tagNonConsent/ReluctanceRoz--Asleep Or Awake?

Roz--Asleep Or Awake?

byHornyman69WithU©

When I was in college after I had broken up with Jessica following a two-year relationship, I was invited to a party by a couple of friends, Stephanie and Leigh.

They had just moved way off campus into a large, really nice apartment with a third roommate, Roz, with whom I was acquainted but didn't know nearly as well. All three were great looking, and I remember noting that it was rare for all the gals who roomed together to be so attractive. There's always an ugly duckling, but not this time.

Anyway, Steph picked me up, as I had no car, and we first went to their place. It was then that Steph informed me that they wanted to drop acid, which she'd already bought, and wanted me to be their guide, I being the experienced hallucinogen guru and all.

I was flattered that they wanted me to be their Timothy Leery, and so we did up the blotter and drank some beer just after noon, then the four of us walked together to the swim, ski, play-in-the-water party on the lake their new apartment bordered. Explaining that everyone would be too fucked up to drive, Steph made a bed for me on the couch before we left, saying I could crash there that evening.

When the acid kicked in, Steph and Leigh got hyper and laughing a lot, eventually straying off with some folks they knew and I didn't, leaving Roz alone with me. I'd known Roz a long time, but realized I did not really know her at all, she being the quiet type. She was, in effect, my date, and I really liked her a lot, discovering she was exceptionally sweet and mild.

One thing that I'd known all along was how good she looked: Short, dark-skinned, and voluptuous, with long, thick brown hair in bangs over kind, dark eyes, a permanent, ultra-white smile on her sweet face, and enormous, meaty, perfectly round boobs, accentuated by the halter-style bikini top matched with tight denim short-shorts she wore.

In no time, she was holding my hand and wrapping her arms around my waist, and kissing me like we were a standing item. Everyone we met assumed she was my steady girlfriend.

I was certainly enjoying this attention but put it in proper perspective, as I knew that acid can make some people feel vulnerable and so cause them to latch on to someone who is confident and inspires trust, like me. After all, my role was to be the tripping guru, albeit now only for Roz since Stephanie and Leigh had disappeared. Turns out, this was Roz' first trip, so I made sure I was particularly careful with what I said and did.

This blotter was kind of speedy, so to take the edge off, we swilled beer like water and chain-smoked joints like cigarettes.

I showed Roz what things to look at for maximum hallucinogenic effect, posited positive thoughts about everything under the sun, and generally kept her entertained and very happy. She was obviously having a very good first-time acid experience, yet she had become so clingy that she hardly ever let go of me. She'd return from the bathroom and greet me like long lost lovers separated for years.

We drank and smoked constantly all afternoon and well into the night. At one point after dark, we took a ride in some people's speed boat, where Roz sat in my lap with her huge tits pressed into my face, gazing at me at me with those big, brown eyes like I was some kind of god or something. All the while, I was the perfect gentleman and acid trip guide.

Getting late and her roommates nowhere to be found, I suggested we head back to the apartment, so we did, but on the way, we passed a beautiful, lighted pool and jumped in, swimming all by ourselves, she in her bikini top and jean shorts, I in my trunks. The water was devine, and, as usual, she was smiling ear to ear. We embraced and made out in the shallow end a couple times, and Roz MUST have felt my erection against her tummy. There was no one else around, and the notion of skinny-dipping did cross my mind, but I didn't want to suggest anything that might make her uncomfortable, so I let it go.

From there, it was only a short jaunt to her place, where we walked into the dark, quiet apartment. Steph and Leigh were obviously not there. Ravenously hungry, we went into the kitchen, where she pulled up a stool to get something up high, then turned around on it to be even with my height, and gave me a fantastic French kiss, while pressing her giant tits into my chest.

Then she hopped down, and said she was going to get out of the wet clothes. Scarfing down Slim Jims, I watched her, smiling wide as ever, run across the den and pull off the bikini top to catch just a glimpse of her mammoth mammaries bounce, before she turned the corner down the hall out of sight. To tell you the truth, I would have not, until that day, described Roz as my physical "type," which were tall, slender, long-legged gals like Jessica. Roz had a lovely face, but had a body just the opposite—only about 5'2", with truly honey-dew-melon-size breasts, fleshy arms and legs, and an ample, though not at all fat, round bottom, and soft curves around her waist. The fact that she was so different from the little-titted girl I'd dated for two years made Roz especially appealing.

I heard water running in the bathroom, so I proceeded to eat everything in the frij that didn't require cooking, from olives to ice cream to boiled eggs to pimiento cheese straight from the carton. The munchies, don't you know.

I rolled a doobie, poured the only wine left into two glasses, and waited. Wondering what had become of Roz and needing to piss anyway, I eventually made my way around to the other side of the apartment. The bathroom door was open, but there was no Roz in there, so I took a whiz and flushed. Turning, I saw an open bedroom door across the hall, and someone naked lying on the bed in the corner, illuminated only by the light from the bathroom.

Though the face was obscured by her long, wet hair, those extra-large, meaty brown breasts could only be attached to Roz. She was COMPLETELY naked, lying on her back, head turned away from me sideways, legs spread about a foot apart at her knees. Her dark pubic hair was trimmed close and narrow for a bikini, and so I could see her bulging, deeply creased mons from the bright bathroom ceiling light.

Sitting down beside her on the bed, I brushed her still-wet hair away from her face and called her name, smoothing my fingers across her pretty, broad cheeks. She moved ever so slightly, but made no sound at all, even though I called her name out several times with increasing volume.

Now just what the hell was I supposed to do?

So I just sat there and slowly sipped the wine and smoked the whole joint while staring at her and pondering.

Roz definitely liked me a lot and sent many come-hither messages all day long. Yet we had drunk gallons of beer and dropped two hits of acid each, which by now had worn off though I could still feel some vestigial effects revved up by the reefer. Ten to twelve hours of tripping on LSD is exhausting, and many folks collapse into a heap when it's over. Perhaps that's what Roz' situation was, yet she'd been full of pep not ten minutes before.

I caressed her face, down her neck, between the mountains of tit, down her tummy, across her prodigious pussy mound, down her thigh, and then all the way back up to her face again. She was so, so smooth, and she let out a barely audible coo.

I twiddled a nipple, and the dark areola around it contracted up to a hard point. I squeezed the whole breast, at first gently, then harder. Though my hand is very large—I can play a ten-note interval on the piano—I could not get it completely around her boob. I am not a really-big-tit man, as the bigger boobs get, the more problems they generally have: sag, unappealing overall shape, stretch marks, stretched-out areolas with flat nipples, and such. I have personally played with only a few pairs of tits bigger than Roz', but none that were BOTH huge AND absent any problems. If most big-breasted women had boobs like hers, I could be rapidly converted into a tit-man! I twisted the other nipple up nice and rigid, and then heard another coo as she shifted position, her arm flailing down with her hand landing right on my trunk-covered dick, which was already at full attention.

Was she really asleep? Might she just be feigning, subtly goading me on with these coos and her warm but lifeless hand resting on my turgid tallywhacker?

I stood up to remove my wet trunks, and she rolled onto her side, buns now in the light. I downed "her" glass of wine for courage and got into bed with her, curling up in a spoons position behind her, my steel-hard cock nestling in her butt crack. Damn, she felt good!

I lay there for a while, whispering sweet nothings in her ear, things like, "Wake up, Roz, honey, and let's make sweet love," occasionally hearing another faint coo or something unintelligible.

Was she saying, "Don't, stop," or "Don't stop?"

Or was she saying anything at all?

I got up my nerve and reached around to feel the thick folds of her outer labia. She shifted again, giving me a bit better access, but far from a spread-thigh, come-on-and-fuck-me position. Hmmm, was that an accident? I wiggled my finger through those fat inner lips to massage her clit, and her pussy got wet, quite wet, then I used the newfound moisture to twiddle her nipples, first one and then the other, with my other hand while continuing to diddle her swollen love bud. Again, she softly cooed, but did not open her eyes, say anything I could remotely understand, or shift positions to give me really good access.

I lay there caressing her, blowing in her soft ears, kissing her neck, and nibbling those nipples and plying those magnificent mega-boobs until four in the morning, hoping she'd come to life and reciprocate. A simple, quiet "Make love to me," would have been sufficient, or even opening her eyes and a silent, gentle tug in the general direction of her pussy, but it never happened. If Roz was awake, she certainly was not resisting, but neither was she engaging. I just don't fuck girls who don't fuck back. And I don't fuck women who are asleep.

I was so horny that I could have easily cum by the soft rubbing of my dick in her crack, but given no definite sign, I finally just got up, slipped my by-then-dry trunks back on, and crashed on the couch in the den.

The next thing I knew I was startled awake by clanging and loud voices. It was Stephanie and Leigh in the kitchen rattling pots and pans, making breakfast. It was almost noon, and I felt like warmed over death.

I hopped up and went to the john to take a leek and down water straight from the faucet. There was no sight or sound of Roz, and now her bedroom door was tightly shut.

Returning to the kitchen, I was greeted by the other two roommates, and day-um, did they look tasty! Handing me a hot cup of Joe, the Greek, olive-skinned Stephanie's black bush and large, dark-nippled, pendulous boobs were on full display beneath the see-through teddy, and, panties notwithstanding, I could see most of the tall, blonde Leigh's lithe body moving sensuously under her short, silk nighty. Being friends, they made no attempt to further cover themselves. I did not protest!

They explained that they had come in around daybreak with a couple of guys, romped in the sack with them, and that they were then asleep in their respective bedrooms. But not for long, as they intended to wake them, and then serve them breakfast in bed before spending the rest of the afternoon fucking them some more. Sounded like an excellent course of action to me!

Stephanie took me aside and asked if I'd gone to bed with Roz. I told her yes and no. She asked me point blank if I had sex with her, and I told her the whole story. Steph then said that was a relief, that Roz had an old-fashioned view about sex and relationships: he who makes love with her is thereby her steady, committed boyfriend. Well, shee-it, now you tell me! Frankly, I really liked Roz and would have been delighted to be her steady guy! Had I known the magic words, I would have no doubt whispered them in her ear, and—assuming she was awake and heard me--we could have made love all night long and for months if not years to come.

Instead, I ate bacon and eggs alone while Steph and Leigh took theirs back to their bedrooms, where all manner of moaning soon ensued behind closed doors. If I had blue balls before, they were positively purple by that point! I knocked gently on Roz' door, but not getting an answer or hearing a peep, I finally tried the knob only to discover the door was locked. Dead end. No pussy for me.

I gathered my things and went to the front door to leave, realizing only then that I had no way back to my apartment across town and would have to wait for Stephanie for a ride home. So, I sat back down on the couch while listening to her and Leigh make whoopee with their lucky guys and waited. And waited. And waited. Roz never did make an appearance, but, finally, at about 5 o'clock, Steph emerged, naked, cum dripping down her thigh, and burst into boob-bobbling laughter because she'd completely forgotten about me. Steph was a fabulous and somewhat exotic looking chick with the best personality of any gal I've ever known. I certainly enjoyed her friendship, but would have preferred she be my girlfriend. The whole story about how that came to be is told in my tale, "Wash Day."

Moments later, Leigh, also completely nude, came down the long hall towards the bathroom, mumbling something about aspirin. Though her hair was matted, and she was hung over and had been fucked no telling how many times half the morning and all afternoon, she was still absolutely beautiful. Striding across the carpet on those extremely long, slim legs, Leigh had that runway-model look; swooped-up peaches topped with hard, red nipples jiggling with each step; sensuous naval seemingly winking up high on her long waist; hipbones protruding like fuck handles, and blonde pubes too scant to hide a prominent clit hood. As she turned into the bathroom, my eyes were trained on her perfect little apple-shaped ass with that rare crotch gap between the upper thighs that says, "Insert penis here."

As she tried to close the door, a hair roller on the floor had it pinned, so she bent over to dislodge it, exposing bright red pussy lips flared out angrily from hours of pounding by some obviously well-hung guy. Leigh, the very definition of my type, was the first girl on my to-do list after I broke up with Jessica, so I discussed her with Stephanie. She said Leigh would be glad to go out with me but forget about going to bed with her. Don't ask me why, but this was the next best thing!

Anyway, donning a ratty old football jersey, some flip-flops, and nothing else, Stephanie noticed the glob of cum on her thigh, carved it off with index finger, and sucked it clean with the same relish I would chocolate syrup. I love chicks like her who enjoy sperm, even it it's not mine! We then literally ran out to her little 3-series Bimmer, which she drove like Mario Andretti with a full bladder to get me back home in a hurry, explaining that her newfound athlete would be hard again by the time she got back. She said she and Leigh had picked up a couple of hunky starting players for our SEC football team and felt lucky to have bedded them. Frankly, I thought the guys were the lucky ones!

I really wanted to pursue Roz, but neither of us had automobiles, and I could not exactly date her—or anyone—who lived so far away with only a bicycle for transpo. In fact, it was over a year later before I ever even saw her again, at a block party just off campus, when I had already picked up a cute, if drunk and redneck, sure-thing from my Astronomy class. The very-wide-awake sweetie-pie Roz was glad to see me, and I felt likewise, but, of course, the timing could not have been worse: The lush, loud-mouthed slut was hanging all over me—half out of horniness and half because she could not stand unassisted. Honestly, I was embarrassed to be seen with this soused gritter-girl, so I maneuvered her stumbling towards my nearby apartment, where I banged her repeatedly between several rounds of her up-chucking, then put her out like an alley cat.

I still do not know whether or not Roz was asleep or awake that fated evening, but one thing is for sure: Chalk up yet another one in my lost-opportunity column!

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