But it’s another minute before he starts pushing it in, taking great pleasure in withholding form me exactly what I want.
But I know he’s just teasing. And, after all, it’s just going to make it feel that much better when he’s finally inside me.
Finally, it’s happening.
His cock is so fucking thick. Just the head is in, and I’m gasping.
It’s painful, but immensely pleasurable at the same time.
He pushes, incredibly slowly, his cock filling me centimeter by centimeter.
“Oh, God, Dylan,” I cry, as his cock finally is completely inside me.
It sure looked big when it was outside of me, but now that it’s inside of me, it’s completely massive—but just perfect. It’s just fucking perfect.
I’m not aware of anything else, as he’s fucking me slowly, his hips gyrating to create pleasure on all sides of me.
Oh my God.
Dylan is grunting lightly, and it just turns me on even more.
His body is a little above mine. He’s holding me on the sides, and I press my palms against his chest, letting them become enveloped in the hair that is just dense enough to be just fucking perfectly hot.
“You feel so good,” I manage to say. My vision seems like it’s clouding over in a way, becoming white on the edges. It’s the intense pleasure that’s doing it.
There’s nothing like this in the world, I think, as Dylan increases the pace.
For a second, I’m overwhelmed by the strangeness of this, how surreal it seems. Just a few hours ago, I was incredibly stressed, and if someone had mentioned Dylan Knight, I would have said he was a complete asshole.
That doesn’t mean I might not have thought he was incredibly hot and attractive. He might have even filled some of my fantasies that night.
But now, here he is, not only on my own bed, but his cock is deep inside me. And he wants me just as much as I want him.
Dylan takes his hands and seizes the sides of my head, my hair flowing around his fingers. It’s a protective, possessive, and sweet gesture all at the same time.
He increases the speed, and soon he’s really pounding me, his hips grinding against mine.
It’s coming. The second orgasm.
“You going to come?” he says, his voice low and rumbly, incredibly sexy.
I manage to nod, a little nod. I know my eyes are wide and innocent looking.
I love the way he’s holding my head so delicately, like I’m something precious, yet fucking me as hard as he possibly can. And shit can he fuck hard.
He’s not going to be a pro athlete for nothing. His body is perfect, not to mention immensely powerful. I’m sure he wouldn’t fatigue in the least bit if we continued to fuck for hours.
But I can’t hold out any longer.
The orgasm is about to flood through me. The pressure is intense.
“Good,” he says. “I can’t hold out any more.”
“Come inside me,” I say.
“Shouldn’t I pull out?” he says.
“I’m on the pill,” I manage to say, before I gasp, and begin moaning and squirming, completely overtaken by the orgasm.
Dylan grunts as he jams his cock absolutely as far inside me as it can go.
I can feel his cock inside me as it begins spasming, releasing a hot flood of his seed.
Good, I love having his cock and his semen inside me.
As I’m squirming, thrashing against his powerful chest and hips, my vision goes completely white, and I feel like I’m almost about to lose consciousness from the intense pleasure of the orgasm.
A minute later, it’s all over, and Dylan’s still inside me, still hard.
“Don’t pull out,” I whisper. “I want to keep feeling you inside me.”
“I wont,” he says, but we reposition ourselves so that we’re facing each other, lying on our sides, with his cock, now semi-hard, still deep inside me.
He leans in and kisses me. His hair is perfectly tousled from our sex.
“Wow,” I say. “I never expected that to happen.”
“You’re one hell of a massage therapist,” he says.
“I like to think so,” I say, grinning. “You’re the best client I’ve ever had.”
“What, you don’t do this with all your clients?”
I laugh.
Suddenly, everything comes back—the tuition debts I’m going to have to pay, my lack of money, my parents’ inexplicable and constant coldness, the approaching final exams, graduation.
“You look worried,” Dylan says, kissing my neck gently. “You didn’t want to do this?”
“No,” I say. “It was great. Amazing, is more like it. But I just—there’s so much going on, with finals and everything.”
Dylan nods. “It must be hard to worry about money on top of it all.”
“Yeah,” I say, without saying any more. I just don’t know what to say. How can I discuss money troubles with someone who’s going to be earning maybe millions of dollars starting next year?
I look around the room. It looks like a hurricane hit it. Our clothes are piled up on Tasha’s bed. Our shoes are in a heap on the floor. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I must have knocked off all my school papers and books from the bed where I’d been studying earlier today. They’re all in a heap on the floor, totally jumbled.
My laptop, fortunately, seems to have survived.
“I put it on the desk before we started,” says Dylan, noticing where I’m looking. “I didn’t want anything to happen to it.”
“Thanks,” I say. “I didn’t even notice.”
My eyes fall on his jeans, which have some holes in them that I didn’t notice before.
“Your jeans are all ripped up,” I say. “Can’t you afford some new ones?”
“My overcoat, too, was becoming ideal,” Dylan says.
“Huh? Is that some kind of football talk or something.
“Poetry,” says Dylan. “It’s Rimbaud. It’s a poem about… Well, I don’t know how to describe it right now, but the character likes that his clothes are torn and worn out. He wants to go on an adventure, wants to get away from the mundane life of everything being neat and tidy.”
“That’s how I feel sometimes,” I say. “ I wish I’d read that poem. He sounds like a great poet.”
“He was just a teenager when he wrote it,” says Dylan. “I’ll give you a copy of the book sometime.”
“When will that be?”
“Before finals, I guess.”
“We’re graduating in what, two weeks? I guess we won’t see each other again.” The reality of the situation suddenly hits me. Is this just a one-night stand then? “How will I get the book back to you?”
“Just because we’re leaving school doesn’t mean we have to stop seeing each other.”
“But aren’t you going to play in Washington State? That’s pretty far away from Upstate New York, right?”
There’s a hollow feeling in my chest now. How can this possibly continue? He’s going to have all the women he wants once he’s a pro player, even more so than here at Twilmore.
6
Dylan
Wow, that was incredible.
There’s something completely and absolutely different about her. She knows what she wants.
Finally, after about ten minutes of lying in the honeymoon position, I pull out my cock, which is finally going soft.
I think I could go for another round. I know she’ll get me hard in an instant the second she starts to kiss me again.
“We can do long distance,” I say.
I don’t know exactly what makes me say it, since, after all, there’s been a couple minutes of silence between us.
I’ve never felt this way about anyone I’ve slept with before. The football fan girls I’ve always just wanted out of my room as quickly as possible. But with Lauren—well, I want her to just stay with me, and I don’t like
one bit the thought of never seeing her again after graduation.
“I don’t know,” she says, speaking slowly, as if she’s thinking carefully about her words. “Does that ever work?”
“We could try it,” I say. “It’s just that I’ve never felt this way about anyone before.”
“You barely even know me. We just met a few hours ago,” she says.
“That doesn’t matter. I know what I feel. And it’s just…different.”
“What, you think you love me already or something?”
I don’t say anything, but inside I’m thinking that yes, I do love her. I can’t possibly say this right now. It would just seem to crazy, too emotionally unstable. Who knows what she’s thinking?
“You didn’t just want to bang the football champion as a trophy?” I say. I’m smiling, but inside I’m worried, wondering if it’s true. After all, that’s kind of how most of the other college girls have treated me.
I know, I know, usually it’s the guy who just wants to get notches on his belt, or his bedpost, or whatever. But what can I say? I guess poetry has opened up some part of me or something. I don’t quite know how to explain it.
But even if poetry opened up something in me, there wouldn’t be anything at all if there wasn’t Lauren. Just her scent drives me wild, and I have a fleeting fantasy of impregnating her and raising a family together, growing old together.
How crazy is that?
But then again my parents met in college, and they’re still very much in love. A lot of couples met in college and that was that—they never needed anyone else afterwards. So why is it crazy?
“Of course I don’t just want you as a trophy,” she says. “After all, before I met you, I thought you were just a repugnant jock.”
I laugh at the thought. “That’s so reassuring,” I say, and she giggles and tucks her head down into the nook of my shoulder.
I can feel myself getting hard again.
I wonder if she’s ready for another session. I know I certainly will be in another minute or two.
“You could move out to Seattle with me,” I say, without really thinking about what I’m saying.
Instead of saying anything, she takes my cock in her small delicate hands, her hands that are so petite yet so strong. I think back to being on the massage table, when I was rock hard, and my cock suddenly springs to full swollen life again in her hand, as she slowly runs her hand up and down the thick shaft.
“You really know how to use your hands,” I say.
“You haven’t seen anything yet,” she says, a glint in her eyes, as she gazes up to me with those big beautiful bright eyes, her long eyelashes fluttering up and down.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” says someone.
The door to the room is wide open as I look up.
“Shit,” says Lauren, trying to pull the sheets over us. But her hand’s still on my cock, which is harder than ever.
“I didn’t’ know you had company,” says the girl, who I presume to be Lauren’s roommate.
I can’t help but thinking the situation is funny, even though Lauren seems to be taking it very seriously. I get the feeling she’s never been walked in on before. But it’s happened to me enough times that I’m used to it by now. It’s college, after all, and these sorts of things are bound to happen.
“We were just studying,” I say, laughing at the absurdity of the excuse.
“Of course,” says the roommate, trying to take on a business like manner, her expression becoming serious, which just makes me laugh harder. “I’m sorry,” she says, coming into the room, and closing the door behind her. “I just really need to get some textbooks that I forgot. I’ve got this killer chemistry exam coming up.”
The roommate tries to advert her eyes, but I catch her sneaking a glance here and there.
“Are you Dylan Knight?” she suddenly says, her face lighting up in surprise.
“He is,” says Lauren, a note of pride in her voice.
I guess I’m a bigger commodity on campus among the female population than I’d formerly thought. I didn’t realize I’d get this kind of reaction.
“Holy shit,” says the roommate, before covering her mouth, as if very embarrassed. “I’m so sorry, I just wasn’t expecting… I just wasn’t…”
“All right,” says Lauren. “Enough’s enough. I’ll give you the room for the rest of the evening, Tasha. If you could just hand us our clothes we’ll get out of your hair.”
“Where are they?” says Tasha, making a greater effort to avert her gaze, which makes searching for our clothes that much more difficult.
“They’re…” says Lauren, but she’s unable to say they’re on Tasha’s bed.
“They’re on your bed,” I say, letting out a laugh that I can’t control no matter what. The situation just seems too funny, and the roommate’s demeanor is making it all the more comical.
She hands us our clothes, her hand covering her eyes, and we get dressed as best we can underneath the covers.
“Come on,” says Lauren, to me. “Let’s get out of here.”
I follow her into the hallway, where we burst into a fit of complete laughter, Lauren falling into a fit of incredibly sexy and feminine giggles, using her hand to try to stifle her laughter.
“Shhh,” she says. “She can still hear us.”
“Good,” I say, laughing so much my stomach is hurting. “It gives her a better story.”
“Where are we headed now?”
“I don’t know,” I say.
But it doesn’t even matter. I’m with her, and I don’t want to be with anyone else.
“I guess you need to work on your lit finals, right?”
“I guess so, but I’d rather spend time with you. Unless, I mean, unless you need to do some work yourself?”
“I guess I can take the night off,” she says.
I breath a sigh of relief. Good. After all, fuck finals.
We walk through the quad, which has darkened now, the sun having fallen. The lights of the stars are twinkling above, and the glow from the lampposts is soft and warm, creating a pleasant atmosphere.
I put my arm around her side, and pull her close. Somehow, the gesture feels more intimate than the sex itself.
“I really love feeling your body against mine,” I say.
“I know you like feeling your body inside of mine,” she says, laughing.
“I meant just feeling you against me right now.”
“So what is this?” she says. “I thought you were a jock who just left the women after sex. I mean, what is this? Why are we walking together now? Don’t you need to be running off to a football game?”
If you took away the tone of her voice, this would sound pretty harsh, maybe even mean, but as I look at her, all I can see is the smile on her face. I know she already knows this isn’t true at all.
I don’t need to defend myself. I don’t need to tell her that I felt differently about her, that I’ve never feel this way about anyone else. I don’t need to tell her that this all feels completely crazy, given that I met her just a couple hours ago.
But I do. I tell her, in the most eloquent way I can, which isn’t that eloquent right now, despite all the poetry classes I’ve taken.
I start to try to recite a piece by William Blake, but I stumble over the words.
I just can’t stop staring into her eyes.
Finally, I give up.
“I can’t concentrate on any poetry, no matter how well it expresses what I feel for you. I’m just too busy concentrating on you, on your eyes, on your face, on your hair.”
“That’s poetry on its own. Don’t you see that?”
“It sure doesn’t sound like any poem I’ve ever read.”
“It doesn’t have to,” she says. “It’s poetry what we’re making here. Poetry when its written down is just trying to show you something, trying to make you aware of things that are already existing in your li
fe, or things that you can chase…I think that’s what poetry has done for you.”
“Wow,” I say, completely floored. “I never even thought of it that way. Holy shit! You should have fucking been a lit major, you know that? I think you’d be way ahead of even the professors. And yeah… that’s exactly how I feel. I mean, if it weren’t for poetry maybe I’d like still be throwing the old pigskin around even in my off the field hours, you know?”
“I still do read quite a bit, when I have the time,” she confesses. “But mostly I think about this kind of stuff when I’ve got my hands all over some old geezer who wants a massage for his lower back.”
“I bet you weren’t thinking about poetry or anything like that when you were massaging me.”
She laughs.
“Are you kidding? All I could think about was your massive cock.”
“Oh yeah? Well, all I could think about were your tits and your body pressed against mine, and that your hands were all over my naked flesh.”
“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” she says. “That we spend so much time trying to suppress how we’re feeling about something like that, even when the other person is thinking the exact same thing, or along the exact same lines, to be more accurate.”
“Yeah,” I say, stopping under a big tree in the middle of the quad, where the shade has taken over, and it’s darker. “Come here,” I say.
“You’re already holding me,” she says.
I can’t read her face in this darkness, but I can hear her breath and feel her warmth against me.
I lean in, and kiss her. It’s the most romantic kiss I’ve ever experienced in my life. I’m aware of her hot wet mouth on mine, and her tongue gently playing with my own tongue inside my mouth.
But the sexual nature isn’t the most important thing about the kiss for me…sure, our bodies are there and they’re touching, and I’m quickly becoming hard again.
No, instead it’s the knowledge that she’s someone special, special to me, and special in general. There’s just no one like her.
I run my hand slowly through her hair.
“I want to be with you after graduation,” I say.
“But how can we make it work?”
“I’ll pay for you to come out to Seattle with me. I’m going to be getting plenty of money with my contract, and there’s no reason I can’t pay a little to fly you out. I’ll get us an apartment. I want to start something with you.”
Football Baby: A Secret Baby Romance Page 4