I know, I’m diverting from the “Fiery Latina” and I will get back to it, eventually. However, right now, my mind is stuck on the thought of vulnerability and it brought this story to mind:
That’s what the text message said on my screen. Broken? How on earth could she be broken? Those were the thoughts that went through my mind. There was only one way to find the answers to those questions… “How are you broken?” I typed back and hit send.
“I’m not able to have an orgasm,” came the lightning quick response.
I blinked once, then twice and read it again. It hadn’t changed. I did actually read that she believed herself to be broken and that she wasn’t able to have an orgasm. Of course, this wasn’t something that could simply be discussed over text. So, I had her call me and it led into a lengthy discussion on the subject. We discussed her past, her body, her sex life, the whole gamut…learning that she had only had an orgasm twice in the last 10 years or so.
“You’re not broken, hun,” I finally told her.
“How do you know that?” I could clearly hear the frustration in her voice. “How do you know that when I was sick, it didn’t mess that up?”
“That’s simple,” I told her. “You only had an orgasm twice with your husband before you got sick. However, that wasn’t the case with the relationship before him…ergo, you’re not broken.”
“I don’t know,” was all she said in response, and the subject was dropped.
At the time that we had that talk, about 10 or 11 years ago, the two of us had been friends for about six months. We met through work, and her being new, I took her under my wing (so to speak). It didn’t take long for me to figure out that she had submissive tendencies, even if she wasn’t aware of them herself. Needless to say, we hit it off right from the start mainly as friends with occasional flirtations. Over time that morphed into a comfortableness, which allowed for deeper conversations like the one above.
Shortly after that conversation, I left the company I was working for and moved on to a new job. However, we managed to stay in touch, would meet up every so often to walk around the lake and talk about whatever was on her mind. There was some hugs and light kissing, but, beyond that, nothing sexual had transpired.
A couple of months after that conversation, I received a call from her out of the blue. I could tell she was a little anxious when she asked if I could meet her at the lake for a talk. Naturally, I was willing to oblige, and cleared my calendar for the afternoon to meet with her.
She was in an awful mess. Not physically, but mentally. Her confidence in herself was shaken and she was back on the topic of being broken. She had managed to convince herself that she was not able to have an orgasm. So, I walked with her and we talked…again…in length.
“Your problem is evident, hun,” I told her at some point. “You are holding something back when you are with your husband.”
“Obviously,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But, I am not able to let go. Not with him, and not after what all he has done.”
“Well,” I said with a sigh. “You either need to learn to forgive him and allow yourself to ‘let go’. Or, stop worrying over it. But, you’re not broken.”
“You keep saying that, but, you don’t know. I’m defective…” she continued on while we kept walking.
Finally, we decided to take a break under a picnic shelter, where she leaned in against my chest and I wrapped her in my arms. I just held her there for a few minutes, until she finally looked up into my eyes. I found myself caressing her face, and then leaning down to kiss her lightly (like we had done before).
Her kisses this time were more heated though, and I responded in the only way I knew how to do… I wrapped her long hair in my fist and let her taste my passion and desire. I gripped her tighter and tighter, as her hands began searching along my back, gripping me in response. Finally, we broke the kiss and I sat down on the picnic table bench facing the water.
“Sit down,” I said.
Patting the bench in front of me, I watched as she sat down and leaned back into me. I wrapped my arms around her waist and just held on to her. We didn’t say a word for several minutes, just enjoyed the view and listened to the squirrels scurrying and ducks…doing whatever ducks do.
After a while she shifted her body, to where she is cradled in my arm, her head back in the crook, comfortable and relaxed. She could feel that she was secure with me and knew I would keep her safe. After a while I whispered to her, “I’m going to touch your breasts now.”
“Yes, please,” she sighed.
So, I circled her breasts over her shirt with my right hand. They were nice, soft and full. I gripped them and massaged them. Cupped them and hefted each one in my palm. This went on for several minutes, all the while, I was telling her how she felt in my hands, describing each sensation, asking her questions and listening to her breathing change, hearing the small sighs and moans.
“I’m going to touch you under your shirt now,” I whispered in her ear.
“I was wondering when you would get to that,” she half chuckled, half sighed.
Smiling to myself, I slipped my hand up under her shirt, across her abdomen and beneath her bra. Using my fingers, I began to knead her flesh, massaging it lightly before gripping her breast hard and then I shifted my focus to her nipples.
They were divinely hard, and once I felt them pushing into the palm of my hand, I couldn’t resist them. I pulled, twisted, flicked and caressed them for the next several minutes. Throughout all of that, I continued talking to her in soft whispers. I described in detail how they felt in my hand and my own arousal from touching her. I asked her questions about how she felt and what she was experiencing, all the while, I kept holding her in the crook of my arm.
“I’m going to touch you between your legs now,” I whispered, and paused for her to offer any resistance.
“Yes, please,” was all she said.
Still holding her in the crook of my arm, I pulled my hand from under her shirt and began running it up and down her soft inner thigh. She parted them for me expectantly, knowing where she wanted my hand, and giving me full access to her sweet spot. So, I did just that, sliding my hand up her inner thigh and into her shorts. I could feel her wetness on her panties when my fingers grazed them. I was hungry for her, but, I knew I needed to take my time.
Pulling her panties to the side, I ran my fingers slowly up and down her folds. She was soaking wet and beyond ready, but I took my sweet time with her. I ran my fingers up and down her folds, exploring her fully, before finally taking the plunge and penetrating her. The feeling of her wrapping my fingers tightly when I pushed into her…was such a sweet sensation.
“Next time, my cock will be in here,” I whispered, and enjoyed her moans.
Then I began alternating between stroking her folds, massaging her clit and penetrating her with my fingers. Still talking to her with a low voice, sensual talk, not too dirty. Pausing once, to pull my fingers from her depths and lick my fingers clean.
“You taste wonderful, my dear,” I whispered. “Maybe next time it will be my tongue first. What do you think?”
All I received in response was a deep, guttural moan. Slowly but surely, under my touch, she was becoming unglued in my arms. I knew she was getting closer and closer.
“Let go, my love,” I told her in a soft voice.
“I can’t,” she replied. “I don’t know how…”
“Shhhh,” I said lightly. “It’s ok, I have you and you can let go. Surrender to the feeling.”
In a matter of moments, I felt her begin to tremble in my arms. I looked at her face, watching as she surrendered herself to that base need. Seeing that vulnerability that was present, made possible only because she trusted me completely. It was truly a beautiful sight to behold. I watched her face as she rode the waves of her orgasm, and listened, hearing her low moans while she trembled in my arms. She clenched my fingers with her walls, while her hands gripped my arm and leg tightly, while a small tear rolled down her cheek.
Later she says, “I’m not defective after all, am I?”
I just laughed and said, “I told you that you weren’t.”
“I had no control, I lost complete control,” she said, almost in bewilderment.
“No. I was the one in control. You let me have control, because you knew you were safe in my arms,” I replied to her. “Also, it wasn’t about me. It was all about you.”
Yes, more adventures ensued between the two of us, before it was over and done with. However, I will never forget that moment where she allowed herself to become completely vulnerable and just “let go”. It was truly a beautiful sight to behold and to witness. It was what she needed too. She needed to be reminded that she was a woman and that she wasn’t “defective” or “broken”. This was only possible because she trusted me, and that I would never hurt her. Trust truly does go a long, long way, and it is not possible to be completely vulnerable without that trust. Don’t get me wrong though, I had to earn that trust and I have always kept that trust too.
To this day, although not in a sexual sense, she is still a good friend of mine. She comes to me whenever she needs my advice, my guidance, or just to vent. Why? Because she can be herself with me, and trust that I won’t judge her or break that trust.
© AC Elliott, 2-Oct-17