Lars and Jessa

CHAPTER I

All semester I caught Lars Parsons looking at me in Contemporary Lit class. He always looked away in embarrassment when I caught him, but I knew that as soon as I stopped paying attention, his eyes would be on me again. Sometimes I'd make a game of it, trying to catch him staring and force him to engage with me. It never worked, his eyes always darted away and he would pretend to study his pen or his shoe. He never spoke a word to me or even acknowledged me when we passed in the hall. His eyes were a beautiful pale blue, but always hidden behind wide frame glasses. Sometimes I would watch to see if he stared at the other girls too, but he only had eyes for me.

I have a thing for the shy and awkward boys. The ones who'll grow up to be good fathers and good husbands but didn't get the memo that high school is when they're supposed to be fucking like bunny rabbits. The ones who, even at eighteen, still haven't yet figured out the rules of the game, and would be absolutely astonished to discover that a girl wants to do dirty things to them. Lars is sexy but he doesn't know it. He doesn't even suspect. He runs cross country and he's got a lean and lanky body. He plays jazz guitar and listens to Charlie Christian and Django Reinhart. He's going to Cornell in the Fall where he'll meet some prim Ivy League girl that he'll eventually marry and forget all about the girls back in Boston. In class he's so earnest and attentive, he always does the reading and even though our class is a bunch of slouches and fuck-ups, he tries to engage in serious discussions about the books.

Lars is soft-spoken, sweet and virginal. The virgins are always easy to spot. In class he was trying to make a point about a racy scene in "The Unbearable Lightness of Being" but he got all adorably flustered. After that I began to catch myself fantasizing about him. I don't know why it never happened before. Late at night, I got all hot and bothered thinking about the things I wanted to do to Lars, and had to finger myself to a convulsive orgasm before I could get to sleep. In my mind, I teased and pleasured Lars until he couldn't think straight, until he whimpered and begged for me to finish him off. After a week of this, I realized I needed to take action. In his later years, Lars might forget a lot of things, but he would never forget his night with me. A lot of boys at Rindge & Latin would never forget, so many that I'd begun to lose count.

CHAPTER II

I caught up to Lars in the hall after class. He seemed surprised that I was talking to him. "I feel kind of stupid about this," I said, eyelashes fluttering, "But I need your help." He peered at me through his glasses with those eyes. "The way I see it, you're really the only one in that class who knows what's going on." He shrugged, embarrassed but almost certainly flattered. "I still have to write that paper on 'Heart of Darkness.' Like I have no idea what I'm supposed to be getting out of the book, you know?" I paused but he didn't say anything. "You read it, right?"

"Almost through it."

"You think we can meet up sometime and talk about it?" He shuffled his feet and frowned. "Look, I promise, I'm not trying to get you to write the paper for me. I just need to discuss the book with someone who understands it."

"I can talk about it with you if you want."

He seemed to relax a little. I flirted with him briefly, doing the most of the heavy lifting myself. We agreed that he would come by my mom's apartment on Thursday evening for a chat. It works every time with these boys. They're hardwired to help out the damsel in distress. I can't begin to tell you how many of my torrid fuck sessions began as a quiet evening of academic support.

When I met Roseanne after school, I told her I had a hot date with Lars on Thursday night.

She said, "Girl, you are one dedicated slut." Maybe so, but I know what I like, and Roseanne knows that I never actually date anyone. Life is too short for all that awkwardness and insincerity, just cut to the chase, is what I say.

CHAPTER III

I'm standing in my dark bedroom wearing nothing but a pair of skimpy blue panties. The streetlights outside illuminate my face and the swell of my breasts, and the trees cast shadows across my lower body. Lars is lying on my bed fully clothed and bewildered because seconds ago I suddenly turned off the lights and took off my clothes. Marlow's journey upriver bores me and Lars has been jumpy all evening and not getting with the program. Sometimes dire circumstances require bold action. Go big or go home, as they say.

Now that I'm nude and our literary discussion is over, Lars isn't sure what to do next. He just lies stiffly on the bed trying not to stare. In fairness, it's an awkward situation for both of us, but I've been here before. The air is chill and my nipples are stiff and sensitive. I let him sneak glances at me for a while before I say anything.

"I see you staring at me in class," I whisper at him. "I know you like to look at me." He glances at me, looks away, glances again. "Why do you think I took off my clothes?" His penetrating blue eyes rest on me, hesitantly, ready to flee at the first sign of trouble. They move slowly down to my breasts and lower still, to the blue delta of fabric between my thighs.

"What are you thinking right now?" I ask him.

"I don't know," he mumbles, "It's like I've imagined this, but..." The front of his Adidas track pants bulge as he stiffens beneath.

"Tell me what you imagined." He thinks about it for a moment. Every boy has their own particular kinks and desires. Few are honest about them.

"Touching you," he replies at last.

"Touching what?" I move closer to him.

"The curve of your hips." I take his hands and place them on my hips. His hands are warm and they slowly caress me, staying respectfully above the waistline of my panties. I feel my heartbeat quicken and an insistent tickle of arousal slowly spreads between my thighs, but I don't want to move too fast, not yet.

"What else do you imagine touching?"

"Your belly." He sits up and gently traces his fingers along the contours of my stomach. He handles me softly and gently, like I'm made of glass.

"Tell me about it."

"You wear that black cut-off shirt sometimes with those low-rider jeans." He pauses to admire the silver ring in my navel. "Sometimes you wear this but not always."

"You think about me in my cut-off shirt when you jack off?" There is a pause.

"Y-yes. Sometimes."

"When I touch myself, I think about you, too." I reach down and tweak my clit through my dampened panties for emphasis. "Does that surprise you?"

"Yes" he says. My fingers feel nice on my clit, reassuring. His hands begin to move toward the upward swell of my breasts.

"What else do you imagine?" I ask him. He stops and looks up into my eyes.

"I think about your thighs" he says, a little more confident now, catching the rhythm. "When you wear short shorts and cross your legs in class." Never breaking eye contact, he moves his hands down to my thighs and begins to massage them, working his fingers up to my inner thighs and ever-so-slowly inward. I can feel the muscles loosening and relaxing at his touch. My pussy aches sweetly in anticipation and I involuntarily arch my back and let out a sigh, clutching my breasts tightly and teasing my swollen nipples lightly with my fingertips. Lars is encouraged by my reaction; I feel his fingers probing delicately beneath the fabric of my panties. I have to remind myself to dial it back before all my best laid plans go straight out the window.

I pull off my soaked panties and move his hand down between my legs, so he can feel how wet he's gotten me. A look of realization crosses his face. Before he can react further, I climb on top of him. Straddling him, I pull his t-shirt off over his head, which sends his glasses skittering across the room.

"You ever imagine me touching you?" I ask, massaging the solid bulge in his track pants for a few moments and then sliding my hand into the waistband as he tenses in anticipation. His cock twitches in my grasp; it's a warm living thing, rigid and straining to escape its confinement. Climbing off him, I slowly lower his pants and the briefs underneath, inch by inch, heightening the anticipation that his manhood is about to be put, finally and irrevocably, on full display. As his pants slide over his thighs, his fully erect cock springs out and falls heavily against his lower belly.

I dismount him and pull his pants off the remainder of the way before straddling him once again. His cock is long and thin, curved sharply upward with a disproportionately large head. It is wonderfully rock hard and I stroke it gently with one hand as I admire it. Lars' mouth has fallen open and he's staring down at me in wonder. I gather his balls in my other hand and gently squeeze them as I stroke him. I gaze into his beautiful eyes, no longer hidden behind his glasses. His mouth opens and closes like a fish flopping in my net.

"Feel good?" I ask.

"Really good," he says.

"Hold on, it gets even better." I get up and walk to the bathroom, leaving him lying there naked and horny, with his big erection lying rigid on his belly. I grab mom's "personal lubricant" that she hides in the cabinet under the bathroom sink. Passing the bathroom mirror, I see a speck of something in my teeth, so I brush them thoroughly and rinse with mouthwash. I examine my toenails, dismayed to see the polish is already chipping. Lars is probably good and ready by now. When I finally return with the lube, he's clutching his dick.

"Naughty boy" I scold him. "Couldn't even wait for me to get back." I spread his legs wide and pour some lube on my hands. Starting at the base, I slowly work the entire length of his shaft, my lubricated fingers gliding up and down, pausing at the top to tease and stroke the underside of his big mushroom head and then slowly descending. With my other hand I gently massage his balls, stroking down his root and across his sack with the flat of my thumb. Lars moans and starts to gently buck his hips with each stroke. Slowly and inevitably he is being overwhelmed; my pussy is saturated and radiating its arousal throughout my lower body.

"I'm making you feel so good, aren't I?" I coo to him.

"Yes," he moans.

"You don't ever want me to stop, do you?"

"Please don't."

"So much better than when you do it yourself. Because I'm the one in control. And you're going to come when I want you to."

"Yes."

"But not just yet," I whisper in his ear. I softly tease the head of his cock with four fingertips and then firmly stroke his entire length from the tip down to the base. He writhes and gasps. Slowly and deliberately, I begin to stroke him from base to tip, pausing at the top until he twitches beneath me in anticipation, then down again, over and over, rhythmically and unrelentingly, forcing the pleasure to swell inside him. Soon his head is thrown back on the pillow, eyes unfocused, jaw hanging slack, his pelvis involuntarily clenching and relaxing as I march him to the brink, slowly and methodically. In my other hand, I feel his balls begin to tighten. His whimpers turn to gasps; he's totally at my mercy now. I've teased and stroked this straight A student and leader of tomorrow into a pliant, quivering creature that wants nothing but to feel the blissful sensation of my hands milking his cock. I could finish him so easily and leave him totally spent and covered in his own jizz and he'd love every minute of it, but I don't want to end our romantic evening too early.

CHAPTER IV

Lars whines as I release my grip but doesn't say a word. I straddle him, so his well-lubricated cock now rises up between my thighs. I grasp it and rub it gently across my smooth and shaven pussy, stroking his tip against the yawning folds; occasionally allowing the tip to push just inside me, for a fleeting second. His dick is fully engorged, curved nearly in a U-shape and desperately straining for release. Lars begins trying to thrust himself upward, which is not on the agenda right now, so I shift my weight to pin him flat on the bed and introduce the big head of his cock to my swollen clit. I exhale sharply at the delightful friction that his slick tip creates as I move it in lazy circles, over and over. My eyes slowly slip out of focus, the world falls away and warm sunshine spreads through my lower body. Over and over, it just feels too good to stop and it will be so nice and so easy to just coax and tease myself to a big sticky orgasm all over Lars' pale skinny thighs.

"Please," gasps Lars, squirming beneath me and pulling me out of my reverie. I've been mercilessly teasing his cock for the past five minutes and he's finally reached his breaking point. Would it be cruel to keep him like this?

"Please what?"

"I mean- can I, you know. Do you want me to?"

"Want you to what?" He's too modest to even say it. I let his cock fall back on his belly untouched. "Something on your mind?" I ask, sitting up straight and looming over him. He looks so adorable, a deer caught in the headlights.

"No, I don't-I didn't..."

"You were trying to ask me something."

It's just—no, never mind."

"Would you like to get fucked, Lars?"

"Oh—yes. Please, yes."

"So polite." I reach down for his cock where it lies twitching on his lower belly. "Tell me what you're feeling right now."

"Like I'm gonna explode," he moans. I stroke him, gently.

"I want to hear you beg for me to fuck you."

He doesn't hesitate. "Please Jessa, I'm begging..."

Before he can finish, I rise up on my haunches and, in one fluid motion, thrust his entire length inside me; my pussy grasping it tightly as it slides in deep.

"Oh God," says Lars, sitting up on his elbows and staring at me glassy-eyed before sinking back down again. Now fully impaled, I begin to gyrate my hips against his pelvis, working the head of his cock deliciously against my inner walls. Pinned to my bed, Lars can only moan and twitch as my pussy clenches again and again, milking him with practiced ease. I begin to flex my hips forward and back, moving up and down his entire shaft, so excruciatingly slow at first, as I savor his moans and the sensation of him ever-so-slowly filling me up. Gradually I pick up speed, relentlessly forcing his cock deep into the warm, tight grip of my pussy. He clutches at my waist, nearly tearing the ring out of my navel.

"Is this what you wanted?" I gasp.

"Fuuuuck," is all he says. His cock is thin but curved perfectly so that as I lift off and push back onto him, the head is almost continuously dragging back and forth across an incredibly sensitive spot on the front wall of my pussy. The sensation is so exquisite that all I want and need is to thrust myself onto him mechanically, over and over again. No chatter or theatrics, just a singular focus on fucking myself absolutely senseless. My entire lower body begins to hum with pleasure like a tuning fork, my eyes slip out of focus and my head lolls on my shoulders.

Gradually my entire existence is subsumed in the ever-increasing waves of pleasure that roll and swell through me. The pure sensation makes me gasp for breath; I'm dumbfounded that anything could feel this good, so intense that it's both blissfully wonderful and nearly unbearable. Involuntarily I begin to emit low guttural moans and a thin streamer of drool falls from my lower lip. I dimly recognize that I'm now riding the crest of a vast tsunami of sensation, so desperate for the final plunge. Wracked with pleasure, on the verge of going supernova, my entire body trembles and shakes uncontrollably. The wave begins to crash and as my consciousness dims and recedes, my only fading thought is that I never want this feeling to end. My consciousness flickers out like a dying candle and ahead of me looms darkness, a supermassive black hole engulfing and obliterating all of existence. I fall toward it gratefully. The void is calling me and all I want is to be obliterated, to float in that dark and silence forever.

"Jessa?"

Through the last dying ember of my conscious mind, I realize that someone is shaking me and calling my name.

"Jessa? JESSA!"

The darkness, so inevitable just a moment ago, retreats; I manage to force open a single eye. Lars stares up at me, terrified.

"Are you okay?" he asks. I'm pulled suddenly back from the brink, both eyes flutter open and I stare at him in a stupor as my entire body shakes like a leaf and my thighs squeeze his hips like a vice. "I thought maybe you were having a seizure," he says. For several moments my mind is too scrambled to think straight and I sit on him gasping and clutching my pussy as it throbs angrily, denied the most consequential orgasm of its young life. My heart is racing, my cheeks are flushed a deep red and I'm shaking uncontrollably.

"La petit mort," I say at last.

"Huh?"

"Never mind. Just need a few moments to catch my breath." I roll off Lars and lie beside him in the bed. Every time I close my eyes, I see myself falling into the void. I can't stop thinking about how I just came face to face with the abyss and chose, without a moment's hesitation, to hurl myself into it. Now, in my bedroom, I'm terrified by the thought of being enveloped by that darkness and silence, through which no light or sound or feeling will ever penetrate. I have a creeping realization that I just somehow experienced something that I wasn't meant to experience, and it terrifies me. But what terrifies me the most is the thought that I might see it again.

Lars puts his arm around me. It's comforting to have him touch me, to know that it's not just me here in the dark. A siren goes off on the street outside, and blue and red lights flash across my bedroom walls. Music plays faintly from the apartment next door. I press close to Lars and rest my head on his shoulder.

"La petit what?" he asks me, after we lie together in silence for a while.

"Mort. La petit mort."

"little death?"

"It's what the French call an orgasm so strong, you black out."

"Did you?

"No -I don't think so. Almost."

"What did it feel like?" I have to think about this for a moment.

"What's that famous line? The abyss gazes also?"

"When you gaze long enough into the abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you."

"That's what it felt like. Like the abyss was gazing into me." Lars frowns, considering this for a moment. He can't possibly understand, but he's trying his best.

"It doesn't sound very pleasurable," he says at last.

"It was. Immensely. That's the terrifying thing."

"Did you enjoy it?"

"I don't know. I mean—yes, at first, absolutely."

"Did I hurt you?" he asks, with genuine concern.

"No," I tell him, "Everything you did was great. Phenomenal." He seems to relax a little. "Most girls will live their whole life and never get fucked like that." Despite my reassurance, Lars still can't determine whether the net result was good or bad so he stays quiet.

"You're still trembling," he observes. I didn't even notice, but he's right. He brushes a strand of my hair gently away from my face. The simple intimacy of his gesture is far more comforting than anything he can say.

"Stay here with me," I say to him. We hold onto each other in the darkened room. Through the window comes the low throb of bass from the reggae club further up Western Avenue. I think about all the people in the club, drinking, laughing, and flirting with each other. I think about them getting up tomorrow, eating breakfast, going to work, seeing their friends, making plans for the weekend. Powerless in the face of life's mundanity, my existential dread is subsiding, a half-remembered nightmare in the full light of day.

"I'm kind of hungry," says Lars, after a long silence.