And then she stunned me.

"I want you to make love to me," she whispered in my ear. She pressed her lips to mine before I could say anything in response. She kissed me deeply and her hand massaged my hardening cock through my pants. When she broke the kiss, she said, "I want you to fuck me."

I hesitated. I wasn't saying 'no'. I was just taken off guard. We'd had an established pattern: flirting, making out, her groping me, me groping everything but her crotch, and then her sucking me off to an incredible orgasm. I was just surprised.

"Will you do that?" she pleaded. "I promise that it will make you feel good. I'll make you feel terrific."

When I looked in her eyes, I knew that I couldn't have denied her even if I'd wanted to. And I didn't want to. I'd watched her cute, tight little butt sway when she walked. I'd seen her in tight skirts, short dresses, and sheer nighties. I hadn't admitted it to myself before this. But now I knew that I'd wanted her sweet little ass for some time now.

"Oh God, yes," I gasped. "I want to fuck you so much."

We wrestled off my clothes, with Michelle interrupting the undressing several times to suck on my cock or stroke it. Maybe she wanted to make sure that I stayed in my state of extreme sexual tension so that I wouldn't change my mind. If so, that wasn't necessary. Nothing could have made me change my mind.

Michelle left her dress on but slipped her panties off. As she did, I could see that she was wearing stockings and a garter belt, not pantyhose or the thigh-highs she sometimes wore. We were both on our knees on the bed when Michelle kissed me again and stroked my cock with her hand. She sat back and pulled a condom from under the pillow. I realized that she'd been counting on being successful in persuading me.

As Michelle rolled the condom on my rigid cock, she said, "I'm going to love this so much. God I want your cock!"

She turned around on her hands and knees, presenting her sweet round ass to me. I didn't wait. I pulled the skirt of her dress up over her hips and pressed the tip of my cock to her asshole. The condom was lubricated, of course, but I suspect that Michelle had filled herself with lubricant, too. Her anus yielded to the insistent pressure of my cock. Her ass was tight, but slick, and I slipped in easily.

I'd never had anal sex before. It was a fantastic experience. When Michelle had promised that she'd make me feel terrific, she was understating it by several orders of magnitude. I realized then that assholes can do things no cunt can. Michelle was clenching and unclenching her sphincter in synch with my thrusts—relaxing as I pressed in and gripping me tightly as I pulled out. She was milking my cock with her ass. She wasn't passively being fucked; she was fucking me as much as I was fucking her.

I held her hips tightly as I worked to an ever-quickening pace that culminated in my erupting in her ass, filling (and, I worried, maybe overfilling) the condom. We collapsed and rolled on our sides, spoon-style, with me still deep in her bowels.

I was breathing hard and I found my hands roaming over Michelle's body: her hips, her waist, and her "breasts". I didn't know then exactly how she managed to have such perfect breasts. I learned later that she had well-designed silicone-filled breast molds that glued to her chest. They had natural-shaped nipples and, if you felt them through a bra or other clothes, they felt real. I didn't know all that then, but I enjoyed just feeling her feminine form as my cock wilted in her ass.

That encounter, possibly the most erotic and passionate of our relationship, added a wonderful new component to our relationship. Now, there was always the wonderful uncertainty of whether she'd suck me off or we'd wind up fucking. Heads or tails? I won either way.

After we'd begun fucking, sometimes—not very often, but some wonderful times—Michelle would come to my bed at night, after I'd gone to bed for the night. On these nights, I would have had dinner with Michael, or maybe we'd both have gone our separate ways for the evening. Either way, I'd have gone to bed without seeing Michelle, until I was in bed.

The first time Michelle graced my bed at night, I'd already fallen asleep. I woke up slowly to find that she'd crawled under the sheets and snuggled into me spoon-style, pulling my arm over her. I'm not sure she was trying to initiate sex. Maybe she just wanted to sleep together and be held like that. But we were both young and healthy. Her nightie pressed against my chest and her silk panties pressed back against my uncovered cock. Those things had their predictable effect. We wound up digging a condom out of the nightstand and having a middle of the night fuck before falling asleep still joined. She left me sometime in the middle of the night, after I'd fallen fast asleep.

The other times we'd have these late-night dates, she'd either sneak in while I was asleep and I'd wake up to her rubbing her soft body against mine, or she'd knock on the door just as I was turning out the lights to go to sleep. Either way, she knew she was always welcome in my bed.

The weeks and months rolled by. This was, by far, the best time of my life. What more could I have asked for. My studies were going well. I didn't have the distractions of many of the other new graduate students: the need to find a partner and all the socializing that required; the frustration of not finding a partner; the expense and time of going out on dates. (Michelle and I had plenty of dates—all at home.) Things were great.

One night, after we'd been going together for nearly five months, I guess I had more to drink than usual, and more than I should have. Finals were over and I knew I'd done well in my classes. I was feeling like celebrating and just relaxing. I came home early, bringing Chinese with me and a bottle of champagne.

Michelle and I had a great dinner. After dinner, we opened another bottle of wine. Tonight, I was the one to say, "Let's go make love." Michelle was eager, of course. We went to my bedroom again. (We never went to Michelle's bedroom. I think that was because it had lots of things that might remind us of Michael and the transition that Michelle had to make.) We had a wonderful evening of passionate lovemaking.

After my climax, when we were nestled together—me in a state of sublime ecstasy—I put my arms around her, kissed her on the neck, and whispered, "I love you, Michelle." Wow! Where did those words come from? But as soon as I'd posed the question in my mind, I realized that the words had been there for a long time now. They were just waiting for an unguarded moment when they could escape my lips.

Michelle tensed. I sensed a problem immediately.

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing," she said, unconvincingly.

"No, what is it?"

"It's okay. We can talk tomorrow. For now, just hold me," she asked. And I did, still perplexed but happy to be holding her.

Michelle left when I was sleeping. And she didn't show up for a few days. I knew better than to talk with Michael as if he were Michelle. My hints of wanting to see Michelle were ignored.

Then Michael asked, casually, whether I'd found another place to live.

I was floored. This came from out of nowhere. I remembered that the sublet agreement was just for six months, but I had no inkling that Michael might want to not renew it. I'd been living a fantasy life. And I knew that Michelle had been loving it, too—even if I didn't fully understand what she got out of it. And all of my conversations with Michael had been fine. There hadn't been even a hint of a problem in the arrangement. What the hell?

"You've got to be out by Saturday, you know," he said calmly as if it were no big deal at all—as if it didn't completely upend my life, destroying everything I'd come to love about my life now.

"What? ... Why?" I pleaded--pathetically, I fear. It was all to no avail. Michael made it clear that I would be moving out by Saturday. End of story. It didn't matter at all if I understood why.

The next few days were miserable for me. They dragged by with me mostly just moping through them. I managed to make arrangements through student housing for another place to live. I wasn't going to be homeless. No, I wasn't losing my home, just my life.

Finally, on Friday morning, I confronted Michael. I told him that I knew that he wasn't going to explain to me why he wanted me to move out. I was resigned to moving out and I wasn't going to try to change his mind. But I wanted to see Michelle just one more time before I left.

"For a date?" Michael said incredulously.

I realized that he was asking whether I meant that I wanted to see her one more time so that she'd give me a blowjob or let me fuck her.

"No," I said emphatically. "I just want to talk with her."

He seemed to believe me and, after pondering for a moment, said, "Okay. I'll see that she's here this evening, after dinner."

I went out for the afternoon. I just didn't want to be around the house now. I ate out and came back after dinner time to find Michelle waiting in the living room. She was dressed in a very feminine way, as always, but she wasn't dressed to seduce. There were two glasses of wine on the table and I sat next to her and picked one up.

"I don't understand."

"No, I'm sure you don't," Michelle replied, taking a drink from her glass. "I'm not sure I do, either."

I hadn't planned what I was going to do or say. I was winging it. We talked for a while but the conversation didn't go anywhere. I was drinking faster than I should, I'm sure. After 15 minutes or so, the bottle of wine was almost empty and Michelle accounted for less than half a glass of that.

I was desperate. I didn't want to leave. I didn't understand why I had to and neither Michael nor Michelle were helping me figure this out. So, I cast about for hypotheses. And then I hit on a theory. It seemed so right when it occurred to me. As it turned out, it couldn't have been more wrong.

It dawned on me that Michelle wasn't getting as much out of the relationship as I'd thought. I'd never really understood what she was getting out of it. I'd never given her an orgasm. I'd never even done things that were primarily aimed at her pleasure. The whole thing had been incredibly one-sided. All I'd ever done was take pleasure; I never gave it. And, then, as if illuminated by a bolt of lightning, I realized that it's to be expected that my profession of love for Michelle would be met with cold skepticism. What had I ever done to show my love for her?

This hypothesis, which quickly became a part of my perception of the whole relationship, drove me to a desperate act. I moved closer to Michelle and said, "I know I wasn't very thoughtful of you."

"It's not that," she said. But I had my analysis and I was sure that this was idle denial.

"No," I pressed on. "I'm sorry. I was selfish and inconsiderate. I wasn't thinking of you, or your pleasure. I was just bathing in the pleasure you caused me."

Michelle looked at me strangely, a look which I interpreted as uncertainty, as if she was rethinking something. Well, that was exactly what I wanted her to do.

I put my hand on the inside of her thigh. She twitched, which I interpreted as her pleasant surprise that I was caressing her with an eye toward her pleasure. She twitched, but she didn't stop me. And this, I took to be a good sign. She was letting me show her that I could change. That I wasn't completely selfish and our relationship didn't have to be built around her only giving and me only taking pleasure.

I slid my hand up toward Michelle's crotch, where it had never been before. I looked up at her and saw her watching me with guarded suspicion, or so I thought. I was determined to prove myself to her. I wasn't gay. But I was in love with Michelle. And, if Michelle happened to have a cock—if that's where her pleasure came from—I could handle that.

I pushed her skirt up, exposing her thigh-high stockings and her white satin panties with power blue lace trim. I could see her cock beginning to rise in response to the approach of my fingers. I got down on my knees between her legs, just as she had with me that first time. I slid both hands up the insides of her thighs and brought my lips to the bulge in her panties. Pressing my mouth over that bulge, I exhaled hot air through her panties and felt the welcoming response of her cock.

I rocked back enough to pull her panties down from both sides and off her legs. When I looked back to her crotch, her cock was almost fully hard and I smiled. This was working. I'd show her that our relationship could be different; I could satisfy her, just like she satisfied me. I knew that if I could make her feel what she made me feel, she would love me like I loved her.

Michelle's cock was hard now and I brought my lips to it with relish. If I'd thought all of this out before hand, I would have imagined that I'd be forcing myself to do this. But I'd have been wrong. Now I realized that I would have to force myself if I wanted to stop. And, I'm not sure I'd be successful if I tried.

My lips were around Michelle's hard cock and I was sucking it eagerly, desperately. I looked up at her. I wasn't going to try to handle the situation like she had with me that first time. I didn't have her skill. But I wanted to see her reaction.

She was looking at me with disbelief. I couldn't really tell what she was thinking from her expression. But I pressed on. I put one hand under her butt—that cute little butt that I'd fucked so many times before—and pressed her up so that her cock was even more exposed to me and pressed deeply in my mouth. And I worked her cock with my lips and my other hand.

I was doing this like a man possessed. I guess I was—possessed by the need to (re-)gain her affection and possessed by a passion that I couldn't have understood before this moment.

I sucked voraciously and, when I felt Michelle drawing close to her orgasm, I was filled with joy. I smiled around her rigid cock and anticipated the creamy reward that would prove that I could please her like she pleased me.

And the reward did come. It came in volume. I wasn't as good as Michelle at this. I gagged a little and had trouble swallowing it. What dribbled back on her cock wasn't dribbled intentionally. But, just as Michelle had, I carefully lapped it up, cleaning her softening cock with my tongue.

Just as I was examining my handiwork, and feeling rather proud of myself, Michelle blurted out, in a tone that send cold shivers through my spine, "Are you finished?!"

I looked up at her and the look on her face matched the tone. I was confused. I muttered a 'yes' as I got up and sat down next to her on the couch. Michelle pulled her skirt down over her soft cock.

"I don't understand," I stumbled.

"You've been saying that a lot tonight." It was said coldly, without affection. Her next remarks were more compassionate. Her voice softened and, for the first time tonight, she spoke to me kindly.

"Look, I told you that I didn't understand either. It's just that ... uh, I never intended to be with you more than six months. Six months is all that these things ever run. I may be a woman, but I've got a little bit of a man's desire for variety in me. I need fresh new meat—not to carve, I guess, but to be carved by."

My head was spinning. This wasn't answering any of my questions. It was just provoking more.

"It wasn't an accident that you caught me dressed. I mean, I didn't know you were coming home early that day, but I was going to be dressed whenever you came home. And, then, I'd plead with you not to tell anyone. And even if I knew you wouldn't, I'd make sure to let you know that 'I'd do anything to keep you from telling.'" I shuddered to the echo of that first encounter with Michelle.

"And then, I'd suck you off and it would be the best blowjob you'd ever have had. And then we'd be off and running." I was just staring at Michelle, dumbfounded.

"Don't play dumb." I didn't defend myself by saying that I wasn't playing.

"Do you think you were the first? Or that you'd be the last?" I guess I was dumb. Because that's exactly what I'd thought.

"No. I've had other roommates before—just like you. And I'm going to have more. In fact, I'm meeting a possible roommate tomorrow. We'll see if I like him. But these things don't last. Six months is about the lifespan of these things for me."

"But," I stammered. I didn't have anything to follow it up with, though.

"But what? It's over. That's just the way it is." Her voice was hard again. But when she looked at me, she softened once more.

"When you whispered that you loved me, it really freaked me out. I'm not looking for love. In fact, I'm most emphatically looking for something very different from love. And you were giving that to me. We had a good run. Maybe the best I've had. I loved the way you touched me. I could feel your desire—your need—for me. That's what I love. That's what I wanted from you."

"Things were going so well that, if you hadn't confessed your love for me, I might have extended the lease. I've never done that before but, like I said, we had a good run. When you told me you loved me, though, I knew that I had to end it there. I didn't want you to love me. I never wanted you to love me. I wanted you to fuck me hard. I wanted you to explode in my mouth. I wanted you to desire me so strongly that you couldn't bear not to have me. And you were giving me that in spades." She took a drink of her wine and went on. "Then you ruined it by falling in love with me."

I thought about whether I could tell her that I could turn back the hands of the clock—that I could unlove her, could just fuck her hard and desire her more than anything in the world. But I knew that she wouldn't believe me because I didn't believe myself when I imagined saying that.

"I thought that ... I mean, I thought tonight that if I could show you that I could give you ..."

Michelle cut me off. "I know what you thought. You made that clear." She took another drink of her wine. "But that's not what I was trying to get from you." Maybe I looked pathetic, I don't know. Well, I'm sure I looked pathetic. I was! But maybe she thought that I was crestfallen that she hadn't liked the blowjob I'd given her.

"Oh, you did okay. And it felt good," she said, but it was small comfort. I realized that I could still taste her cum in my mouth. "But the sex I needed from you wasn't that kind of sex. I take care of myself that way." I guess I looked quizzical; she explained. "Oh, I have lots of orgasms. After we'd have sex, I'd go back to my bedroom and, lie down on my bed, and pull my panties down. I'd caress myself and stroke myself to a crashing orgasm. And all the while, I'd be thinking about your hard cock pounding my ass or filling my mouth with cum. I'd think about how you looked at me, how your hands held me, how I caused you to explode with an earth-shattering orgasm. And then I'd erupt all over my skirt and stockings. That's how I get off. That's who I am."

Michelle tried to take another sip of wine but her glass was empty and so was the bottle, so she just went on. "It felt good to have you suck me. I realized as you were doing it, that this was a last, desperate act that showed me how much you wanted me. So, I added this to the list of things—the way you looked at me, the way you touched me, the way you screamed out when you erupted in my mouth or my ass—that showed me what power I had over you. I'll probably replay this scene when I jack off. It was these thoughts that brought me over the edge while you were sucking me. I mean, your lips felt good, but what gets me off is knowing the desire I can cause in men."

So, that's how it ended with Michelle. I decided not to stay that night. I left, crushed and depressed—spent the night in the teaching associate office. I went back the next morning to get my stuff. Michelle wasn't there and Michael didn't really say much to me. It was an awkward goodbye. No handshake—just a mumbled, 'bye', on both our parts.

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