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One Woman Can’t Wait—Literally—To End Her Dry Spell: One-Handed Read

by BUST Magazine

I RUN MY FINGERTIPS over the smooth cotton covers, then flop onto the bed, a huge grin on my face. I’d forgotten I could feel like this: belly all aflutter, heart pounding. How long has it been? Years? Half a lifetime? Freshly showered, I’m naked and a shiver races through me as the air conditioning touches my skin. Lying exposed feels daring, naughty, and I giggle like a teenager, exhilarated by the prospect of a night of mind-blowing sex. I squirm, the fluttering in my belly spreading to my loins and becoming a warm, needy throb. God, I need sex. I’m so ready for it. And it’ll happen, in this bed, tonight.

My skin’s rosy with the flush of arousal. I’m primed for action…but nagging trepidation clouds my bliss. Sighing, I sit up and eye the woman staring back from the full-length mirror. She’s no teen. Dark rings beneath her eyes and her deeply lined brow tell a sorrowful tale of wasted years, a marriage turned sour. She looks fragile, vulnerable. Yet, as I stare, a smile tugs at her lips. She may be damaged, but she’s fighting back. She’s here, isn’t she?

A sudden shudder of excitement sets my pulse racing. I refuse to be that fragile woman—I’m a cougar, getting back in the saddle and loving it. It’s why I arranged this weekend: booked the hotel, pre-ordered dinner, and arrived early to shower and change. My suitcase contains new underwear, far skimpier than anything I’d normally choose. My little black dress is figure-hugging with a plunging neckline, my heels dangerously high. I’ll look amazing.

I flop backward again, my smile growing. He’ll be here soon, and he’ll like what he sees. He’ll want me. Desire me. He’ll tell me I’m beautiful and this time, he’ll tell me up close, hot breath upon my cheek. Then he’ll touch me—a palm against my arm, back of the hand stroking my face. And we’ll embrace, skin upon skin, melting into one another, lips locked. I’ll taste him, smell him, languish in the heat of his body pressed against mine. Ahh…I quiver, and moaning, part my thighs, rubbing gently. And if he touches me like this….

I think he will. He does everything right—not bad for a man I met online. Right from the start, conversation was easy, and he listened. Really listened. I’m still amazed how quickly our connection grew through texts and emails; a courtship of written words, like in days of old. Skype followed, of course, and the thoroughly modern application of cybersex. Surprisingly satisfying, but not in the same league as physical contact.

I touch my stomach as butterflies stir again. I love this feeling, I’m so alive, yet…time seems to pass too slowly, every second dogged by insecurities I can’t quite suppress. Will I disappoint him? Will he disappoint me? Will he actually turn up? It’s a long way to travel and he hasn’t yet confirmed he’s en route. I could do with a drink to steady my nerves. Should’ve booked a room with a minibar.

Stop it! Get a grip. Drawing a deep breath, I squeeze my eyes shut and return to thoughts of him. I picture his body over mine, the heat and pressure as he kisses my neck—gentle kisses that dance on my skin, sending shivers through me. He has a lovely body, lean and muscular. And…ooh, yes…he moves lower, sucking a nipple and nibbling gently, exactly the way he described online. Exactly right. Then, desire consuming us, sweat lubricates our frantic coupling: kissing, biting, hands exploring, his rigid cock against my abdomen, digging into my flesh. I gasp…my pussy pulses as his cock noses my slit. The pressure builds and he slides into me. “Oh, baby….”

My hips gyrate. I need release. With his voice in my head, declaring adoration, I plunge fingers inside my wet pussy and fuck myself hard. My velvet walls stretch, juices flow as I stroke my G-spot again and again. “Sweetheart, yes!”

I shudder, thighs clamped shut, and twitch on the covers like a fish out of water as delicious spasms rock me. The waves slowly ebb, I exhale and slump. Still breathing hard, I stare at the ceiling, aftershocks zipping through me, my grin unwavering…and he’s not even here yet.

Laughing, I roll off the bed and head to the bathroom. Time’s ticking and I need to shower again, then get dressed. So, when I hear a tap on the door, my heart stops. It’s him—he’s early. Crap. I curse myself for telling the receptionist to send him straight up and, panicking, wonder what to do. Dress fast? Leave him standing there while I shower? Hide? But when I venture to peer through the peep-hole, my anxiety melts: he’s fidgeting with his clothes and practicing his smile. Bless him. He’s as nervous as I am.

Fuck it. In for a penny…Sheets hastily straightened, I wrap a towel loosely around me. If all goes well, I won’t be wearing it for long. OK, deep breath…it’s time. 

By Mags Hayward

Photo: Aaron Lee / Unsplash

This article originally appeared in the Spring 2021 print edition of BUST Magazine. Subscribe today!

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Founded in 1993, BUST is the inclusive feminist lifestyle trailblazer offering a unique mix of humor, female-focused entertainment, uncensored personal stories, and candid reporting that tells the truth about women’s lives.

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