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Moving Day
Erotic Story By- Anonymous

I don't know about you, but one of the things I hate to do more than anything else in the world is moving. I don't offer to help when friends move and I sure as heck don't ask for help when it's my turn. If God had wanted me to lug boxes around, he wouldn't have created moving companies with strong young bucks to cart my boxes and furniture for me. Anyway, on this particular Wednesday, the weather was in my favor and I was excited about this newest adventure.

I am compulsively-organized and somewhat of a neat freak, so I had started unpacking and putting my possessions away when the first load was brought in. The strapping young men were on their final load when there was a loud knock and a shout of "Hi there!" from my open front door.

Great, just what I needed, someone wasting my time with idle chitchat when I still had a ton of books to unpack and shelve, the last items on my to-do list.

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Not wanting to get off on the wrong foot, I put a smile on my face and went to see who had interrupted my progress. At my door were two of the finest specimens I had ever encountered outside of a magazine. The male towered over me, his head barely clearing the doorway. He had longish, dark-blond hair and piercing blue eyes; and, from what I could see, well-defined muscles. The female of the duo stood a good foot shorter, which still put her several inches taller than me. She had what I would describe as an athletic build, more angles than curves, and solid; she had curly red hair and eyes that can only be described as leprechaun green. Who was she kidding? Those had to be contacts and not very realistic looking ones, either.

We made our introductions and I discovered that my new neighbors shared an apartment down the hall from me. I didn't ask what their living arrangement was, but I knew I would find out soon enough. I tend to keep my eyes and ears open and my mouth shut when meeting new people. Anyway,"Adonis" and "Irish" as I dubbed the twosome had stopped by to invite me over for an informal get-together and to meet some of the other residents of the building. Looking around and seeing that I had put to rights the majority of the apartment, I graciously accepted their invitation. We agreed on seven o'clock, which still gave me plenty of time to tackle the books and still grab a quick shower.

At the appointed time I headed three doors down for what I hoped was lively conversation, food and beverage, and maybe a few tidbits on the building occupants. I was not disappointed; in fact, I was pleasantly surprised. The apartment was already filled with people of all ages. They were a friendly group and they all welcomed me with open arms, even a few butt grabs. What a fun group, I was going to enjoy living here.

I soon realized there was a theme for this get-together. It was a first for me and dare I say somewhat of a turn-on, to eat everything from antipasto to ziti using nothing more than my nimble fingers. Licking all those delicious flavors from my fingers was only half of my enjoyment; watching everyone else while they too were lost in the exotic tastes was the other half. I was getting a tad thirsty and the only available beverage seemed to be a punch, or what could only be described as "nectar of the gods." It was served in what looked to be a hand-blown, misshapen vessel which I later learned was one of Adonis's creations. The punch was golden like sunlight and had the sweet presence of ripe peaches. Once the liquid hit the tongue you noticed the slightest bite, like sucking on a wedge of lime. The nectar had a thick consistency, like honey dripping into a warm cup of tea. The taste was like nothing I had ever encountered, and I made sure that I did not venture far from the punchbowl; and after my third glass, I lost count.

By now it was close to eight o'clock and the party was in full swing. An older couple bid the younger set adieu, while a few couples were dancing in the breezeway. At that moment, Irish came over to me and put her hand possessively on my back, which I have to admit kind of freaked me out. I'm not used to women touching me in such a manner and it made me more than a little uncomfortable. However, I had lost count of the number of glasses of punch I had consumed, so maybe it was my imagination. She leaned in and whispered something in my ear, which I couldn't decipher due to the noise level of the room. The music and laughter overrode most intelligible conversation, so I just smiled at her thinking she was asking if I was having a good time. She whispered something else, and I merely smiled bigger and nodded my head in acknowledgment. Her face lit up like a Christmas tree and I wondered what she had been saying to me. She took the empty glass from my hand, set it on a nearby table and led me out of the apartment.

Okay, she wanted to have a conversation with me where we could hear each other; that made sense. She guided me back to my apartment and as I slipped the key out of my pocket, she relieved me of it and unlocked my door. Isn't that what a guy does? Well, maybe she thought I was a little tipsy, which I will admit I was, so it was a nice gesture after all.

In the welcoming silence of my new space, Irish walked around commenting on my art and my colorful decorating style. I was flattered by her interest in my artwork, my passion, so I enthusiastically shared with her my inspiration for each painting. As we made our way through the living room down the hall to my bedroom, I was somewhat conscious of her hand again, on my back. Maybe she was getting a little bored and she wanted me to hurry up and finish the tour; that was the only explanation my muddled mind could come up with at that moment.

Once inside my bed chamber, she pushed me gently onto my freshly-made bed and starting touching me in a way that I had never been touched by any female before. Okay, this was taking "being a good neighbor"a little too far for my liking. However, my inhibitions had been loosened a bit and I thought, "Why not?"

She tenderly kissed my forehead and then both cheeks and reverently brushed her lips over mine. Her kiss was unlike any male kiss I had ever experienced. Most men seem to think that kissing is the primer for the "big event" and here was a kiss, taking its sweet time for nothing more than sheer enjoyment. The gentle pressure of her soft lips beckoned me as I opened my lips tentatively. Our tongues gently probed the recesses of each others' mouths. With nothing more than our lips and tongues engaged, it was a feeling like no other. It was like lying on the sun-kissed sand of a beach on a perfect summer day. It was like swaying in a hammock watching clouds drift by. It was like having the feeling of anticipation of something just around the corner and you don't know what it is, but you eagerly await its arrival. These kisses were effortless, tranquil and exhilarating all at the same time. What had I been so afraid of?

As she removed my clothing, piece by piece, in an unhurried fashion and then removed hers, we savored each others' warm bodies, my soft curves and her hard angles. Our bodies reacted instinctively and like a moth drawn to a flame, knew what the other required. It was like a mind meld. No sooner did I have a thought of what would feel deliciously erotic, and it would happen. My body felt like it was being kissed by summer breezes off the ocean, gently caressing my body with its cool embrace. It was gossamer wings dancing enticingly over my entire body, inside and out, and I was held captive by the spellbinding feelings I was experiencing. My body was in a state of discord. It felt as though it were made of lead and at the same time buoyant; I was powerless to lift even a finger. My every thought was a wish and Irish responded like a mute slave to her demanding master. She seemed content in her role of fulfilling my body's every craving and I was in no position to disagree. I was merely along for the ride of my life.

The feeling of a slick, wet tongue licking its way slowly from my earlobes down my neck to my taut nipples had me arching my back in a silent request for more. She acquiesced, leaving a wet trail down my stomach to the insides of my thighs, gently spreading them apart, providing her easier access. She teased my clit with the firm pressure of her probing tongue all the while fingering me from stem to stern in an agonizingly slow journey. I was taking exquisite pleasure in the unhurried attention I was receiving and Irish seemed to enjoy her role, expecting nothing in return.

I tenderly reached down to feel her springy ginger curls and she whispered for me to just lie back and give myself up to the moment. I relented and spread out my arms so that I was now spread-eagle before her. She guided my body so that I was closer to the edge of the bed while she positioned herself on the floor so that my hairless muff was an easier target for her sweet consideration.

Ooh, what was this new sensation? Her tongue was slightly rough and, like the feel of a kitten's tongue, was teasing my folds and yet ever-so-gently circling my hardening nub. I then felt the cool, hard orb of her tongue piercing which was now flicking over my wet pussy in a rhythmic motion. I moaned softly and the pressure increased slightly. I moaned louder and the pressure increased in turn. I understood now more fully, how much control I had over my own pleasure. I could orchestrate more effectively what I needed, and Irish was the master at interpretation.

I had never had so much lavish attention paid to my body, even pleasuring myself with my private toys. This was very different, indeed. I could see the attraction of this type of relationship, but I also know myself well-enough to realize that this was a one-time occurrence. I've learned that for me, some things are better left to the imagination, while others experienced just once are just as exciting. Having this ritual on a regular or semi-regular basis would lose its special appeal for me.

I have a voracious appetite for things that bring me pure enjoyment, sexual or otherwise, and I tend to be somewhat greedy and seemingly, am not able to get enough. This has been a real struggle for me, but I am finally learning when I need to back off. As Irish continued her slow exploration of the most intimate recesses of my body, I suddenly realized that my fingertips, which were still outstretched over my head, were being suckled. Wait a minute! If Irish was tending to my fire down below, who or what was tending to my fingertips and now moving gentle fingers through my hair? Okay, as long as I was being tended to so expertly, who was I to question this attentiveness? My curiosity got the better of me and I peeked through half-closed eyelids to find Adonis above my face. I had not fully realized the beauty of this male, and here he was, towering over me in all his glorious nakedness. His shaft was tempting me from above and lest I take all the pleasure from Irish and give nothing back, my mouth beckoned his member like a baby bird wanting to be fed by its mother. His manhood found its way past my lips and into my hungry mouth. I was momentarily stunned and unable to move or react. This was uncharted territory for me, and I think Adonis and Irish realized what my reaction meant. There was a brief moment when all movement was suspended, and then by what I could only conclude was an unspoken agreement on their part, Irish resumed her slow and thorough lapping of my pleasure palace.

Adonis whispered for me to lie back, relax and just enjoy. Who were these two and where had they learned their craft? Talk about self-restraint. Now that I understood this duo and that my role was to be on the receiving end of this ultimate pleasure rather than on the giving end, I surrendered myself.

Keeping my eyes closed, and letting myself be the recipient of these precious gifts I was being offered, I soon realized what had been missing in every other sexual situation, self-gratification included.

This was an experience of emptying the mind of all other mindless clutter and just freeing oneself to drink in the pure sensation of each tiny exquisite feeling with absolute lack of inhibition. In the past, most of my sexual experiences were marred by me trying to figure out what the other person was thinking, how I looked to them, was I performing to their satisfaction, what did they expect, etc. And, more importantly, I was so caught up in what was going through my own crowded mind, that to give of oneself selflessly, to rely only on that innate sense of pleasure giving, why this must be the key. And whether it is female to female, male to female or male to male, to give such a precious gift to another human being was indescribable.

As I let myself go, in what I can only describe as the most intense and completely exquisite orgasm I had ever experienced, and as Adonis showered me with the culmination of his actions, and before drifting off to sleep, my body and soul sated, I made a promise to myself that I would share this gift with my very best friend. After all, what are friends for?


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