I feel the fireworks ignite in her belly and keep kneading her button with my lips, even as she twists her lower body fiercely. Bit of bronco bull, that. Slowly she sinks into the wetness of her climax, I lick her pussy once more from clit to hole and get off the table. She looks at us and sighs “yummy!”

Mo throws a few pillows on the flokati rug, and tells us to flop on them.

She pulls from her bag a large, white handkerchief with lace on the corners and a white embroidered monogram, two letters W and P intertwined -the stick of the inverted P in the down-hole of the W- and today’s date.

“Made Geertrui this afternoon. No, I really didn’t tell her anything.”

We are already not listening, when I put my mouth on her nipples and at the same time between her thighs caress her lips with the side of my index finger. I roll on top of her, big and clumsy, but so protective and then again she turnes on top of me, elf, pixie, my stiff cock clamping between her thighs, against her smooth lips.

“Hora est” shouts Mo like the beadle of the university ending the torture of examining.

I look WáWá deep into her eyes and ask “Do you want me? And may I squirt into you?”

“Yes! And not orthodox missionary, but like a true feminist. I deflower myself on your rod. Want to be able to proudly tell my granddaughters. And as for your swimmers, I was done having my period on Saturday. That’s why the big underpants.” she smiles at me, her head slightly tilted.

Mo spreads the handkerchief under my ass, grabs my dick between thumb and forefinger, pulls back my foreskin and holds me upright in front of the chinese pussy that wants to be a woman so badly.

Slowly she opens up over my smooth glans and waits as it touches within her membrane. And then with a jolt she presses on, her face contorted, inhaling sharply. She drops forward onto me and begins to ride fast.

“Calm down, we’ll go on for a long time! I want to be your missionary now” I say and turn around, holding her tightly in my arms.

I start gently in and out, not too deep and not almost out, now massaging the middle passage and all the time stroking her g-spot. Mental note: need to teach her kegel exercises. I keep a little distance between our torsos and tickle her stiff nipples with my chest hair and her belly with my treasure trail….

When the break-in damage in the maiden cave is covered with all our smoothness, I make bigger strokes, sometimes straight up and down, then twisting again. The friction of our crotch hair is like the just invented Velcro, hooking my pubis to her clit. From my toes and trembling calves, I feel my discharge building. “Come with me” I encourage her as my balls go tight against my cock, my thighs tingle and I press deep into her, my abs tense. Her shaft contracts and for her first time, my seed throbs and squeezes her overwhelming climax to our exclusive feeling together like never before.

We gasp and look deep into each other’s eyes. Hers are beaming with joy. “Thanki, thanki” she says and begins a tongue kiss between panting, all trembling with excitement.

Faster than usual, my erection shrinks and the culprit slides smirkingly out of her pussy, glans already in its cap. Behind him, the Heavenly Trinity of blood, semen and cyprin slowly seeps out of her closing pussy opening. It drips beautifully onto the handkerchief, forming a pool of white and red threads there. The monogram is flowed over, forming sotr of a watercolor drawing, as intense as I can’t make it.

Mo now wants my blood cock in her cunt as soon as I’m erect again “and keep going until you cum again, I’m so horny!”

The handkerchief was carefully laid out to dry and was later a spectacle of yellow circles with brownish-red veins on the white cotton, testimony to our act of love.

Soon after, she met Jeff, an English exchange student with whom she moved to Birmingham, later. Her work as a photographer I saw occasionally in glossy magazines, often praised and awarded. I understood that she was doing well.

Our lives went on, but at a funeral 45 years later, I saw her on her back in a long black coat walking a little way in front of us. Crazy, that I recognized her by her walk. I tapped her shoulder and the recognition in her eyes was priceless. The three of us sat and talked that afternoon in all the reverence and decorum the occasion demanded. We agreed to meet for a few days later.

Mo said on the sidewalk in front of her house, I should hold back, because she wanted to know how she was doing. “And when your dick starts talking, I won’t get a pin in it” is thus my command.

In the sitting room, one wall is a collage of her work, more or less chronologically. I recognize my ass and balls, a boob from Mo and bodies of friends, whose names I have forgotten. And further on people in clothes, famous, powerful, handsome or infamous. And there I am naked… fucking!

She shows us the whole house with her work everywhere. She tells us about her experiences. In the dining room, family portraits, she with Jeff, portraits of her daughter – a spitting image of her at the time we were playing – and two sons, smiling granddaughters, again teenagers. At the center, a hushed black and white of a pine box, Jeff.

And finally her bedroom. Across from her bed on the wall in one frame the sketches of Mo, on the left where Wáwá is going at me and on the right after the deed, she in my arms with post-orgasmic grins on our faces. In between, the handkerchief, with the now yellowed stains of our sinfulness.

“So your granddaughters know how you deflowered yourself on me?”

“Was dat nou alles?“[Was that all there is?] she hums a musical-song from that time.

Paul and Monique are central players in the Aphroditiae, read more about them there.

Gepubliceerd door Desiderius Lustig

Ik zet mijn hete dromen om in verhalen vol genot en liefde. Mijn fascinatie is vooral de herinnering aan mensen, ontmoetingen en gebeurtenissen, maar dan omgebogen naar intense lichamelijkheid. In mijn verhalen ben ik daarnaar op zoek en herbeleef al schrijvend, wat er had kunnen zijn of bijna was. Als er maar......

Eén opmerking over 'Flowerpot and flokati'

  1. Stories on line:
    Old_Grey_Duck :13-10-2021 00:59:41
    The imagery of this story is almost magical.
    Makes me recall a time in my past, Lovers, College, Personal Explorations, Finding Love.
    And, acknowledging that Time passes and we can’t always keep up with it.


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