Stephanie: May 1998

Stephanie: May 1998

Fuck May 1998! What a shitty month it was. Away from home for three weeks on a business trip. Working 14-16 hours every day and then hitting the hotel bar for a triple Maker's Mark before crawling upstairs to one soulless Marriott hotel room after another.

Working so late every night that I couldn't even call Stephanie to say good night (although she would have talked to me even if I called her at two in the morning). I would check in with her every morning at 8:00 a.m. and briefly tell her I loved her and missed her. I knew it was an inconvenient time for her to talk, as she would have just gotten home from swimming laps and would be rushing to get ready for work. And every morning she would let me talk for a minute or so and then jokingly say: "Save it mister, I'm busy. I'll respond to this in writing." And then every morning at 9:00 a.m. a short email would arrive in my email inbox telling me how much she loved me and that she hoped I had a great day.

And Stephanie would then grind away all day as an associate lawyer in Big Law. Pouring her soul into reviewing documents, contracts, leases, insurance policies and writing memoranda about them for 10-12 hours a day. These jobs were like the Borg in Star Trek the Next Generation. The best and brightest minds of our generation swallowed by a machine—that despite churning furiously 365 days a year—produces nothing. Makes nothing, creates nothing, improves not one single life, yet swallows all in its path. Tall buildings filled with geniuses. All top graduates of T14 law schools. High honors, Order of the Coif, so smart that they were chosen for not one, but two prestigious federal appellate clerkships. The best and brightest cogs in the Machine—but hey: "it's alright, we told you what to dream."

Not that I was saving the world. I was making money. Lots of fucking money. Helping with a capital raise at the hedge fund. I was young to do a road show, this was the first fund in which I had a personal piece. Two and 20, making money from other peoples' money. Day after day, I would present part of our deck to prospective investors and then answer questions about why we were different than everyone else. Proselytizing with the intensity of a Born-Again Evangelist at a tent revival. New York, Boston, Chicago, Los Angeles, Dallas, Atlanta—a terrible concert tour that never ended.

Sometimes Stephanie and I fought when I was on the road. But there was no fighting or anger on this trip, only yearning and absence. We were in a good place in our relationship. A young couple in love. A young couple with an intense sexual connection. But a young couple whose bedrooms were temporarily a thousand miles apart.

Of course, I missed her. But let's be real: I missed fucking her. Laying in hotel beds at night with my penis in my hand, erect, rampant, stroking it. Thinking about her lips wrapped around it; sucking it like the fate of the humanity depended upon this blowjob being the best blowjob ever given. Fantasizing that I was kneeling behind her as she lay in the bed, with her face pressed into the sheets and her ass high in the air. Lining my penis up with the wet folds of her cunt, mounting her, pushing my erection into her belly. The jagged white scar on her back undulating as she moved backwards and forwards, grunting as I slammed into her core. Hilted, buried, knocking her forward with every stroke until I fucked her to the edge of the mattress, her head pressed into the corner. Her lean triceps cording as she pushed back, trying to gain purchase as I slammed into her over, and over, and over, and over.

Imagining the musky smell of her sex as I poured my seed into her. And always the sound! Of course, the sound, God I missed the sound. The rhythmic smacking of my hips against her ass as I pounded into her wetness. Eyes closed, writhing in the bed, my hand moving up and down the shaft of my cock as I dreamed of the small sounds—the wet sounds as my flesh entered her flesh, the creaking of the bedsprings, our headboard smacking into the wall. And the big sounds too. Stephanie moaning as she lay face down, ass up in the air as my 180 pounds slammed inter her lithe body over and over again.

That sweetest of sounds, a woman moaning as she makes love, urging her mate on and on. A song that transcends all languages, and cultures. And whether her cries are for her or him or for everything happening in that moment—what does it matter? And in my mind, I fucked Stephanie into the mattress again, again, again, and again.

Slowly climbing the spiral staircase. One step at a time. Waves of pressure building in my groin, my muscles, and my brain. Receding. Then building again. And finally, when the release came, night after night, grunting as my seed shot into the air.

A few seconds of respite as the orgasm coursed through my body and the endorphins flooded my brain. But a very, very short reprieve. Almost immediately, my frustration was back. What a fucking waste. This living seed that should have been pumped into Stephanie's mouth or cunt or onto her breasts had instead been purposelessly, impotently, futilely sprayed into the air. And then, night after night, I would grab my cock again and stroke it harder, longer, faster until I came a second time.

We didn't do phone sex. Maybe other couples were doing it back then—but I just don't remember anyone ever talking about it. It simply wasn't part of our repertoire. But Stephanie could tell I was struggling. She sensed my need. She knew that I desperately needed to lick her clit over and over again until her pussy rhythmically spasmed around my two fingers, as one hand gripped the sheets and the other pressed my face into her groin. She knew that I needed to grab her ankles and throw her legs over my shoulders, as the weight of my upper body caused her to fold in half until her calves rested against my shoulders. And then in one motion mount her, driving my cock into her until my pubic bone ground into hers. She knew that I urgently needed to spill my seed into her belly as her hands gripped my shoulders as she whispered into my ear, "harder, harder, harder, fuck me harder. . .."

And of course, I wasn't the only one in need. Stephanie's needs were just as urgent as mine.

Then she did something she had never done before. My cell phone rang in the middle of the night shocking me into awareness. No small talk. She whispered into the phone, "I need you to make love to me right now. I need it. I can't wait any longer."

She told me to take off my underwear. She told me to grab a pillow and hold it and imagine that it was her that I was holding. She told me to take my penis in my hand and stroke it. Trance like, she just kept saying over and over again, "Stroke your penis for me, stroke your penis for me, please stroke your penis for me, please, please, please . . .."

And she began to narrate what she was doing. That the only thing she was wearing was a pair of bikini panties. That she was lying face down on the bed. That she had placed one of my unwashed tee shirts over her pillow so that she could smell my scent as she masturbated. And that a pillow was between her legs and that she was gripping it over and over again with her thighs as she drove her hips into it. For several minutes she narrated this to me as I knelt beside the bed with my hand stroking my cock. And then she lost her words. Replaced by the sound of our mattress squeaking and soft, rhythmic grunts as she ground her hips into the pillow over and over and over again. And finally, she came, she came fucking hard, screaming into her pillow as she found the relief she needed. And a thousand miles away, I grunted like an animal as my sperm shot into the air as I listened to Stephanie fuck her pillow rather than me.

Days stretched into weeks. Night after night I masturbated, fantasizing that I was making love to Stephanie.

Finally, mercifully, the trip ended. On the flight home, my balls ached, and my groin throbbed. Agitated, horny, restless.

The cab ride home from the airport lasted forever.

Finally, I was home. I opened the door and walked into our townhouse. On the kitchen table was a large glass of bourbon, with a note under it. For a moment, I panicked. But then I picked up the note, drank a big slug of Maker's Mark, and read the following:

I want to be honest with you and tell you exactly what I want. Although this is a conversation that we should have face to face, I'm not brave enough to do it. Writing this note to you is the most assertive thing I have ever done. So, no matter how this turns out—you'll know that instead of trying to manipulate you passively aggressively, I put myself out there and told you the truth.

I'm in our bed right now naked, waiting for you. But there is something you need to know. I have stopped taking birth control. I want us to have a baby. That's what I want more than anything else in the world. It's the only thing I want right now. I want to bear our child.

I know that just because I have made this decision, doesn't mean that you're there too. Take a minute and think about what you want in life. I know that you never think about the future, but you have a woman that loves you more than anything else in the world that wants to create a new life with you. A child that, God willing, might be the best of both of us. And although she (😊) won't be perfect, she'll be ours.

If you're not ready, I won't be angry. Not even a little bit. Of course, I'll be disappointed, but I promise you I won't hold a grudge. It's a big step and I know you are scared to take that step. And I understand why given your childhood. I'm scared too. But I know what I want, and this is it.

So quit reading this letter, come upstairs, and make love to me.

I love you, Stephanie

I walked up the stairs and opened our bedroom door. Stephanie was sitting on the bed naked, reclining against a pile of pillows, drinking a big glass of bourbon. Her tits jutted out, nipples hard. God, she had a great pair of tits. What a shame that I wasn't more of a tit guy. Because I was six feet away from a world class pair of tits just waiting to be sucked and kneaded.

She looked at me and smiled. I could tell she was very nervous and more than a little drunk. She took a belt of bourbon and the words just started spewing out: "The condoms are in the top drawer of the nightstand if you want them. God, I've missed you. Come make love to me right now, foreplay will be a waste of time. I swear to God that if you want to wear a condom, I won't say a word. I'll put it on you myself. It won't upset me at all. I know this is a big step. We can talk about it as long as you want to talk about it. I'm not going to rush you, I just got tired of lying to you and to myself about what I want out of life. I promise you, if you aren't ready, I can wait as long as you need."

I didn't say anything. I didn't move. Paralyzed, I stood in the doorway.

She got out of bed and walked over to me. God she was beautiful. Five foot seven, 120 pounds. Dark brown eyes, pale alabaster skin, long dark hair, slim hips, large breasts compared to her small frame. A glorious triangle of dark brown pubic hair.

We met halfway. Those incredible breasts were pressed into my chest. I was as hard as a rock. She hugged me hard. I took her face, held it in my hands and kissed her passionately.

She pulled away, unbuttoned my shirt and took it off. She looked into my eyes and smiled wistfully as she grabbed my belt and said "how many times have I unbuckled this thing in the last 8 years? God, I love taking this belt off you. If you ever leave me for another woman I'm going to steal this belt. If another woman ever knelt before you and unbuckled this thing it would break my heart."

The dying sun was streaming through the window. Splashing light and shadow throughout the room. The house was completely silent except for the sound of our breathing.

Stephanie slowly finished taking my belt off. Her slim hands unbuttoned my jeans. She then slowly pulled the zipper down. She pulled my pants down a few inches, and I stepped out of them.

She got on her knees. She looked up at my face. Staring into my eyes, smiling.

She put her hands on the band of my underwear. She looked up at me, smiled, and said: "I've never told you this, but for me, this is the most sensual part of our lovemaking. Not just sucking your penis but this exact moment. I'm wet just thinking about what is going to happen in the next 30 seconds. I'm kneeling in front of you and we both know I'm about to put your penis into my mouth. I'm going to pull your underwear down and your cock is going to spring out and stare at me. It will be so hard. Skin taut, veins bulging. It's so raw and primal. It's so honest. It tells me how much you need me without you saying a word. And all I need to do is pull down your underwear just a few more inches." She looked up at me with her beautiful brown eyes, smiling.

I thought to myself about how many times this scene had unfolded. With Stephanie kneeling in front of me just like this. This beautiful, brilliant, passionate woman who—thank God—loved to suck my cock.

She slowly pulled my underwear down. My cock sprang out. Inches from her face. Heavy. Swollen. Rampant.

Stephanie stared at it. "God, your penis is beautiful. The first time we made out, I imagined what it would be like to be kneeling in front of you, just like this. It smells so male. Tangy, musky, sweaty, sexy. I'm soaking wet." She stuck her tongue out and licked the head one time. My knees buckled. She looked up at me and started laughing. "I'll make a deal with you. I'll stop talking now if you let me suck it." We both laughed.

She put her hands on my ass and pulled me towards her. Her eyes were closed and her mouth open.

And then the tip of my cock was in her mouth. She suckled very slowly, softly, gently. Her head slowly bobbing back and forth. Back and forth, back and forth, almost imperceptibly back and forth. Suckling softly, gently.

I looked down and saw the pale skin in the part of her hair. I rested my hand lightly on the back of her head as she slowly bobbed backwards and forwards. My cock slipping into and out of her mouth over and over again.

The room was quiet. The only sounds were the sucking noises as Stephanie continued. And our breathing. Me slowly exhaling as she sucked my cock. Stephanie stopping every few moments to take a deep breath and then starting again.

But after a few minutes she started sucking harder. Making a vacuum with her mouth. I looked down and her cheeks were indented as she sucked. As if her life and my life depended on how hard she could suck my cock at that moment. I took my right hand and grabbed a handful of her hair. Then I grabbed two handfuls of hair and started moving her entire upper body back and forth. Fucking her mouth firmly and slowly.

After a couple of minutes, she stopped, stood up, and smiled at me. "Come on, don't be scared. Put a baby in my belly right now. I know you can do it."

I pulled her to her feet. I bent down and picked her up over my shoulder and carried her to the bed. Stephanie loved it when I put her over my shoulder like that—she called it my inner cave man. I threw her onto the bed hard. We both laughed. One of these days I was going to break the goddamn thing but today was not that day.

I climbed between her legs and started licking her pussy. Stephanie was always wet when she was turned on, but now, her thighs soaked with grool. After less than 30 seconds of licking, she pulled me up and said "I told you I don't need any foreplay. Put a condom on or don't put a condom on, but you need to make love to me right now!"

Now I was on top of Stephanie, her legs spread wide. I mounted her, reaching down to position my penis at her entrance. In one motion, my cock was buried inside her. Hilted. Hot. Wet. Tight. It was like coming home. In that moment, I knew what I wanted most in the world. I knew there was nothing better on earth than exactly what we were doing at that moment. Stephanie wrapped her legs around my back and her arms around my shoulders. Her arms and legs squeezing me as hard as she could.

I started to pump. But actually, I couldn't pump at all. Stephanie's legs were wrapped so tightly around me I could barely move. Those slim but strong arms that effortlessly propelled her through two miles of water every day were wrapped around my upper back. Her thighs were soldered to my hips. Her calves clenched against my back and her ankles locked against my ass. She was squeezing me so tightly it was a little hard to breathe. We moved as one body, slowly writhing on the bed. When I lifted up, her body came off the bed with me. When I pressed down, she moved down too. It wasn't fucking, at least not the fucking I'm used to. It was rocking and grinding but with my cock completely buried inside her. She was so glued to me that I couldn't even manage quarter strokes. Just small movements forward and backward as we undulated on the bed. It was hard work, I was sweating. We continued to move back and forth on the bed oblivious to everything else in the world.

Stephanie was making soft female copulatory vocalizations. Not moans but rather soft spitting noises. With every attempted stroke, I heard "Uh, uh, uh, uh, uh, uh, uh, uh, uh, uh" softly whispered into my ear. Soft, guttural, elemental.

Her arms and legs were still wrapped around me. I could hardly breathe or move. The only thing that mattered in the world was that I pressed my pelvis into her pelvis. Again, again, again, again, again. Locked together, we moved in unison.

Our groins were soaked. We were covered with sweat and grool.

Stephanie's face was buried in my shoulder. She started talking softly, her mouth pressed against my ear. With every small stroke she murmured "harder", "harder", "harder", "harder", "harder." But I couldn't pump harder—I couldn't pump at all. All I could do was rock back and forth with her body glued to my body. Joined together as one. My hard penis nested in her vagina, buried to the hilt.

I couldn't have been any more turned on. But, at the same time, there was no friction, no way to escalate our lovemaking towards orgasm. All I could do was slowly rock back and forth with her clinging to me.

How long did we rock like that? I don't know, time was the last thing on my mind. In fact, nothing was on my mind except pouring myself into this woman I loved. All I could do was move forward and backwards as her body also moved forwards and backwards in conjunction with mine. Again, again, again, again, again.

Did this go on for five minutes, ten, more? I don't know. Time had stopped. Nothing outside our bed mattered.

Finally, she was unable to keep her grip on my back and her arms fell to the mattress although her legs were still locked around mine. I was finally able to move more, and I pumped into her again, again, and again. I started to feel the tension in my body build. I didn't hold back; I couldn't have held back if my life depended on it. Sweat was pouring off me. I was stuttering, grunting with each small stroke. She reached up and grabbed me again with her arms soldering our upper bodies together once more.

But I still couldn't come. Once again, I was pressed into her and there was not enough friction to orgasm. Just that endless rocking of my hips with her hips. By now, I was stuttering. With every spasmic push forward Stephanie whispered softly into my ear "harder, harder." But I couldn't go harder or deeper, I had been buried inside her the whole time. Still, she clung to me. When I moved forward, she pressed farther into the bed. When I moved backwards, she rose off the bed still clinging to me. Sweat was pouring off me, we were fucking in a puddle of my sweat.