I'm Just Not Into Asian Guys

"Yeah," he says. His voice is low, husky, full of lust. "You got lube? And what about protection?"

The answer to both is Yes. Still in the drawer of the nightstand, originally intended for something else, someone else. He takes them, puts on the condom, then applies the lube to what I'll refer to here as absolutely uncharted territory. No one has ever touched me there. And then his finger slips inside. I draw in a quick, cold breath, hold it there.

"You feel clean," he says in a reassuring tone.

I give him a quick, tight nod. Even amidst the shock of this crazy new experience, I don't even think of backing down. In fact I want him more with each passing second. It can't happen soon enough.

He lifts my legs. I'm hard as a rock, throbbing at the way he's handling me, positioning me through his own strength, not asking, just wordlessly doing what he must to get at what he wants. I'm so eager to give myself to him that I pull my knees to my to my chest, making myself as vulnerable as possible.

"You want this, don't you?" he asks.

All I can do is nod. Then I feel the warm tip of his cock bump against my hole, pressing, coaxing, lightly at first, then more firmly, insisting on opening me up for the first time. After a hard enough push, the tip slips inside, and I'm met with a wave of pain. His cock feels immense. He holds it there, softly tells me, "It's okay," then slowly backs out. The pain quickly subsides. Before I can catch my breath, he enters again. Another wave of pain hits me, but this time it only lasts a few seconds. He holds steady again, reading my face, then plunges the rest of the way inside. As his cock bottoms out, I notice—of all things—his trimmed black pubes brushing my skin, followed immediately by a third wave. This time the pain, still immense, is mixed with an equal wave of pleasure, which takes over every other sense I possess. I want more of that pleasure. I want it to keep coming. I plead with him to keep it coming, and he silently obliges.

He comes unhinged, fucking me openly and aggressively. A massive grin spreads across his face, and he asks me how bad I want it.

"Please fuck me harder," I tell him.

His hands grasp my hips and he drags me closer to him, then plunges himself as deep as possible, repeatedly slamming me with his body.

"You want my cum, don't you?"

I tell him yes, that I want it so bad, and he insists he's going to give it to me. The crazy thing is, what I'm telling him isn't any kind of sex-crazed embellishment: I truly want the seed of this man left deep within me. I want to hold it there. For one insane instant, I wish he wasn't wearing the condom at all.

That's all it takes for me. I haven't been touching myself one bit, and yet I find myself being shoved closer and closer to the brink. Soon, I'm moving beyond it. The mounting waves of pleasure have risen so high that they take over, become wild, and I know there's no turning back. I shoot a massive load of cum all over my stomach, and with each spurt, feel my hole cinching around his swollen cock.

This sends him over the edge. "Take my fucking cum," he says harshly, just as I feel his cock begin to pulsate and release. "Fucking take my load." He grits his teeth, sweat dripping down his temple as he finishes.

I'm startled as he removes himself, feeling impossibly empty for a second or two. He sits back, breathing hard. Where stare at each in that moment, reality settling back in, falling together into utter disbelief.

"Fuck," he says softly, smiling down at himself as he carefully removes the deflated, cum-fulled condom. "You have a place I can put this, or...?"

"Oh!" I say quickly, jumping up while trying to keep my cum from dripping off my stomach onto the floor. I snatch it from him and take it into the small ensuite bathroom. I place it next to the sink, then clean myself off with some tissue. Then I go back out and offer one to him, but he says he's clean.

Our clothes quickly find their way back on. We run our hands through our hair, tidying things up. He steps back out through the alcove and into the living room. And then we stand there, just staring at each other for another quiet moment. I experience a strange flash of embarrassment.

He points out through the front window at the street. "My mom probably needs her car back."

"Or course," I say. My brain stumbles through a half-dozen thoughts, then I say, "I kept you too long."

"No you didn't."

I go to the front door and open it for him. He steps through the doorway and turns back to face me. The breeze ruffles his straight black hair. "I'll be in touch."

"Okay."

Then he turns away and glides across the grass. His mom's Acura beeps twice. He throws up a hand and, without turning around, gives me one last solid wave.