Crushing on an eGirl

"Get him in here," she cried, and Brian was propped before the toilet and promptly forced headfirst into the bowl in the nick of time. My search was further intensified as I watched on, too concerned to be amused by the scene; the woman who apparently lived here, looking on as her toilet was befouled, bent to reach into the waste basket. What she fished out burned itself into my vision: a bottle, the very same kind Kayla had surely emptied all over herself in my video mere hours previously, pump handle unscrewed as though to greedily extract the last remnants.

She had to be here, in this very room, at this school. I'd never spot her in the crowd. I'd need to recompose myself.

I pushed back to the relative safety of the kitchen, determined to use the less crowded room to study the video for a clue that might, inexplicably, reveal her to me. Maybe she'd been wearing some earrings, or a lipstick. I should know her body well enough, having furiously masturbated over it for months, but reason and rationale abandoned me. I pulled up the video again, studying everything furiously, hunched over the phone like a man possessed.

"Geez, what's his problem?" said a voice at my elbow, presumably about the fact that Brian had started crying on the tile floor of the bathroom. I was too engrossed to notice, muttering something noncommittal about him being an idiot and trusting the fridge at my back to protect me from discovery.

"Hey, you're the pong guy," the voice said, "it really was a nice try." I mumbled my thanks, still poring over the paused video, too intent to pay the woman next to me any mind.

"What are you doing anyway, goofball?"

It wasn't possible. It shouldn't be possible. My breath abandoned me, and my heart's beat took a prompt sabbatical. It couldn't be.

Green eyes. She had green eyes. 16 months ago, I'd stumbled on the most amazing woman I'd ever known, and the only one I'd ever felt like I could talk to, and never once had it occurred to me in my wildest dreams that she'd have green eyes. They pinned me in place.

"Are you okay dude? Do you need me to find someone for you? Let me grab you some water."

She turned to open the cabinet with practiced familiarity, plucking a cup from her cupboard and running it under the tap.

"You're freaking me out a bit there champ, have a drink," she laughed. My hand reached for the cup on it's own accord.

"And here's where you drink it all up like a big boy," she teased. I could only blink, slowly. I must have looked like an proper moron, clutching my phone to my chest with a look like I'd seen a ghost. She wore a plain white tee and maroon leggings now, but it was unmistakably her. She smelled like she'd bathed in the same thing I lubed myself up with nightly. I suppose, in hindsight, that she pretty much had.

"Hey come on now, you're really not looking so hot. Can I text someone for you..." she reached for my phone. I squeezed it tight, but she insisted.

It was her turn to gasp. Managing to peel the phone away from my chest just far enough, Kayla was treated to the shock of a lifetime as her own near-naked body, greased up and shining in the low half light of her own room just down the hall, turned to greet her.

Long moments passed as we stood there staring at each other. She broke the truce first, reaching out to take the cup from my hand. Too gently, she set it back on the counter. I let her take my hand, and she wordlessly pulled me out of the kitchen, past the crowded bathroom where a fight was brewing over the wailing roommate, down the hall of the small apartment, and into a bedroom. She pushed me inside, closing the door behind herself.

The towel was still on the floor, though scrunched up and apparently gummed up with excess lotion. She must have cleaned herself up with it when she was done. Her dildo, the one I'd ordered for her, stuck firmly by it's suction cup to a textbook; I hadn't seen enough of the video to know for sure, but she must have ridden it for me. A red bikini string hung limp over the side of her laundry hamper. She just stood there, staring, as I took it all in. I looked back at the dildo, sticking straight up out of Aldritch's "Proficiencies in English Composition". It couldn't be.

"It can't be," she said. I was unsurprised that she could also read my mind. Why wouldn't she?

I agreed with her. It really couldn't be.

"Are you some kind of creep?" she asked. I promised I was not.

"You're not a stalker or something?" I promised I wasn't.

"You're in my Comp class," she said, telling me what I knew. Of course she was in my Composition class. I'd nearly asked her out last term, chickening out because she looked too much like my crush.

She looked too much like herself.

I muttered that I was sorry, that I'd delete my account, drop the class we had together, and leave. She cut me off before my avalanche of words turned into an offer to drop out of school entirely.

"Shut up. Stop it," she demanded.

I had just wanted to help, I told her, adding that I was a fan, only a fan. She laughed at that.

"Well no shit you're a fan," she paused, intent on picking her words carefully, "I'm a fan too."

For clarity, I asked if she meant to imply that she was a fan of mine.

"Yeah, I mean...you're great. Your messages are sweet and...normal. I sit there all day getting borderline threatened to post shit I don't want to, bombarded with pictures of 60 year old dicks, barely literate proposals of marriage, and then there's you, sending me an invite to play fucking tic tac toe."

I pointed out that the bar was pretty low if that was all it took.

"Yeah well, it matters to me. And, I hate to add because I hate how I know this because this shouldn't be happening, but you're pretty damn smart. It's hard to come up with anything in class after you say something because it's just, like, what's the point?"

I thanked her, too awkward to know what else to say. Having lead us to a dead end, we just looked at each other for a minute. Or two, maybe.

"Well did you like it at least?"

I assumed she meant the video.

"Well yeah dumbass, the video. Was it good enough?"

I confessed that I'd missed the chance to get very far into it, having tried to watch it in her kitchen during her own house party, which carried on just outside her bedroom door still.

"Okay well, in the future, maybe don't do that in my kitchen. That's a little weird."

I blushed, embarrassed, and apologized.

"I think you'll really like it," she carried on, a coy note in her voice, "I really...did have fun making it, even if it was super messy," she laughed, picking up the ruined towel to demonstrate the truth of the matter.

I did laugh at that. It was a little absurd, I had to admit. I told her she didn't have to say that just because I was here.

"Shut up," she laughed, "I'm not allowed to have fun and be a little dirty at the same time? The tips are fine but I do actually like doing it. Well, most of it."

I asked why it was just most of it.

"Well come on, making horny stuff in my dorm bedroom isn't the most liberating creative space. And there's only so many ways you can fuck yourself before you end up recycling angles."

I liked all her angles, I told her. They're all great.

"Yeah well, sadly there might be a little less opportunity to enjoy them if I can't get some more traffic. Your video helped, thank you by the way, but I'm almost a grand short for next term."

I offered to make another order. I was serious, but she laughed, thinking it to be a joke. I repeated that I wanted to help.

"You're actually serious, aren't you? You know I can't let you stay subscribed though, right? It's too...weird. I know you now," she said, causing my heart to trip on itself; she knew me now.

She chewed on her lip again, just as she'd done in the video. God, she was beautiful.

"Sit down," she instructed, moving swiftly to clear a mountain of clothes off her bed, indicating where I was to go. I did as I was told.

"Okay," she said, producing a scrunchie from nowhere and tying her hair back as she talked, "Okay maybe you can help then. But we need to get some things straight first. If you get weird about it, it's done. If you catch feelings, it's done. If you say anything to anyone at all, it's done. No exceptions. Especially the getting weird part. And maybe not the feelings part."

I looked inquisitively at that last bit.

"Shut up," she told me, sitting there silently, "The point is, this needs to be very cool. You need to be cool." She stepped across the room, locking the door.

"I'm never going to get more followers if I just keep fucking myself and posting faceless titty pictures. So," she peeled her shirt off without warning, revealing a plain black bra clasped in the front, "we're gonna fuck now, and if you can handle it, then we'll make some stuff together." She dropped her leggings, tugging them off unceremoniously. She stood proudly, hands on ample hips in front of me, clad in just her underwear.

I gulped, nodding. I couldn't tell her, but this would be a hell of a first time. My only lament was that I hadn't cum since yesterday morning. I hoped I'd be able to last.

"Okay, good. Cool." She looked around the room, in search of something. Looking back over her shoulder from the closet, she demanded I take my clothes off too. In utter compliance, and buoyed by the false courage of a mild buzz, I hustled to do as I was told, tearing my shirt and trousers off where I sat.

She turned back, focused on clipping her phone into a ring light on a tripod.

"I just want to set this up to see if I can keep our faces out of the shot. I've never filmed with someone else..."

She trailed off.

"Jesus Christ dude".

I watched a lot of porn. Like a lot. If I wasn't eating, sleeping, or actively doing school work, I was watching porn. The men, as you know, who feature in porn are comically large. Having only ever watched porn and never having seen another average dude erect in front of me, I always assumed that I was average at best. Kayla corrected my assumption.

"What do you mean, of course it is! How the fuck do you not know that you're hung like a fucking beast. And you're built like a fucking stick; what are you, like 50% cock? I don't even think I can fuck that!"

My disappointment threatened to mount. I didn't think being too big was a thing, but that's just my inexperience in a nutshell.

Refusing to waste the opportunity either way, Kayla sank to her knees in front of me as I sat on the edge of the bed, between my open legs.

"This thing is going to piss so many people off," she laughed, reaching out to take it in both hands, fists stacked on top of each other. She wasn't talking to me, so much as speaking into my cock like a microphone. I noted that the tripod was facing the wrong way entirely. She tugged up and down a few times, eyes wide.

"I don't know," she laughed, "let's see how this goes". Without warning, she spat crudely onto the head of my cock, still gripped firmly in both hands, and worked the saliva up and down a few times. I couldn't believe my luck, and couldn't find it in me to care if I came too quickly. She abruptly fell to a little fit of laughter, and I was forced by infection to join her. This was all too much.

Satisfied that I was ready to perform, she rose to her feet again, telling me to lie back on the small single mattress, head toward the wall and feet still over the side; she'd ride me, she said, if it was the last thing she did. I observed in complete bliss as she unhooked the clasp of her bra and dropped it carelessly onto the ground. She turned to regard me and the ridiculous grin that split my face from ear to ear. She gave her tits a little squeeze and winked.

"Oh come on, you've seen these a million times, goofball," she tugged at the waist band of her plain cotton undies and made a show of wiggling them down for me, bending low to proffer her hanging tits in a way that delighted me to no end. Naked entirely now, she struck a pose, hands on hips.

"Well? Shall we then?" she asked. I nodded like a grinning fool.

Her knees on either side of me, one hand on my chest, she mantled up and took my cock in her left hand. I gasped as she guiding it forward and nuzzled it up between her puffy lips, giving it a little shake. She was wet already, which surprised me; I'd been lead to believe that women didn't actually get wet unless you did something they liked. What had I done to deserve this?

"Do you feel that?" she asked, "Thank god I'm soaked for you." Her grin made me think, made me dare to hope, that maybe she actually wanted me, and this had nothing to do with needing a filming partner after all.

I told her I loved it, hoping my 'it' would cover and convey a general appreciation for the entire length and breadth of everything between us.

"I do too," she said softly, and began to lower herself on to me.

By slow, torturous degrees, and with a half dozen adjustments, Kayla worked herself down onto me. It took nearly a minute before my blooming head was actually inside her more than superficially, and everything past that required slow, deep breaths to help her relax enough to accept more. In time, and with her fingernails digging into my chest more sharply than I was going to complain about, she neared complete success.

"Good god, it just keeps...going," she said with a grunt, finally seating herself down on the entire thing. I was thankful she was facing me, and couldn't see how my toes curled tightly behind her back. I'd never have expected something to feel so constrictive and soft at the same time. She sat up to full height, wincing.

"Nope, not that way" she said, obviously finding the angle to be too deep. She leaned back in, elbows on my chest, peeking at me with her chin on her hands.

"Hi there," she said with a wiggle.

I returned the greeting. I asked if she was okay.

"You have a very large dick, I hope you know."

I pointed out that she'd know; it was all the way inside of her.

"I like it here," she said. She lunged up an inch, kissing me quickly; the move served to bring her up and back down on my cock a few inches, eliciting a gasp.

I asked her to do that again. She did.

I smiled, looking her in her big, beautiful green eyes. I told her I liked it.

She did too. She wiggled a little more.

She kissed me again, not riding her hips back down, but keeping her lips on mine and arching her hips magically, milking the half of my length still inside of her. Her lips were impossibly soft on mine, and her tongue flicked out to probe my mouth. I kissed back, happily, and explored her body with my hands, eyes closed.

It worked for us, and we kept at it. Her, rocking her hips expertly, as I'd watched her do on her toy a hundred times, and me, groping and caressing the body that I'd longed to touch for nights uncounted.

Her pace quickened in time. I grew more comfortable in touching her, letting myself squeeze more insistently at her ass; I felt the smile through her kisses. I spread her cheeks apart in overlarge hands, gripping her roughly as she rode.

"Dirty boy," she growled in my ear. "Do it again". I did. I liked being her dirty boy. She hummed happily, pleased with herself.

Comfortably accustomed to me, she pulled back, eager to try to ride me at full height again. Used to my size and appropriately in the moment, she had no trouble this time, and buried her hands in her own hair and she bit at her own bicep, face turned away from me but torturously contorted in happy pain nonetheless. She ground herself back and forth on me and I took her tits in each hand, gleefully squeezing and massaging them with abandon.

"Squeeze my nipples," she demanded with labored breath. I did as I was told.

"Harder," she commanded, still talking to her own shoulder. I pinched them, sure I'd hurt her.

"Yes, motherfucker!" I took the praise gladly, but danger loomed and I was reminded of her apparent telepathy.

"Almost there," she panted, "Almost there, oh god yes please, fuck I'm almost there. Don't you cum, I'm almost there!" I bore down with everything I could, knowing there was precious little left to fight with. Her words poured on in an endless, unpunctuated torrent.

"Yes yes yes oh yes please come on that feels so fucking good ohhh"

She squeezed me from within, harder than I could bear so I grabbed her hips hard, in desperate need for an anchor. She understood.

"Just fucking cum with me, please, just fucking cum with me, give it all to me pleasejustcumwithmepleasefuckingcumrightnowpleaseIMCUMMINGPLEASE"

Individual words no longer resolved themselves and I was nothing if not her obedient little goofball. Planting my feet on the ground concretely, I pushed my hips heavenward and let myself erupt, unburdened by the need to resist any longer, deep inside of the writhing, screaming goddess in my lap. There wasn't a chance she went unheard by the partiers outside as her unstructured monologue gave way to feral cries of blissful exaltation.

Slowly, eventually, we came back to earth. She spent long minutes catching her breath, still seated on my softening cock, chuckling at the ceiling with her hands on her hips. Eventually she remembered I was there too, and fixed me with a look of incredulity.

"What the fuck?" she laughed, climbing off of me to stand and stretch her arms to the ceiling.

I asked if I'd do, sitting up.

"Oh my god yes," she laughed, "You'll fucking do."

She pulled on a tshirt after giving it the sniff test. It was mine.

She skipped over to the bed, arms tucked playfully behind her back, and bent to kiss my cheek, looking pleased with herself.

"My little goofball."