A One-Sided Epic

Many thanks to editor LarryInSeattle for helping me remove the bumps in the road.

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A One-Sided Epic

I met her when I was seventeen and a college freshman. I was instantly attracted to this knowing, nineteen-year-old goddess. Her name was Molly Hancock and, despite the fact that she flirted with and teased me, I knew I had no chance to get into her. But make no mistake: I wanted to get between those thighs and into her.

Molly was slender and small-breasted but with wide hips and a dynamite ass. Several times she caught me looking at her gorgeous rear and smiled, amused by the fact of my desire. She had huge green eyes set in an elfin face. Curly, slightly frizzy, red hair perfectly set off her pale skin. It would take me two years to find out that it wasn't her natural hair color.

My upbringing seemed to me to have been rather tame and conventional when I talked to Molly, who seemed to have experience far beyond her years. She sometimes said things, suggested that she'd done things that were far beyond the pale of my awkwardly vanilla life experiences. Sure, I'd had sex a couple of clumsy, opportunistic times but not being a virgin didn't mean I knew a damn thing and Molly, with a bite of her lip or the intensity of those deep green eyes, had me convinced that she knew more about sex than I could ever hope to learn.

Over the next two years we stayed friends. She dated a succession of older guys and at one point even lived with a guy who was in his thirties. Her flirtations and her teasing me—almost taunting—about my attraction to her and my inability to do anything about it never ceased. Once we stayed up late studying for an exam together and we slept, fully clothed, in my dorm room bed. If I had understood then what I know now, we'd have both gotten what we wanted that night.

It wasn't until my junior year that I got what I had dreamed about from Molly Hancock. I ran into her at a bar one night. After exchanging greetings, we separated to mingle and later I noticed her draping herself over an old buddy of mine, Ryan. She seemed very interested in being close to him and, from where I was sitting, he seemed to be uncomfortable.

He and I chatted in the men's room a few minutes later and I congratulated him on attracting her affections, "Dude, she is looking hot tonight and she seems into you. You might be having some fun later."

"I don't think so, man," he countered. "That's one slutty chick. She doesn't do much for me."

"Are you crazy? I can't begin to tell you how much I'd like to be in your shoes."

"I've seen her do this with other guys," said Ryan. "It just seems insecure and desperate. It's a turn-off. I'll pass."

He went to say goodnight to his friends before he departed and I saw Molly lean over and whisper into his ear with what I had believed to be an irresistible gleam in her eye. Ryan's reaction wasn't disgust or disdain, but the blunt 'no' seemed to knock her back. He didn't attempt to soften it; he just turned and left.

I turned to talk to an acquaintance I had seen earlier and was surprised by small, soft hands from behind me, covering my eyes.

"Guess who!" said Molly.

Within moments I was feeling the full court press from her. She took every chance to touch me and drape herself over me, repeatedly rubbing those cute little breasts against my arm and chest as she leaned in to talk to me in the noisy bar. This wasn't flirting or teasing. It wasn't playing with my social awkwardness. It was the direct communication of sexual desire. I wasn't Ryan. Even if I had wanted to, I couldn't have resisted her. No part of me wanted to resist. I was swept up by my fervor for this stunning woman for whom I had lusted so long.

When she flashed that irresistible look and whispered a suggestion that we go back to her place, I didn't hesitate.

In the car, she leaned over and kissed me as we were stopped at a red light. She kissed me at the next one too. She leaned over and put her head on my shoulder and a hand gently on my thigh as she made small talk and gave me directions to her apartment.

Once inside the door, we locked arms around each other and kissed with feverish intensity. Devouring each other's mouths, we eased onto the sofa and writhed in each other's limbs, groping and rubbing. Each time we surfaced for air, I'd see that face from so many of my fantasies and dive in again. I undid her bra beneath her shirt and reached in to touch her soft breasts, my fingers trying to memorize the feel of every millimeter of her flesh. She kissed me more fervently. Her thighs, when I reached between them, clenched shut—not to deny me access, but to keep me from taking my hand away as she rubbed against it.

She stood to remove those tight jeans, leaving only her lacy green panties. When she stepped over to lock the front door and turn off the too-bright overhead light, I took the opportunity to remove my pants, freeing the painful erection that had arisen before we'd even left the bar and hadn't yet diminished. Molly looked at me and with a smirk and that teasing tone I knew so well asked, "You're confident, aren't you?"

She sat on my lap, her bare thigh against my erection while we kissed. I caressed her mound through her panties before reaching in to finger her. We wound up on the carpet. She pulled off her shirt so I could suck her nipples—which I did—before kissing my way down her flat belly to the wet crotch of her panties.

She shucked off her panties and I dove in with great gusto, relishing the feel of her wet cunt on my lips and her hands in my hair. As I thrust my tongue as deeply inside her as I could and licked and licked, getting more and more feverish, I noticed that she was not. I got the feeling that I was enjoying it more than she was. I felt her trying to nudge and move my head around, but I had no idea what she wanted. I was trying to please her with my tongue and she was getting frustrated.

When the events in this story occurred, I had been with ten women. Nearly every one of those women was a drunken one-night stand. I had no game, no smooth talk or social skills to pick up women. I didn't know how to start a relationship or even how to date. My only sex life was the result of liquor-assisted pickups, which are not conducive to learning the finer points of pleasing a partner, orally or otherwise. As I kept blindly tonguing her, I could feel her impatience grow until she sort of slid out from beneath my face and said, "Let's go to the bedroom."

She led me into the bedroom and guided me to sit on the corner of the bed, facing the doorway. She said, "Let me put on some music. I'll be right back. What do you wanna hear?"

I was in such an advanced state of lust, here with the object of my fervent and long-held desire, that literally any musical selection she could have possibly made would not have lessened the stiffness of my cock. I didn't care! I had seen a Bob Marley album by her stereo earlier, so I told her to just put that on.

When the first reggae beats started, she swayed back into the room. She had put on some sort of fancy lingerie. It was black and silky and lacy. No woman had ever put on lingerie for me before and the fires of my arousal burned hotter as she strutted and posed and danced for me, putting on a show—which lasted for just about thirty seconds. "Dammit," she swore with more frustration, "I just can't dance to this. Who would pick Bob Marley?"

"That's all right," I assured her, running my hands along her sides, feeling the widening of her hips. I leaned in and kissed her lean belly, poking my tongue into her navel. She giggled and sat on my knee.

We kissed some more and she wound up naked on her back with me kneeling between her shapely open thighs. I caressed her sex, fingering her gently, while she stroked my enduring erection. She pulled me forward, guiding me to where I had wanted for so long to go. No description of the tight, wet heat would do it justice. She kissed my lips, then buried her face in my neck as I began thrusting. Little by little, her hips began to move with mine. She wriggled like a serpent, thrusting liquidly back up against me with perfect timing and coordination in a way that I, to this day, have only ever experienced with her.

I started thrusting harder, really pounding it into her. Silent until that point, Molly started moaning. That's all it took. I exploded! My entire body jerked arrhythmically as I came in the most intense sexual eruption of my nineteen years.

I half-slid, half-flopped onto the bed beside her. She looked at me expectantly. "Well?" she asked.

"Well what?" I returned playfully.

"Are you planning on helping me?"

"Helping you what?" I queried.

"I need to get off," she said impatiently.

"Oh." I shifted so that my cock, still three-quarters erect, fell across her thigh. She smiled and tugged it a few times as I mounted her again. She released it and I pushed it wetly home. This time we started off rather more quickly. It didn't take long before I was thrusting as hard and as fast as I had before. Her pelvis resumed the snake-like gyrations. Supporting my weight on my arms, I looked down at her. Her large eyes were closed and her beautiful lips opened and closed like she was silently moaning. Her firm little breasts shook with each thrust, making them wiggle about. I looked down at that taut hourglass shape where her waist curved into those wide hips—

And I climaxed almost as powerfully as I had only moments before!

She looked at me in disbelief. "Again?"

I may have sounded pathetic, but I was speaking the absolute truth when I said, "I'm sorry, but I was looking at you and you're so beautiful. I just couldn't hold back...again."

That seemed to please her. Mollified somewhat, she purred, "Well, how about helping me out a little now? Use your fingers. Touch me."

I was young and a little squeamish about letting my fingers play in a semen-filled woman even if it was my own semen, but the look she gave me with those heavily-lidded eyes while biting her lower lip stoked the fire in me. I started sucking her reddish-brown gumdrop nipples and massaging her wet and swollen sex. I hadn't fingered her for more than a few minutes before I found myself with another erection of monstrous size and hardness. It took her by surprise when I mounted her the third time.

I was determined to take my time this time. All of my dreams and desires about Molly had built her up into an object of desire that I never thought I'd get to experience. Now that the impossible seemed to have happened, I wanted to make it memorable. I wanted to make it a night without compare, like she had never experienced before.

Supported on one arm as I thrust into her, I caressed her face, running my thumb along her lips. She opened her mouth and took in the tip of my thumb, licking it and moaning.

And I shuddered and came again!

It wasn't as intense as the first two, but it was definitely an orgasm. Embarrassed, I only let it slow me down for a brief moment. I kept pumping and looked down at that elfin fact and that narrow waist and wide hips. I watched those gumdrop nipples shake with every impact of my pelvis against hers and she aroused me so much that I never fully lost my erection.

"Did you just cum?" she asked, unbelieving, but noticing the increased wetness where we were joined.

"Uh-huh."

"Okay." She never opened her eyes, but a peculiar smile played across her lips.

We kept going. I suggested a different position but she said no. I suggested another alternative, but she declined. She remained on her back, me on top. I came again and she did not.

It would become overly repetitive to describe the details of the next four times that night or my next four orgasms. We screwed seven times over the course of about three hours and I had eight total orgasms. She never came. I tried my damnedest to bring her to orgasm. I tried different angles and different motions, varying rhythms and alternating the force of my thrusts, but to no avail. I asked her what she liked and how to do things the way she preferred, but she was uncommunicative. At some point, I no longer cared. My body and mind had somehow gotten stuck on a repetitive cycle, trapped in a lust loop by this woman and quite delirious. The last couple of times that night I have no idea how I got hard or where I got the strength to get back on her and thrust some more. My higher mental functions had deteriorated and my physical abilities grew feebler.

I couldn't read Molly's reaction after the fourth, fifth, and sixth times we did it. She seemed stunned, bemused, flattered, and resigned to her fate. On one of the occasions when I unexpectedly achieved another erection, I put her hand on it and her eyes opened wide in shock. By way of feeble-minded explanation I said, "You have no idea of how beautiful I find you or how much I have wanted you." She tugged on it and said, "I think I do. Some things don't lie." And she pulled me into her again, sighing softly as I buried myself to the hilt.

Her reaction after the seventh time was, I think, relief that I couldn't get it up for an eighth.

After that night Molly and I were never intimate again. I saw her only rarely for the rest of that semester, then not at all. Years later, when discussing our college experiences, two friends and I discovered that we had all slept with Molly and one of those guys knew at least one other guy who did. It turns out that Molly picked up quite a few guys at bars, brought them to her apartment, danced for them in fancy lingerie, and screamed crazily when she came as they screwed. It was, apparently, some sort of routine she had.

After they had told me their stories they asked if she had done the sexy dance in lingerie for me too. When I confirmed that she had, one of my friends said, "Wow, so we all slept with the same girl and had the exact same experience!"

"Not exactly," I replied, unsure whether to be proud or embarrassed by the story I was about to tell.