Inspiration

“I want your help writing,” I told Sofia. “I want you to inspire me. Will you help?” This was on Day 1.

“Well, I’ll try…. How should I inspire you?” she asked. And attached a gorgeous picture of her face, cocked sideways, her eyes framed by big, round, black glasses. Her hair – a sphere of shiny, corkscrew curls – taking up 80% of the shot.

I suggested that she send me three pictures I could include in a post, and three more that would be just for me. I asked for 3 GIFs. I asked her to pick an activity together that isn’t sexual. And, I asked her to write the first sentence.

“Hmm,” she said. “I’ll start tomorrow.”

Though I write a lot, I sometimes find that I miss the mark, that the words I write fail to communicate my intent. That’s what happened here. Not Sofia’s fault, and honestly, not a problem, as all seems to have worked out just fine. But what I had in mind was that Sofia would send me three pictures of her clothed or unclothed, but that would inspire me to write; that the GIFs she would send would be sexual GIFs depicting sex acts I might (she might) imagine us engaged in together; and that the first sentence would somehow fire me up and head me in a particular direction. That it would be plot-heavy. With verbs, locations, ideas. And – and I think this was the key part – that it would come in a package, all at once, and before I started writing.

The way my mind works, when I see Sofia (any woman, actually) my fantasies generally start. I imagined this particular fantasy would be kick-started by the images, the GIFs, and the words, that Sofia would send me.

That’s not what happened. Instead, the order went all sideways and what she sent sent me in directions different than I’d imagined.

First, she sent me #4 in my list of requests: “Walk around for hours in the city (wherever we are),” she wrote, “doing random stuff, funding spots, watching people.” And then, she followed with a first sentence: “Once upon a time….” She sent these two not the next day, as initially promised, but on the night of the first day.

On the morning of the second day, I rejected her first sentence. No verb. No subject. Not a sentence. English isn’t Sofia’s first language, but it is one she speaks perfectly. She was trying to weasel out of an assignment she didn’t like. But I insisted. I helped. “Open a book or a story,” I said. “Just pick a first sentence.”

She sent a picture of her lying in bed, on her side. The curve of her nude hip and ass a silhouette against the sunlight streaming in, the tattoo on her upper arm framed at the top of the image, her cheek on the left-hand side.

A few hours later, she sent me three smoking hot GIFs. They weren’t sex acts per se. Rather, they were GIFs she made of her, doing yoga. She called them “inversion mini practices.” The first is of her trying to get up into a position whose name I don’t know, one in which she’s supporting her entire body above her on her forearms alone. She’s sweaty in the GIF. The camera’s to her side, focused on her pretty face, her curly black hair, her strong forearms. She doesn’t succeed at much in this GIF, other than in making my cock hard. But seeing her breasts in her jogbra, her ass in her yoga shorts, and her pretty/sexy/cute/hot smile… THAT succeeded at stiffening my cock.

The second GIF? More of the same, but from a MUCH hotter angle, and with more successful yoga. In this one, she places the camera behind her as she positions her hands and head on the ground, lifts herself up into a headstand (giving me a face-sitter’s view of her ass and cunt along the way), and then opens her legs nearly into a split, giving me a spectacular view of her upside-down face, her breasts/jogbra, her lean midriff, and her delicious, delicious cunt in those black yoga shorts.

Color me inspired….

The third GIF is again a side view, this one, to me, the strangest. I have a great view of her face, straining – and of her (?) car, just behind her. And she coils her body up into a position I can’t imagine ever being able to do. The closest I can come to describe it is to say it’s as if she’s one of those little beetles that’s capable of rolling itself up into a tight sphere. As I said – I can’t imagine it. What I can imagine? Standing over her and driving my cock down into her as her cunt is elevated off the ground, pointing toward the sky….

The second day ended with my asking for three choices of outfits. For an impending date. And for my writing assignment. “I’m curious,” she wrote. “And excited.”

The next morning – actually, it was nearly afternoon – I sent her an image of my green, piercing, eyes. “Me looking down at you while you suck my cock,” I captioned it. Ninety minutes later, she responded with a photo of her giant, brown, brilliant eyes: “Me looking up at you while I suck your cock,” she captioned it.

I sent her a video of a neighbor of mine singing in what have become regular evening 6-foot-separated sing-alongs on my block. (I’ve sent everyone I know videos from these events, so much do I enjoy them.) And 12 hours later, she sent me a view from behind of her nude ass, pussy/pubic hair visible. The caption? “Hey.” With a smiley face.

“Wren’t you going to send me a sentence?” I wrote. Whatever sentence she sent no longer would be the first sentence in this post, as I had long since begun writing it.

Our live Zoom date approached (gone are the days of WhatsApp, Skype, Duo, and Hangouts – and I never had an iPhone, so never have done FaceTime). I selected her outfit. For the date. And for this fantasy, such as it was to be – a black button-up miniskirt, red boyshorts, and a white silk-screened t-shirt with an image of a nude nymph under a rainbow. And, I chose a backup outfit, one into which she could change, during the date. During the fantasy.

And as the days were unfolding, as I was watching the prompts I was getting settle into my mind, I realized that what was being prompted wasn’t an elaborate fantasy, but rather, this post, in which I would describe not so much what might be as, precisely, what is, with Sofia. And what is with Sofia is a lovely friendship, a series of interactions that veer back and forth between two friends talking about their respective experiences of the quarantine, family visits, etc., sexual banter, and overt sex (mediated by technology).

Then came the first sentence (shortly before some stellar photos of Sofia’s cunt, splayed for me in pink panties): “Helena soñó que se dejaba los sueños olvidados en una isla.” Spanish is neither of our first language. Sofia translated for me. Though my Spanish was good enough that I didn’t need her translation. But neither did I have a clue what I would do with it. Who was Helena? Was it Sofia? Me? And which dreams did she leave behind?

A day or three later, when we had our video date, we began with Sofia in her tiny miniskirt, and t-shirt. “Touch your nipples for me, through the shirt,” I directed her. We had some adjustments to do to get the angle of the screens right, to get the microphones and bluetooth working. But it was all of twenty minutes later – Sofia having first removed her shirt, then, button by button, her skirt, and finally, her panties, and then changing into a pair of tiny, tiny, torn denim shorts that she assures me are “decent” where she lives (and which I assure her are NOT decent where I live) and an apricot tank top – that I held my phone close to my cock as I coaxed the cum she had generated in me out. I didn’t come on my phone, but a susbtantial pool of it settled on my belly, and I brought the phone close to it as Sofia collapsed forward in a standing orgasm, herself.

And then, just an hour or two later, came the photos that adorn this post.

I’m afraid this post isn’t the “fantasy” I imagined, or that Sofia might have imagined. That will have to come next time. But now, having read this, Sofia knows how to proceed: to send me three images of her in sexy clothes. To send me a first sentence to a story that’s a little more plot-driven. To send me pornographic GIFs. And to do so in a package, not too long after the request is made. The post that package inspires will be the sequel to this one.

And as to the non-sexual activity?

When the quarantine is over, after Sofia and I come together on video, I will take her on a walk through my neighborhood, and ask her to take me on a simultaneous tour of hers. I’ll show her where I buy the milk, where I buy the flowers, where I buy the bagels. And she can do the same to me.

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