Frottage aka Rubbing

*NOTE
Over the week-end of Saturday, June 30, 2012 and Sunday, July 1, 2012, Kevin had no internet at home, so we didn't exchange emails.
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He lay me down on my back.  He had undressed me minutes before to my bra and panties, but he remained fully clothed himself. I had only unbuttoned his jeans to blow him in the bathroom. Now, they stood open like blue petals, showing the bulging stamen of his cock. I caressed his hard-on through his underwear with the tip of my fingers. He lowered himself on top of me, graceful as a panther. His arms were massive around me, thick as parapets. He pressed his shaft against my pussy, slowly moving his hips back and forth. His eyes were open. He often makes love with his eyes open. He says he likes to look at my beautiful face while he fucks me. I looked into his eyes--aquamarine, there is no other way to describe them, blue-green with a dash of gray. I put my palm on his ass and pushed myself against him. Every thrust of his hips sent a current of pleasure through my body. He had told me the name of this once—frottage. the "o" tight, like "oh", and the "a" like in large. It means “rubbing” in French. The crotch of my panties were turning translucent and I moaned and arched my back. I wanted his cock inside me so badly. I sat up and started to unbutton his shirt, my fingers moving deftly over the buttons. I undid them like a pro, sliding them quickly to one end of the slit then popping them out through the holes. I balled up his shirt and tossed it on the desk. He pulled off his jeans, his undershirt and underpants. His cock sprang into view taut and rosy, his balls peaches bursting with juice. The wiry sprigs at his crotch did Einstein’s hair in coppery blond. His cock stood away from his body like a very long mushroom, and pointed straight at me. I loved it so much. Men lie, cocks don’t. I took a condom packet from the night table and tore it open. I pulled out the unsexy thing, grateful that at least it was slippery, and slid it casually over his cock, playing with him as I slid it on. I cupped his balls. I wanted to lie underneath him and lick them as he dangled them in my face. I had never met a man whose balls were as big as Kevin’s. Balls had always sat like giant marbles, or docile walnuts at the bottom of sacks, weighing and stretching the skin. But Kevin’s were so big that I couldn’t fit them into my mouth, not even one at a time, as it wasn’t clear where one ended and the other began so rigid was his pack. But I didn’t lick his balls, because he says it tickles him. Funny that touching them though turns him on to no end.  Once, I tried to lick them hard, so it wouldn’t feel so ticklish, but he still wouldn’t let me. Now, I felt the skin of his cock smooth and delicate under my belly button, moist where his pre-cum had spread. I reached down and pressed his shaft over my panties to the length of my pussy, rolling my hips in time to his. I put my mouth to his ear.
"I love frottage.".