I had a study group in college, eight of us in the same major who always seemed to end up in the same classes and eventually formed a study group. Mostly we just studied together about thirty hours a week, but a few of us hung out in the evenings or on weekends, usually hitting the bars or hosting our trademark screwdriver parties in a group member's dorm. The others typically had good reasons not to hang with us: Sabrina, for example, was married and typically spent her time outside of school with her husband, and Alex drove a cab in the city seven nights a week to pay for his education.
Annette also had a good reason not to hang with us: she had a high-school-sweetheart boyfriend "back home" she was committed to, even spending every other weekend out of town visiting him. She was also a bit shy and rather smart--one of the top students in most of our courses--and probably self-conscious about being a bit shy and rather smart. She also didn't drink as heavily as the rest of us, and, well, not drinking eliminates about 98% of a college student's social opportunities. But Annette was actually kind of sexy, in a Laura-Leighton-back-when-she-played-Sydney-on-Melrose-Place kind of way; she and
To this day, I don't know why I had never considered fucking her. I guess I would chalk it up to sexual attraction and desire being incredibly strange and complicated processes, but I also don't really recall thinking of her in sexual terms, possibly because she was in a committed relationship and, frankly, a little introverted.
One Friday afternoon, though, as we were packing up to head over to the bar--your typical college town bar, complete with cheap beer, loud music and way too many students--Annette asked if she could come. We were all a little surprised, but immediately invited her along. We got there early enough to grab a table, order burgers and start drinking before it got too busy. Annette was her usual quiet self, but she had a few beers and I noticed she was talking to people as the night wore on. I, however, spent most of the evening on a quest. One of our other classmates was there with some of her friends from work, and she had introduced me to all of them when I stopped by to say hello...including the tall, shapely brunette sitting next to her. For the next four hours, I bought her drinks and chatted her up--and even danced with her some, which I never, ever do except in the most extreme emergencies--in an ultimately unsuccessful attempt to get into her panties. When she and her coworkers decided to bail, I returned to our table to have a final beer before leaving for home...alone.
Annette saw me sit down, and came over to sit with me. "No go with the brunette, I take it?" she asked.
I laughed. "No. I guess not, but it was worth a try. They can't say no if you don't ask."
"And...what about your girlfriend?" She knew I was dating someone.
"She's not here," I said, not wanting to go into it any further.
"I see," she said. There was no judgement in her voice. "I guess you're not that serious, or else you wouldn't live two hours apart and see each other only a couple times a month."
"Ouch," I said, but then sudden realised she was talking about her and her boyfriend. "What happened?"
"He told me he liked me, but that he wanted to find someone better." I could hear the hurt in her voice.
"Ouch," I said again. "Those were his exact words? You're not paraphrasing?"
"Actually," she said, "his exact words were, 'I like you, you're sweet and you're smart and you're a comfortable fuck, but I want to find someone better.'" The hurt disappeared. She was angry now.
She stood. "I better get going now. It's late, and I've got to walk home."
I drained my beer, stood up and we walked out together. "You're right, it's late, I'll walk you home."
We talked all the way to her house, about a fifteen minute walk. As we got to her the door, she said, "Thanks for letting me come out tonight, and for walking me home. I've been pretty lonely since the break-up, and I haven't had anyone to talk to, so thanks for talking, too."
"It's my pleasure." I should have offered to kick her ex's ass.
She smiled, unlocked the door, and stepped in before stopping. She turned back to me, looking down at my feet, avoiding eye contact. "I'm really lonely."
"I know you are, Annette," I said. "I'm sorry, you deserve better than that. Any time you want to talk..."
"No," she said, still looking at my feet. "I don't want to talk. I mean..."
"What?" I asked. "Anything you want. Just tell me."
She looked up now. "Well...you struck out with the brunette...and you're going home alone...so...I thought maybe you'd like to come in...and...stay."
As the words trailed off her tongue I suddenly saw her. Naked. Up against the door she was now holding open. And me fucking her.
It's amazing how much your view of someone can change with only a few words.
"Well, my girlfriend isn't here I guess..." I stepped through the doorway. "And I hear you're a comfortable fuck..."
She turned around, almost laughing and about to say something, but I grabbed her around the waist, pulled her to me and kissed her. She pulled back, and looked me in the eye: "Find out for yourself."
I had never actually fucked a woman up against a door before, but I set out to make my previous vision come true. I pulled her knit turtleneck over her head and tossed it on the floor, then pushed her back against the door and we started working on each other's jeans while kissing like maniacs. She pushed my jeans down, and whispered, "Fuck me." But I had other ideas.
I dropped to my knees and buried my face in her crotch, grabbing her panties between my teeth and trying--unsuccessfully--to work them off while my hands reached down to help her step out of her pants. I reached up, yanked her panties off of her hips, and buried my face in the bright red hair covering her mons. She lifted her right leg and hooked it over my shoulder, giving me complete access to her pussy, and instinctively grabbed my head, steadying herself and pulling my mouth harder against her. She was already wet as I sucked her vulva into my mouth, and pushed my tongue deep inside her cunt. She gasped loudly and moaned, "OH GAWD!" as she held my head firmly and began grinding her pussy against my face. It was hot.
And then she came. Loud enough to wake the neighbourhood. And that was even hotter. It was really fucking hot. I stood up, grabbed her left thigh above the knee and pulled her leg up over my hip, and thrust my cock into her still trembling cunt. She wrapped her arms around my neck, French kissed my lips thickly coated with the slimy remnants of her orgasm, and we fucked.
For me, eating pussy is an incredibly intimate act whose pleasure--on my end--derives from a smorgasbord of sensory inputs: I love the visual stimulation from seeing pussy up close and personal, every minute anatomical detail laid out right before my eyes; feeling the coarseness of pubic hair matted against soft, vulvar skin; the sensation of my tongue gliding across slick labia wet with sticky arousal; the wonderful taste and smell, and change in taste and smell as the pH and viscosity of her juices respond to impending orgasm; and hearing a woman moan and feeling her writhe in building pleasure.
And most of all, I love how all of these combine to give me a sense of a woman's complete experience as she trembles against my mouth and beneath my hands.
And for me, eating Annette's pussy up against the door in her living room was the quintessential cunnilingus experience against which I have since compared every time I go down on a woman.
That's why I did something that I'd never even considered doing before, but have done many times since: I stopped fucking her just to go down on her again. "Turn around," I commanded. "I want to take you from behind." But as soon as she turned around, pushed her ass back and leaned forward, hands against the door, I again dropped to my knees, grabbed her hips and buried my face in her pussy.
"OH GAWD!" she cried again, pushing her ass back even harder against my face. "Jeezus. Don't fucking stop." I didn't. Wild horses and all that. It was too fucking hot to stop. I sucked and licked her as eagerly and hungrily as I've ever sucked or licked a woman, before or since, and when she came, it left me completely satisfied. I stood, thrust my cock in her trembling cunt again, and came instantly.
I didn't quite understand the orgasm-as-death metaphor yet, or the inherent violence that metaphor suggests, but in retrospect, that was the first time I felt like I was trying to hurt--or kill--a woman with sexual pleasure in order to bring us both to an orgasmic intensity neither of us had ever before achieved.
That night and the next morning, I went down on her three more times, and we fucked three more times--including a deliciously sexy repeat of me eating her pussy and fucking her from behind while standing in the shower--and it was overall one of the most satisfying sexual encounters of my life. But maybe her ex was right, at least in some sense: maybe Annette was "a comfortable fuck." I mean, fucking her was really nice, that is, I really liked the physical act of fucking her--she was soft and tight, but not overly so, and she got so perfectly wet and viscous that it felt absolutely wonderful being inside her and fucking her--but she didn't quite respond as intensely as she did when I went down on her.
But sex is about more than just fucking. It's about more than just penetration. Similar to the pleasure of eating pussy deriving from a smorgasbord of sensory inputs, the ultimate pleasure of sex derives from a huge smorgasbord of acts and emotions and feelings and experiences. And that's how Annette's ex was wrong. He just didn't look for and find the rest of the smorgasbord, and then he mistook his failure for her's and dumped her.
And he was also wrong about one more thing: he will never find someone better. The problem was him, not her. They dated for a few years, and yet in all that time he was never able to find in her what I found the first time I looked, and in a matter of minutes: Annette was smart and sweet, but she was not "a comfortable fuck." She was a fantastic fuck.
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