Boyfriend Material Ch. 03

Kelly worked her hand into the thick, curly hair of the young man with whom she was lying on her bed, and nudged his head closer to where she wanted it.

She was lying on her side, one of the few positions in which her small, pert breasts formed any cleavage. And that's where Rory was focusing his attention, his lips nuzzling and kissing her there. Instead of moving four inches in either direction to grasp one of her aching nipples between his lips. Or his teeth.

But he interpreted her guidance differently, and instead, he pushed himself up until they were face to face again, and sought out her lips for another one of his soft, lingering, languorous kisses.

She loved those kisses. She wasn't getting tired of them. But she wanted more.

"Kelly, there's something I need to tell you," he finally said. "I'm not a virgin."

Thank God, she thought. But she understood what he was telling her, what a risk he probably felt he was taking by being truthful. He was so sweet, so respectful, so honest.

"Mmm," she replied, breathily, into his ear. "That's okay.

"I'm... I'm not, either."

He nodded and, thankfully, drew her more tightly into his embrace.

"That's okay, too," he whispered. "I... I don't mind."

She rolled her eyes behind her closed lids. She wasn't completely comfortable with the pedestal upon which he had obviously placed her. But she wasn't completely uncomfortable with it, either. At least her non-virginity wasn't a deal-breaker for him.

They kissed again. Long, slowly, their tongues intertwining between their only-partially open lips. Their bodies moved, sensually, against each other. She brought her top leg up over his thigh, their jeans rustling against each other. He emitted a soft moan.

She liked making him moan.

"May I... I mean, would it be okay if I undid my pants?" he ventured.

"I'd like that," she responded.

He reached down between them and fumbled with his belt, and then the button and zipper of his pants. She waited a moment, then let her hand follow his.

She reached down inside his boxers and felt his hot erection against the back of her hand. Then she twisted her wrist and closed her fingers around him, lightly, so she could move her hand up and down and take the measure of him.

Nice, she thought. So pleasingly hard. And more than adequately long, she thought with a blush. Not as thick as Malcolm -- she twitched with guilt at thinking of the other guy she had been with most recently -- but certainly nothing to be ashamed of. Yay.

She felt his hand moving up and down her side, from her rib cage to her hip, and back again. Not yet moving to the button on her jeans. They continued to kiss, her hand softly stroking up and down his turgid shaft.

"I wish you could stay," she murmured.

"I do, too."

She understood. He was living at home with his parents this summer. He wouldn't be able to explain spending the night with a girl, a young woman in an off-campus apartment no less. His parents had to know that during the school year he might do that, seven nights a week. They had to know that their golden boy had very likely lost his virginity by now. But it was one thing to maintain a don't ask/don't tell situation with your parents, and another to rub their noses in it. She would probably be taking the same approach if she was still living at home.

"Next month when I'm back on campus..."

"Yeah," she said. She didn't put a question mark on it.

"Yeah?" he responded, hopefully.

"Yeah," she confirmed, and drew him closer to her.

She understood. She really did. He wanted to save their first full-fledged sexual encounter for a night when they could then fall asleep in each other's arms. And she felt an incredibly warm appreciation, something approaching love, for that.

At the very least, she thought, once the two of them were in bed together for hours, in just their boxers and panties, if not naked, with no clock running and no need for him to get home soon, it would be so much easier and natural for him to let go and let them come together. She would make sure she had condoms, even if he didn't, and even though she didn't want to use them. Just to avoid any more postponements.

After a while he sat up and reluctantly said, "It's really getting late. I need to hit the road."

They chatted a few more minutes. She walked him down the stairs. They lingered there for several more minutes, kissing. Not exactly chastely, but he was obviously holding back. Eventually he gave her one more hug and then headed for his car. She waited on the stoop to wave one more time as he pulled away, then climbed back up the stairs to her apartment.

Well, Rory had made his intentions clear. She had no doubt that he wanted to be intimate with her, although he had made no movement toward discussing what expectations went along with that. He had affirmed that he wanted to spend the night in her bed, once he was back on campus.

He had offered up the fact that he wasn't a virgin. No doubt, that was a nerve-wracking admission for him. But apparently something he felt he needed to get off his chest. Frankly, she was relieved to hear it. She had taken the opportunity to make the same admission back to him, potentially opening the floodgates to further questioning, but he had not pursued it.

.

All in all, the whole exchange made perfect sense, in terms of what she had come to expect from Rory. He wanted to be honest about something that was obviously a big deal for him. He hadn't asked her to reciprocate. He hadn't pushed her for detials.

And frankly, if he had pushed her for details, well... she wouldn't have liked that, and he wouldn't have been Rory. She didn't feel she should need to justify herself; that, at age 21 and after three years of college, she had gone to bed with three sequential steady boyfriends and had one lingering meaningless fling. If Rory thought that was excessive, well, she would have been disappointed in him. But the fact was, he didn't even ask. He needed to unburden himself to be sure she would accept him. He seemed willing to accept her, embrace her, no matter what.

"We believe what we want to believe," she remembered hearing recently.

And right now, she rather liked telling herself that Rory had not made any expectations explicit; had not asked for any kind of commitment.

What did "asking for commitment" sound like? "Will you go steady with me?" "Hey, Kelly, let's be exclusive?" None of her previous boyfriends had ever articulated something like that. In every case, it had just evolved as a mutual understanding. Right now, in the absence of any explicit agreement, she had no commitments to violate.

She picked up the phone and dialed, and waited while the phone rang, three times, four. She should hang up, she thought. But then she heard a click, and a voice on the other end.

"Hello?" said the male voice.

"Hey, Malcolm..."

***

"So," Malcolm said, leaning up against the bedroom door that he had just closed behind him. "Rory still hasn't fucked you."

"Shut up," Kelly retorted, unbuttoning her jeans and pushing them down over the swell of her hips.

Malcolm smirked and watched his best friend's little sister shucking off her jeans and panties. This had become one of his favorite moments in their semi-regular get-togethers in recent weeks. The way she started undressing almost as soon as they were alone, without niceties or commentary, reminding him that she was there for sex, just sex, nothing but sex. He wasn't even sure she knew she was doing it.

The sight would have made him hard, if he hadn't been hard already. He had been more-or-less hard ever since she had called him at eleven o'clock last night and asked him to come over. And had uttered a pouty little whine when he had said no. And then had paused after he had suggested he could be here at 10:00 this morning, before responding with a frustrated, "Fine."

She had removed her jeans and panties now and placed them on a chair, and had turned to look at him, still leaning against the door. She put her hands on her hips and scowled at him. Standing there in a cute little pink polo shirt and white ankle socks and nothing else in between; just her short but shapely legs and her rounded hips and that luxurious patch of soft, white-blonde pubic hair where her flat tummy met her plumpish thighs.

Her petulance amused him, but he didn't want to push his luck. So he pushed off the door and stepped toward her, unbuttoning his shirt.

"So, are you sure he's not gay?"

"Jesus, Malcolm," she responded. "Can we just not talk about Ror..." -- she stopped herself, not wanting to say the nice young man's name at the moment -- "... him?"

"No," Malcolm said, discarding his shirt as he successfully traversed the distance between them, dropping it on the floor and pulling her into an embrace. "It's fun."

She grunted her disapproval at that, but it was muted by the fact that he had covered her mouth with his by then. Then she went silent and just returned his probing kiss.

He dropped his hands and cupped her naked bottom, each cheek a perfect handful.

He turned her so the backs of her knees were against her bed, and gently pushed her back. She fell, compliantly. He unbuckled his jeans, looking down at her with her blue eyes wide, her pink lips parted, her knees already up to receive him. Between her thighs, her inner labia peeked out, glistening.

He normally loved getting her completely naked, her entire lovely young body laid out as a visual feast for him; but at this moment, he really wanted to get inside her while she was still half-clothed. And needy.

He pushed his jeans and his briefs down his thighs, enjoying the gasp she made when his thick cock emerged into view.

He knew from experience that her bed was too low to fuck her standing up, and too high to allow him to drop to his knees. So, he planted his hands on either side of her exquisitely pretty face, and took his weight on his toes, making a plank of his body, preparing to do push-ups as he entered and fucked her.

Her legs came up around him. He smiled to himself. At this point, they both knew how to achieve the right angle for hands-free penetration. He pushed forward and relished the sensation of her tight, wet, perfect pussy welcoming him into her body. Even though, as usual, his first thrust caused her to groan loudly enough to wake her roommate.

He pulled back out, just a couple of inches, and then pushed back in. Their bodies made a squelching noise, and then their pubises were smashed together, melded. He could feel his balls against her soft bottom.

"Huh. So maybe Rory did fuck you last night," he taunted. "And that's why you needed this."

"Fuck you, Malcolm," she gasped.

"Yeah," he agreed. "That's the point."

He dropped onto his elbows and kissed her, and she reciprocated, as she always did. They fell into comfortable and practiced rhythm, her thighs wrapping around him, her body squirming beneath him.

She wasn't just addicted to his dick, much as that trope amused him. And much as he believed that the thickness with which nature had gifted him had pleased every woman he had ever been with, caused them to invite him back for a second or fifth performance.

What she was addicted to, he guessed, was the total wrongness of their relationship.

He was the only person in her life who didn't treat her like a princess, a golden girl, a pristine and fragile figurine in a glass menagerie.

Her parents did, her brother did; and from everything Malcolm had observed over the last four or five years, Kelly seemed drawn to choosing boyfriends who would treat her that way, too. Girls always wanted to marry their dad. But they loved fucking the bad boy from the wrong side of the tracks.

He pushed her farther up on the bed, so he could get his knees up on the mattress, and they resumed their well-rehearsed coupling.

"So," he said, grinning wickedly. "When can I meet him?"

Her brow furrowed. "I don't think so."

He chuckled. "Why not?"

"Malcolm," she sighed.

"He's gonna meet me sooner or later anyway," he reasoned. "If you keep him around. He's gonna meet your family. Your brother."

This time, she responded with just a whimper. He could always sense her yielding to him.

He really wanted to meet this guy. Take the measure of him. Stare him down, while he was still fucking Kelly, and while Rory still hadn't.

"I want him to meet me."

He didn't have to say, "The guy who's fucked you better than anyone else ever has, or ever will."

Kelly closed her eyes and didn't respond. But he could tell she didn't need to. He could tell from the way her body was responding beneath him that she found the idea irresistibly hot, too.

He kept moving in and out of her, luxuriating in the pleasure, grinding into her with the motion that he knew was alternately stroking her g-spot and smashing her clitoris, until he heard and felt her orgasming around his cock.

Then he let himself enjoy his own climax, allowing himself a dozen or so urgent strokes before holding himself still as he spasmed inside her, coating her exquisite pussy with his own pulses of ejaculate.

Afterwards, he rolled off her, but held her close beside him, running his hand up and down over her still-quivering hip.

"That was fun," he said. "But I gotta get going."

Kelly nodded. She never objected to Malcolm heading out quickly afterwards, provided he didn't leave her without having had an orgasm. Which he had never done.

He looked back down at her, still wearing her cute pink polo shirt and her ankle socks, but with a thin trickle of his jism leaking out from between her swollen labia. The contrast was delicious.

"What, you've got another date?" she asked him, her voice half-teasing, half judging.

He laughed. "Sort of."

"Bastard," she grunted. "Like whatever slut you were with last night?"

"That wasn't a slut. That was Linda."

Kelly's eyes got wide, and she hoisted herself up on her elbows. "Your fiancé was here?"

"Still is," he replied.

"What? What the... so where is she now?"

"She went to church."

"Jesus," Kelly fumed. "You really are a bastard."

Malcolm pulled up his pants and grinned his lopsided grin at her. "Yeah," he agreed. "At your service."