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Making My Morning

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A few months ago I met a guy whom we will call David. David and I got to talking and it didn't take us long to realise that we shared a surreal sense of humour. We struck up quite a friendship, along with some other people we knew, and took to flirting a bit as well for good measure, which he seemed to enjoy as much as I did, and which we were careful not to take too seriously. Before many weeks had passed, we discovered that we had something else in common as well: we both had a pretty active self-loving habit. We talked about this a bit, shared the occasional fantasy (I am bisexual and most of my fantasies are about women), and I found him very helpful in building my confidence around the subject. I had never been particularly ashamed of masturbating; it seemed like a perfectly normal thing to do. However, until now I had never spoken with someone who considered it not only natural and necessary, but also beautiful. One day David pronounced that watching a woman touch herself was the most erotic thing he could think of. He asked me whether I agreed with him. I considered it for some time, and eventually came back to him with the conclusion that *being* watched pipped it to the post. We didn't say much more about it, but during the next couple of weeks I became quite fascinated with the idea. I couldn't bring myself to fantasize about him without his permission, because we shared so much, and eventually I plucked up the courage to ask David if he wouldn't mind me imagining him watching while I touched myself. He replied, much to my relief and satisfaction, that he had already masturbated over the scenario, and that I was welcome to. The next morning I had the house to myself, and so I decided to test the theory. I pictured David coming up to my room and sitting in a chair in the corner, me undressing slowly and making myself comfortable on the bed, and whispering to him that I liked to take my time. Just the idea of his eyes on my body was electric. I crooked one knee and laid a hand on my tummy, as is my habit. Then I began to run through an old favourite fantasy to warm myself up. All the time I was imagining David watching me, my chest rising and falling, my eyes closing, my breathing becoming deeper. As my fingers started stroking my inside thighs, David's eyes followed their progress. When, after several minutes of controlled teasing (you can't beat a slow buildup), I finally got down to the matter in hand, the fantasy was no longer necessary and I concentrated entirely on the idea of David's presence in the room. As my hand gently explored between my legs, I called the imaginary David over to me and asked him if he would let me suck his fingers as I played. He knelt beside the bed and slightly nervously gave me his hand. I nibbled his/my fingers quietly, still stroking and touching myself with the other hand, conscious of him watching my caresses carefully. I forced myself to keep it slow, even as my climax approached, and so I managed to hang breathlessly on the very brink of my orgasm for a minute or so. I was also vaguely aware of David's increasingly aroused state, which of course added to my enjoyment. When at last I let myself come (it was a fantastic finish; I hadn't climaxed that hard for several months), quite to my surprise my imaginary David kissed me full on the mouth. David has become a regular mental visitor when I am improving my manual dexterity. I gave him a hint that evening of what a wonderful morning he had given me, but I never got the chance to tell him the whole story. I hope that David, and others, will read my story and enjoy it as much as I did.

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