tagRomanceBratface and Goofball

Bratface and Goofball

byCockatoo©

She's crying. Why is she crying?

This is supposed to be the afterglow. My breathing hasn't even slowed down yet. My pulse is still thumping away like a happy dog's tail. It was good, better than I was ready for. I'd come first. I'd been trying to hold off for her so she could finish, and I knew I'd be right behind her, but she'd ignored my attempts to slow down. Even though I couldn't keep it back any longer, she didn't stop when I released. Instead, she'd clutched me to her and rode out the last of my softening erection, finishing herself off with our momentum, and the excitement of my having come in her. Then she started crying. And she hadn't let go.

"Sorry," she says into the crook of my neck, still weeping. I feel the wet of her tears against her cheeks with the skin of my shoulder. "It's nothing you've done. I always cry when I come. I don't know why, it's just always been this way."

"Mnuh. Uh-huh." I grunt, not knowing what to say next. Hell, I don't even know what to call her right now. 'Bratface' is entirely out of the question- I haven't called her that since we were kids. But her name doesn't seem to fit. That's not how I think of her. And something like 'Sweetheart' or 'Honey' is just plain awkward, like I'd be forcing it.

"Shhhhh. Just hold me." That settles it, thank god. Holding I can do. I feel her heart tapping out a ragged counterpoint to mine as her ribcage heaves with gentle sobs. Her skin is cool and a little wet. Somewhere along the line, a thin layer of sweat had covered her and she was gleaming like candlelit gold. Now it's just wet. And we smell medical. After I've been done for about two minutes, that rich, funky sex smell of pussy and sweat and come always reminds me of hospitals for some reason.

…kissing me. Oh, I think I fell asleep for a minute. She's kissing me, and it's all sloppy. Not a dry kiss where everybody's face is well-defined and distinct. This is more like stirring two liquids together. Mmmmn. We haven't unmixed ourselves yet, at all. We're both floating in a creamy soup of bodies and sheets. Warm and yummy and filling.

"So now you know my secret," she says, hopefully.

"You mean about the, uhm, crying?"

"Yeah. It's a pretty intimate thing about me. It's not something I have any control over. I don't tell anyone about it. Only my lovers have ever known. Now you know. Thank you for not freaking out or anything."

"It's okay."

She snuggles down into my arms some more.

"Sometimes a guy will just roll away and leave, he won't even say anything as he gets dressed. Maybe he'll say he'll call on the way out the door. They never call. I try not to sleep with people like that anymore. But even so, most guys try to comfort me and tell me it's all right and they'll make everything better. They don't mean it, they're just freaked out and they don't know what else to say. They don't understand that I'm not upset. I'm not even unhappy. I'm just crying."

"Yeah. There's nothing wrong with crying. People cry. Sometimes it feels good."

"Uh-huh. It's a thing my body does. It's physiological."

"I get it. I cried after I had my appendix out. It wasn't that I hurt or anything. My face just scrunched itself up and started leaking as I was coming out of anesthesia."

"Mmm-hmmm. It's like that. When I have an orgasm, something deep inside me just lets go. I'm actually very happy right now."

"Good. Me too."

We lay there a minute more, not talking. My hand is on the back of her head. Hers is half-curled on my chest, stroking with her fingers lazily, the way you'd pet a dog while you're talking on the phone.

"Thank you for understanding. Thank you for just being there and holding me. That's what I wanted you to do."

"It's what I want, too. I love it just lying here with you like this."

"Mmmmm. It's nice."

"Hey?"

"Hmm?"

"We've know each other almost all our lives. We're thirty now. Why do you think we waited so long for this?"

"I don't know. I guess we had to grow up first."

We lay there a minute as she lets this sink in.

"I guess I'm glad I'm not having sex with the jerky neighbor boy who made my adolescence a holy terror. You're an adult. I'm an adult. I like you, and we've got a lot in common. We can deal with each other now."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. Was I really that bad? A holy terror, really?"

"Nah. Not really. If you'd asked me that ten years ago, I'd have launched into you with dozens of stories about how traumatized I was by everything you ever did or said. Like how my jelli bangle bracelets looked like fishing lures, or how my red leg warmers were 'handlebar grips.'"

"God, I'm sorry. I had no idea you'd even remember that."

"I was twelve. It was burned into my brain. It's not your fault. The truth is, growing up is gonna be Hell, no matter what, and you were just there for it. So don't worry about it."

"Okay… No, no, I'll worry anyway."

"Goofball." Big kiss from her. My ears turned red as the word sank in. Damnit, that word kept me from believing that any woman would ever take me seriously all the way through high school.

"Bratface." Another big kiss. Her turn to blush. She starts laughing halfway through the kiss.

"You jerk. I had to fight my way through the whole 'Bratface' thing to become a woman."

"Hmmmnph. I was just thinking the same thing about the G-word."

"Aww. You were always MY goofball. Nobody else was ever my Goofball."

"That's sweet. I never called anybody else Bratface, either. Not even my sister."

"I know. I noticed that. See, I even paid attention to what you DIDN'T say."

"There's a lot I didn't say."

"I know."

We enjoy one of those pauses that needs to go to the gym and shed a few pounds. She's looking at me like it's my turn. So, okay, what the hell. I'll take the plunge.

"I can say it now, if you like."

"Would you?"

I'm always going to remember the way she's looking at me.

"I love you, Bratface. Somehow, some way, it's always been you."

"Oooh. My Goofball. So sweet, I love you, too. Come here."

Nothing but kisses now. I'm rolling over on top of her. That other part of my body is rolling over and waking up again now. My little self. He wants some more. She feels it and reaches down and grabs me playfully.

"Mmm. Up for more, big boy?"

I answer with a growl, since I've got a mouthful of her neck. She giggles and squeezes at me until I'm all the way up. She nudges one shoulder, pushing me sideways.

"Here, like this, okay? I like it like this." She's flat on her back, next to me, and she's got me on my side, spooning her. She raises the leg closest to me… oh, I get it, she wants me to go at her from underneath. She shifts her hips into position and reaches down to guide me in. I grip her opposite thigh between mine for leverage and mmmmn, I'm in her again. She's a slippy wet mess. There's not much friction, but it's a very comfortable screw. I reach my forearm under her knee to help hold her closest leg up. That hand automatically finds her breasts while my other is under her shoulder, stroking her neck.

"Like this?"

"Yeah, that's right. Oh, and yeah, I like it when you play with my titties, too."

"Hee Hee. I love it that you call them 'titties.'"

"They are my titties, what do you mean?"

"I mean most girls will call them their 'breasts,' or maybe 'boobs.' 'Boobies,' if they're being cute. But I think most girls think that 'titties' is a dirty word. It's childish or sniggering word. Nasty sex talk." I lean in and give her nipple a quick slurp.

"Ooo. Hehe. I like nasty. I'm a nasty girl."

"I noticed. But I mean it's a different kind of nasty, it's not serious nasty. It's like 'bazongas' or 'hooters.' It's the immature kind of nasty."

"Oh, I get it. Uhhm… 'tomatoes.'"

"Yeah. 'Headlights.'"

"Knockers. My knockers."

"Your rack."

"Mmm. Squeeze my Jugs. Ooo Yeah, like that."

"Your melons. Casabas."

"Hee. Casabas. They don't give melon juice, though, they give milk. They're my milkers."

"You don't give milk. If you did, I'd be milking you."

"Milk me. Oooo, milk me while you fuck me. Mmmm. I wish I had milk. I really wanna give milk."

"Someday you will."

"It'd be nice to have milk. Oh. Oh yeah. Fuck me."

Oh, god, is she talking about babies? Pregnancy? With me fucking her sloppy? That's kind of… well, kind of sweet, actually, kind of nice, but it's also making my skin crawl. Is that what she thinks we're doing here? Making babies? Jesus Christ, I am NOT ready for that. I mean… yeah, if there's anybody I'd want to breed with, it's probably Bratface here, but we haven't even talked about it.

Thinking all that took about a tenth of a second. She feels me tense up and laughs a little.

"Oh, relax, Goofball. Not this time. I'm on the pill, remember? I've been on it for almost fifteen years. Hell, I don't even know if I could GET knocked up in the first place. My body would probably have to adjust to the right hormone levels for a few months before I'd even have a decent shot at it."

"I'm sorry, I was just… uhh, well…"

She laughs harder.

"You thought I was planning a church wedding full of flowers and white dresses and boring relatives, didn't you? You thought I was dreaming of babies and white picket fences and PTA meetings and minivans! Oh, you dofus. I was thinking of your cock up in me, and you squeezing my titties like this, and oh it feel so good, so don't you DARE stop! Okay?"

"You weren't…"

"You big sweet dummy. I'm fucking you, and that's plenty for now. Aren't you happy with this?"

"Hell yeah. You're incredible. And I feel so comfortable with you."

"And now you've got me."

"I've got you. And these sweet titties of yours." Squeeze, squeeze.

"Me and my titties. My melons."

"Melon juice."

"Mmmm. What's that liquor called, that tastes like melon?"

"Midori. Japanese."

"Oh. Ah. Ah. That's good. Like that. Keep going."

"I've got you."

"Don't let go."

"I won't. I've got you."

"You've got me. You can have me."

"You're mine."

"I'm all yours."

"All mine."

"Mmmmnnn. Oh. Oh. Mmmm. I'm ahhhh. Ahhhhhh. Mm."

She's reached down and grabbed the base of my cock as I go in and out of her. I can't go in as deep, but she's using the pressure of her wrist against her mons to grind against. Hmmmn, I bet that feels pretty good to her. She's also squeezing me right where the vein is so I can't go soft, even if I get tired. Trust me, Bratface, I won't. You've got me. You said I had you, but you've got me. I'm yours.

Her other arm is wrapped around me, holding me tight against her. Her mouth is opening and closing just a little bit with each heavy breath, and there's a little voice in it, too, almost like she's halfway talking in her sleep. I start to move my hand away from her titties up to her neck, and she mewles out a soft protest, so I go right back and she coos her approval as I give the other one a nice firm squeeze. I mentally apologize for the little distraction and just keep at it to let her concentrate.

I find myself looking at the little curl of hair in front of her ear. It's longer than you'd expect. I mean, it comes surprisingly far down from her hairline and it almost turns into a sideburn. Well, no, that's not quite it. Nothing like that, really, it's just the thing girls get sometimes. It's a little wet right now and part of it is sticking to her cheek. I bury my face into it and I just nuzzle and breathe. I have to curl my head in kind of far to do that, since if I was holding my back perfectly straight, we'd be perpendicular, making an upside-down "T" on the bed. But I don't want to be that far away. I don't want to let go. I don't want her to let go.

Her breathing gets faster, turning into little puffs, and I don't let go. She digs the fingers of one hand into the base of my cock, and the fingers of her other hand into my back, and I don't let go. It kinda hurts, but she's about to come and I want to let her body do its thing- I refuse to do anything to break her rhythm, and so I don't let go. She digs in and squeezes and her face tightens up and she suddenly gasps like she's lost her balance or seen a snake, and I don't let go. I let her ride it out, enjoying every last push, until her tears come back, and I don't let go.

I hold her close to me, hard inside her, and as she softly weeps, I rise above her, keeping her leg curled up against her torso so I don't pop out of her. I draw her other leg up to join it, shaping her into a little ball. Her hands go to her knees, clutching them to her breasts. She gets it. She's still crying, but I haven't come yet and she wants me to keep fucking her. And now that she's come, I can cut loose and have at her as I please.

Her hips are tilted up at me and my weight is all on my arms, pressing on the bed astride her shoulders. She's open and wet and wants it all, and I POUND her maybe a little too hard at first, but we establish a hard, solid pattern after three or four vigorous thrusts. Her tears are streaming out and her mouth reaches open with a soundless shout, and I can't help but find the sight unbelievably sexy. She's crying. I'm fucking her like a goddamn jackhammer. And I'm so turned on it scares me. Is this weird? Or is it okay?

If it's not okay, well, that's too fucking bad, because I'm not stopping. I'm not even slowing down. I rear up and take my hands lower, squeezing her ass together to tighten up her loins for more friction so I can come. I'm going to squirt it all into her, and she'll be a sloppy mess again. I look again at her weeping face and her clenched-up body and I push and pump until I feel that familiar urgency again, here it comes, and as I go off, I feel my foundations crumble out from under me as my body shudders and collapses on top of her. My face is one and three-quarters of an inch from hers, and I can smell her musky breath. I'm dripping sweat onto her face, and it's mixing with her tears.

"Goddamnit." She says. "Goddamn." And she chokes and cries some more.

"Mmmmmmnuuh." That's about as coherent as I can be.

"I love you so much. I do. Goddamnit."

"Love you too. Mmn."

"Hold me."

"Won't let go."

"Oh, don't."

"I won't. Got you."

"Sure did." Sniffle. Giggle. She stops crying and wipes at her eyes with the backs of her wrists. "You came all up in me. Got me good."

"Yuh. Maybe that wasn't very responsible of me." I reach for the box of Kleenex, cause we're a real mess now. But I don't let go of her. She said not to. "We should have talked about, you know, our health."

"You don't mean… do you have something you need to tell me?"

"No, no. No. Nothing like that. I mean, I haven't been tested, but I haven't had any reason to be. I've just had a three-year dry spell. Oh, and I give blood all the time. If I was positive for anything, you'd think they'd tell me."

"Yeah. They run my samples through their lab every time I go to the gynecologist. So, feel better, now?"

"Yes, actually. I mean, I wasn't worried. It's just something we should have talked about first. I'm glad we got it out of the way."

"My Goofball. Silly. We didn't have time, remember? You were too busy attacking me."

"Hmmn. Are you sure you weren't the one attacking me?"

"No. Hehe. You're a good boy."

"I just try to live up to my responsibilities, ma'am."

"Good man."

"I also do my rebonsisillities."

"Your what?"

"Silly Responsibilities. Rebonsisillities."

"Aw. That's cute. Did you just make that up?"

"I've thought about 'em that way since I was a kid. I never understood why my Dad had to worry about his silly papers and things when it was time to go to the zoo or eat dinner. He was doing his rebonsisillities."

"Hehe. That's brilliant."

"Thank you. But I hate my rebonsisillities. Most of me hates and hates them. But the grownup part of me does 'em anyway. Don't you have anything like that?"

"Like what?"

"Some little way of looking at things from your childhood that you've never let go of."

"Hmmmn. Yeah. But it's dirty."

"You're kidding."

"Nope. I'm a nasty girl, remember?"

"What is it?"

"Cockles and Fuckles."

"WHAT?"

She plays with my spent floppy cock, flipping it back and forth between her fingers and making little slapping noises against my belly.

"Like in the song. Cockles and Fuckles."

"I don't know that song."

"Sure you do." She starts to sing to me. Awww. I love it when a girl sings to me. It's so sweet.

"In Dublin's fair city Where the girls are so pretty Thar lived a sweet lassie named Molly Malone She wheel'd her wheelbarrow Through streets broad and narrow Singing 'Cockles, and Fuckles, allaye, allay-o!'"

"Ooooh. Yes. That song. I know that song. Thank you for singing, by the way."

"You're welcome. Of course."

"But it's about seafood. She's saying she's got cockles and muscles, and they're alive, alive-o."

"Well, yeah, I eventually learned that. But that's what I thought it was at first, and I've always thought of it that way."

"And now, so will I."

"Don't you think it's better that way? I mean I think it's kinda disgusting that she's pushing around a wheelbarrow full of squirming half-dead mollusks."

"Uhh… What exactly WOULD be in her wheelbarrow, then? A bunch of disembodied penises?"

"I hadn't really thought it through that far."

"That would be much worse than mollusks."

"Much worse." She twiddles me some more. "I really like your cockles and fuckles."

"The fuckles were wonderful."

"Mmmmm. Whaddaya mean 'were'? I'm not done with you, Goofball."

"You are a nasty girl."

"You got that right. Now that I've had you…"

"Twice."

"Twice. Now that I've had you twice, I'm not letting you out of my sight. You're the best fuck of my life. And I love you. And you are as close to me as my own skin."

"Oh. Oh, Bratface. Lover. Come here. Come here and hold me."

"Okay. I'm here."

"Stay here."

"I will."

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