#haptephilia

Paraphilia Series - Part 4 - Adoring His Most Seemingly Boring Skin

We sit next to each other at the table in my kitchen. In a way we’re alone, but the occasional passerby getting laundry or another cup of coffee is what makes it even more fun and dangerous. Although I know, as I begin to gently graze my short-nailed fingertips along the outer curve of his boxer covered thigh, he’d get off to this even if no one else was on the planet. There’s a few things I’ve found out about him since I came home from that mental ward. One of them: Mickey Milkovich loves to be touched. I wonder if it stemmed from a lack of physical comfort in his childhood. Nice to know I can give him something he missed out on and needed.

I found out when I told him I didn’t wanna have sex until I’d been on the meds for a little longer. He understood and I said there’d be heavy-petting and making out until then if he was interested. Needless to say, when he climbed on top of me and I massaged his back and rubbed all over his thighs and asscheeks while we ground against each other, he blew a thick, wet load of jizz in his jeans. He collapsed onto me, panting and apologizing although I assured him he hadn’t done anything wrong. In fact, it was endearing to see him reach ecstasy with something so simple and intimate. I couldn’t stop blushing that night, especially when I saw him change out of his cum-stained bottoms.

I move up his thigh, molding my fingers around it to feel the warm inner side. He knows I’m not moving to touch his cock and I’m sure he wouldn’t want me to anyway. He loves this too much. I slip my fingers into his blue and white striped boxers, rubbing over his hipbone, massaging it with my palm. His breath stutters just a little, but he focuses on his bowl of alphabet cereal. I pass my hand to the other hip, grazing over the tip of the beautiful member I love so much. It leaks that sweet, desperate fluid for me.

He’s been so patient through this whole thing with me. He asks me how my therapy’s going every time I get back from a session. He nags me about taking my pills and doing my breathing exercises (I love it tho). He’s roughed up a few pharmacists when there’s been trouble getting my meds. He holds me when I cry from the frustration of not yet being 100% better, saying, “it’s not gonna happen over night. If it did, it wouldn’t be worth it.” And he hasn’t once pressured me for sexual favors of any kind. As I sit here, worshiping his skin, pleasuring his nerves, I know this is my decision.

I told him once that if he really needed to, he could fuck other guys and get his rocks off until I was ready, but only if he used a condom. He got so angry, he looked like he was about to slap me as he came toward me and said, “how fuckin’ dare you do that to yourself. You know goddamn well you’d be fuckin’ crushed if I did that.” I began to tear up, telling him I was just so afraid to lose him. I collapsed to the floor, where he came down and lifted my chin. “I’m a big boy, I can wait.” My tears then turned from ones of confusion and fear to ones of joy and hope. He kissed me and I’d never felt so loved.

I rub my hands up his stomach under my shirt he wears. Looks better on him anyway since I’ve put on a few pounds with these meds. I still workout but it’s harder to make time now that I’m back in school. He once caught me looking in the mirror and sighing at my slightly less apparent abs. He came behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist. “Hey, sexy,” he whispered hotly in my ear, kissing my earlobe.

I scoffed, smiling. “Oh, right, forgot you had a thing for fat chicks.” He smacked my ass for that and bit my neck.

I reach back down into his underwear and this time I go for that wonderful piece of flesh. I grasp his warm shaft, molding my fingers around it. He puts a hand over mine. “You don’t have t-“

"Shh. I’m ready," I finally say after three months. He’s hesitant but relaxes into it while still maintaining a blank face in case someone walks in. He looks over at me, unintentionally licking his lips sensually as he caresses my hand through the fabric. He wants to kiss me, show his appreciation with his sweet tongue and soft, perfect lips. I wanna do the same but not here. I stroke tenderly, my thumb guiding over the bottom edge on the head of his penis. The bottom of my hand rests in his dark, thickish pubic hair. It’s soft and I’ve missed nuzzling into it in any form. "Feel good?" I ask, letting go of his dick to cradle his swollen testicles one at a time. He nods quickly, sucking in his stomach as I go back to stroking him.

I don’t feel likes it’s enough. He deserves more. I turn in my seat to caress his thigh with my other hand. His eyes roll back at the mere presence of the pads of my fingers brushing against the hairs on his leg. I stroke a little faster, circling my wrist and applying the perfect amounts of pressure, making sure this is the best handjob he’s gotten in his life. I switch hands so I can rub his hips and stomach again. He becomes more and more aroused, he holds my hand in place on his lower abdomen just above his bush. His breath becomes shallow as he reaches the next layer of pleasure. He’s almost there. I get close to his face, whispering, “I love you, Mickey.” He huffs it back to me, curling his stomach and planting his forehead against my chest as he climaxes, releasing cut short, muted moans into my shirt as his semen spews from his cock like an erupting volcano, cascading down my fingers like white lava. I pull my hand away and rub his seed into his stomach.

His face looks wrecked. He smiles a goofy, lazy satisfied smile as I keep touching him with both my hands; his hips, his thighs, down to his knees. It’s nice to know he actually loves this. I could touch him like this forever, adoring even his most seemingly boring skin just to watch him writhe in as much pleasure as he would if I pushed myself so deep inside him he could feel me in his stomach.

We wash each other in the shower twenty minutes later. I have to be in class soon and he has to be at the bar. How the hell am I supposed to focus on biology when all I can think about is the feeling of his skin reacting euphorically to mine?

It was another lazy day by the lake for the violinist and the iara. Their time together had been well spent, with plenty of swimming and talking and exploring. Riley always enjoyed his time with Tawny for she was almost always in the best of moods and up for anything. Her spirits were infectious and no matter how Riley showed up to their meeting place near the shore, he always left feeling radiant.

The sun had started to set as the duo made there way over to a tree. They both settled themselves down into the grass, backs pressed into the trunk of the tree, shoulders touching and knees brushing. Watching the sunset was a tradition Tawny had first insisted upon during the brunette's first few times visiting her- only so he wouldn't be able to leave her side too soon.

Red light still barely kissed the horizon, dusk spreading fast. The night brought with it a cool breeze, which lapped at the skin of the two audience members bearing witness to this change in time. The ivory tresses of the tiny female brushed lightly against the exposed skin of Riley's forearm. A shiver jolted him in response, and this movement immediately sparked interest with Tawny.

"Is Riley chilled?"

The trademark curvy grin quirked the corner of his mouth upwards and he shook his head.

"Nah. Not at all,"

"You sure? You arm chick bumped,"

He had to laugh at that. "Tawny, it's not chick bumps, it's goosebumps. Although thinking about it, that doesn't make much sense either,"

She nodded her head slightly in response, picking up Riley's arm and studying it. "Riley can't be right! He no have feathers like goose, he has soft hair, like chick." She ran her fingers down his shoulder to his inner arm, presenting her evidenced to the amused biologist.

"Wonder where else goosebump go?" she hummed, eyes morphing into a curious bright teal as she positioned her self into a kneeling position closer to her friend. Gentle fingers placed inquisitive touches along his forearm, shoulders, and collarbone. Riley didn't mind; he encouraged her curiosity, finding it more preferable he be the one to teach her things. It became a bit unsettling, however, when her fingers wandered a bit too far.

"What are you doing now?" he hissed from behind clenched teeth.

Tawny brought her gaze up from her previous fascination, the lower skin of his abdomen that rested just above his belt, and smiled.

"I follow goosebump!"

He went to protest her actions but found his words stopped short by the low moan that rose from his throat. The iara had taken her middle and pointer fingers and started to feel below the belt line. His stomach muscles flexed involuntarily at her touch.

"You have chick hair here, too? It trail, like goosebump," Her hand slid down the curled pathway, fingertips brushing against a few tufts as she got closer to the end of her destination. That was where Riley decided to stop her; if he allowed her to continue any longer, she wouldn't be allowed to stop. Best end it now before they both wound up in trouble. His strong fingers wrapped around her wrist and withdrew her hand.

"Umm... Hey, look! The sun set without us,"

This half-assed distraction proved enough for Tawny, for she immediately lost interest in Riley and his 'chick bumps'. She crawled forward from underneath the tree, eyes turning upwards to the illuminated night sky. It was a full moon tonight, Tawny's favorite, and it was with much enthusiasm she turned back to Riley.

"It did... but look! So many star! Count star with me, Riley?"

A relieved look relaxed his expressions and he nodded, moving forward to sit beside her.