Part 4 – Carmella, Donna, and my Erector Set
________
Please don’t misjudge me…
I’m not a shallow person, or worse still, a misogynistic fool. My female relatives and their friends, although very sexually desirable, were not just erotic objects for me. Nor were they just convenient fantasy “sperm receptacles” in my warped imaginings. These attractive women were, by no means, cardboard cutouts.
I realize that I have been doing them an great injustice by not describing them in more detail; ”fleshing them out,” as it were, for the sake of literary clarity. So, to an extent, I feel the need to make amends by telling you a little bit about a couple of them. Hopefully I can do so without wandering too far from the main thrust of my ramblings, which after all deals with self-psychoanalysis, and the desire to explain the particulars of my slant on this long-standing capnolagnia obsession of mine.
These were beautiful women, beautiful and lovely on many levels, both inside and outside. They were, and still are—those who are still around, of course—thinking, breathing, flesh-and-blood people; all of whom I respected, and most of whom I loved dearly. Yes, they had their faults, as well, much the same as everyone else. But, by and large, all of them were a joy to be around!
So, to begin with, I must say that comedy ran in our family: “Ran? It practically galloped!” …to borrow a phrase from the film “Arsenic and Old Lace.”
A good sense of humor and a honed wit were instilled, up-front traits within the character of many in my tribe. Also, the ability to recognize irony and satire, and utilize the two, was commonplace in our daily dealings with each other and the world around us. Comedy was just something natural, something at which we excelled. At times it seemed as if we were intentionally breeding stand-ups!
So, the thing I remember most of my upbringing—aside from the spices and the good food, along with the sexual fantasy fuel I’ve been describing—is the satisfying, pervasive sounds of laughter…sweet laughter!
The cackle from my Aunt Carmella, as she quipped with my mother and cousin Doris, was a sound which still resonates in my memory. And the predictable yet infectious guffaw she’d inspire from Doris would work its way around the dining room table; others chuckling partly in response to Carmella’s quip, and partly in amusement over Doris’s reaction.
However cliché it might sound, it needs to be stated that Carmella was truly a “rare beauty.” She encapsulated so many qualities. Young and vivacious, schooled and endlessly clever, she had an enviable, formidable command of words; and in two languages, no less—English and Italian. If a situation called for it, she could start her joking in English and seamlessly slide into Italian without so much as a stammer. Carmella used this tactic “in mixed company” to further mask the naughtiness of the last bit; and she’d verbalize the Italian phrasing in a sexy whisper.
Yes, Carmella certainly had a wit that could stop a truck. And, I might add, she possessed stunning facial features and a body which could cause the male operator of that truck to drive his vehicle up the sidewalk while taking in Carmella’s overwhelming presence.
When she smoked, her face appeared to take on subtle nuances of ecstasy. During prolonged drags, her shadowed eye lids would flutter. Then came those pop-inhales, which looked and sounded more like kisses. Her expression seemed to convey thorough satisfaction, as if a long-felt thirst was suddenly being quenched. Watching her mouth pop open as her breasts heaved forward with a sharp intake of breath—as a result, the perfectly-formed dense ball of white smoke quickly disappearing behind parted, lush red lips—never failed to put a painful throb to my already stiff erection.
And then, the pièces de résistance, the sight for which I’d waited in breathless and anxious anticipation, Carmella’s exhale! Putting aside the sexually-arousing vision of her perfect, full, red lips gently forming a kiss shape; there was the overall subtle transformation in expression I’d see flowing across her face.
Now, all of this may be projection on my part, but Carmella’s exhales appeared to have the qualities of a mild and mellowing release. It was almost as if she were experiencing a satisfying contentment overtaking her soul. With head slightly tilted up and her dark eyes half shut—an expression which by itself was enough to make me cum in my pants—I’d watch the smoke issuing straight out from between her beautifully-pursed lips. The tight column of smoke would form an ever-expanding cone as it moved out into the room to fill the space in front of her.
I cannot convey clearly enough how dramatically-moving this sight was for me! Jesus! Every fiber of my own being screamed for release! If she only knew that each time she did this, it took an abundance of inner strength to squelch the urge to stand up and just grab my stiff, concealed cock. And then, while shamelessly beating off right through my pants, inserting myself into the path of that exhale; breathing in the sweet smoke streaming from those desirable lips as the rushing cloud struck my face.
Needless to say, I never acted upon this indecent urge. Mostly, I’d just sit there dumbfounded, fidgeting in the afterglow while awaiting her next drag. Ritualistically, she repeated this process in almost the same manner for every puff, which served to reinforce the already vivid image file I had stored in my brain.
I realize that I was the only one in the room picking up on these perceived subtleties; considering how my mind was racing with numerous fantasies about Carmella at the time. Nevertheless, onward my aberrant, fantasy-driven little mind raced. And without anyone else in the room knowing, erotic imagery of her surprised face, spackled and dripping while being pelted with my ejaculating sperm, flashed and flickered on the screen in my mind’s theater, each time those lips puckered and blew.
~~~~~
Ah! And then there was my bewitching Aunt Donna.
Oh Donna!
If she only knew that she processed the face which launched countless wet, overpowering orgasms!
Donna!
Just thinking her name causes blood flow to my cock!
The ‘movie’ and screenplay I produced involving her as the main character—and ultimately as my sperm target in the last scene—went through some revisions. But, for the most part, the key dick-stiffening components in the script and scene lay-out were kept intact throughout all of my masturbatory movie adventures. To this very day, the photographic impressions and plot details of various scenarios remain vivid, mostly due to the frequency at which the sounds and images played across the screen in my brain.
Oh man, did I ever run those “Donna movies” a lot!
Almost all of my parents’ female siblings, my cousins and their female friends, were beautiful in many ways and also held varying degrees of desirability in my mind—some, of course, more than others. However, none could compare to the striking loveliness, the air of sultry sexuality, exuded by my mother’s youngest sister!
But before I get into Donna’s influence on the early development and direction of this fetish, I should continue to expand on my mind’s secret pornographic movie business.
More to come…
Parts thus far –
Part 4
originally published at:http://ift.tt/2uQvJqL