Did I Ever Tell You...?

Inspired by a true story...

My ex and I were together nearly three years. The first two were as romantic as it gets, but as we entered the third, we both could see we were moving in different directions. She left me with many warm feelings, happy memories ... and one of my favorite erotic stories. It's not the most extreme I've ever heard, but since I know it really happened -- and enabled me to see my angel-faced lover in a fresh (and sexy) light -- it turns me on like no other.

We had good sex all along, even though she always seemed kind of reserved about it. In the getting-to-know-you stage of our relationship, she told me she'd dated a bunch of guys but only had intercourse with two. Both were long term relationships -- a year for the first guy, two for the second. I took the hint that she saw LTRs as the proper setting for sex, so I shouldn't expect to get laid if I wasn't staying around for a while. That wasn't the problem, since I really liked her. We took our time getting physical but soon developed a mutually satisfying sex life.

I'd discovered with previous lovers that, unlike guys who didn't want to hear about their sexual pasts, I enjoyed it when they'd tell me about erotic adventures from before we met. (I found out recently that this is a legit kink, called hotpast; at the time I only knew it led to memorable sex and powerful orgasms for me and my partners.) Some of them were more comfortable with it than others, but when I tried to draw her out on the topic, she dismissed it quickly by saying both guys she'd slept with (which is what she called it, not "fucked") were vanilla in bed. She told me I was a better lover than either of them. Obviously she believed I was asking because I wanted reassurance. I could tell she didn't want me to push it further, so I thought if I couldn't get stories, maybe I could hear a few details. I complimented her blowjob skills and asked about how she'd learned them. Her response was to give me one. Not a bad outcome, but lacking in context. I commented on how much she loved getting eaten out. "Who doesn't?" she said with a shrug.

Later on, as it became obvious that our breakup was inevitable, the sex got less frequent, and our little arguments got bigger and happened more often. A month before we parted, we took an evening for ourselves to try to reconnect. I shopped and cooked us a nice dinner, and we a bottle of good wine. I'm not a connoisseur of cannabis, but her sister would occasionally give her some weed we really enjoyed. It took the edge off anything we worried about, leaving us simultaneously mellow and horny. In fact, the first time we tried it wound up being our initial experience of anal, and to our stoned surprise, we both loved it. The next day, I heard her thanking her sister on the phone and was taken off guard by the level of detail she went into. Then she laughed and hung up. I asked what her sister had said. She made face and imitated her: "Ewww, dude. Can't ya just say, 'Good shit. Thank you'?" We both cracked up.

The night she told me the story I'm about to share, we'd smoked a little before dinner because munchies and had another bowl after because... well, you can figure that out. We snuggled on the sofa, barefoot but otherwise clothed, hugging and running our hands over each other. I unbuttoned the top of the fly of her jeans. She returned the favor. We kept going, alternating until both our flies were wide open. It was definitely getting hot in there. She grabbed hard cock through my underwear. Then she looked up at me and asked a question: "Did I ever tell you about time I slept with two guys the same day?"

Now, pausing for conversation at such a moment wasn't something I'd normally do, but she had my attention. "No," I said, as casually as I could manage. "I think I'd remember that." I couldn't believe she seemed about to tell me the kind of story I'd been begging for, and I didn't want to blow it in my excitement (or blow my load in my underwear, for that matter).

She got quiet for a second -- long enough to make me worry she'd changed her mind (which would've been SUCH a bummer). Then she told it. In great detail. Clearly this was a treasured memory. I later wrote down everything I remembered, so what follows is pretty damned accurate. You're welcome.

I already knew she'd finished her Master's degree with a semester abroad in Berlin. (She teaches languages at the high school level.) She hadn't told me much about that experience, only that it was a full immersion program (she was only to speak and read in German), and she considered it the most challenging thing she'd ever done. Succeeding gave her confidence that she could do anything she set her mind to. When I asked about the people she'd met, she said they were "pretty cool" and changed the subject.

Well, I didn't know the half of it. She'd broken up with her first long term boyfriend the semester before heading to Berlin. In the intervening months, she'd dipped a few beautifully pedicured toes into the dating scene. She didn't sleep with any of the guys but still found the process exhausting. The whole "does he like me?" "can I trust him?" "should we do that?" hassle took up too much space in her brain. She has issues with anxiety in the best of times, and the effort to figure out who she might want to be with drained her.

On the flight over, she did what she often does when she's feeling anxious: she made a list. In this case, her goals for the semester. It was simple. One, get an A. Two, do an extra credit project (she didn't need it but wanted to prove she could). And three. NO GUYS. She wrote in in caps for emphasis. She pledged to throw herself into her studies and shove the social and romantic stuff to the side.

The program started on a Monday. That Saturday, there was a welcome party for her cohort, hosted by one of the TAs (not hers, she said, I assume to emphasize that what happened next wasn't unethical). She told me the party was supposed to start at 6:00 or 7:00, I don't recall. Whatever it was, she did something that's very like her. Super-typical behavior. She showed up on the dot, time-wise. As a consequence, not only was she the first to arrive, the host hadn't even finished cleaning up or begun putting out snacks and drinks. She apologized. He said why should she, since she'd come at the time he'd said. He made a joke about how Germans are known for being precise and punctual, and here she was, the sloppy American being the only one on time. She offered to help him get ready and he gratefully agreed.

As she stepped inside, he apologized again, explaining that the floors in the old building were hard wood, beautifully shined. He'd sanded and polished them himself and insisted everybody take their shoes off. Some people got annoyed, but it was a rule. He preferred bare feet (and she'd noticed he was barefoot himself, though he wore designer jeans and a nice shirt) but in a pinch he'd allow socks. She's a barefoot girl from way back, hates shoes and always keeps her pedicure fresh. So she was happy to toss her sandals into a spot he indicated by the door and show off her pretty feet. The pile would grow though the evening as people arrived.

They chatted while they cleaned up and got along well. He said it was fortunate he wasn't her TA, because that way if she needed to hear a friendly voice or vent about something during the term, he could be there for her. By the time people arrived, she knew where everything was and became like a co-host when people were looking for, say, a bathroom or the booze. They both mingled widely but checked in with each other regularly.

As it got later, my ex was surprised to see that the pile of shoes had diminished, indicating people were leaving. She's never among the last at a party, but that night time had flown. She started to look for her own shoes so she could go, but he noticed what she was doing and asked if she'd hang out for a minute. When the last person left, he found her in the living room, perusing the books on his shelf (all in German, of course).

She said he looked at her a little awkwardly (his first moment of not appearing totally confident) and finally said he wanted to thank her for her help. She said sure (though she sensed he wanted to say something else). Another moment of awkwardness followed. He broke it by kissing her. Then she did something very unlike her: she kissed him back. Tongues and everything. Even though they'd just met. Soon clothes were dropping on the shiny, polished floors. When they were naked, he led her into the bedroom.

She paused telling the story and looked into my eyes. My own were begging her to continue. She leaned over to whisper in my ear. "He was anything but vanilla."

I let that sink in for a moment, then, in my most casual voice, asked, "How so?"

"For one thing, the way he ate me out. My first boyfriend tried, but that night I realized you couldn't even call it the same thing. I came and came." I asked how many times, trying to sound disinterested but failing, of course. She thought about it for a moment, then said, "This'll sound like bullshit, but I seriously lost count. Couldn't even tell you. Lots."

"I get the picture. What else?"

"He taught me new positions. It was the first time I'd done doggy. And the variation where you go flat on the bed and he rails you from behind...what's that called?"

"Prone bone or something, I think," I said. Not that I watch porn, of course.

"Yeah, that. And I'd done girl on top with my other boyfriend, but he'd never pounded his dick up into me like this guy did. It felt incredible."

She got quiet. Like she wasn't sure she should go on kind of quiet. So I prompted her: "Anything else you remember?"

She said it at last in a half-intelligible mumble. "I came on his cock."

"What? I couldn't quite hear you."

Of course I knew what she'd said, but I had to relive that moment. She repeated it, with feeling. "I came all over his fucking cock."

I was thrilled at the detail I was getting and was breathing hard by then, but I sensed if I wanted to hear more, I had to keep probing. "Just from thrusting?" I asked.

"You know I can't do that. But since he was the first guy to do me doggy style, he was also the first to reach around and play with my clit while we fucked. He was good at it."

I got quiet because, while we'd done what she'd just described from time to time, and I loved it, she'd never been pleased with my technique. My touch was too soft, too hard, too intense, wrong spot, etc. -- so we hadn't tried it often, and half the time we did she hadn't come anyway. (In my defense, always pulled out and finished her with my hand or tongue.)

While I was thinking about all that, she remembered something else. "Oh, and not that night, but later on he coached me how to reach down and get myself off while I was riding him." Okay, well, she'd done that with me and I found it incredibly hot. Had to give him credit, I guess.

She picked up the narrative by saying they spent that night and all the next day in bed, with her getting to know just how pleasurable nonvanilla sex could be. I was staring at her like an idiot, hanging on every word. For one thing, I was picturing her fucking him, which was amazing. More than that, I was seeing her in a new way. I cannot tell you how entirely unlike her it was to fall -- I should say leap -- into a sex marathon with a guy she'd just met. They say travel opens our horizons, and I guess it's true.

Her plan for the term changed abruptly. She still applied herself and got good grades, but the idea of the extra credit project evaporated. All her spare time she spent with him, which generally meant in bed. Which always meant fucking. And coming. So many orgasms. It got so intense so quickly she said she fantasized about what country they'd live in if they got married.

Something was bugging me. "With all that wild sex, you never did anal? Was it really your first time when you did it with me?"

She looked sheepish. After a moment, she said, "His dick was too big." She looked to see if I had a reaction. I didn't, at least not that she could see. "It felt good in my pussy but no way would it go into my little butthole." She paused again. "Don't freak out," she said. "Guys get all worked up about penis size, but it really doesn't matter. There were even some angles where it hurt in my pussy. But mostly, a dick is a dick."

Holy shit. My well-mannered, school teacher girlfriend was talking like a total slut. I loved it.

She clearly didn't want to linger on the topic, so she jumped to the next turning point in the story. After about four weeks, her own TA mentioned that the TA she was seeing had a girlfriend. He didn't drop it like a big revelation; it came up casually in an anecdote. Shocked, she confronted her lover. He said it was true, but the woman in question was more of a friend with benefits. She was local and he'd known her a long time. Apparently, when my ex was in class or studying at her place, this friend would come over. He had no intention of putting an end to what was a longstanding and mutually pleasing relationship and wanted to know why my ex was so upset. She told me she's still not sure if he meant to gaslight her or simply had a different attitude about sex and commitment.

Now, I need to mention that my ex has never been a big one for casual swearing, but if she gets pissed, she can put together choice and creative expletive-laden rants. She said she cursed him out in English, so she doubted he could appreciate how thoroughly he'd been demolished, but he got the gist. And then she stomped out of his apartment, pausing to pick up her shoes by the door, since they were having this discussion in bare feet (I don't know why I liked that detail so much).

She went back to plan A, throwing herself even more deeply into her academic work. It was too late in the semester for the special project, her professor said. That turned out to be good thing, because it gave her time to go out with the other students, enjoying the cafes, concerts, and night life of the city. All as a group. All just friends.

One night, though, she and a guy from England (Manchester, though she said they hadn't stayed in touch) were the only two to show up at the bar where their group often met. They wound up having round after round of German beer (still her drink of choice when I met her), accompanied by hand-holding and eventually kissing. They stepped into the night and started necking. She and her roommate each had their own bedrooms, so she snuck him into hers, where they made love quietly. Not the fireworks of the other guy, but good sex.

Me: Good how?

Her: Orgasms. Multiple.

Me: Didn't really need to ask, did I?

Her: I don't think he'd ever been with a woman who knew how to rub one out while he was inside her. So, he was impressed.

Me: As was I, years later.

I kissed her, and we took a make-out break. Soon we were naked and could've moved on to the main event. My cock was hard as it's ever been, aching, in fact. Begging me to enter her.

But I had to hear the rest. I asked, she obliged.

She started dating this guy casually, often in groups. They slipped off for sex from time to time. Again, it was good but not in the intense way she'd known with the TA. The new guy knew about her previous affair. Everybody did. She found it embarrassing because she'd been so naïve. But they chose not to talk about it. She had zero long-term plans or hopes with this guy, so they focused on the present.

Soon enough, the end of term arrived. She was flying back home on a Sunday. Her roommate had already left, and she let her friends who were still around know she'd be packing on Saturday if anybody wanted to stop by to say so long. By late afternoon, several had, and she'd finished packing, periodically toking on a joint to help her stay calm before the big move.

Late afternoon, the last of her friends had left, and she was about to get ready for the date she'd planned with guy number two. Right then, who showed up but the TA. He said he was sorry if he'd hurt her. He hadn't meant to. She decided to forgive him, and as a token of that, she gave him a kiss on the cheek. He turned and made it a real kiss. Her mind said "No, can't do this" but her body responded differently. She kissed him back and clung to him. She'd been packing in running shorts and a tank top, nothing underneath, so as they groped each other, she got naked in a flash and started clawing at his clothes. Once he was nude, she pulled him into her bedroom.

She took his hard cock into her mouth and, in her words, "worked it like a bitch in heat." She got him so close to coming he literally yanked her off his dick and flipped her onto her back. Then he dove into her pussy, tongue out. It felt so intense she tried to push his head away but he wouldn't give. She felt her own orgasm approaching like a freight train and screamed as she came. She said, "Fuck me. Fuck me," practically begging, but he kept licking and wouldn't stop until she came again. Then he climbed up and plunged his dick into her pussy. He pounded her savagely -- "He pushed my guts up" was how she put it to me. I knew that rough sex wasn't always what she wanted, but at that moment it was clearly perfect.

He deposited what felt to her like a big load of cum in her pussy, then kept fucking without going soft. He flipped her around to doggy and rubbed her clit to another orgasm before he groaned "like the devil" (her words) and pumped her full of more cum. She said she couldn't resist giving him a hard time. "Doesn't your friend with benefits drain your balls?" she asked, taunting. "Isn't she still around?"

He muttered something about "seeing her tonight" and dashed into the bathroom. She heard the flush and the water running. He most likely was washing his hands but she smiled thinking maybe it was his dick. He came back and gave her a tight-lipped kiss. "I hope you fly safe," he said. Then he headed into the other room, where his clothes were, and she heard him leave.

She laid there, sweaty and panting from surprise, exertion, and horniness. The orgasms and the weed left her in a fog. Suddenly she realized that, if she left to meet her date immediately, she'd still be at least twenty minutes late. Not her style, but she had to make the best of it. So while she'd planned to shower, do her hair and makeup, and put on a nice dress, instead she pulled on jeans and an old band t-shirt she'd left out to travel in, grabbed her flip flops, and dashed out.

Apologizing profusely for her lateness, she told him that rather than going to the nice restaurant where they'd planned an intimate dinner, she wanted to go to a favorite café with outdoor seating for her last night there. That idea was not only to explain her casual outfit, but since she hadn't had time to shower, she assumed she smelled like sex and hoped that, sitting outside, he might not notice. Plus, this being Europe, there were people smoking around them. She still smoked herself at the time (the anxiety, again; she went cold turkey when she started teaching so as not to set a bad example for her students). She smiled to remember how a guy at the next table was smoking one of those super-stinky European cigarettes, and instead of getting annoyed, she bummed one. It irritated her nonsmoking boyfriend, but it was their last night, so he let it go.

Afterward they would have gone to her place, but she hadn't opened a window and knew it had to reek of sex. Plus, the bed was wrecked and cum-stained. She lied and said she hadn't finished packing and stuff was all over the place. They went to his place. He was very horny and ate her out more enthusiastically than usual. She said it felt wonderful, but due to her fear he'd taste the previous guy's cum, she grabbed his head and said "I wanna feel you inside me." He fucked her well and added his load to the jizz in her belly. They laid together for a while and he fingered her to an orgasm. By then he was hard again, so she rode him until he came in her again.