Tears Before Bedtime

This is a continuation of my last post and it should lead to something more I hope, I hope you enjoy it as much as I do writing it.

Tears Before Bedtime

by

Ben Hannigan

Dear Diary,

So the last message I wrote left me curled up in a ball, in tears, terrified that I had destroyed a friendship, and also kissed goodbye to a job that I wanted to turn into a career. It was three in the morning and I still hadn’t slept a wink. I heard a knock at the door and knew it must be Laura.

“Hey, Siam are you decent?”

“Yeah I guess,” I replied, wiping my face to try to hide the fact I had spent the last few hours crying.

“Hey doll? I think we need to talk,” she said as she walked slowly over to the bed, placing her arm around me.

“I didn’t expect the kiss,” at this I curled into a ball or tried to as she cuddled me and my head ended up in her boobs, even as upset as I was I had to notice that fantastic rack.

“But sweetheart I didn’t mind it.”

I looked up in shock at her and squeaked, “Really?”

She nodded and murmured, “If the tattoo wasn’t enough of a clue, I’m strictly girls only, and to be honest, I think you are pretty cute.”  I blushed and let her continue. “I know you are confused right now.”

I snorted and muttered, “Understatement of the century.”

“But,” she continued, “if you want to try this then we can. Moving at your pace when you are happy to go deeper.  Regardless of what happens, you will not lose me as a friend and it won’t affect our working together.” She held me closely and waited with bated breath.

I leaned upwards moving to a sitting position in her arms and got comfortable moving her hand to my tummy where I clasped it into mine. I paused for a moment enjoying the contact, “I don’t know what I am feeling or how to take this but I know I want you. Everything I was ever taught screams that I shouldn’t want you, but I do. I want you to take me out to dinner,  go out with me to movies, to cuddle me,  kiss me, do everything I was told a boy would do.  I even want you to drag me to bed and...” here I looked around embarrassed and nervous before whispering in a breathy voice through the shock and arousal that the thought caused. “Fuck me till I scream.”

She giggled at that and her hand began to caress my tummy under the baggy tee I was wearing staying above the waistline of my pj bottoms. I melted into the touch and just enjoyed being held by my boss, who was one of my best friends and at least for now; my lover. I moved finally after what seemed to be hours of this contact and got on my knees facing her. I kissed her slowly. This time was different; it was a choice, it wasn’t automatic.  It was slow, gentle, passionate and wonderful; me being the weaker partner in her arms, feeling safe. There was no pressure, no worries of right or wrong because there wasn’t any time for those. We kissed and kissed, not moving beyond kissing and gentle touching. Her hand staying on my bare back and my arms snaking around her neck.

I felt something I didn’t feel with the boys my parents approved of. Boys from church and awkward “dates” at church social functions, dances to records that were old when my parents first dated in dresses that were “appropriate” first, and attractive second, and boys who would either brag about their sports achievements preparing themselves for the title of Uncle Rico or Al Bundy in their forties. Or boys who didn’t know how to talk to girls or assumed that we were to bow to their every desire as they had been taught at home.

I wanted more, so much more, but didn’t know what to ask for.  Didn't know how to talk to Laura about sex and desire. Heck, I don’t know how girls do that kind of thing, it was never an option in the world I had left. I mewled into her mouth, frustrated. She giggled as I almost pushed myself into her lap. I kissed her more aggressively but she could tell I was tired and in the hyper stage of exhaustion. Laura tried to move when she laid me down to sleep but I was still curled into her, cuddling close so that she wouldn’t leave.

“Siam sweetie, you have to let me go, you need to sleep.”

I yawned and mumbled, “Please stay.”

She laughed softly, musically. “Come on then, we wont both fit on the guest bed.“ She picked me up and carried me in her arms into her room and laid us both down to sleep. Under the covers; me curled into her, my back against her chest, my head supported by her boobs, and her head leaning on mine as her arm curled around my hips and rested in mine. Lulled by the soothing sound of her heartbeat I drifted into a very pleasant sleep.


XSiamX

Artistic Passions pt 3

Ben's been posting for a while now and he is gaining more confidence, and losing his nervousness.  This week's offering is a little hotter than the last couple.  A litle more graphic, a little more biting, scratching, but still the same artistic passion.  Leave him a message, encourage him, let him know what you think of his writing!

Artistic Passions Pt 3

by

Ben Hannigan

 

The couple slowly wandered over the beach, away from the clamour of the crowd; the blood; the police tape; towards home. They  stared out at the clouds appearing in the sky as if waking up with the world for the drudge of nine to five life. The lovers' hands entwined, ink and paint stained skin,  the casual touch of two people completely content with the world.

“You Know,” murmured the mousy haired girl, “we never did find my tights when we left for our meal.  Which was very romantic by the way,  a candlelit dinner for breakfast is like something from a film.”

“Oh, any ideas where those went? So does that mean you aren’t wearing any?” The young author replied with raised eyebrow.

“Why don’t you find out.” She giggled and grabbed her partner by the hair, kissing  him soundly, before bounding off at speed, daring him to chase her.  He responded with a gasp before chasing hungrily.

Barefooted the two lovers chased each other over sand,  grass, and over surf as they returned to the studio. It’s dark inside and as they reach the door they have caught each other, fumbling for the key becomes fumbling of a far raunchier sort as they stumble connected into the room and kick the door shut before attacking each other.

The usually pink tighted temptress was teasing him slowly, languidly stretching as she undid her skirt and let it fall; leaving her in a leather jacket and bare thighs that were usually covered by the tights that defined her. Her bra hit the floor followed by a shirt he recognised as his as she pounced on her target unzipping his hoody and attacking the bare chest beneath with tongue and nail.

He almost mewled with need as his boots were kicked off and she slid his jeans down devouring his shaft, sucking, tasting, devouring him as if she is desperate for the last drop of water in the world. His hands leaving claw marks in the wall as he shook, before pulling her up for a deep hard kiss.

He grabs her arse kissing her roughly, working his knee between her thighs. As he did so she felt the pressure of his body opening up to him. His hands slipped under her jacket, teasing at her  nipples. Each stroke causing her to scream and yowl as his left hand begins slipping into her folds, pushing up and into her wetness, violently thrusting into her. The frantic nature of gyration of her hips causing her to bounce against him, up and down his fingers, quickly soaking him with her juices.

He’s pushed back against the wall, she’s licking, scratching, tasting every inch even tonguing his tight hole and fingering him. Her other hand furiously attacking her own zones, she’s moaning, grinding against him.

They fall together moaning, her knickers are off now in the rush; she’s just in the leather jacket mounting him raising and lowering, riding his shaft as he moans. He flips her; thrusting hard,  fast, and deep. Its  rough.  There’s swearing, filthy pillowtalk, both stroking each others holes.  But its loving, gentle, both hard and fast; sweet yet violent.

She lifts up holding his hand, biting down on his neck and moans; “mine”.  He reaffirms the same, biting hard and screaming her name as he bucks and tremors, shaking in her arms as they thrust and spasm together before curling up; content, kissing and cuddling, not moving more than to drag a cover across themselves.

---

Artistic Passions

Today we have a new author; Ben Hannigan, a masters student in literature currently based "oop north" in England, but he has lived all over the United Kingdom and spent time in North America. He enjoys shooting, Larping, and is something of a gamer.  He can usually be found either logged into a console or a computer either gaming or writing original fiction, but admits to playing in other sand boxes as well. When not at a computer, Ben enjoys a good glass of uisge beatha in a pub older than the US. 
"Hopefully my work entertains and evokes a response, my dream is to get something published and see it in a bookshop so I can sign a few copies for my own amusement." 

Artistic Passions

by

Ben Hannigan

He sits down in the corner of the main communal work room, facing the door.  He sits, his back to the wall. The room is simply chaos, noise, swearing, smell of clay,  paint and turps alongside the heady sickly sweet warmth of student life, a live -in area.

It’s busy with messy final projects.  There’s naff all space so the girl with mousy auburn hair, drops into the seat, and exchanges murmurred greetings.

Him still scrawling, his hand a blur as he paints a portrait with nothing more than blue ink and the images flying though his subconscious.

During the day, mumbled comments pass across the couple as they work. Both reaching for the same rubber, their hands touch, they blush in tandem and smile at each other.

The small talk moves to more and more personal topics; from music, to artistic influence, to food and family.

As the sky blackens with passing time, the workspace empties as people retire. The scent shifts from stale sweat and people, to cooling night air and drying paint.

He mumbles and blushes, she does the same. They rise together; throwing work into bags.  Shyly they walk close and slowly move, until hand in hand.