Charlie Ch. 04

4

In college I was still (for some reason) somewhat broken up over Jay, and, strangely, a bit more broken up over losing Justine, but not so broken up as to ignore all the fresh young boys, and girls, who found me to be the older, more experienced woman, who found this slight five or six year advantage I had over them seductive. I had already lived with a man. I had already had sex with another woman. I had already experimented with BDSM. My history was proudly known. I remembered the feeling of excitement I had when I was with Justine. I wanted more of that feeling. I hoped to find it in some of the new friends I wanted so desperately to make. I identified as a submissive now. My desires for sex and my longing for friendship were intertwined and confused, so that all of my classmates were potential friends, but they were all potential lovers as well. But still, I wanted a fresh start. I didn't want college to be like high school, where I had no social courage to make new friends, where I had poor grades, where I only had one boyfriend. I was determined to live life to its fullest in college. I was all alone. No parents. No Jay. No grocery store. It was just me and my newly discovered body and intellect.

One day I had a heated debate defending my paper on the artist Basquiat. I argued that Basquiat was made a victim of 1980's gallery culture which turned him into a primitivist, savage fashion statement of its very own. At one point I argued that an Esquire journalist's description of Basquiat as 'the first great African American painter' was false and a hippy of Indian descent in my class challenged me, saying, "Oh yeah? Then name another great African American painter."

To which I of course replied, with sass, "Um, I dunno. Jacob Lawrence?" The hippy looked at me and smiled, leaning back in his seat. He said nothing more to challenge me in class. I thought I'd won.

The hippy and I walked out of the room together after class was dismissed. He followed me hastily stuffing his papers into his binder. He was new to the class. A transfer student. I looked him over briefly.

"I didn't expect you to have an answer for me," he said.

"Yeah well, most people don't expect much from me," I said and started walking back to my room. I really didn't want much to do with this boy who didn't expect much from me. I was wearing low rise jeans and a ribbed tank top in electric blue. I remember now, because it was important, but at the time I was aloof: I was wearing a pink bra and the straps were peeking out. I was wearing a belt decorated with a large metal buckle that had a hammered finish to it with matching buttons all the way around the belt. It gave me a tough outer appearance, I thought, and accentuated the way my hips swayed as I walked... or so I liked to think. It seemed as though my hips didn't sway before. But I have to admit I was still most comfortable in my combat boots but I was hardly hiding my body. My breasts may have been of average size but I wore them pressed now, against my chest and pushed upwards, the skin of which was slightly translucent. You could see some of the bigger veins in them when I wore them this way.

"But then you said the exact painter I had in mind," said the hippy.

"Whatever," I said, still deeply offended.

"My name is Leif!" the hippy yelled after me as I walked away. "I was really into his Migration Series." I stopped. I turned around.

"Okay. So what do you want? Coffee? Ice cream? You're paying." I was interested in having a stimulating conversation and Leif was certainly most impressive looking, but something about him wasn't quite right. He displayed himself as a hippy. He wore a tie-died shirt, oversized ragged jeans barely hanging onto his ass by a braided leather belt, sandals that Jesus himself would have worn. But there was something suspicious. The locks in his hair were long, down to his hips, and slender. Very high maintenance, like they were done at a salon. His jeans were worn thin in all the wrong places, at his upper thigh, at his shin. As if they were purchased already worn thin at one of those expensive stores that tailors to rich kids and he just hadn't washed them. His shoes looked like they were the orthopedically correct sandals you pay hundreds of dollars for. This wasn't any old hippy I was going out to ice cream with. This was a trust fund hippy. My orientation leaders had warned me about them. They act poor but they're loaded. So after they dropped off their books and Leif offered me his arm, I took it with disdain. I was going to nail him in conversation. We went to a local ice cream shop. Leif ordered some kind of chocolate overload ice cream. I ordered something heavenly, I ordered something with coconut, cherries, chocolate, and vanilla. It was delicious. We both washed it down with some regular coffee.

"So I really like how he was influenced by the cubists," Leif said, attempting to continue our Jacob Lawrence conversation.

"No. You've got it all wrong. He wasn't influenced by the cubists at all. He said his style was cubist, but he was really influenced by the bold colors of Harlem," I had to explain, practically pointing my finger at Leif.

"I can see that. So where do you get your background in art from?"

"I don't have a background in art. I just research my papers thoroughly," I snapped, trying to be short with Leif and cut the conversation off, but licking my spoon outwardly at the same time. I must admit, I was beginning to notice some of Leif's finer attributes. The luxury of his hair. I could make out the outer lines of abdominal muscles through his worn thin tee-shirt, his broad shoulders. His curled eyelashes framing enormous eyes so dark brown they were nearly black. His skin was very dark and even toned across all the parts I could see. I wondered momentarily about the parts I couldn't see but then I caught myself.

"So what other artists are you interested in?" asked Leif.

"Why art? Why not feminism? Or film? Or politics? Why are we here? Why are you even talking to me?" I asked, defensively, rudely, leaning back in my chair, arms open. I was such a bitch but I was proud of my boldness. This man was no match for me, I thought as my eyes wandered down his tee-shirt. I think my back arched. I'm such a conscious gal, I licked my spoon again. There was a silence. I peered up from my coffee and batted my eyelashes just once. I ran my fingers through my hair. Leif waited to speak.

"Because you're beautiful. Because you're smart. Because you're a bitch, a little fiery. I like that," said Leif. I have to say I was flattered by being called a bitch. Justine liked to call me a bitch. That was the last straw. We couldn't get back to campus fast enough. No sooner had we closed the door to Leif's dorm room had we started groping at each other with our hands and with our mouths. Leif's hands pawed at that spot at which my thighs curved out. He pulled at my pink satin bra straps. He pressed my breasts harder against my chest. I ran my hands along his collarbone and then his chest, down his sides, feeling his ribs and his abdominals. I ran my hands down to the worn thin back pockets of his jeans, he seemed firm all over. My hands wandered underneath his shirt and his skin seemed thick. I bit his neck as if to ingest a morsel of his flesh. He bit me back on my earlobe and pulled off my tank top on the way to his bed.

His room was decorated with various trendy political posters and intricate wall hangings. The wall hangings covered the windows. The whole room felt closed off from the rest of the world, dark, warm, almost womb like with the sunlight shining through a red wall hanging. I pushed Leif onto the bed and he obediently sat down onto it. I pushed him into the lying down position and crawled on top of him. I grabbed his mouth by the jaw, his cheeks in my hand (how Justine used to grab me), and kissed him. He kissed me back hungrily.

"No," I told him.

"What?" Leif said, seriously concerned about the status of his dick, sitting up on his elbows.

"I'm... I have to tell you something." I think I stuttered.

"Do you have herpes?" asked Leif.

"Shut up. No. God... Do you?"

"No. Or any other disease for that matter," said Leif.

"Me neither. No. I just. I'm submissive."

"You don't seem submissive," laughed Leif.

"No I really am. It's not funny," I nudged him. "You need to do some things so I feel good."

"Sure. What?"

I asked him to tie me down, "a little," and spank me. "And I really like choking and hair pulling."

"I wasn't really raised to treat a girl that way. But if you say it's okay."

"It's okay." Leif found the silk tie his parents made him pack for college and some ribbon he used to tie his hair with. He was able to tie one of my wrists to the bed leg and both my ankles.

"What now?" Leif asked. "I've never done this before."

"Now you have your way with me," I told him. "What do you want from my body?" I asked, flat on my back, lifting my pelvis then arching my back, writhing in my makeshift restraints, displaying my makeshift pleasure of the situation purposefully. Leif kissed me around those restraints, starting at my ankles. He took his shirt off. He took pleasure in giving pleasure. So he licked my thighs. He licked the most sensitive and tender flesh just near my pussy. He licked the smooth skin of my outer lips. He followed my inner lips from top to bottom, around my clitoris and down to my anus. His tongue probed inwards, parting my inner labia, opening me up to him. He explored my clitoris, running his tongue, sometimes the rough parts, sometimes the smooth parts, along both sides of it, the top of it, the bottom of it, discovering I became most engorged when he ran the rough parts of his tongue along the bottom of my clit. This was difficult to discover because although I seemed quite verbal about what I wanted in the bedroom, I was tied down now. I was, in my mind, submissive now. To me it wasn't right to be very vocal about what felt good on my body. But that is where his tongue stayed and slowly he inserted one finger at a time moving in and out, coaxing my inner moisture to the surface where it could be spread on my clit and mingle with Leif's saliva and wander into his mouth. Another connection. Leif's tongue moved up and down on the bottom of my clit and he now had three fingers moving in and out of me.

I could no longer hide my enjoyment, and clearly, why would I want to? I lifted my pelvis up off the bed. I pinched my own nipples with my free hand. I ran my fingers along Leif's beautiful hair. Goosebumps arose in a wave across my body and then disappeared. I could feel them. I was flushed and breathing irregularly. My pelvis started moving up and down slowly, almost unnoticeably even to me until a tremor started in my inner thighs and rolled up through my stomach and seemed to come out of my mouth. I was left with a look of shock on my face. No one had ever done anything like that for me before. And it was exactly as I'd specified. It was perfect. At that point I'd wanted to be ravaged. I was overwhelmed with gratitude, with passion, with confusion.

"Fuck me," I said. Leif took his pants off and rolled on a condom. Not just any condom. They were called "Magnum" condoms and purported on the package to be made for men with above average proportions. Leif was certainly of above average proportions. Most men have a wider head and then a slightly more slender shaft, but Leif had a very wide head and a completely unforgiving shaft that was the same width as the head. Leif's cock also seemed exceedingly long. The condom was black, opaque. Leif knelt in between my legs and bent my knees as far as the restraints would allow. I have to confess I was a little scared. He spread me open exactingly with one hand and pressed his totally black cock in between my dark lips with the other. He was bigger than Jay. He was bigger than anything Justine had. I could feel him stretching me around the outside. I could feel the extra pressure pushing through me on the inside. My eyes rolled back into my head. I could feel myself becoming flushed once again in a wave of gentle pins and needles down my chest, stomach, thighs. For a moment I wished I weren't restrained so I could fully spread my legs for this extraordinary cock, but I was a submissive. Restraint was my role.

Leif wasn't a virgin. He knew he was big. He knew how to be gentle. He pressed slowly until he was all the way in. My nipples hardened significantly in a twisting motion. Leif pulled out slowly and then pressed in again, this time with a bit of force and he continued with this rhythm until I think he actually felt me become more wet and loosen after which he began pressing into me slightly harder.

"Fuck me! Fuck the shit out of me! You can't hurt me! Do it!" Leif stopped and looked at me. I was squirming beneath him, out of breath, flushed, angry. I writhed with him inside of me, I twisted as far as I could, I pressed myself up against him, I undulated my hips, stimulating my clit. Leif started pounding into me with a force I don't think he'd ever used on a woman before. Later he'd told me he'd never had permission before, that he'd never felt such a need to get more and more of his cock inside another person, that he felt his cock grow heavier and heavier until he came with great force, jerking his body deep into mine, pressing into me further than ever, shaking from his allowed indulgence, hovering over me, out of breath and in shock. I kissed him and giggled while he was still inside of me which made him tremble with sensitivity. I giggled again. Leif trembled again. He politely slid out of me.

"Would you like me to undo you?" Leif asked, gesturing at the restraints.

"Um," Justine never asked me that before. "Yes please." Leif untied me and we lied beside each other on the tiny bed, face to face, heads in hands.

"Well. I've never done that before," said Leif smiling.

"Oh yeah? Well don't be so proud of yourself cowboy. I had to tell you what to do," I said, condescendingly. I thought that was a good bedroom comeback from the girl in class.

"Well I kinda liked you telling me what to do. No girl's ever let me fuck her like that. I mean really fuck her. I never felt that before. I mean my dick, it never..."

"Oh shut up. You say that all the time. Whatever," I said, brushing Leif off.

"No seriously. I'm really big. Girls are usually scared," Leif said.

"Well," I thought it important I share with him, "I was a bit scared at first. But then you felt so good. I don't know what came over me. I don't usually have such a dirty mouth on my own, without prompting I mean" I confessed.

"You should use your dirty mouth more often," Leif smiled. I threw the pillow at his face. "It did wonders for me," he said, catching the pillow. I was the only woman that could really take him, in his experience. It seemed it was for that, that he called me different.