Becks and Wax

Becks and Wax You want to know what it was really like don't you? Today, I guess, I'll tell you a story I didn't make up. One that is very real. And I wouldn't tell you, but she's dead now and I'm not risking us anymore. Her name was Becks. I met her in highs chool and promptly fell in love with her. She was tall and thin and albino, making her long, thick, white hair a complete obsession for me. Of course back then, I was young and thin and beautiful too. We met in choir and danced around our mutual attraction for a short while. The first time we kissed is a story for another day. I want to tell another one just now. A story I've never told. We shared countless sleepovers, almost exclusively at her much more beautiful and safe home. Her parents were gone often and we took full advantage of those nights. I could tell you dozens of stories of erotic nights in a mansion built of straw, but the wax night was the most erotic of them all. If you know me, I have a thing for hair. If it doesn't involve hands on my scalp playing or pulling in my hair, I'm not turned on yet. Becks had a thing for wax. These were mutual delights and this is how it came to be. Sitting on the floor next to a low trunk covered in candles Becks was swirling one candle into another, mixing and playing and letting it harden on her fingers and then pulling it off. I had my hands deep in her thick hair braiding and twisting into a hundred different styles. I had both hands caught up in it when I felt the searing heat of hot wax being pulled down my neck by a single finger. As I looked in the mirror she turned her head and caught me in a deep kiss, while running another streak of wax down my shoulder. The pain was so momentary and the relief so potent, I felt real for the first time in my life. I pulled her shirt off over her head and then whipped mine off too. Running my finger just inside the rim of a burning candle I gathered red wax and traced it in a hot circle around her nipple. She gasped aloud, but with eyes that begged for more.I put her hands in my hair and picked up a small, glass contained peach smelling candle, pressed my body up against hers and looked into her eyes. There was excitement, and no fear. I tipped it and burning wax drizzled between us and as it cooled I pulled slowly away and let it slide down and pool in her navel. She held my hair to keep from crumbling. She dipped all all five fingers on her alabaster hand into a rainbow colored puddle and placed them around the outside of my breast, slowly drawing them all the way into my nipple. Suddenly I was so turned on I stripped her naked, pushed the trunk closer to her thick lush burgundy carpet and laid her down there, resting her head on a throw pillow. Then I undressed myself slowly, traced a blue wax heart on my left breast, and straddled her. I dripped tiny dots of wax from a tall burning candle, the smell of the flame was intoxicating. As soon as they fell I swirled them around and around, creating galaxies of wild art on a human being. I gently peeled off a brilliant purple circular swirl and laid it over my own breast using tiny drops of hot wax to hold it there. I repeated this on the other side. She pushed me up so I was looking in the mirror at what looked like the most delicate bra ever made. One drop of emerald from her finger and I had a necklace with an invisible chain. She wound all my hair up onto my head in a messy sexy bun, all but one little piece. Dipping her thumb and finger into that brilliant blue she pulled them down over that stand of hair. Then she matched it in her own hair and twisted them together. I always wanted to be joined to you she smiled. The need was so strong then, but the erotica so alluring the rules began to bend, and break, and a sense of daring and danger and excitement overwhelmed the room. The Beatles lived in Becks room and they were currently playing If I Fell. I'll never forget that moment. If I fell in love with you Would you promise to be true And help me understand Cos I've been in love before And I found that love was more Than just holding hands Both of us gave in to pain that led to ecstasy, pushing the lines further and further. I made a wax mold of her navel and kept it for years, and when she died I took mine from her nightstand and melted them together over a fire of agony. She did it first, I'll admit she was crazier than I was sometimes, but then, I was there wasn't I? She dipped her middle finger in clear wax up to her hand and slid it inside if herself. Crying first in pain and then moaning in pleasure she begged me to try it. Watch, she said.Watch me come. This time she used two fingers, spread her legs wide open before me and slid her hand deep into herself. Tears sprang to her eyes, but even as they did I could see her clit start to swell. In and out she pulled them and only moments later, her body shaking, she burst open and claimed her pleasure. But it wasn't quite enough for her. She laid me back on the floor, whispered trust me. And rolled her fingers in hot purple and let it drip onto my stomach. Sliding down she lit my labia on fire and just before I stopped her she plunged into me. Oh God the pain, but in the relief there was release. Thick and strong and full I came in her hand moaning in pure pleasure. Laying side by side in the firelight, playing with wax as we pulled it off each other and rubbed it between our fingers, we were aware of a world we hadn't experienced yet. A world of pain for pleasure. A world we would explore together over time. Later, when she died, I snuck up to her room during the memorial service and looked down at that wax covered trunk. In the corner, below a bright blue heart, were the barely scratched words loves more then holding hands, dated 12 20 1999. 9 days before she died of cancer spread to her brain.