Not An Average Sunday Afternoon
Date: 08.07.2008Keywords: Average, Not, Afternoon, Sunday, An,
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It was about this point that Roe spotted the watermelons. As full and ripe as a plus-sized woman"s bosom, their erotic promise caused him to pause. His eyes shifted, as if afraid someone nearby might overhear his thoughts. A watermelon, with an appropriate sized hole, would make a perfect sexual surrogate, would it not? He reached out to touch the smooth surface of a nearby melon, swallowing at the thought of his prick buried in the soft mushy interior.
It was so, so wrong to be thinking this way. He moved as if to get away, to escape his train of thought, but he took another pause. He recalled how good it had been to fuck the pillow that morning –not to mention the escapade with the couch. How terrible an experiment would it be to pick up one of those watermelons and take it home? What"s the worse that could possibly happen?
By the time he got home, he was as nervous as if he were about to commit some horrible crime. There was no getting around what he was about to do. The melon resting heavy in his arms, he decided not delay in this perverse endeavor.
Where does one go when one intends to make love to a fruit? Probably the same place you"d take a girl –to the bedroom. Placing a folded towel over the bed sheets, Roe placed the smooth green-black melon gently on top. Stepping out of his clothes, Roe was aware how strange and comical this would look to the outside world. But there was no one here to watch, and as he contemplated the unique sensations he would get from plunging into the soft red pulp, his erection began to grow in anticipation.
Wielding a small, sharp knife, Roe cut into the surface of the watermelon. He wasn"t sure exactly how large to make it, but figured it was better to go larger than smaller, and soon he"d fashioned out an irregular circle.
Having removed that section of rind, he examined the glistening red meat within, biting his lip. It was fortunate this was a seedless. Testing the interior with one finger, he found it firmer than expected. Thinking that it might be a problem, he stabbed the knife through the hole a few times to soften it up.
He felt vaguely nervous as he crawled up on the bed. It wasn"t as if he was about to lose his virginity, but this had to represent some kind of first in any event. Certainly it was his first plunge into something, well, biologic –not to mention a plunge into perversity. Reaching down, he stroked his member into full and firm erection, trying to evoke lewd images of Susan in his mind.
It should have worked, but he just couldn"t get past the actual physical reality of what he was about to do. Roe pictured how he must appear at this very moment; naked, crouched on all fours, penis in hand as the tip dangled over the open gash of the melon. Watching intently, he delicately pressed the tip of his cock against the wet insides of the melon. Susan, and any sense of propriety forgotten, he clenched a fist and drove his shaft down into the sopping red pulp.
He couldn"t restrain the strangulated grunt that burst forth as he penetrated. The melon had not been chilled, but it still felt cool against the sensitive skin of his prick. But it was so wet, so tingly, strangely granulated and… well, in truth he had no easy way to describe what he was feeling. Drawing himself up from the depths of the watermelon, he looked down to observe the thin red smears of pulp that clung to his rigid cock. Would it look this way when he finally took Susan"s maidenhead some time in the future?
Holding the firm surface of the melon steady with one hand, he hunched forward and began thrusting up and down. The pulp surrendered to his ravishment, opening up and allowing faster, more urgent movements. He pushed and pushed, the head of his cock acting like a pestle, creating a pool of water and mulched melon at the bottom of the hole. It was insanely nasty, but felt so good it would have been impossible to stop at this point.
Jaw tight, he could feel the pre-cum starting to seep from his glans. He wasn"t interested in watching what he was doing anymore. He was entirely involved in the sheer primal sensation of fucking, of moving his hips, of thrusting his swollen manhood into this soft, moist cavern. Much of the interior friction had given way, but the harder rind of the melon still rubbed at the base of his prick with each thrust. Alone in the sanctuary of his bedroom, Roe enjoyed the fruits of his selfish pleasure by finally releasing his sperm into the sopping and ruined insides of the watermelon.
The enterprise had been so exhilarating that he remained slumped over the reassuringly solid form of the melon for a good long while. His prick, completely soaked with bits of melon and his own semen, finally slid out of the hole he"d fashioned. He rolled over, gently caressing the flaccid organ as if to ensure it had survived the ordeal unharmed.
In the aftermath, the only sensible thing to do was to take a long cleansing shower and try not to think to hard about all this. On returning to the bedroom, though, the watermelon naturally remained as a nasty problem to be dealt with. It goes without saying that he DIDN"T eat it, though in the weeks after, Susan would wonder why he"d taken to buying a watermelon every weekend, and why he never offered her any.
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Keywords: Average, Not, Afternoon, Sunday, An,