An Ugly Word

by Lesly Sloan

"'Dominate' is such an ugly word", she said.
"I prefer to call it 'control' when I get on top
and fuck you. Try it and see how great it feels."

I became addicted to her stroking and sucking me hard,
then sitting on me and riding me until we both
climaxed. I moved my hips as ordered, for her intimate
pleasure, and mine.

It's been Hell for me since we ended our trysts in a seedy
hotel, a place for passion and discovery of hidden urges.
I’ll keep trying to find another like her.

It all started with an ad she'd placed in the "Anything Goes"
section of the personal ads in the Village Voice, saying that
she wanted to meet a man for anonymous sexual trysts. She listed
a box number for replies. I have no idea of how many guys
answered her ad, but somehow she chose me.

I was in the mood for adventure and said so in
my reply, giving my vital statistics: tall, muscular,
single, decent looking (but not a "pretty boy.")

I never knew her name and she never knew mine.

Having sex like that is something special.
There's the thrill of doing something frowned upon
by polite society: sex with a complete stranger. There
are no strings, no preconditions, and no rules, other than
to enjoy the sex and do unto your partner as you want done
to you, as Scripture advises us.

She answered my response to her ad, suggesting that we
meet at a café in the Village. She described herself as
"late thirties, medium height, slim, dark hair and dark eyes."

I sat in the café at the appointed time, wondering if she would
actually show up. I was nervously twiddling my thumbs when she
entered. She looked the crowd over, walked up to my table,
and spoke. She hadn't hesitated for more than a few moments; the
description that I gave her must have been sufficient.

"Been here long?"

"No. I arrived ten minutes ago. You're prompt."

"We could have coffee and talk here. But I've arranged
for a room at a small hotel nearby. Shall we go there
and do what we came here for?"

"I guess we ought to. You're quite direct about this."

"It's best to be direct when the objective is so clear,
n'est ce pas?"

"You're French? I thought I detected a slight accent."

Yes, but I've been in New York for many years. Come,
let's go to the hotel."

She led the way to the hotel, got the key from the clerk
in the lobby, and handed the key to me. We took the elevator to
the third floor and entered Room 342. It was surprisingly
clean for a third-class hotel. It had a large double bed and
a washstand in the corner, just what was needed for a good
fuck.

We used that room almost every week, over a three-month
period.

She undressed quickly, showing no signs of embarrassment.
I followed her lead, feeling somewhat foolish at having her
take the initiative. I'm accustomed to being the aggressor
when it comes to sex, but she was way ahead of me; she didn't
wait for me to suggest anything.

She was slim, with small but firm breasts. Her dark rose-colored
nipples stood out, claiming my attention. The curls around her mound
had been neatly trimmed, but she hadn't shaved. Too bad, I
thought, as I liked my women shaved. That preference was
forgotten the first time I was with her and never thought of again.
She turned away briefly and bent down to put her clothes in a neat
pile; my heart skipped a beat and I could barely catch a breath
as the outer lips of her sex peeked at me from between her pale thighs.
The tantalizing dark line between them marked the entrance to her
most private place.

At first, I couldn't quite believe that this lovely woman was
here, with me, to have sex. I removed my clothes and walked
over to her, my erection leading the way. We embraced and kissed.

I'll not forget her taste, no matter how long I live. When I
masturbate, I picture her and I taste her lips once again. As I get close to
climax, the distinctive smell of her vagina fills my nostrils.

After having had sex, we usually spoke, as we unwound in each other's
arms, before getting dressed and leaving the hotel. About the
third week, she initiated a conversation that led to a major change
in our lovemaking.

"Has the sex been what you expected? Are you satisfied?"

"Yes, of course. You're a passionate woman and know how to please a
man. Why?"

"Well, cheri, I wonder if you would try something that pleases me very
much. And I think you would enjoy it very much as well."

"What! Aren't you satisfied with my lovemaking?"

"Please don't be offended. You reach orgasm before I'm fully ready."

"No other woman has ever complained about that before."

"I'm not an 'other woman', only me, with own sexual rhythms. Let me
explain, cheri, please."

"OK."

"You're frowning; it doesn't become you. I prefer to be on top. From
that position, I can control the pace and bring us to climax at the same
time."

"You want to dominate me? No woman has ever done that to me."

"'Dominate' is such an ugly word", she said. "I prefer to call it
'control' when I get on top and fuck you. Try it and see how great
it feels."

I hesitated after she said that.

"Are you a typical male, who doesn't want to give control to a woman?"
she asked.

Since I didn't want to be lumped with "typical males", I said that I
was willing to give control to her.

"Well then," she said. "Get on your back, close your eyes, and just
feel what is happening."

I lay back and then felt her hand encircle my cock. As she moved her
hand up and down, with increasing pressure, I became aroused; I could feel my
cock twitching. Then her hand replaced her mouth. I felt
her lips moving the length of my shaft, licking urgently.

When I was hard, she mounted me, moving up and down on my cock. It was
a new experience for me, to have her on top, doing most of the work and
controlling the pace. I looked up through half-closed eyes and saw that
she was starting to breathe harder. She was biting her lip.

I felt a surge about to erupt from my cock. She must have sensed it
too and slowed her pace, bringing me back from the brink.

"Move your hips," she said. "I'm not ready yet."

In response, I moved my hips up and down, to the extent possible
against the weight of her body pressing down on me.

It was a new and very erotic experience for me, to move my hips and
feel her body respond. We moved together, in a ballet of lust. I was
in control, in a way, from the bottom position. No, we were both in
control and responding to each other.

We climaxed at the same time and lay there afterwards, exhausted
and satisfied.

I'd found something out about myself, thanks to her. I like giving
control to a lover, thereby gaining pleasure in return.

She abruptly terminated our trysts one day. She informed me that it
was over. No reason given, none required. It's been almost a year,
yet I still dream of her from time to time, still scan the
personal ads to see if someone else like her is out there for me.
You never know.

"An Ugly Word" © 2002 by Lesly Sloan. All rights reserved. Not to be reproduced, copied, distributed, published, quoted or used in any form for commercial gain without the express written permission of the author.

Lesly Sloan came to New York City over fifteen years ago from
Ohio. She enjoys walks in Central Park with her husband, the
variety of restaurants in NYC, and the variety of people
from all over the world who inhabit NYC. She writes software
for a living and erotica for pleasure. Having recently discovered
erotica, she has become an enthusiastic practitioner of that
art, as time permits.

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