We were Young

We knew our differences were too great. We were constantly feeling each other out in conversation, and nothing flowed easily between us except the passage of our feet back to the house we used to share. It was like our bodies had minds of their own, or a single mind: neither of us particularly seemed to want to be around each other intellectually, but physically, the need was overwhelming.

We actually just slept alongside each other the first night she was back. No holding hands, no cuddling up. But it was different in the morning.

I woke up with an erection, and as she stirred, she quietly sighed and adjusted her body position, her cleavage pronounced as she lay on her back. My cock grew larger and larger as she turned towards me and away again until I couldn't take it any more. As she rolled onto her back and sighed again, I placed my hands on her hips. She pushed upwards from her back to her knees, pushing my hands up with her body, sighing loudly. I could smell her vagina, slick with its own juices. Seems she'd woken with a boner as well.

I moved one hand around to the base of her back and the other to the base of her stomach, applying gentle pressure to move her sideways towards me. I removed my hands and she fell back down to the bed. I ran my hands up to her breasts. A small moan escaped her as I rubbed them in different directions. She reached for my cock and rubbed it through my boxers.

I moved my hands down to her bright pink underwear and pulled them down to her knees. She wriggled them all the way off, discarding them at the end of the bed, and opened her thighs. I started rubbing the base of her stomach again, then further down, catching her pubic hair and her clitoris with my knuckles. She gasped. None of it felt right. It felt forbidden, unwise. It made me want it more.

I pulled my boxers down to my knees and settled above her, lowering my erection towards her cunt. Without a word, she reached down and rubbed the tip up and down her vulva, then inserted it just inside.

I pushed my hips forward half an inch and withdrew back to the entrance. My cock glistened with precum. "Should we..." I trailed off.

"Just fuck me," she said.

Irresistible. Her words were like poison for my pleasure centers. I could not hold myself back, I couldn't even think about what all this might mean, so I pushed all the way into her.

"Oh," she said. I smiled and basked in her warmth all around me.

"You feel so good," I said.

"You feel so good," she replied.

She began to squeeze me back out, so I went with it, then pushed my hips all the way down, butting my pubic bone against her proud clitoris.

"I don't know how much longer..." I began.

"I'm nearly there," she replied.

I ground against her, desperately holding back my orgasm and trying to draw hers out. Every moment made her gasp and knead at my back, my shoulders, my arms, every touch frantic, needful. "Oh, oh, oh," she said. She seemed to get wetter, and wetter, and louder, and I had to have it; I had to come inside her while she came all around me, the thought was driving me wild, I had to have it now. I pulled back out one last time and felt my ejaculation build up at the base of my penis, and then I slammed back down against her.

She began squealing and arching her back again. I came, I came, I came, sinking what felt like litres of semen deep inside her vagina. Her pussy contracted over and over, milking more blasts out of me. She bucked and writhed under me. My penis buzzed with pleasure.

Afterwards, as I searched her face for the meaning of this frantic, desperate episode, she didn't say anything. She didn't even smile. Instead, she stared at the ceiling with wide eyes as she caught her breath, then she wrapped her half-naked body around me, her head on my shoulder, and I felt my come drip from her and pool on the sheets next to my ass. We lay like that for a while. I wouldn't call it an afterglow; it was more like a flickering electric light pulsing its last inside both of us, no indication of when it would give out.

The day proceeded normally, at least on the surface: showers, breakfast, talking, flirting. I felt a vague unease throughout, and she acted somewhat removed, as if she was waiting for me. Waiting for what? A signal, I suppose. A statement. A declaration. Something to prove to her I was ready to be her rock. I knew this - I could read her pretty well by now - but it didn't feel right. Too much water under the bridge.

That evening, we cooked fish together and ate it up on the rooftop with a bucket of beers. We sat side by side on cushions on a large, thick rug, looking out at the greenery that surrounded the house. After I defused an awkward moment of tension - she was irritated about the way I would half-laugh, I immediately smiled and mocked her for it, and that made her smile - she told me I had changed, and she could see that. The way she said it, she made it sound like approval. Now it was my turn to be irritated. Was I really that bad before? And how much had I really changed? Maybe I'd just gotten more sure of who I was? I guess that's a change, but who is she to say whether it's good or bad?

I told her that was a nice thing to say, but I wasn't sure how much I had changed. I told her I felt like I was understanding myself better since she left. We fell into a pointless argument about what I was like before, and what that could mean for what I might be like in the future (not good, in case you were wondering). I kept asking why we were even arguing about such a broad hypothetical, when we were both young and had so much growing to do, and anyway, was this really so bad? And she couldn't believe I didn't get how important it was, that my behaviour now signals my behaviour later, that I need to be more aware of how that affects other people. It went around and around, an argument caught up in itself.

We continued drinking throughout. At some point, she took a swig and left a droplet of beer on her lower lip, which she then licked away. I lost all sight of the argument and leaned toward her, she looked at me sideways, leaned toward me, and then we were kissing frantically. Our hands roamed all over each other, tugging at fabric and squeezing in sensitive areas. The fight had amped us up, and the alcohol lowered our inhibitions. I realized later that as much as it was an argument, it was also foreplay, building a tension between us that needed to be released.

I pulled her to her knees and pushed her forward. She perched on all fours, facing away from me. I reached under her skirt and ripped her panties down -- she looked back at me, filled with need and expectation -- then I pulled down my shorts and underwear, stroked my cock a couple of times, crawled up until I was against her, lifted her skirt to expose her bare ass, and... and...

She pounded back against me. Bam, bam, bam, bam. Heaven. She grunted her satisfaction with each stroke, and after barely a minute, I could feel my orgasm rushing on. Not yet, I said to myself, and held her ass still with my cock buried and twitching in her pussy. "Oh," she said, "oh my, oh my God, yes." She tried to pull her ass forward to jolt it back, but she only made it half an inch until I pulled her back. "Oh yes, yes, yes!" came her reply.

I wanted to be on top of her, pressing her down into the hard roof. I pulled out and flipped her onto her back. She yanked her skirt off as she landed, and my shorts and boxers joined them on the concrete. I set a cushion under her ass and drove back into her. "Oh shit! Oh shit!" She found the presence of mind to pull her tank top up and over her head, then reach behind herself and unclasp her bra, which she flung to the side. Now completely naked, she continued to rut against me like an animal as I pistoned in and out. I got my shirt off.

"Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah," she said.

I slowed down my stroke and pressed myself on top of her. Her breasts folded in on themselves against my chest, but her nipples - as firm and aroused as ever - dug through my chest hair. "Oh please," she managed. "Oh."

Then, with my cock buried all the way inside her, my pelvis grinding ever so slightly against her, my torso pressed into her, she came, moaning and groaning with her head and neck curled up off the concrete and her legs wrapped around my ass and her fingertips digging into my back. I stayed there, riding it out, satisfied I'd held my own orgasm at bay while she lost composure completely. Like I'd won the fight in the end. Her head, arms, and legs fell back against the concrete, and as she caught her breath, I pulled out of her still-twitching cunt and moved to a kneeling position over her chest. I masturbated myself for about ten seconds before pumping three shots of semen onto her tits. It was bright in the dark, spatters and globs of white against her creamy-olive-toned skin and protruding nipples.

I sort of fell and lay on my side next to her on the concrete, breathing deeply. She looked straight up at the clouds, her thoughts elsewhere. She'd done nothing about my semen, which stuck to her tits like whipped cream until some pale watery drips traced a path across goose-pimpled flesh down the side of her chest and under her back. I turned to lay on my back, my now flaccid penis slapping against my stomach, and we stayed like that for a couple of minutes.

That was new, she said.

Yeah, I replied.

Why did you do that?

I paused, trying as always to think of the right answer. Then I thought, why not be honest? And I simply said: I wanted to.

She continued to stare straight ahead for a minute. Then she got up, grabbed her clothes, and disappeared through the roof terrace door, back down the stairs into the house.

I didn't see much of her the next two days. I mean, I saw all of her first thing in the morning when she emerged from bed and stripped naked before putting on shorts and tank top and heading out for her morning jog and yoga by the beach. Then she'd come home, shower, eat eggs and toast with me, then head out to catch up with other people. Usually she'd return late afternoon, smelling faintly of weed, and reapply makeup before going out again. I had lessons to teach both nights but I still wound up in bed asleep before she got home, and I'd only stir when she sneaked in.

She let me spoon her. She nestled her ass right back into my crotch, and she moved a little bit, and she quietly sighed. But it went no further than that. I was thinking about her reaction to what I'd done to her on the roof. I figured she was thinking about it, too. But we didn't talk about it. Sometimes I wonder what would've happened if we had talked about it; maybe this was one of those moments where she wanted me to take charge and be who I was going to be. Maybe she would have found it attractive if I'd been open about what I wanted, sexually, if not from day one then at least from that visit on.

Maybe she would've stayed, and maybe we would've gotten married, and maybe we'd have kids together by now.

As it was, when her private car showed up to take her back to Belize, embraced her on the pavement next to her backpack, then watched her head south, back to her new life. Which, come to think of it, I'd barely asked her about. But there was something that concerned me more than anything else.

When we video-called a few days later to check in, she was all smiles at first, but there was that expression on her face again. Present, but waiting. I asked her how she was feeling, and then I asked her if there was anything we needed to think about, and when she still didn't get it, I said, well, you know, we weren't careful.

She laughed and said, I feel like that won't be an issue, considering where you ended up.

I laughed too, nervously, not sure if she was joking. It didn't feel like I joke. Then I said - but the first time.

Oh yeah, she said. Well, you don't need to worry. I'm still on the pill.

Okay, I said.

Then we talked a little more, then we ended the call, then we never saw each other again.

Looking back, I ask myself: what did it all mean? In all my other relationships, I've never matched the intensity of that physical connection. And yet the intellectual grounding I've shared with other women since has been satisfying on a deeper level.

So I guess it means we were young. More to the point, I was young. I had a lot to learn. And I'm grateful to her, for all she gave me, for all she taught me. I just hope she looks back on our time, and on me, with more affection than regret.