Orinoco Flow

Sarai loved to fuck to the sounds of Enya. You’d think something soothing like Only Time would inspire sweet, beautiful love making, but Sarai was different.

Twenty years later, any time I hear that zen-like music I think of fucking Sarai.

The daughter of two bikers, she was convinced she was switched at birth. Her running joke was that her mother cornered a priest at confessional and she was the result. She was as straight-laced as they came, her wheat colored hair always in a tight bun and her dresses brushing her worn Birkenstocks. She made her own clothes, soap, food, and shampoo. Anything mainstream put her off, which made being with her frustrating and exciting. If she couldn’t do it herself, she wouldn’t touch it.

Placid, soft-spoken, and doe-eyed, Sarai was calm like the Dead Sea. Man, could she fuck though.

The moment the strains of Enya started, Sarai turned into a wild cat. That shy girl became someone else and I was too caught up to deny her the music.

She’d part that homespun gown, her nipples huge brown erasers on her teacup titties. I still dream about her bush, the smell of her cunt so strong the closer I got to her.

I’d watch her dance, her barely there curves so sinuous in those moments. She’d shake her pert little ass and my dick would get so hard. The way her eyes would change from a limpid blue to this stormy sea that reflected her need killed me.

Up for anything I’d suggest as long as her song was on, Sarai moaned like a cat in heat.

When I’d bend her over our futon couch, I’d tap my dick on her tight pucker and ask her if she’d let me fuck her there. She always said yes, begging me to put my big dick in her ass and fuck her good. Hearing that sweet mouth say dirty things made me eager to do just that every time.

I’d try to go slow, keep time to the slow ass music, but Sarai wasn’t interested in slow.

“Fuck me,” she’d demand, her voice hard and low. “Don’t be a pussy.”

I’d bend over her, grasp a hank of her hair, and piston into her. She’d chant and squeal and beg me to use her. Watching my dick heave in and out of her was the best feeling. Somehow doing it surrounded by the smell of cunt, pachouli, and weed made it better.

When we broke up, it took a while for me to get back into the dating groove. That relationship ending rocked me more than I realized.

I haven’t seen Sarai for two decades, but I still secretly love Enya. I’ll put it on occasionally while I mess around on a project and think about her.

Orinoco Flow still has the power to make my dick hard and make me smile just a little.An antiquated photo of Cara's bottom wearing holdups in post titled Orinoco Flow


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  1. Marie Rebelle

    I really love this, how the music still calls up the emotions in him.
    It reminded me of a total non-sexual memory from my youth when we drove the long road between South Africa and Namibia and Tom Jones was on the radio. Some of his older songs still call up exactly the same emotions & feelings I had back then.

    Rebel xox

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