Memoir 01

"Sh-ssh!" she said, putting a finger to my lips. "Don't. Of course it's good when you. . . do what you do. It's the best feeling in the world. And besides, it makes me feel so. . . powerful."

She spun around again, her knees straddling my thighs, closer to me this time. She couldn't sit still, it seemed. She leaned forward, kissing me on the lips. It was a lingering kiss, but not a penetrating one. I didn't respond, I didn't pull away; just accepted her kiss passively. She pulled back after a minute, and then lifted a finger to wipe away a tear from my cheek that I didn't even know was there.

"How long. . ." I asked.

She shrugged. "The whole time I've known you. Oh, not him, necessarily, but I've got to have somebody up inside me!"

"Jesus!" I said. I tried to push her off me. but it was an awkward position, and she clung to me.

"Wait, sweetie, wait!" she said. "It's not like. . . I mean I never said I was 'going steady' with you, or some school-girl shit like that. You never even asked, and if you had, I'd have said No."

I was stunned. She was right, of course; absolutely. I'd never asked. I'd just assumed. Once things got hot and heavy. Just arrogantly assumed I was her one and only. (In a strange insert, as if the action in my head was a film, I heard my logic professor mocking me in front of the class. 'Making assumptions again, Mr. Jamison?')

Stammering, I said "But if you just want someone 'up inside you—' "

"You can't. . ." she interrupted—"you don't. . . I mean. . ."

"I can if you want!" I said with pitiful eagerness. "I thought you didn't want me to. I'd really like to. . ."

"Sh-ssh. . . " she said again. "You can't. It's too late. We have what we do, and I really like it that way. If we tried to change it all now, it wouldn't be the same. And besides. . ."

"What?!" I asked. "What can he do that I can't?"

I knew that was a mistake, I was dreading the answer before the question was out of my mouth. I remembered the detail Kent had kept returning to as he'd told his story.

"He's big." she said, as simply as that.

"Well so what?" I asked, floundering. "What difference does it make? Am I so small?"

She leaned forward again, kissed me on the lips. "Pussy—" she said. It had become her pet name for me these last few weeks. I liked to hear her say it. Until now. "I'm saving you for marriage." Even if I hadn't been stoned, the absurdity would have made me laugh. Now I laughed uncontrollably. It was funny, it was weird, it was bitter—there were so many confused feelings wrapped up together in that laugh and packaged with pot. She laughed with me, though not quite so wildly. There was a touch of sadness or something else I couldn't touch in her laugh. When I calmed down a little, she scooched forward and kissed me. She kissed deeply and tenderly this time. Her skirt was up around her thighs and her crotch was pressed against my groin. She felt me responding there, my penis betraying me, and ground herself against my rising erection in a soft circular motion.

"Pussy," she said again. "You're not small. I've been with lots of guys, you know that. You're. . . average. There's nothing wrong with that. I've been with guys who were no bigger, smaller even, who could make me feel good, who could angle it just right and hit that special place up in me. . ." (I was lost at this point; I knew about the sweet spot that my tongue and lips worshiped, but I didn't know anything about what special spot there was up inside her.) ". . . and maybe you could do that too, I don't know. But first off, we've got something really special that I really love. Don't you love it? Me telling you what to do, and you doing it, it being all about me and my pussy, not about you?" She was grinding herself gently against my hard penis the whole time she was talking. I did love it. My penis said so. I said so.

"And second, it's a whole different thing with Kerry. Oh, I know, he's an asshole. All the girls know that. He's an arrogant prick. And he doesn't give a shit about what I'm feeling. He's not kind and nice like you. He's selfish. But sometimes girls kind of like that. To be taken that way. The way a nice guy never could, because he cares too much. Maybe it's sick, I don't know, but sometimes we do like it. And besides. . ."

"What?" I asked, urging her on. It seemed like her rubbing against me was getting harder. It seemed like if she did it hard enough, I might come, just from being dry-humped. Though neither of us were dry anymore. Her face was flushing around the cheekbones the way it did when she came.

"We-ell. . ." she murmured, continuing her motions. "He's so big it doesn't matter."

"What do you mean?" I asked, thrusting back at her. It was as if our conversation and our below-the-waist activities were divorced from each other, but the intensity of sensation added more charge to the conversation.

"I mean. . ." she paused as a particular wave of pleasure seemed to wash over her. "It doesn't even matter if he tries to make me feel good. He so big that when he fucks me he can't help hitting that spot, hitting all kinds of spots that nobody else has ever hit before. He's like some fucking animal or something."

She came, suddenly, arching her back, stifling a scream, gasping, spasming against me a couple more times—I was so close, but not quite there—and then collapsing on me, her head on my shoulder, my face buried in the fragrance of her long hair.

With our motions, I'd shifted downward on the bed, so I was now flat on my back, she on top of me, breathing softly. Suddenly she sat up, her hands on my shoulders. She looked me in the eye. "Lick me," she said.

I was clay in her hands. I nodded.

She spun around on the bed, covering me in the tent of her soft thin skirt. Then she seemed to remember she was wearing panties—a surprise to me—and hopped up off the bed and shimmied out of them (arousing as it was to find her without panties, it was equally arousing to watch her wriggling out of them). Then back on the bed again, covering me with her tent, lowering herself to my face. I took her by the hips, pulled her down close. Her scent was overpowering.

I'd smelled this scent from her many times before. I loved it; it was incredibly arousing to me. I'd always assumed ("there you go, Ass-suming, again," says the logic professor) that the stronger scent came when she was most intensely aroused. At least it was true that she was most intensely aroused when she had this scent on her. But now I knew better, what it was. There were dried spots of semen on the insides of her thighs; her sparse hair was matted in places with the same, still damp. She was steaming wet, and the scent was the combination of her own arousal and the semen—a very healthy injection of it, it seemed—that Kerry had left behind in her this morning, trapped in her panties and aging there all afternoon. I was utterly, nauseously, grossed out—for about two seconds. And then I just didn't care. I abandoned myself to this perversion that she had, and that I unknowingly had been sharing with her.

I pulled her tight, smothering, probing as deeply as I could with my tongue, then lifting her slightly and shifting her so I could circle and tease and suck lightly on her clit—and when I did this, she would press down with her vagina around my nose—and then back again, so I was practically drinking from her font.

She kept up a stream of babble as I did this, "Oh, god yes, Pussy, suck it, suck it. Can you taste him in me? Suck his sperm. . ."—that was only what I understood. Most of it was unintelligible, but punctuated with increasing bits of obscenity as she got closer and closer to orgasm. And then, as she reached it, her back arched, grinding herself on my face, she screamed—I'm sure the entire dorm could hear—"COCK-sucker!!!"—and collapsed on me, sobbing and gasping for breath.

And then, slowly, even as she gasped for breath, and as she began rocking herself back into my face for a second round, she began kissing my penis through my jeans, and then fumbling, first to undo the jeans, then to get me to lift my hips, and slide my pants down to my ankles. and then—pressing herself to my face so there could be no mistake she wanted more—she took my cock in her mouth. This was new. She'd never done this. No one had done it since high school, and no one had ever done it with a fraction of the skill she did. She was in complete control—if I started to thrust upward, mindlessly seeking orgasm, she simply backed off, and as soon as I subsided she was there again, teasing, licking, controlling, building me slowly to the edge of orgasm and then keeping me balanced there. And all the time, moving herself rhythmically against my face and mouth, building herself up with the help of my tongue (though by this point I was a quivering mass of jelly and scarcely remembered what to do with my tongue).

And then as I strained there at the edge of coming, she did something—"what is she doing?" some alert part of my brain, far below the surface, was asking. What she was doing was encircling my balls in one hand, gripping then at their base between thumb and hand, squeezing hard and pulling them down toward my ass, hard, in a way that would surely have hurt or at least scared me to death if I hadn't been out of my head with arousal. And as she was doing this she began playing with my ass with her other hand, circling and teasing my anus, probing it just a little bit, then in and out very quickly, but only a little way. And then, just as she reached her own orgasm, she sucked me in deep in her mouth, jerked hard on my balls, and thrust her finger into me as deeply as it would go, all in one overwhelming and utterly confusing blast of sensation, and then I was coming, coming, coming, into her mouth as I'd never come before, all the while as she pulsed against my face.

We lay like that, belly to sweaty belly, gasping for breath, her face in my groin and her own pubes resting on my face, as we slowly recovered. I'd never experienced sensations even close to what I had just felt, and would surely have drifted off to sleep. But when that started to happen, she got up on her knees and reversed herself to kiss me. And when I opened my mouth to her, I felt her pushing my own sperm into my mouth with her tongue. I didn't resist. I was powerless. I don't think there was anything she could have asked of me in that moment that I wouldn't have given. And as I swallowed—because there was nothing else I could do—she whispered in my ear, "Cocksucker! My sweet cocksucking Pussy boy. . ."

(to be continued)