Nostalgic Ramblings

Further inside her I went, trying not to hurt her, trying to make the moment last, trying to keep my weight from pushing down uncomfortably on her, trying not to cheer in triumph. Suddenly, she pulled me down onto her, and I crashed on top of her nakedness, feeling my cock glide fast and deep inside her. She gasped in stunned ecstasy, as her arms grabbed me tight and her legs locked around me. For a long moment we were frozen in that position, neither able to move.

Then she started to go at it. Slow at first, then without warning she really started to rock. I repositioned my elbows so my weight was braced, and then I began to fuck her back. Melanie opened her mouth and made the most beautiful sounds, loud breathing sounds, each one like a call from nature, sometimes an "Ah," then an "Ooh," but mostly just a loud whisper like rushing wind. And I made the same sounds, and that was all the noise in the room except for the squeaking of the bed.

When I write sex stories, I like to add a bunch of different positions, along with a detailed conversation and pleadings for cum facials and other strokes of finesse. But Melanie and I didn't roll around during sex, and she didn't get on her hands and knees, and we didn't have any oral sex or cum swallowing or silk bondage or videotaping. We just made love with me on top, her legs open wide and me fucking her softly, pressing my sweaty crotch against hers, over and over for as long as we wanted, licking each other's faces and mouths and necks as we went. Often I would move my chest against hers, relishing the simple sensation of her naked boobs against me. We had sex like this for about thirty minutes, steady and good, completely confident, unashamed.

Melanie came first, and it was amazing. She leaned her head back, closed her eyes, opened her mouth and whimpered. I felt her legs tighten even harder around me, felt her arms hold me with more strength. Her stomach was the part of her that trembled, not the limbs like I sometimes write I my stories. I stopped moving inside her so the orgasm could wash through her, flowing over her, filling her until it was time to pass away. She held me still for a minute, trying to catch her breath. Then she said, "Finish," in my ear, and it was the first word either of us had said for at least an hour.

Her pretty voice punched a button somewhere inside me, and I barreled down the home stretch. She literally gritted her teeth as I pounded her climax-sensitive cunt, making movements that would cause friction against my shaft, exploring her wet vagina walls with my head, looking for the beginning of my own orgasm. Finally it arrived, and I was ready to explode. Looking back on it, I still can't believe we thought about doing it without a condom, but we sure as hell did. I didn't even think about what could have happened, and apparently neither did she. I just pulled out at the appropriate moment, let my cock aim itself at her tummy, and splashed my semen against into her belly button and across her tummy. I sat on my hands and knees above her for a very long time, feeling my cock twitch as the last drops plopped out of me and onto her stomach. She reached down and grabbed my cock. I yelped in sensitivity but didn't pull away, because if she wanted to enjoy the feeling of my sperm, then I was going to let her. (Besides, she was sensitive when she let me finish. How could I not let her touch me?) Finally it became too much, and I had to pull away. I collapsed on the bed beside her, a tricky feat in a twin-sized bed but not a problem when you're willing to invade the other person's personal space, which I'd just done in spades.

I watched Melanie rub the jizz into her stomach. She left her legs open for a long time, allowing the room to fill with the ridiculously good smell of her sex. It was so strong, the aroma, not musky or acidic, nor sweet, but unmistakably physical, the smell of a good workout. We kissed, slow wet smooches with our closed mouths, thanking each other.

After about ten more minutes of kissing and touching, we ended up lying still, eyes open, a bit zombified. Finally Melanie nodded to herself, as though saying, It's time to go. She stood up and left the room, and I got to see her naked backside. It's burned in my memory like a plaster impression, the image of her walking away from me, her nude posterior perfect in every detail, from the roundness of her bottom cheeks to the curve of her hips, all the way down her legs, up across the strong muscles of her back.

She washed herself at the bathroom sink, and I made my way to my parent's bathroom. And what did I see as I entered the hallway? We'd left the front door of the house wide open. I shit you not, anyone could have walked right into the house and enjoyed the show. I tiptoed -- tiptoed, I say -- to the front hallway and closed the door, actually worried that someone might walk up at that very moment and see me naked, with jizz all over my crotch. Anyway. I cleaned up, she cleaned up, we both got dressed.

There we stood in the center of my room, she looking up at me, my hands on her shoulders. She thanked me, or maybe she told me she had fun, I can't remember. Whatever we said, it was unnecessary and shallow and inadequate, because our bodies had said everything there was to say. Fully clothed, it was like we'd stepped out of the truth and back into a lie. Everything had changed between us, no one could deny it, so why did I feel like the moment was passed and everything had changed back? Perhaps I knew this was a one-time thing, and these emotions are what your body produces instead of rationalizations or predictions.

Regardless of all that metaphysical crap, the moment eventually came when Melanie had to leave. We hugged at the front door, and I promised her I'd call that evening. Pretty lame ending, isn't it? Well, I was still on house arrest, remember? I had to be home when my parents got home, which could be anytime in the next two hours, and Melanie sure couldn't be there when they got there, because hey, if I'm sick, why do I have guests, and female guests at that? It would have been nice to sit around and discuss the finer points of good sex with Melanie, but she had to go, and that was that.

We did talk that night, and we made out the next day, but it was behind my locked bedroom door with my parents down the hall, so it didn't go very far. At the end of the week Melanie went back to college, and that is what philologists refer to as the end of the story. It wasn't the last time I saw or spoke to Melanie, but it was the last time we acknowledged anything deeper between us than friendship.

Knowing what I know today, there could have been a way to keep the relationship going. Plane tickets, long-distance calls, and (within a couple of years) e-mail and chat windows. But I was such a kid, and I still saw her as unattainable, even though I'd just definitively attained her.

(fingers hovering over the keyboard -- gimme a minute)

I don't know where Melanie is, and for that matter, I don't know where I am, either. This whole sex thing in my life has gotten way out of hand, but so has every other part of life, so at least I'm consistent. I don't have any regrets, but I don't think it's because I'm still learning anything useful. I keep rereading the story I just told you, looking for some deeper reason, some profound truth, and it's eluding me. All it is at the moment is a good memory, a pleasant memory, and it's actually pretty mind-boggling to think that I have as many of those as I do.

Melanie and I went looking for a moment of human connection, and we sure found it. So what's the point of me typing all this out? I won't be so pedestrian as to suggest that you might find some life lession here where I did not, or that you even need one. All I can say is, I think I might have gotten past the writer's block I was suffering under. That will have to do for now.