Lauren's Tales

Every single day, for months, we have had sex. Now that we’ve begun the habit, it ‘s hard to break. Even if I’m sick and can’t handle the taste of pleasure for myself, I make sure to give him some. After a while, even the most exquisite pleasures become ordinary, and it’s time to revisit old favorites with a new eye.

I could tell the first time I got this handjob thing right. His right hand started flapping in the air, exactly the way a dog kicks his leg in the air if you scratch the right spot. The mood dissolved in laughter, but I was on the right track.

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Where once there was nothing on the shelves but KY, now there are a hundred different sex lubricants on the market, and they have features.

Most lubricants are water-based so that they may be used with latex condoms. Sensual and slippery, they offer vitamin E or an engineered resemblance to a fertile woman’s vaginal fluids. Not all features are welcome. When I’m fucking my mate, I want my lube to provide a slick ride. Fertility is not something I wish to consider.

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Do you love someone? Are you so hot for them that your hands go in your pants every time you think of them? Do you wear their clothes just to keep their smell close to you? If so you may acquire and intimate knowledge of his or her face, and there will be expressions of joy, pleasure, and lust you’ll do absolutely anything to see again.

I like whips.

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* * * *

“When did you get so good at rubbing feet? I love how you do it now, but you didn’t always. I remember I used to get you to do it, but you never seemed to be paying attention. What changed?”

“Well… It’s kind of hard to explain. At some point my head was full of computers and software and ideas, and I didn’t notice the beautiful woman right next to me. Then, one day, you explained it all to me.”

“I did? What did I say?”

“I told you it was hard to explain. You showed me what a migraine was like, and I was much more sympathetic than when I had nothing to compare it to. And you’re so beautiful that I wanted to make you feel better.”

“I don’t remember this, but I forget a lot of stuff. What did I say? I’m curious.”

“You didn’t say anything. You showed it to me. ‘Showed’ is the wrong word. The word is like the one for when you show someone the smell of strawberries.”

“I said this?”

“It wasn’t really you.”

“I’m really confused.”

“It was like a you from the future came and explained it all, and then I couldn’t help but notice you were right there, and that I was ignoring you. And I wanted to rub your feet more than I wanted to think about computers.”

“A me from the future?”

“That’s not exactly it. But I suppose that it will have to do.”

“Were drugs involved?”

“Yes.”

“Ok, now it makes sense.  That“.

* * * *

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There’s something special about my ideas.  See if this makes sense to you.

I have a terrible pain that visits me every day. No medicine or process designed to prevent the daily episode has ever worked. To discourage me from weeping myself to death, my doctors have prescribed potent narcotics. These serve not to banish the pain, but to insulate me from it. They work well in that regard. But they have another effect, which is no curse but a blessing. They’re visions. My ideas come out of the visions.

What makes my ideas so special is that they’re still good ideas when I’m not stoned.

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