The Most Pinkest Of The World

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When I woke up the night I was falling. Lulu had sat in the armchair next to mine; I didn’t feel when he came, nor did he remember seeing a movie.

She wore a very simple dress of rayon, white, stamped with black flowers. It Wasn’t very nice, but it looked so good to me that I fell asleep to stay there and look at it. Maybe The dress will oppressed the bust a little too much. I could not wear it so tight, would have asked at least a larger size; Although put in it looked so good that I thought I could try something like that sometime.

Without lowering the view I felt in my hand the book I had been reading, which made me think that it was not me who turned on the TV, but Lulu; I would have been very bored down there. Some evenings, after completing the activities of the House, Lulu came to my room to see what I was doing. I Almost always found myself reading something or writing. I invited Her to sit next to me in the green armchairs; But it did not last long, it was also angry with me and a few minutes left.

But I couldn’t go back to the book. The power of the images of the first time I found Lulu in her little room, touching herself, was absolute. There was No way to erase It from my mind; And she was leaving with my attention, she took my balance and my will. I could Not suppress my curiosity that arose suddenly, that I cosquilleabaed in the neck and I went down from the base of my breasts towards the center, until I opened step under my navel. And I was chasing the sensation with my fingertips, following his trail through the chestnut path of hair that led to my sex.

Lulu’s legs were brunette and plump, with a perfect roundness that barely fit him in the flight of the dress; And they made me think that it would take a man of enormous hands to encompass them, to traverse them from the knees to the body; A man, who like his hands, would have a large and thick member, like those who read and reread me in the airport books that populated the tables of my house. And it disturbed me a little thinking, but I was more attracted to the erotic idea of her than his. The images of bullies viriles and hairy intimidated me, as I did not identify with those women of compound surnames, who spoke French and cried of intensity to fall fainted in the crossfire of their gunmen in the semen.

Maybe it was my fault. Perhaps the samples of passion at home had long been scarce; My parents and I were decaffeinated, discolored and stupidly reflective. He had Never seen them locked in his room seeking intimacy; Nor had I listened to my mother in her solitude, panting. I thought about It and I felt different from them. Although it could not be so different when my sexual bedside tool was a raspberry draft of Hello Kitty; Not while Lulu, at the same time, in that same house was flying by heating between the lips of her vulva the zucchini that was getting out of the fridge.

Now I was there, sitting next to me, watching a soda film from a couple of despechadas girls who for a couple of weeks change their house. By then I did not know of spite, I knew of loneliness: my loneliness to be invisible, shy and adolescent, the chosen loneliness of my parents; The icy loneliness of Lulu in the dark in his bed restregándose against the bridegroom of his memories. The Loneliness of us together, silent, looking at how Jude Law kept on being beautiful even if I asked for the bathroom to urinate, even if I asked for asylum on a couch because I was too drunk to drive.

And The scorned girl takes advantage, proposes to mate and is thrown at him; And although I knew that from the kissing scene we would go to another one of the next day — because it’s not allowed to look at the cute actors — I couldn’t help but slip my book between my legs and caress him discreetly. Jude Law would have to have a small, friendly phallus like him; That they wanted to see it, and that to have it in his mouth no one would choke. Maybe Lulu had the opposite impression… Or maybe not, but I wasn’t going to ask him and break the spell that everyone’s entitled to when a man like that shows up on TV.

She Seemed hypnotized with her huge eyes nailed to the movie, Brillándole, mentor an alibi to look at her at my ease, from top to bottom; From his short sleeves to the trimmed fingernails as a little girl; From the base of his breasts, following the circular route to the flattened tips, because he was clearly more busty than the size 36 of his dress. And I felt like moving towards her and picking her hair, taking it from there; Discover his neck and feel in my fingers the edge of his collarbones, hidden in his skin of mud.

I ran her back, busted up and ran into her eyes, staring at me. The Lulu of my fantasy had lost advantage with the real, who without notice or anything I had removed the book to keep sliding on top of my short, but more intensely; And my clothes, far from protecting me, transshined the sensations, and made me hang myself from her arm to keep something; To stop him from getting up and having to start chatting about the weather or the cute eyes of Jude Law.

But It wouldn’t have been necessary because Lulu was full of verbs, like looking at me, like dropping the book and still touching me with a finger; How to approach and take a breast in his hand; Like looking at me and looking at me until I blink, to make me open my mouth to receive yours and feel explorándome, restless, wet and delirious. Lulu’s smell was strong, domineering. Still dressed she smelt, and that humour encouraged my submission, to let me do. I felt like a piece of butter, opening Myself to the hot knife of his fingers. I let myself pull the shorts down, I let my panties out. I let Myself lift my legs and I felt a flower, desired and beautiful; The epicenter of that little moment that would remain in my memory.

And beheld My panties lying on the rug, where my hearts bra was also stopped. And I said goodbye to my little girl clothes, I said goodbye to me; From that which had been to the present day.

Lulu kissed me on the vulva, licked her, bit her between her lips to make me tremble. I would caress her hair, and then pull it in my spasms and squeeze it with my legs unchecked. She would stop and open them again because I cut off her breath. I apologized, winked and nibbled on my lips again; To pull them, to drill in my vagina with their tongue. At some point he stopped to look at me; And he said to me, with his voice more quedita, with his most tender look in his mouth the “most pinkest of the world”. And it made me grieve and wonder what her vagina would be like. He Had seen Lulu masturbate from afar and in dim light; And I would have been very careful to Vérsela I knew I was going to stay with the doubt. But Lulu brought me back by penetrating me with her fingers, I felt her touching me inside, palpándomeing on the walls of the pelvis, scratching the bottom of my cervix; Attacking my virginity on one side and on the other, even giving it up for dead.

But she killed me with her tongue, pressing and walking my clitoris until I ran; Sonrojándome describing my body with those spliced trucker phrases. What Jude Law would say to hear her, to see her riding on my thigh. What would I say to myself before I slept, how I would reconcile the dream of remembering her rozándose against me, rubbing her huge, dark breasts against mine. I Couldn’t. I could Not stop touching myself, to travel alone to recreate the electrical sensations that came back in my spine as shakes, like lashes.

The film was dying, and Lulu had me hugging affectionately, fiddling with her hand on my right breast. There was No place for Beto, as there was no place in my life for anyone but for her; That he kissed me and asked me not to worry about her, because that night was mine and I would be happy in whatever. I Broke my silence and asked him to look at his sex, because he had passed the almost complete trance with his eyes closed, and I had not heard of when he took the clothes off. He joined in, kissed me in the mouth and leaned back falling down in the back of the armchair. I hinqué in the rug, I approached, opened his legs that were chinitas to feel the locks of my hair; And I colé between them.

Under her black and frizzy hair I found her lips, dark, almost black and abundant; Eddying to one side as typographic brackets. I touched Them with a finger following their contour up, Desenredándolos a little. Hendí the fingertip of my finger in her vagina — which was clarified by opening it — just to moisten it; And I took it to my mouth. I picked my hair with one hand; I croucheded and ate his pussy, as I eat the orange halves: filled of juice the nose.

I Just took my face to tell her that her vagina was rosita too. “But you must get too close to know,” he said; And he gave me an obscene sign with his fingers and tongue, to make me come back to mine. And I came back.