Friday, January the twelfth

Hello Diary! I know it's quite unusual to actually talk to one's diary but as it's mine I guess I can do whatever I want and be polite. So... Introductions!

My name is Aurelia, I'm a twenty year's old red-head of roughly five and a half feet who studies to become a veterinarian. I'm not currently wearing anything but a long shirt as I bathe in the warmth of the nearby chimney, but don't get too excited, I do have a boyfriend already!

As for you, well... I have no idea what your name is nor do I know how old you are so we'll stick with Diary for now. We met about twenty days ago and, then as now, you were fully clad in black leather : you did look dashing, I think you should know it dear Diary! You are about three and a half inch by five and a half, but don't be ashamed of your size, I think it's perfect as far as diaries are concerned :)

Before I dive into the first memory I wish to entrust to you, I'll just be clear that I write this for myself, and not because I'm torn between a shining disco vampire and a rough yet kind werewolf, or between two hot vampires... This story won't be as lucrative, but it will be much more personal. I've always wondered how my parents met, how they were when they dated, and though we never talked about it and they are both still alive, their memory isn't what it used to be and precious moments are bound to be lost, forgotten. 

I don't want my moments of love and joy to fade away, and they won't! Thanks to you they might even survive the memories of my existence. Which is why I start writing today: you shall be the guardian of my daily joys, the safe keeper of whatever kind of happiness Pierre throws my way. Pierre's my boyfriend by the way, but I'll come to that.

I will spare you no detail, not even the sexy ones... especially the sexy ones: it's not that I want to boast about my sex life, it's simply that when your love for someone reaches a certain point, sex is just light years away from anything purely physical, it's about sharing laughs and living in worlds made just for the two of you... It's about so much that only you and your partner share that, for once, it truly does embody the words people flaunt about: "making love". That is the main reason I want to remember it all, not to touch myself later on, not to boast, but because it's part of us and because I want to remember that shared dreams can be real.

———

Hello again... Something's been nagging me during my whole supper: Diary isn't going to do the job, as far as names go, it kinda sucks. So I thought a bit about how to name you : my first idea was Sarah but it wouldn't exactly fit your attire, and the last thing I want is a diary riddled with doubts about it's sex! Second guess : Geoffrey De Vestenoire, Duke of Moleskine which sounds quite awesome to me! But then I thought you'd just become a pompous ass or simply snob me, which would be inconvenient. Anyway, you know what they say : third time's a charm, so it is without further ado that I name thee Bob, knight of memories :)

I'm not a huge fan of chronological order, so I won't entrust you just now with the tale of how Pierre and I first met. Instead I'll begin with a quick description of him and the fresh story of how I found myself wearing nothing but the shirt I was telling you about.

First things first : Pierre... Well he's damn fine looking... But that's not very informative isn't it Bob? Right, I can do better! Picture yourself a tall, brown haired guy with a smile that could melt away bad moods like sun melts ice cream - sidenote : I like ice creams :) - and deep green eyes. On top of that - NO, not on top of the ice cream :D - he has big, big hands, now I know it may not sounds like much to you, but you'll understand when I tell you what he does with them, but I'll come to that.

I don't know exactly how long his hair is, I'm not a measuring person, but they seem like they have the perfect length for me as they are just long enough for me to comfortably get my hands in them - he likes it when I do that - I won't say he has perfect white teeth - though he does - to avoid being too cliché so I'll stick to the smile... Actually smiles as he has quite a few : varying from the cute « I didn't do nothing » smile to the « I'm gonna eat you alive » sexy smile passing by the « Hi love, how do you do ? » smile.

He dresses well too, wether he's playing it casual with a short, T-shirt and the occasional hat or being all business like with pointy shoes, black pants, white shirt and a tie. I quite enjoy the tie you know... It kinda always seem to end up leading to kinky situations ;) If we were to talk about his more basically physical aspects, I'd tell you that he is quite muscular and that his shaft is... Well I'm not a measuring kind of girl, but here again, I have not the slightest complaints regarding length.

But I promised you a tale, didn't I Bob? So, this shirt... On Wednesday I had little to do so I went shopping and Pierre had to cope with the fitting : he witnessed his own fashion show! Don't be jealous Bob, I'll tell you about it ;)

It all began with a grey woolen dress coming down slightly beneath my knees, held by a belt of the same material but lacking the nice geometrical patterns adorning the top of the dress. The dress left the top of my shoulders bare so I had a scarf, black and kinda fluffy, to shield me from the kisses of winter. It wouldn't shield me from those of Pierre though, luckily... Talking of Pierre, he had left the comfort of his armchair in the living room when he had seen me coming in.

« Now, that's an appetizing wrapping! he said as he got closer. I may have some trouble waiting to see you get out of it... he added while landing a few soft kisses on my shoulders . » I thought to myself that I may have some trouble with it too, if he kept looming sexily over me. Not that I particularly minded you know, he his after all my kind of predator and I do love it when he eats me! ;)

But that day I wanted things to turn out differently : I wasn't feeling like a prey. « Well Love, I guess you'll have to make an effort, I said, waving my scarf over his hands, gently perched on top of my shoulders. » Being fair play, my lion retreated to his chair. I blew him a kiss and went back to the room : other clothes were waiting for me.

I wore a tight jean and my foot, bare the time before, were now in high brown boots. As a top I wore a light blue sweater of cachemire on a white shirt. Making my way toward him, I made sure not to let him get up : it wasn't that I walked particularly fast, a look made the job just fine and with much more elegance than a rush would have. And so he stayed put as I walked by, his lips alone moved as a smile acknowledged my appearance. I bent over to plant a kiss on those moving lips.

As I was again going away from him I felt his eyes, then a firm hand, on my left butt-cheek : both made me smile. Once back in the room, a problem struck me : I had little left new to wear, which kinda threatened to put an abrupt end to my little game. I could have put some « old » clothes but it would have ruined the fun - wether he would have been aware of it or not - Obviously, I thought about going back stark naked but the game would have been quite abridged. When, for the third time, I came in the room, Pierre's look expressed his surprised appreciation. The orange T-shirt I wore was his. His too were the wide white shorts.

« So? What do you think? » I asked

« Well, you're by far the hottest boy I know! he answered » I laughed, I'm not indeed the most shapely women there is, but there was no way I'd let that stop me! Coming closer, I took his right hand and made it tread lightly on my right leg

« Are your boyfriends' as smooth as I am? Are they as warm and welcoming? » I asked again as I was leading his hand toward the hem of the shorts.

« No, you're the best dear. He answered after a while, finally managing to tear his gaze away from the boxer that I wore as underwear and that was slightly visible underneath the shorts. »

I smiled, acknowledging the good answer, and I sat on his knees, facing him with his legs between mines. In this position, I towered him by more than ten inches and his eyes were leveled with my braless breast. I led both his hands to them and though they failed to fill his hands, the look he gave me proved that he was enjoying this at least as much as I was. Reclaiming a bit of initiative, my man took his hands away from my bust, and put them on each side of my face. Pulling me closer he kissed me with the passion that had lived in his hands, just moments before. It left us both looking for breath but he spoke first.

« Unless you want us to strip naked now... »

He needed say no more, nor could he for that matter, I left with a pang of regret. Once in the room, I stripped hastily, the only thought that made me pick other clothes was that I was in control of this little game. I quickly picked a white shirt and I was putting it on, surrounded by the hastily discarded clothes, when I heard him coming. The wooden floor cracked but I refused to show that I had heard, instead I just kept on with the shirt.

I missed a button, partly because of the lust that was rushing in me since that kiss and partly because he was now close enough for me to feel his breath on my neck. He was doing all he could to be discreet and, though it wasn't really effective, I was inclined to let him have his fun : after all, being in control means giving as well :) However much prepared I was, I still shivered when I felt his body touching me from behind and when his left hand landed on my shoulder. His right hand quickly followed and touched me an inch above the hip, lifting the shirt a bit to reach my navel then go down to the crux of my femininity while his lips gently nibbled at my neck from the right.

As his hand touched me where I most wanted, I moved a hand down to accompany him in that caress and the other up in his hairs. His left hand left my shoulder and went to my chest, going though a hole in the front of the shirt to make sure it wouldn't interfere. His right hand, guided by mine, went slowly inside the boxer, his thumb stayed on the doorstep, playing with my button, while his middle finger, without further ado, went in. I gasped, took a better hold of his hairs, and his hands, guided or not, were prompt to make me come.

The orgasm, though good, didn't bring me to my knees, the will to reciprocate did. Pierre's jeans made little resistance but I took my time taking his boxer out. I wanted to caress him through the fabric that was already stretched by his desire, and so I did just that. A hand on his hip, I moved the other one up and down the bulge in his underpants. After a minute or so, I stopped and moved both my hands on his butt-cheeks and squeezed them gently as I licked, nibbled and kissed the thin barrier of cloth.

He grunted with frustration and I finally consented to step the game up : I took the boxer off and engulfed him as soon as his underwear released him. Pierre's hand moved to my head and played with my fiery hair, guiding my head along his shaft, he quickly sticked to playing with my hair though : I know my business well enough on my own and the magic of my tantalizing tongue dancing around him made him lose control. I felt his joy flowing in my throat as his grip on my hair tightened and the salty taste filled my mouth.

Being well educated I chose not to talk with my mouth full, though words of affection were burning on my lips. I swallowed as I rose up, Pierre's hands helping me ascend until our lips were leveled and, as we kissed - me standing on my toes in his shirt and boxer and him, magnificent in his half-nakedness - his lips tasted like an answer to my silent words. Having - very temporarily - quenched our thirst for one another's flesh, we felt like getting properly dressed or, more accurately, undressed.

However capable we were to tend to the matter on our own, we've always liked to help each other out. This time was no different. Pierre was first - his attire was the messier - and it took quite a while to untie his shoes, get the pants and underwear out of his ankles and the T-shirt over his head. We felt like getting all the clothes out of the floor before undressing me. As he bent over to pick up the shirts and shorts, I playfully slapped his ass, which made him straighten up promptly. Looking falsely crossed, he smiled at me - all predatory-like - and his eyes promised some fun coming still. He calmly folded the shirts and put it all away.

Coming to me, still stark naked, he walked until he was only an inch away from me. He slowly went down, paused to kiss my navel and kissed his way down from there. Pausing only to take my - well his actually - boxer out of the equation, using his fingertips to make sure it slowly, but steadily, left its watch over this patch of skin. His expert lips received a warm and wet welcome. He made sure to arouse me but refused to finish the job just yet and, as I lifted an ankle then the other to get rid of the now useless boxer, his lips continued their way down on my left leg, their parkour accompanied by ten fingertips running around frantically on that smooth leg I had bragged about - something that felt an eternity away - in the living room.

A kiss or two on the way were a bit more aggressive... These love-bites wouldn't fail to leave a mark. When he reached my ankle, I couldn't suppress a giggle : I'm a bit ticklish, I confess. He looked up at me, blew me a kiss and winked. He was on his knees in front of me. He took up my bare feet, right one this time, and made it a challenge to tickle me to insanity. Fortunately for me, Pierre stopped before my laughter made me lose all hint of composure. As his hands slid again up my legs, he rose again and swooped me up my feet.

« Let's go to bed Honey.» He declared as I put my hands around his neck

« But what of the shirt? We're not done undressing yet» I whispered with a surprised smile

« Let's keep it on, I quite like it on you. » Was his answer as he carried me to the bed where he gently laid me.

I sat there, waiting for him. He looked down at me as his masculinity greeted me once again : once fully erect, he came by my right side and looked at me expectantly, his head upheld by his left arm. I pushed him on his back and climbed on top of him and moved back and forth on his manhood, bent along his belly by my weight. I sensed it pulse, beneath me and soon enough I let him in.

I began moving up and down as my hands rested on his pectoral muscle which got me wandering how he could even fit in that shirt I was wearing - maybe it was an old one - Making sure to change rhythm I took my right hand of him, quite reluctantly though, and took to opening the shirt. To compensate my concentration, fading away in the mists of pleasure, Pierre took control of my bouncing up and down with both his hands. Somehow, I failed to undo the last button... We then rested in bed, one of his hands caressing my back, the other in my hairs while my head rested on his chest. I took a little nap, rocked by his heartbeat and his slow, steady breathing.

Well, then he had to leave and we got acquainted Bob. I guess it will do for today lest I touch myself again - yeah, my left hand might have ventured down, so what? I do wonder about the details though, maybe it is too much for you... I'll have to find the right amount- Anyway, bye Bob, till next time ;)