Boyfriend Material Ch. 05

Malcolm closed his eyes, released a deep breath of exhalation, and allowed himself to go ahead and relish the orgasm he had been struggling to delay. The pretty blonde co-ed on his lap had just had one of her own, and he had held still and held off while her spasming around him had peaked and ebbed away. He always tried to make sure she came first, and at least once; if nothing else, it helped keep her coming back, he figured.

But now he could just relax and concentrate on the wave of sensation that came billowing up like a mushroom cloud, up from that point below the pit of his stomach, spreading through his abdomen and his chest until it made his shoulders clench. And then felt his cock, enveloped in the warm, slippery caress of a twenty-one-year-old pussy, pulsing, and he tightened his grip on the young woman's hips and forced her down onto him as he spurted up against her cervix.

Five ... six .... seven ..... he exhaled again, only now aware that he had been holding his breath again while ejaculating inside his best friend's little sister. He opened his eyes, and felt another little surge of satisfaction, like an aftershock to his earthquake, at the vision she presented to him.

She was so pretty; the prettiest girl he had ever gotten up inside of. Right now, her short blonde hair had fallen down over one eye, and her face and her upper chest were still flushed. Her small breasts were rising and falling gently with her still-labored breathing, and between his thumbs, where his hands still grasped her right at the top of the swell of her hips, her little round tummy was quivering.

Even after being on top, she looked well-fucked, he thought with satisfaction. And he had been the guy to make her look that way. Again.

After a moment, she leaned forward, reaching out to place her hands on his shoulders, and resting on her extended arms, dropping her head so her fair fell down over her face. With the angle between their bodies increased, he felt his softening cock begin to slip out of her. He moved his hands up over her sides, noting how pale and pristine the flesh of her torso still was, even now at the end of summer. Her arms and shoulders and thighs sported a golden tan; but she only sun-bathed in one-piece swimsuits.

He smiled at the connection. A one-piece swimsuit. It was so like Kelly. So demure. He had known her for seven years now, since she was a freshman in high school, and he had gone home with his college roommate and new best friend over winter break. He had first seen her in a choir robe, angelic with her radiant white-blonde hair and porcelain skin. Getting ready to go to church for choir practice. She was the apple of her big brother's eye, her daddy's little treasure. And he had "kept an eye on her," as he had promised her brother, when she had arrived on campus the same year he graduated and found work here in this college town where he was comfortable, and where he had a girlfriend who was still an undergraduate.

His girlfriend was his fiancé now, but she was in graduate school, a few hours away. But he was still here, and so was Kelly. And true to his word, he had kept an eye on her, including a couple of instances of jump-starting dead batteries, as she had moved through three years of college as the classic, all-American co-ed. Just what her family imagined. Good grades. A couple of years of junior varsity volleyball (she was made for those shorts, or vice versa, he mused); and a normal series of three serious boyfriends, one for much of each school year, including what he gathered was standard, healthy monogamous sexual activity for a liberated young woman now in the late 1970s, with the pill so readily available.

So in fact, with her all-American credentials, she had surprised him when he had finally taken his shot this past spring. She was between boyfriends, and he had wryly suggested that what she needed was just some no-strings-attached sex.

(What he didn't say was why: because he thought she put too much energy into meeting other people's expectations, being the perfect daughter, the perfect sister, the perfect girlfriend. Soon she would graduate and whoever she was dating at that time would want her to become the perfect wife and then the perfect mother. She really did need some imperfection in her life.)

She had responded with a scowl, a roll of her eyes ... but not a rejection. She hadn't objected when he had reached out and unbuttoned the top button of her flannel shirt. And fifteen minutes later, she had her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist and he had been balls deep inside her for the first time. So apparently, she had agreed with him.

Now she was slowly getting up off him, and out of his bed. He crossed his arms behind his head and watched with satisfaction as her perfect heart-shaped bottom jiggled a bit on her way across the room to begin retrieving her clothes. He still found himself amazed at how much he enjoyed this peculiar aspect of their relationship ... how often she would begin to undress as soon as they were together and begin dressing again shortly after his spent cock had slipped out of her, and how often their only conversations took place in the two minutes when she was taking off or putting on her clothes.

"This has been fun," she said this time.

"Yeah, it sure has," he replied, casually. Then it dawned on him what she was implying. "Oh."

She smiled at him, with a hint of melancholy in her eyes. He sat up. He knew the school year was about to begin, and things were bound to change. Oh.

"So, you're saying, this is goodbye, then?"

"Not goodbye," she countered. "We'll see each other around, no doubt." He was her brother's best friend. Social interaction was inevitable.

"But not for ... this," he mused, glancing back over his shoulder at the rumpled bedsheets.

She sighed. "School starts next week. Rory moves back to town this weekend."

"Uh huh. And so, like he's made a commitment? It's settled? You're 'going steady' now?"

Kelly gave him a scowl. "Mal ..." she started to chastise. "I just think I need to give him -- and me -- the opportunity to see where it goes. Naturally."

"I get it," Malcolm nodded, trying to sound cavalier. He didn't want to sound disappointed. He was failing.

"Jesus, Mal, don't get weird about this on me," she muttered.

Mal frowned. "I'm not being weird," he muttered back, feeling ... weird. It wasn't like he was feeling jealous. Well, actually, yes, it *was* something like feeling jealous. It wasn't that he wanted what Rory was apparently about to get -- a chance to have Kelly as his "girlfriend." He never wanted anything more than the thrill of fucking her. Over and over again. And he was going to miss that.

"So," Malcolm ventured. "Next week, when Rory's back here at Chick Central, are you sure he's not going to be dating other girls, too?"

Kelly was stepping back into her jeans. She paused with them halfway up her thighs and stared back at him. "I don't know," she said defiantly. "He might."

Malcolm shrugged. He wanted to go back to being cavalier and disinterested. "Just sayin'. I get it, we were only hanging out because you weren't dating anyone, so you weren't 'cheating' on anyone. I'm just, uh ... well, you sure you aren't assuming something?"

"Look, I don't want to talk about it," she replied, pulling her jeans up the rest of the way, with that adorable little hop to stretch them over the delicious curve of her hips.

She was probably right, he thought. He didn't even know Rory, but he assumed the young man was smitten. That was one of the things about Kelly. Malcolm figured that every boy who had ever dated her had thought he had hit the jackpot. And quickly dropped everything else and tried to hold on to her by giving her everything they thought she wanted. Malcolm was the first guy who had ever treated her as just a pleasant diversion, an enjoyable but disposable side piece. And he knew, a part of her enjoyed the complete lack of pressure of that status.

"So, you're ready to go back to being a guy's ideal, exclusive girlfriend."

She didn't respond, concentrating on buttoning up her blouse. But she didn't deny it.

"Is that what he wants?" Malcolm pressed.

"It's what I want."

"Uh huh. You ever ask yourself why that's what you want?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, do you want to be in a picture-book, exclusive, monogamous relationship because that's what you want, or because that's what everyone expects of you?"

She was fully dressed now, except for her shoes. She put her hands on her hips and glared at him.

"So what do you want, Malcolm? You don't want to be my 'picture-book monogamous boyfriend,' do you?"

Malcolm smirked. No, he didn't. Oh, it would be cool to show Kelly off to his friends and co-workers, but he had no interest in the monogamy part. He was quite enjoying his don't-ask-don't-tell arrangement with his long-distance fiancé, who was frankly more adventurous in bed and a better fit for him, long-term. No. He just didn't want to stop fucking Kelly, yet.

"I'm just sayin'. How do you know he's interested in being exclusive? Have you asked him?"

Kelly rolled her eyes and sat down to start putting on her shoes. "Jesus, Malcolm."

"He may like it."

"Like what?" she scowled. "Fu ... screwing around?"

Malcolm shrugged. "Or just being with a girl who does."

"Jesus," she said again. "He's not a pervert, like you. He's a nice guy."

"I don't know. Sometimes the nice guys are the ones that like it." Malcolm was beginning to enjoy himself now. He didn't really know that many "nice guys" who "liked it" when their girlfriends fucked someone else. Just the one, so far, he thought, although it had sure been fun. But he had read plenty of Penthouse Forum letters, and he knew that it was a fetish for more than a few guys.

"Christ, Malcolm." She had finished tying her shoes and stood up. "I've always known you were a jerk, but I really didn't expect you to be such an asshole about this."

He stood up, too, suddenly realizing that she was fully dressed and he was still naked. Oh well. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry," he said. "I'm just ... well ... you took me by surprise."

Her glare softened a bit.

"What was it like?" he asked.

"What was ... what like?"

"Well, you came here today and had sex with me, apparently having already decided it was the last time." He paused. He really hadn't planned out what he was going to say. He had had sex "for the last time" with a few girls and women; but he wasn't sure he had ever known it was the last time at the time. "I've always heard that break-up sex is extra hot."

"Malcolm," she sighed. "There's nothing here to 'break up.'"

Malcolm shrugged. "Whatever. You knew. Is that why you chose to be on top?"

"I'm leaving, Malcolm."

"Wait, wait," he insisted. "Fine. Okay. I agree. This was never a ..." He started to say relationship but stopped himself. Actually, it was a relationship. Not a healthy one, but... nevertheless. "A romance. But still. We had some fun, right?"

She sighed, and crossed her arms below her breasts, but nodded.

"So, it's over, that's fine. I'd just like the one last chance to ..." he paused, looking for the right word. "Savor it."

Kelly looked around the room, exasperated. She threw out her arms. "So ... what ... like, now?"

"No, not now," Malcolm said. He wasn't ready right now, physiologically or mentally. And since the notion had just now occurred to him, he wasn't even sure how he wanted to take advantage of it. How did he want to approach "break-up sex" with the prettiest girl he had ever fucked, a girl whose innocent demeanor was part of the thrill? Did he want to go down on her for an hour first? Did he want to take her standing up, pinned up against the wall? Did he want her on her knees as he buried himself in her from behind and arched his back and inundated her with his semen for the final time, a massive "take that!" to her and to her new beau? Well, that was the whole point. He wanted time to think about it.

He looked at her. She was hard to read, but he rather suspected that she was thinking the same thing right now. He had piqued her curiosity.

"Thursday," he stated.

She let out a long breath. "Okay," she agreed. "I'll see you Thursday."

***

Rory was in bed. He was tired, but he wasn't ready to sleep. He was sketching Kelly again. This time, a full figure composition of her turned three-quarters away from him, looking back at him over her shoulder, wearing a simple peasant blouse and a pair of her perfectly faded blue jeans. That fit her perfect bottom just so ... perfectly.

He sighed and realized he was hard. He ought to just jerk off and get it over with and go to sleep. But he never jerked off while thinking about the "nice girls" that he was attracted to. Let alone to Kelly. It just didn't seem right.

He flipped back to the back of his sketchbook, to another sketch he had been working on, on and off, all summer.

This drawing was of Maria, his ex-girlfriend, with whom he had broken up in April, after she had confessed to cheating on him over spring break.

She was so much the opposite of Kelly, in so many ways. The picture exemplified it.

Her face took up the right side of the page. Her luxurious dark hair fell in waves down to her naked shoulders. Her skin was olive, which he had gradually figured out how to capture with the faintest of shading, and her nose was straighter, more Mediterranean. Her brows and lashes were pronounced and dramatic. Her full lips were slightly parted. Her eyes were large, the irises dark, but surrounded by significant white space, as she was looking up at someone off the top of the page.

At least his face was off the top of the page. The left side of the page was filled with a long lean torso, and Maria's dainty hand wrapped around the base of the very large, very veiny uncircumcised cock of the German exchange student who had done the honors when she had cheated on Rory and broken his heart last March.

Actually, Rory thought, as he had imagined and drawn it, it was too big and heavy to be a "cock." It was a schlong. Maria had partially retracted the sheath, so that the coronal ridge was still shrouded but bulging against the foreskin, and half of a shiny glans hovered just an inch from Maria's parted lips.

Rory stared at the picture and tapped the eraser of his pencil against it. He felt his erection bobbing against the covers. He had spent hours on this sketch over the course of the summer. It had been the vector for many of his orgasms. He liked the way he had captured, in his mind, a certain ambiguity in it. Was this the moment before Maria had consummated her betrayal of him? Or the moment after?

He grasped his cock in his left hand and gave it a squeeze. Okay, so much for ambiguity.

He took his eraser and smudged away some of the shading on the shaft of that foreign penis that he had placed so menacingly close to his erstwhile girlfriend's face. The unshaded streak that was left depicted light, shining on moisture. The German's cock -- nein, his schlong -- was wet. Wet with Maria's saliva. And what else?

Rory's cock throbbed, and he dared not touch it. He paused, then quickly put the tip of his pencil to the paper, and drew an upside-down arc, a stringy thread of viscous liquid, connecting the tip of the German lad's penis to Maria's lower lip. There, he thought. Now there was no question. His artistry was clearly depicting the moment after Hans or Gunther or whoever had finished his orgasm, had ejaculated his thick seed into the mouth with which Maria had kissed him goodbye before spring break. And kissed him hello again upon her return.

He exhaled heavily and looked at how his picture had been transformed. Something was missing, he thought. Or rather, something needed clarifying. He spun his pencil around and carefully applied the eraser to the dark circles of Maria's irises. Just enough to give them a little suggestion of moisture, a little bit of emotion that was lacking before. She was looking up into the face of her illicit spring break lover; that much had always been clear. But now, she was looking at him with a mouthful of his pungent, potent semen, which she was just about to swallow, to take into her body, to make part of her. And Rory had made her eyes glisten.

With what? With mere lust? With shame? No, he thought. It made him ache much more gloriously to imagine that in that moment, Maria's eyes had been filled with ... respect.

And then he was spurting against the bedcovers, and he had to drop his pencil and grab himself and apply the necessary pressure to get the most out of this sudden orgasm. He caught his breath and marveled at the intensity of his climax. The force with which his urethra throbbed under his fingertips. The speed with which his spasm shot up his spine to his shoulder blades.

He wondered if Hans or Gunther had felt this amazing when they had had their orgasms, spurted their cum into Maria's warm wet mouth while she looked up at them with excitement and ... respect. Better, probably. Although, wow, this was insane, and even while experiencing it, he wondered why. He had never cum in Maria's mouth. She had given him plenty of blowjobs, and not reluctantly; but he had always figured that dumping his sperm onto her tongue would be nasty, or at least disrespectful. At any rate, she had never asked him to, and he had never suggested it. If she thought it was distasteful, he didn't want to find out.

Hans or Gunther hadn't asked, or cared.

He was now at the same point in his post-orgasm "drop" that Hans or Gunther was probably at in his sketch. He was already starting to feel shameful. He bet Hans or Gunther hadn't. He had probably felt great, self-satisfied, maybe amused. Seigriech. Smirking down at the pretty little midwestern American co-ed kneeling in front of him, holding his slick, viscous semen in her mouth, her brown eyes wide with surprise and arousal and ... Hinsicht.

"Schluck es, Schatzchen," Hans or Gunther would have commanded. And Maria would have complied.

Rory put down the sketchbook and reached for some Kleenex with which to mop up.

Now the waves of guilt were washing over him. He still felt guilty about masturbating, period. He felt guilty about focusing so intently on his ex-girlfriend, who shouldn't still have such a hold on his sexual imagination. He felt guilty about thinking of her, instead of Kelly, the girl he had started dating who he hoped he could call his "girlfriend" soon.

But at least he didn't feel guilty about using Kelly to crank out a quick, dirty little orgasm, without her permission. That was still, for whatever reason, a rule he had written for himself.

Soon, he thought, he hoped he would be having -- and giving, and sharing -- legitimate, honest orgasms with Kelly. Like young lovers should. He did feel like that's where their relationship was heading. But Kelly was a class act. She just wasn't the kind of girl you jerk off into a tissue to.

And certainly not while drawing pictures of her holding on to some thick, veiny, recently spent phallus, gazing up into the haughty face of some arrogant bastard who had just finished satisfying himself against the back of her throat.

Oh, no. He couldn't imagine he would ever do that ...