Octopus Lover

I can clearly remember the first time I felt aroused. I was eleven years old, watching The Goonies with my brother and his friends. He was grumpy because Mom said he had to let me watch, and he didn’t want his little sister to embarrass him. He told me to be quiet and sit on the floor in front of the couch, but I felt so cool hanging out with them that I didn’t care.

In the movie, there’s a scene where one of the girls is attacked by an octopus. It’s barely a minute long. They’re in the water and this enormous octopus sneaks up on them. When it brushes her legs, she slaps one of the boys, assuming he’s doing it. A moment later, the tentacles wrap around her body, trying to pull her under. She thrashes around for a bit until the others save her.

Of course, at the time, I didn’t really know what arousal was. I just knew that scene thrilled me in a way I’d never experienced before. It’s funny, I wasn’t worried that she’d be eaten or drown or anything bad like that. I was fascinated by the idea of the tentacles wrapped around her. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. It made me feel funny and a bit squirmy. I could barely focus on the rest of the movie.

I was still thinking about it when I went to bed that night. My dreams were full of tentacles snaking up my legs and squeezing my body. I woke up tangled in my sheets with some very confused feelings that I didn’t know what to do with.

My mom seemed surprised by my sudden fascination with sea life, and particularly octopuses. After all, girls are supposed to like cute animals like bunnies and unicorns. Still, she supported me, taking me to the aquarium as often as possible, and buying me loads of books about the ocean.

For my birthday, she got me a large stuffed octopus that never left my bed, even as I got older and other stuffed animals became embarrassing. I slept with him every night, wrapping his tentacles around my body as if it were hugging me. Sometimes, when I was alone, I would sit on him, bouncing in a way that left me feeling squishy and nice.

In my teens, I learned words for what I was experiencing. Other girls at school would talk about “getting horny” or “turned on,” but only in the context of boys. I didn’t understand the appeal, but I knew better than to tell anyone about my octopus fantasies. Instead, I would smile and giggle and play along with my friends, just to fit in.

In high school, I tried dating guys, and even a few girls, but nothing really clicked. Kissing was nice, and I liked feeling close to someone, but I never felt any sexual desire for them. We would fool around, and I did all the things my friends said they were doing. It was fine. I enjoyed making my partner feel good. But it didn’t really do anything for me, and after a while, I stopped.

Even in college, my octopus fantasy never left me. My stuffed friend came with me, of course. When I felt aroused, the images in my head were always of tentacles exploring my body. In my head, my cephalopod companion was a curious and sensitive lover, holding and caressing me in warm water.

Sometimes, it was enough to imagine the dexterous tips of his tentacles stimulating my most sensitive parts. Tracing around my nipples or teasing between my lips to graze my clit. This kind of light stimulation was a common daydream during marine biology classes, enough to leave me pleasantly flushed and distracted.

Alone in my bed at night, those tentacles would become more insistent. Multiple arms would slide around my torso, squeezing my breasts, and reaching up my neck. They would wrap around my thighs and spread them open, leaving me breathless and squirming.

I would gasp at the thought of arms coiling and writhing hungrily around my body, probing my openings. One would push into my mouth, dancing along my tongue. I imagined them moving further up my thighs, caressing my slit, and prodding my entrance. I wanted to feel my lips part around an inquisitive tentacle, swelling thicker as it pushed deeper inside. And just when I thought I couldn’t take any more, one would tease between my cheeks, desperate to find another way into my body. When it finally slipped in the back door, I would moan around a mouthful of tentacle.

Frustratingly, I didn’t have enough fingers to fully act out that particular fantasy. Eventually, I worked up the nerve to order some accessories. A company selling novelty dildos offered one shaped like a thick purple tentacle. I bought it along with a strap-on harness.

On nights when I felt the most need to act out my fantasy, I would wrap the leather straps around the body of my stuffed octopus, and lower myself onto his new appendage. I would hold his soft arms against my body while writhing on top of the deliciously textured dildo. As my stimulation grew, I would slip two fingers into my mouth, moaning and slurping around an imaginary tentacle. Finally, when I was about to cum, I would work a finger up my rear, triggering a nearly overwhelming climax.

Around this time, there was a guy in my postgrad marine biology program with a crush on me. He was funny, and I liked hanging out with him, but I knew he wanted more. I tried to subtly let him know I wasn’t interested, but he missed my signals entirely, and one day, he asked me out.

I tried to explain that I liked being friends, but I wasn’t really interested in anyone that way. He accepted my rejection, and stayed in my orbit. I knew he was pining, but I figured as long as I had been clear, and wasn’t leading him on, it would be okay. We were still good friends, and I didn’t want to push him away entirely.

For nearly a year, we remained friends. He would hang out with me after classes. We would go out for karaoke and drinks with friends. Sometimes we would study together at my apartment, but never more than that. At the end of the night I would send him home and go to bed with my octopus.

Then came the Halloween party. A mutual friend of ours was hosting it at her place, and pretty much everyone we knew was going. I didn’t want to wear something over-sexualized, so I ended up going as Velma from Scooby-Doo. Chunky orange sweater, red skirt, and orange knee-high socks.

I walked into the party, surrounded by multiple dudes wearing ill-fitting superhero costumes, and women in lingerie and angel wings. Feeling out of place, I got a drink, and wandered around looking for my friend. When I spotted him coming through the front door, my heart skipped a beat.

He was wearing an octopus costume.

You know that scene in a rom-com where the guy spots the girl of his dreams, and everything goes slow motion? The noise of the surrounding conversations fade away, and some 80s song starts playing. I know this sounds dumb, but it was like that.

There’s no way he bought it at a store, this was clearly hand-made, though he’d put quite a bit of effort into the sewing. It was made from shiny purple fabric, and he had an exaggerated octopus mantle headpiece with big googly eyes. His arms were in two of the tentacles, which extended past his hands like dangling sleeves. Two more stuffed tentacles hung below his arms, and he was wearing leggings made from the same fabric. The fact that the two “leg” tentacles ended in sneakers somehow made the whole thing more endearing.

It was big and awkward, and I’ve never been more immediately attracted to someone.

He caught my eye and made his way over, slowly moving around other people and constantly having to apologize when his tentacles bumped into them. I took a sip of my drink and tried to blink away the confusing thoughts bubbling up.

“Hey,” he said when he got close enough, holding his arms up for me to see. “What do you think?”

I couldn’t answer. Did he know? Had he somehow figured out my fantasy? Maybe he’d stumbled across the tentacle dildo at some point? No, there was no way. I was always careful to bury it at the bottom of my underwear drawer. Plus, the expression on his face said he was expecting friendly teasing about his costume, not shock that he’d uncovered my deepest, darkest secret.

“Kinda goofy, I know,” he laughed, waving his arms around. He’d attached string to the dangling tentacles, so that when he raised his arms, the lower ones would lift at the same time. “I got the idea from that stuffed octopus you have on your bed.”

My cheeks burned. I couldn’t hide the shock in my eyes.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to sound like I was making fun of you,” he stammered, misinterpreting my reaction. “I think it’s cool! I didn’t want to make a costume anyone else would have.”

Still unable to find my words, I nodded. I could feel my chest was flushed, and was grateful that the sweater kept him from noticing.

“I like your costume,” he grinned. “Velma was always my favorite, too.”

I stared at his face, as if seeing him for the first time. Swathed in shiny purple fabric, waving his arms around, grinning self-consciously. I wanted to touch him, to run my hands over his chest. I saw the stubble on his cheek and imagined the way it would feel if I leaned in to kiss him. There was a growing heat in my core.

“So, uh…” He seemed unnerved by my ongoing silence. “Maybe I’ll go, um, grab a beer?”

I grabbed his wrist as he turned away. I felt a little thrill at the contact, and pulled him back. He looked at me curiously.

“Do you still like me?” I blurted the question, blushing furiously and grateful the music was too loud for anyone else to have heard me.

“Oh, um,” he grimaced, unsure how to answer. “I mean, I know you’re not, uh…”

“It’s okay,” I insisted, squeezing his hand. “Just tell me!”

He regarded me cautiously. I stared, wide-eyed, heart pounding in my chest, willing him to admit what we both knew to be true. Finally, he licked his lips nervously, and nodded.

Nearly overwhelmed by the sudden rush of emotion, I threw myself forward. Our lips met clumsily, but after his initial shock, he relaxed and wrapped his arms around me. The other tentacles followed suit, sending a thrill up my spine. I melted against him as our kiss became more passionate.

“Take me home,” I gasped.

He nodded, took me by the hand, and led me through the crowd. A few people had seen us kissing, and started whistling as we made our hasty exist. He shot me an embarrassed grin, but kept moving.

I didn’t live far away, but the walk to my apartment is burned into my memory. He kept ahold of my hand the whole way. We didn’t talk. My heartbeat seemed to drown out all other sounds. I couldn’t keep my eyes off him. It was like a spotlight was shining on him, illuminating new possibilities I had never considered. Seeing him in that goofy costume awakened a passion in me that I’d only felt in my octopus fantasies.

I nearly dropped my keys unlocking my apartment. As soon as I closed the door, he pulled me back into his arms. Our kiss was more urgent than before. We staggered into the bedroom, and I pushed him down on the bed.

He watched with wide eyes as I undressed, discarding my clothes on the floor. He started pulling his arms from the tentacles, but I gestured for him to stop as I climbed on top of him. I straddled his waist and pulled his hands to my breasts. The arm tentacles reached further, caressing my face. I gasped as I felt the lower arms brushing against my sides. I rolled my hips, unsurprised to feel the firmness of his erection between my thighs.

I fumbled below me, until I found his waistband, and tugged the leggings down, just enough to free him. He groaned and squeezed my nipples as I took him in my hand. I angled him upward, positioning his head against my lips, already dripping with need.

“Oh fuck,” he gasped as I rubbed him back and forth, coating him in my wetness.

“Ah!” I moaned as I slowly lowered myself onto him.

This was like nothing I’d ever felt. I mean, I’d had sex before. That part wasn’t new. But this aching need deep inside? The incredible feeling he’d awoken in me? I’d never experienced that with another person before.

His cock throbbed and twitched inside as I bounced on him. I leaned against his hands, savoring the way my breasts felt in his grasp. His tentacles caressed my sides and face, and I was amazed at the way it felt.

My pussy clenched wetly around him. He stared up at me with lust in his eyes. I rubbed my face against his tentacle, desperate for more. I turned to kiss the soft purple fabric, and surprised myself by licking it instead. He moaned at the sight, and, excited by the idea that it might turn him on too, I pulled the tip of the tentacle down to wrap my lips around it. His cock throbbed as he watched me, sending a thrill up my spine.

I couldn’t resist. Still sucking on the tip, I reached behind and rubbed my middle finger around my tightly puckered ass. My wetness had spread, and with little effort, I pushed my fingertip inside. I moaned around his tentacle, and worked it deeper. My insides squeezed around his cock and my finger, and he groaned in surprise at the suddenly increased stimulation.

“Ah! I’m gonna… I’m gonna cum!” He squeezed my breasts tightly, straining his hips upward, trying to bury himself even deeper inside me. I closed my eyes, lost in the sensation. Tentacles squirmed around me, squeezing and grasping, thrusting into my mouth and pussy and ass. I surrendered completely, allowing them to claim my body entirely.

He cried out and went rigid below me. I felt a throbbing and spreading warmth inside. I moaned at the sensation and thrust my finger more urgently in and out of my ass. I let the tentacle tip slip from my mouth as the pressure mounted, and opened my eyes again.

He was gazing up at me with awe, astonished at what was happening. Was this moment as much a culmination of his fantasies as mine? Had he dreamed of me climbing on top of him, impaling myself on his hard cock, and letting him cum deep inside?

My vision blurred into a haze as I started clenching repeatedly, my body grasping and pulling and pushing around my finger and his cock. Flares of color erupted behind my eyelids and I cried out in pleasure, finally collapsing heavily against his chest.

He wrapped his arms around me tightly, and held me as the waves of my orgasm crashed uncontrollably through me and over him.

After some time, my heart rate slowed, and I rolled onto my back. We lay there, side by side, breathing heavily and laughing giddily.

“Holy shit,” he managed to say. “Where did that come from?”

“Honestly, I’m as surprised as you.”

“I doubt that,” he chuckled. “Hey, uh, can I take the costume off now? It, uh, got a bit wet.”

“Yeah,” I stammered reluctantly, “of course.”

He stood, and wrestled it off his body. It took him a few tries. I sat up and watched, studying my emotions. I was nervous. What if the connection I felt disappeared with the costume?

Finally, he stood before me, nude. A shapeless mass of shiny purple fabric lay pooled at his feet, stuffed tentacles splayed awkwardly. One googly eye stared blankly at the ceiling. I frowned at it, feeling nothing at all. It was just a costume.

Cautiously, I raised my eyes to meet his. He’d spotted the expression on my face and hesitated, unsure if I was about to tell him we’d made a mistake and kick him out. He looked worried, but also, I could tell he’d accept my boundaries if I did. A warm feeling bloomed in my chest, and he grinned with relief as it reached my face.

I held out my hand and invited him back to bed, eager to feel his arms around me again.