My-sogyny Ch. 01byAgni©
And then there was Jenny, standing in the doorway, her carefully matched white panties and perhaps too small sports bra hinting at the shape of things to come. Her hair was short cropped and blonde, falling over her black-rimmed glasses. She was attractive, until you peered beneath the surface.
She demurely raised her hand to the light switch and flicked it downward. I was laying on her bed, my shirt off and my jeans becoming tighter and tighter. She moved her foot. I noticed her thigh trembling. She was nervous.
"Don't worry," she said. "I'm cool." More to herself than to me, it seemed. I blinked my eyes and she walked towards the bed. She crawled onto the end of it, her breasts grazing my feet as she moved up, towards me.
"So this is not what you expected huh?" She smiled, timidly. No, it wasn't. I'd known her almost a year and a half. When we first met, I asked her out immediately. A club, a bar, a show or concert, I don't remember where it was and it doesn't matter. She soundly refused me and that was that. She was the friend of a friend, a roommate's buddy's buddy. Some sort of twisted social chain that.
Over the months we'd become drinking buddies. She was faint of heart and between Prozac, therapist visits and panic attacks, she filled her time with booze and men. Just turns out, I was the flavor of the night.
She moved up my body like a hot shower, leaving any exposed flesh goosebumpy and tingly. Too soon she was right on top of me. Her lips as soft as expected, her hands stronger than was necessary. I reached up and touched, explored for the first time. I'd stolen glances at her, a quick glimpse of cleavage through her blouse, a casual examination of her ass as she walked to the bar for another drink. I knew, intellectually, what I was about to experience.
She kissed, and kissed well. Not the sloverly-happy-puppywash with her tongue that some women do. Not the pinch-lipped, defensive, virginal kisses. But even, enticing, welcoming kisses. She stopped and took off her black-rimmed glasses.
"You're blurry now." She giggled, then dove into my chest, searching and exploring with her hands, while I returned the favor. Her sports bra was next to depart, bored with the scene. I threw out all pretense and scoured her body with my eyes. Every curve and line, her hardening nipples (due to the cold, I'm sure, not excitement), the sleek line of her shoulders I committed to memory in a single moonlit second.
My hands found her trembling thighs. I ran my hand along them.
"Relax." I said, not too softly I hoped. I didn't want her to think I liked her. Because I did, but not forever. I was going to like her very much for tonight. Then tomorrow, I'd like her as much as yesterday. She straddled me and sat back.
My excitement was obvious, and that gave her power, gave her leverage, and she liked that. She sat with a wicked grin, swaying slowly. Feeling frustrated, and vulnerable, I sat up and flipped her over. I put my weight on her and held her down. She responded by arching her back and opening her legs. So, I thought, now we understand one another. Not that I had any doubts as to her particular brand of kink, you can sense it on folks usually. Smell it on them.
"You like 'em?" She asked, wiggling her chest, and thus her medium-small breasts, back and forth, like bait for a lion.
"Yeah." I said stupidly, grabbing one and squeezing it, rolling my thumb across the nipple. She smiled.
"My mom has huge tits." She said, quite matter of factly.
I wasn't sure how to react. My first thought was why ain't I fucking around with her then, but my brain filter kicked in and I said "Oh?"
"Yeah. Huge. I wish I had tits like that." I pinched her nipple. Me too, I thought.
"Pinch harder if you want. Or suck, its no big deal." I considered. To my regret, she went on. "It doesn't do much for me. But I know guys like it."
I paused in my tongue and finger assault and looked at her. What the hell have I gotten myself into? I'm drunk, that's no surprise, but this girl is bizarre. Quick, say something.
"No pleasure at all?" I asked.
Fuck it then. I unceremoniously gripped the waistband of her contrived white panties and pulled them down. She lifted up her ass to accommodate my desire, and in moments, they'd gone to dance with Sports Bra.
What I found was no surprise. Fashionable as she was, she and her razor had endeavored to emulate the late 90's trend in pornography, keeping everything slick-smooth, everyday, because, you never know.
Moments passed strangely. She closed her eyes and I suddenly cursed my self for not trimming my fingernails, you know, because you never know. I got over it. When I called her earlier tonight, I said "You, me, drink 'til someone falls." And here we were, both of us on our backs. So my fingers flashed back through every girl I'd ever touched, and every lecture I'd ever heard and every drunken conversation with anyone who's ever touched a vagina. Every woman is different! A thousand voices slurred in my head.
I focused my efforts. Everywoman is different, but this one likes it rough and is drunk. She put her hand on my shoulder, pushed gently. I smiled to myself. I knew that push. It was a push I'd given to many women in my lifetime. It was the subtle way of saying "put it in your mouth."
So I played dumb, until she finally broke down and asked.
Time is an odd thing when you're fooling around with someone. You want to get in as much of everything as possible, but ultimately, you want to fuck. And eventually, someone will break, give in and just get to the fucking. She broke before me.
"Lemme see it." Again I considered. I sensed the warning signals. My drunkenness was fading. No, I decided, better not to add this one to the list.
"Sorry, let's not. It'll make our friendship weird," I said, as if it wasn't already.
"Come on. Lemme see it." She pushed me off of her, rolling onto of me. "Come on." She began to tug at my jeans.
"No. I'm not going to fuck you." I said, a little more assertively.
"What? Why not? You'll finger fuck me, but that's it huh? What's the matter? Decide it's too loose for you? Fucker." On top of me, completely naked, she ground herself against my crotch and tore at my jeans.
"Cut it out!" I said, grabbing her wrist. Her other hand pulled the snap on my pants loose and pulled at the zipper clumsily. I grabbed both her wrists.
"NO." I said to her, squeezing her wrists.
"Come on." She licked her top lip just a little and pushed her shoulders back, her breasts jutting forward. "I'm pretty good."
"Listen, sun'll be up soon. Let's sleep. Or if you want, I'll work you over with one of your toys. But I'm not going to fuck you."
Her eyes narrowed. Rejection, that's what I read in her eyes, cold and clear. Then I read hate. She pulled at my pants, hoping to slide them down before I could get them re-fastened.
She fought over my pants for a while then anger crept up on me like a hang over. Slow at first, a simple feeling of discomfort and vague nausea, then, full on sickness. In this case it was rage. She would rape me if I let her.
"No means NO." I said, thinking back to all those public service announcements, those anti-date-rape ads. And it worked. She stopped instantly, frozen by her own Safe Words. My anger subsided, I knew I'd chosen my words correctly. She laid down on top of me.
"It's okay. Let's just lay here, close." She purred.
I watched her curl up and close her eyes. The next morning I found a note.
"Had a good time. I'll call ya tonight. Stay as long as you want, but lock up when you leave."
That night, I got an email from her. "I'm sorry for my behavior. I hope we can be friends still."