Drought

I'm experiencing a sexual drought right now. The last morsel of sex I had was eating out my friend, who has been a lover of mine for many years, a couple of times in January or February; every time she touched me she was too rough and I had to brush her away, and she wouldn't let me make her come. Not an energy-exchange experience, sad to say.
Before that, in December, there was a delicious threesome - the best group experience I've had, despite being orgasm-free for all concerned; perhaps it was the lack of drama that marked it out. A few weeks before that again there was a delicious, half-secret, zipless fuck in a hotel with a rather pretty boy I'd met a few hours before (we even fell into a position I'd never tried before, which was a happy and unexpected bonus).

And right now? Nothing. My poor, hungry pussy desperately craves to be stuffed and my clit has been chafed raw from my several-times-daily ministrations; this is normal for me sometimes, I naturally go through phases of severe horniness, but what's truly frustrating is that there is no person in my sphere who creates a frisson for me, there's nobody I want to fuck. If there were, I could at least pursue them and fantasise and feel I were going somewhere; as it is, I feel as though I am in a vacuum, and have no idea when I'm next going to get fucked.

I have an unfortunate system when it comes to choosing sexual partners. There's one main criteria: going near them has to make my body fizz. When that happens, I know that the sex will be insane, terrifyingly hot, and memorable for both of us. Anything less than that feels like I'm betraying my sexual self, my true self, and my partner. Realistically, though, this is something that happens at an intense level once in a blue moon, and not all of my recent sexual partners have quite gotten there. Still, fucking them has been pleasant in many ways, which I look forward to detailing!

Back to my desperation. I've never been the kind of girl who blooms under the unsolicited attention of strangers - I got a bit too much of it in the first flush of my youth, and it was never from anyone I was interested in. Anyhow, the other day, I ran into a shop to get some tracksuit bottoms on my way into a class (I had been too disorganised to do laundry beforehand). I picked something out, ran to try it on, was delighted about the price, and took it to the cash desk. The young man serving me was clearly somewhat flustered by my presence and made it very clear that he liked me by giving me a 25% discount. I was flattered, and smiled, and the intensity of his... attention? the energy that he was beaming at me? ... whatever it was affected me, and I haven't forgotten him since.

He has made his way into all of my fantasies.

He had a German accent, and I have decided that his name is Kurt, or Lars, or Jens, and that his cock is a very firm eight inches, veined and smooth and clean in a little patch of trimmed dun hair. In my fantasies, we make out for hours, like teenagers, and go down on each other for hours, using each other like slaves. He refuses to release me from his maw even when I have definitely, definitely shuddered through my final orgasm, and always agonizingly manages to draw out another climax. I tease his cock until he begs for mercy, but don't let him cum. It's powerful and hot in my mouth and I ache to have it in my pussy, even though I've already cum so many times, but I grip his hipbones and lick him raw until he forcefully drags me off it and sits up, kneeling, pulling me close to him and bruising my mouth with kisses. Our genitals fuse together as though drawn by electromagnets, and I am allowed to set the pace for a few minutes as I fuck him, my hand at the sweaty base of his neck, face pressed into his shoulder (for he is much, much taller than I). He takes my arms and pushes me down, back, onto the bed, holding my hands above my head and stabs into me over and over and over and crashes into my clit with his pubic bone. It seems he goes deeper with every thrust, as impossible as it is, and finally we both capitulate, drowning each other in messy fluids, panting and laughing.

So, should I go back into the store and pretend I need some random piece of sportswear...? What are the odds that I remained in his mind, too? This is completely out of character for me; I've not fantasised this much and this long about someone I had a mere glimpse of since I was a young teenager.