100 Days Project

Ben: 100 Writings / 100 Opening Guitar Hooks

various, random creative expressions / writings, inspired partially by 100 popular songs (songs that somewhat begin with a leading hook of a guitar.)

Day 43:

“Feel Like Makin’ Love” (1975) by Bad Company

"Feel Like Makin' Love" (1975) by Bad Company

…. “come over, right now. I need you.”

“thanks driver”
“going up?”

Knock, knock.

She opened the door, with a smirk. A winter gust came in with me. She put her hands around me. It was an encompassing hug. She pulled back to look at my face. Hers was fresh and blushing. A bead of sweat off her forehead. She leaned in to kiss me. Her lips were soft but trembling. Tasting of that lemon lip balm she bought off the Dairy on Hobson Street. Her eyes were bright. Pupils gleaming. She grabbed my hand, and without a single word said, led me to her bedroom. She sat me down beside her, on her bed. She was wearing a purple hoodie and some tracksuit pants. She must’ve just come from the Gym. Is today Wednesday? Yes, she did just come back from there.

Her neck arched as she requested another kiss. Lips pouted. Eyes closed. I put my arms around and kissed her firmly. Lemon tasted. Waft of Loreal from her brunette. Her nose slides tenderly against my stubble. I lift her up over my lap, lips still embraced. The insides of her thighs heave into my abdomen. My hands slide down: her hoodie, her shoulders, her blades, her spine, the small of her back, cupped down perfectly, each hand, into her cheeks. She hands cuddle the back of my neck. I exhale virile. She inhales meek. My bellybutton is soaking.

She pulls away. Her eyelids narrow. That smirk’s becoming more pronounced. She nips one side of her collar and nips the zip. Leisurely … opening … we both laugh, the first exchange of words. She flips it off her back and over her head. Before me: white laced, brown trim, supple boobs. Above me: bowed lines of collarbones, neck and freckles. And right at the top: a mischievous smile.

I kiss each of her freckles, afraid each of them were gonna fly away off her, like butterflies. She yelps as my winter cold hands move up her back. I kiss downwards, unlatching behind. They bounce out to attention. I’m swelling underneath her. She grinds down into it. My hands return to the comfort and warmth of her arse. She cuddled in for the comfort of my head in her chest. She rocked gently into the warmth of my cock. My lips sucked the warmth of her stiff nipples.

She pulls away. And pushes me down onto the bed. She gets off and kneels down. She nips one side of my belt and nips the zip. Leisurely … opening … we both laugh, again. The second exchange of words. She reaches in. Scoops it out. Her palm is small. Her fingers are slim. In her hand: raging, rock-hard and searing hot. Pupils gleaming. Her lips were soft but assertive. Her tongue teasing. Her mouth encompassing. Her eyes were bright.

I leaned up, motioned her to stand and turn around. Those curves. A bead of sweat trailing off her arse. One of my hands gropes her hip. The other hand holds it steadfast for entry. I bring them closer. Closer. Closer. I push my bulging head enter her glistening. Closer. She’s very moist inside. I exhale virile. She inhales meek.

“oh yeah, fffffffffffffffffffffffuck me, baby” …