Mating Habits

Posted by Lex Konrad in Sex | May 31, 2005

They have all that extra flesh, girls do—all those jiggling, quivering adipose deposits. Not like me, with my muscles and sinew. Two fine specimens in my living room, naked, swaying into one another, the taller one turning to face me, stretching upward, narrow hips contrasting with her soft belly and full breasts. She draws me in and I run my face down the fragrant length of her until I feel the scratch of the short hairs against the tip of my nose. All that extra flesh, even here. I ease my tongue into her saline depths, listen for her sigh.

At the party someone had complained of the heat in the little back room we’d been corralled into.

“We should all get naked then,” Bianca said.

Out of the mouths of babes. “I like the way your mind works,” I said. I’ve been studying the mating habits of the young North American female for a long time but the directness of some women catches me off guard. It’s difficult to shake the hallowed old traditions: men beg and women reluctantly acquiesce. I still wonder why the girls do what they do, instinctively suspicious at any overt demonstration of enthusiasm. I still feel as if I must be pulling one over on them.

But I know that’s all bullshit. The girls want the same things I want and the less guarded I am around them the more likely they are to be their true, wanton selves.

Layla wasn’t there for long; the whys and wherefores of this particular female remain a mystery to me. It was satisfying, in a petty way, to introduce her to Bianca, to actually sit in between them and discuss the coming after-hours romp.

“Are you staying out with us tonight?” Bianca asked Lay—her way, I imagine, of informing me she was up for anything—to which Lay replied she had to wake early. Bianca shrugged. “So do I.”

Later I stood outside finishing a cigarette. Layla was on her way out. “Too bad you can’t stick around,” I murmured, “because I’d make you watch me fuck her.” I grabbed her by the waist and pushed my trapped erection against the seat of her jeans. “And then I’d fuck you.”

We stood like this for a moment, making a spectacle of ourselves. Layla snapped out of her reverie and gave me a kiss, then strolled away down the sidewalk. I watched her rear end recede into the distance. She must have known I was watching because she raised her hand outward and smacked her own ass.

The festivities drew to a close. Leslie was ready to take us home. Bianca bought an energy drink before we hailed a cab, fortifying herself for our late-night shenanigans.

And so I find myself here, at home, eager to continue my research.

Leslie takes Bianca’s hand and leads her into the bedroom. I let the girls play and in a spasm of creativity I snap a few pictures. So difficult to frame a shot, to capture the female of the species in her natural environment, when you’re standing in the dark with an insistent twitch between your legs. My creative impulse gives way to lust and I angle my erection downward, alternating between their pretty mouths.

Planted face-first between our playmate’s thighs, I listen for her reaction to my fluttering tongue. Is she always this quiet or is it that she’s now both the bold participant and the shy performer? I’m afraid there might be a sort of Heisenberg principle at work here. Soon Bianca’s taking short breaths and making her attenuated girl noises. Trembling, she pushes me away.

Lying on my side, perpendicular to her, I inch my way into Bianca while she’s distracted with Leslie. I carefully rise to my knees and make interlocking scissors of our legs, affording me both ventral and dorsal views of the good old in-out. It is my own peculiar mating habit—I am fascinated by the intersection of our flesh, watching her soft girl parts capitulate over and over again. Shockwaves roll upward through her belly, through her breasts, and even her face seems to shudder.

Though I could sketch Leslie’s girl parts from memory I still study her body as if I’ve never seen it before. There’s still something novel in the sight of her impaled beneath me. As our playmate watches, Les and I attack each other with characteristic fervor. I swivel my girlfriend’s legs about to observe our coupling from all angles and Les growls with approval.

And just before I orgasm it occurs to me that perhaps my young female subjects are conducting their own field research—that they’re studying me too, observing my interactions with Leslie, searching, perhaps, for some insight into their own futures.

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