Nostalgic Ramblings Ch. 02

As she rode my hard penis, I moved my hands across her body, delighting in her body heat and the way my palms moved across her wet skin with an almost absolute absence of friction. Would you believe it was one of the happiest moments of my life, a revelatory experience, a defining moment? When a girl responds to a boy that way, opening her mind and body and inner essence up to him, that boy believes he can connect with the rest of humanity at such a level, and that anything he sets his mind to is accomplishable.

It's funny what you think about during sex - appointments, the grocery list, movie moments that you thought you could rip off once you got in the bedroom with a girl ("Pretty Woman" for instance.) Often during my ex-girlfriend I'd think about other girl's as I fucked her, not because she wasn't hot and I didn't want her, but because my mind moves so quickly that it has trouble keeping interest in experiences that aren't new, even the experience of profound physical pleasure. The reason I mention it is that, in that moment with Mary, I don't believe I thought about anything except her and what I was feeling and what I made her feel. That must be why my brain remembers so much of the experience; it was divided between warring ideas but was instead unified in the purpose of archiving this night for all time.

When she came, she screamed the word "Fuck!" at the top of her voice and flew off of me, landing in the corner by the door. She spread her body like a blanket, trying to cool down, trying to catch her breath. I moved my hand toward my own hard cock, still anxious to come, but up until this point in my life, I had always had a fear (cultural, not logical) of anyone else ever finding out that I masturbated. Even under these conditions, even with THIS girl, I didn't want her to see me stroking myself to keep hard.

Then I had an idea. It doesn't sound like much to you, but it hit me like an aluminum bat. As I watched her caressing her own body, slowly luxuriating in the touch of her own body, I realized that she was a girl who masturbated. This must be part of the reason why she came so hard, so frequently and with so much stamina in reserve. From my place across from Mary in the seat, I asked her in a soft whisper, "Do you like to masturbate?" I promise you, she shivered, she literally shivered at the question. The word "Yes" escaped her lips almost involuntarily. "Do it," I said, this time in a whisper almost too low to hear. But she heard, and she spread her legs for me. The car was too dark to make out the finest details, but there was enough ambient light in the city outside to allow me to witness the glistening wetness on her puffy, swollen pussy lips. The fingertips of her right hand traced a line from her breastbone down her stomach to her slit. She used three fingers to rub herself, first slowly, then fast. Hard as I was, I stroked myself for her to watch. The experience proved too much for her, and she came almost immediately after she started jacking herself. I came also, and it was a big one. It landed all over me in a big white splash.

Mary leaned forward and licked my semen from my stomach, swallowing it out of existence. This in itself was completely hot, but it helps for you to know that I hadn't had too many good experiences with girls and my ejaculate. Their reactions to having it on their faces and tongues ranged from tolerant (wordless licking with an undercurrent of "can I get this over with quickly, please") to disgusted ("I don' t like it"). So to watch Mary ingest my come as though she'd die without it was a moving sight.

Exhausted at last, or so it seemed, she collapsed into my arms. I might have mistakenly thought she was asleep if she hadn't traced her fingers across my sweat-soaked skin, playing with my flaccid penis and drenched pubic hair, slipping her digits across my not-very-hairy chest and shoulders.

I did the same, running my fingers across her body, allowing her time to cool down. But instead of regaining her composure as I tenderly touched her, she responded in a wholly unexpected way. It seemed my touches were turning her on even more. Mary didn't appear to need more than the stroke of my hands across her small breasts and tight stomach to cause her to breathe heavily with building sexual energy. Intrigued, I pinched her nipples. She inhaled sharply, a sure sign that I'd struck a sexual chord inside her. After only a few moments of playing with her chest, she came.

Blown away by the sight, I kept going. I lowered my mouth to her ear and licked inside, breathing heavily on her skin as I did so. She grabbed my arm and came again, subsided, then came again. I stroked the insides of her thighs with the lightest touch of my fingertips, and this set her off once again. Orgasm followed orgasm as the girl shook helplessly in my arms, filled to overflowing with libidinous force. After only twenty minutes of Mary moaning and screaming in my arms, she put her hand on my face and said, "Wait, I'm gonna pass out... Wait..." Her breathing was shallow and ragged. The muscles in her stomach contracted and released continuously, as though orgasms were still flowing over her even after I had stopped touching her. I could not help myself. I touched between her legs, directly on her clitoris. She yelled, snapped her body like a whip and rode out the force of a crashing climax. "No more!" she shouted. "Wait! Please!" She wasn't angry - quite the contrary, indeed - but she needed me to know that if I didn't give her a moment she'd slip into unconsciousness, and neither of us wanted that.

After ten or fifteen minutes of holding - not stroking but merely holding - her body in my arms, Mary moved her hand onto my cock, which hardened slightly at her touch. She started jerking me off, but it was no use. All her strength was gone. This was, however, an indication to me that she wanted more sex for herself, and I accommodated her. I licked her open mouth as my fingers explored the depths of her vagina. She rode my hand and came, then ebbed, then came again. It was the start of another two hours of continuous orgasms for Mary, in the deliciously dank backseat of my car. Not once did she apologize for not being able to pleasure me more; it was unnecessary to explain to one another that the night belonged not only to her physical pleasure but to mine as I watched her experience it. We took our time, communicating predominantly through touch.

You already know everything that happened in that last two hours, because it repeats the cycle of all that came before. There was, however, one additional memory I have to add after this point, and that was when my index finger found Mary's anus. At first I was embarrassed to have aimed for the wrong hole, but when I pulled the finger away, she grabbed me by the wrist and commanded that I move the tip back to that hole, without saying a word. I rubbed her asshole gently, making her come twice. Then she propped her feet up on the backs of the seats, front and back, took my fingertip in her hand and rested the tip against her hole. I felt her muscles relax in her bottom as she shoved my fingertip gently into her anus. I got the idea right away. She breathed hard and moaned her high-pitched moan as my digit worked its way deeper into her furnace-hot rectum, its texture slimy in a dangerous, forbidden way. Once I had my finger fully inserted into her ass, I leaned down and licked her hard clitoris with my tongue and lips. She probably came seven or eight times before she pulled herself off of my finger at the end of one particularly violent orgasm.

Five hours after I crawled into Mary's passenger seat, she was too dehydrated to withstand another moment of pleasure. She opened the car door and stepped outside, exposed to the night air and the city lights across the river. I followed her, and we kissed naked with our feet in the dirt, swaying to an inaudible rhythm, deliriously happy to feel the early morning wind cool our wet forms. If no one had caught us up to this point, we intuited rather than reasoned, then we certainly had nothing to fear at 4:30 a.m.

The conversation following our sex was wonderfully easy-going and free of embarrassment. We got dressed, and thanked one another for a wonderful night, as though we'd helped each other study for a test instead of mutually violating each other for almost a full quarter of a day. I drove to a convenience store, got out and bought us both huge cups of water with ice, then took her to the bachelor pad and walked her to the door.

We both had a sense at that point of leaving a fantasy world and coming back to the real one, where her friends wouldn't allow her to date me and I still had a girlfriend. But that didn't keep us from kissing passionately on the doorstep of the apartment. Mary said goodnight and went inside, using the key she'd been given. I learned the next day that the place was empty when she got there, so no one knew what hour she got home.

....................................

The rest is a chore for me to tell, so here are the highlights. First, Mary and I went out again the next night. We ate dinner at the same burger joint, ate quickly and then drove straight to the same spot, We undressed each other, fucked hard and vocally, then spent six hours bringing Mary to orgasm. At a point three hours into the experience, Mary told me she was so dehydrated that she needed something to drink right away. I drove back to that convenience store, left her naked in the backseat and got out to buy her water. The windows were so fogged that I almost didn't make it down the five miles of backroads to the store, but that's also a good thing because no one looking into my car could see the naked Chinese woman panting in the backseat. I gave her the water and sped back to the spot. As she drank and I drove, I reached back and inserted my finger into Mary's pussy. She came twice riding my hand like that before we returned to our spot, where I stripped and fucked her hard.

Also a chore to recall is what happened after that second night. Mary and I hung out with the two bachelors for another week, and we never really found another opportunity to sneak off and screw, not even for a quicky. Mary eventually returned to her out-of-town life. We had phone sex a few times, and it went great, but after she found roommates to help pay the rent, that wasn't so easy to do, either.

Eventually we drifted apart. There was one phone conversation months later in which we both yelled at each other for being too inconsiderate to call and ask how things were going. It was inevitable; we'd developed such a strong emotional bond that night, a bond deep and true, that to sever it or strain it through distance was a painful act. If we'd been honest, we would have known that we were perfect together, but sometimes good matches just don't happen, sometimes because the boy has a ball-and-chain of some sort, sometimes just because you believe you got away with something once and shouldn't be greedy asking for more.

Well, I'm pretty fucking greedy, and I want more. Mary visits my fantasies every so often, and after writing this story, I'll probably be seeing a lot more of her in the weeks to come. For now, though, I feel capable of setting Mary aside and trading my thoughts of the past for a focus on the present and the tasks before me. That's the true power of literature, in my opinion; it takes the maelstrom of human thought and turns it into something not merely comprehensible but vital in its utility. The utility of this Literotica post, I suppose, it to get you horny and coming, which is what I want to watch. It's how I'm built, and unless you're a certain Chinese lover I once knew, you'll just have to take my word for it.

P.S. I said fuck editing, and I meant it. I intend to create art worth editing, not be someone who edits for a living. Don't get me wrong, editors are essential to the writing process and some are my closest friends, but I'm not one, and they aren't always welcome. I consider these posts to be diary-esque in nature, and who the fuck edits their diary for typos? I'm going to spell-check this son of a bitch and then submit it. If something doesn't make sense, please feel free to dwell on it until your head explodes or tell me about it in the comment boards. I love to make fun of that crap. Why am I so riled up about this? Pet peeves get stronger the more you pet them. That's good advice for us all.