by West, K. D.
“Only if you’re…” I had to stop grinding against her. “I… we could do that in your mouth, if that was okay.” I ran my sticky finger along her lips.
She shivered and turned her face away from me.
“Um. Bridget — “
She threw her legs around my hips and pulled me tight. Rocked her cunt up and down the length of me.
“Okay! Wow! Uh, just let me put on the rubber.”
Bridget looked back at me, face now pulled between so many conflicting emotions it was blank. “Can I… help?”
Leaning down to kiss her, I chuckled and said, “I’d love that. Thanks.” I slid my hand along the long, smooth thigh over my left hip. “Um. Think you could — ?”
“Oh,” she said. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
I looked down at her. I had Bridget naked beneath me — gloriously naked — and she was going to help me put on a fucking condom, and we were going to fuck. Fuck, yes!
I gave her another quick smooch, sat back on my haunches, and tore open the foil wrapper of the rubber. Her feet still hooked over my calves, Bridget looked at the thin latex as if it might leap from my hand and bite her.
I showed her how to tell which side was the right one to place over the head of the cock, and then took her hand and placed it over the rolled rubber. Then, together, we smoothed that latex down over my very happy hard-on. “Fuck, Bridget,” I gasped. “Feels so good.” Mostly because it knew it was about to feel even better.
She lay back again. Turned her face away from me again.
But her nipples poked skyward, and her labia were spread wide, revealing the thin ring of flesh that I was about to destroy. Holding my cock in my hand as if it were an attack dog I was trying to leash in.
Still grasping me cock by the root, I leaned down, pressing my body to hers, and kissed the ear that was facing me, whispering, “Thank you, Bridget. Thank you.”
I began to line myself up with her cunt — something I’d never had to do without Dana’s help before. How hard was I going to have to push? How much was it going to hurt her? I had no idea.
Fuck it, I thought, and began to press in. I could feel her lips part to let me in, could feel, even through the latex, my head beginning to stretch the slippery membrane of her hymen.
“Jesus,” hissed Bridget, “Jesus, Jesus — “
“BRIDGET!” barked a voice from doorway. I flipped off of Bridget, madly trying to close away my rubber-clad erection. It was Bridget’s roommate Kathy. “YOU!” she snarled. Kathy. The roommate who didn’t like me. “What do you think you’re — ?”
“I… it wasn’t, Kathy, we — “ Bridget had somehow transported herself to the opposite side of the room; she was now wearing a fluffy pink dressing gown. “Aren’t you supposed to be a wedding?”
“Groom ran off with the maid of honor,” growled Kathy, scowling straight at me.
“Ken…” said Bridget, though she was staring at her roomie, looking utterly embarrassed, a feeling I could sympathize with. “Ken…?”
“No,” I grunted, finally closing my zipper. “I’m sorry, Kathy.” I turned to Bridget. “I’m sorry, Bridget. See you at rehearsal.”
As I turned to open the door, I saw Bridget frown, but she didn’t say anything.
I pulled closed the door behind me, biting down a moan. Stuffing my hands in my pockets, I made my way one more time down that damned hallway.
“Ken?”
I blinked over toward the voice; it was the RA, who was leaning once again against her doorframe. “Uh — ?”
She smirked. “I… heard Bridget say your name just now. Pretty loud. Several times. Good thing it’s Friday — everyone’s gone.”
“Uh…” She seemed nice enough, if a bit intimidating for a short, well-rounded woman. But in that moment, I was already thoroughly humiliated; all I wanted to do was run back to the bathroom (why was there a men’s room on a women’s floor?), whack off in peace and quiet, and go home.
The RA took a step into the hall, blocking my escape. “Margarita. The kids call me Cuervo. Very clever.” She smiled and held out her hand. “Co-term senior.”
It wasn’t until I shook her hand that I realized that my hand was still sticky; my face probably was too. Shit.
“Listen, Ken, I’m sure you’ve got, uh, things you need to do,” she said, her smirk still firmly in place, “but can I talk to you for a second?”
She gestured in to her room.
Not feeling as if I could say no, I shuffled in. My hard-on, though half-mast, was still aching. I tried to ignore it. Prayed Margarita the RA would ignore it.
I was surprised when she closed the door. “Nothing official. And you’re not in trouble, I promise.”
“Uh. Okay?”
She walked past me and sat on the corner of her desk, which was overflowing with what looked like psychology textbooks. A bottle of the liquor that had inspired her nickname stood, open and half-full, next to what looked like a bowl full of condoms. Nice RA, I thought. “So, I have two things that I feel like I need to apologize to you for.”
“Apologize?” That surprised me too. “What for?”
“Well,” she said sheepishly, “I should have kept Kathy from going straight in. I knew you and Bridget were up to… something, and that none of you were going to enjoy the interruption.”
“Not your fault,” I grumbled.
“Nonetheless,” said Margarita, called Cuervo, “I’m sorry.”
“No problem.”
“Yeah, well, the other thing — I wish I’d told you about Bridget.”
I screwed up my face. “Told me? Told me what?”
“Bridget is the sweetest person I know, okay?” Margarita’s dark eyes searched mine.
I nodded.
She nodded back. “But sexually, she’s…”
“Well, I know she’s a virgin.” I shrugged. “And I know that’s hard for her, with the whole Catholic thing.”
“Whoa, there, Ken — trust me here, I know the ‘whole Catholic thing.’ And even for a good — a really good Catholic girl, Bridget’s a case.” When I only frowned, she continued, looking vaguely uncomfortable. “Look, pardon my asking, but… Well, you said she’s a virgin, so I’m guessing you didn’t… engage in… full sexual intercourse tonight?”
I shook my head, trying not to feel sorry for myself.
“But,” she said, searching my eyes again, “you thought you were going to.”
“Uh, yeah. We almost did, but Kathy — “
“It wasn’t going to happen, Ken. Probably not, at least.”
“What the hell does that mean?” I snapped. “I was… I mean, we were… really close.”
“So I heard,” said Margarita, the humor re-emerging.
“Uh.” Suddenly all of the blood in my body seemed to be going into two places: my newly re-awakened erection and my face.
Margarita walked toward me, and put a hand on my shoulder. “Ken. You’re not… How do I say this? You’re, uh, not the first guy this year to walk out of Bridget’s room bent over at the waist, with his hands stuffed in his pockets. Not even the second.”
“What?”
She winced. “Three times — that I know off — some poor boy has gone into that room to relieve poor Bridget of her problem. Each one had himself between that girl’s legs, knocking at heaven’s door, and every time Bridget lost her nerve. Kicked ‘em out.”
“Three?”
“Yup. Two of ‘em were in the dorm here, so they talked to me — separately. The other was really smitten with Bridget, brought her flowers for weeks. This was just before Christmas. She never opened the door. And Ken — once that’s happened, she can’t look them in the face again. Can’t talk to them. I’m going to guess that she goes to confession, does contrition, and is too embarrassed to talk to the gu
y. Girl must have a hymen like a brick wall and a conscience like a labyrinth.”
“Well… Shit.” The girl had had more sexual partners than I had — she just hadn’t actually fucked any of them. “My… friend, when I was trying to figure out what the hell was going on, he said she was waiting for me to… ravish her.”
“Huh,” Margarita said, canting her head to one side. “And what did you think of that?”
“I said it was fucked up — beginning your pardon.” Now, for some reason, I was beginning to feel angry. Angry with Bridget. Angry with myself. Angry with Tony, though I couldn’t think why. “If she didn’t want to give it to me, I sure as hell didn’t want to take it.”
“Good answer.” Margarita the RA smiled, and there was something in the smile that made me blink. “And no need to beg my pardon. I wanted to call you over as you were leaving last night, but I chickened out. And if I hadn’t it would have saved you some… difficulty.”
I shrugged, but that brilliant smile still had me transfixed.
“So,” she continued her hand trailing to my chest, “I’m sorry for that too. And because you’re cute, and you seem nice, and because you had sweet, pure Bridget screaming like a twenty-dollar puta, which I have to say none of the others managed to do, so you must have been doing something very nice for the girl…” Her hand began drifting down toward my stomach. “And because no one who can make a girl that happy should have to walk around with the case of blueballs you must have…” She tugged down my zipper. “I figured I could apologize by…” She pulled my once-more-hard cock out and stopped, staring at the rubber that it was still wearing. “Well. Will you look at that? You are a good boy, aren’t you, Ken? A real Boy Scout. You always come prepared.”
“Huh.”
“So, Ken, you don’t have a virgin fetish or anything, do you?”
It was hard to form words with those plump, strong fingers stroking my oft-disappointed manhood, but I managed this much: “Hell, no.”
“Good.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed me. She tasted of cinnamon gum and tequila. “So I was going to offer to give you a blowjob by way of apology, but I can’t say that I’m fond of the taste of rubber.”
“Huh.”
“So I’d like to make a bargain with you: if you can make lil’ ol’ Margarita scream anywhere near as loud as you got big ol’ Bridget to do tonight…” Squeezing my cock with one hand, she took my fingers in the other, brought them to her mouth, and sucked at them. Sucked away Bridget and frustration. “If you do that for me, Ken… then you can fuck lil’ ol’ me any way you want.” Gazing up at me, she shot me a grin that was purely wicked, and purely sexy.
Stunned, body buzzing once more, I leaned down and kissed her, enjoying the taste of cinnamon and Margarita. The hand she’d been nibbling on found her hair; the other found a round tit.
“Me,” she whispered huskily, “I like doggy-style. That work for you?”
Indeed it did. Also missionary. And her on top. And sixty-nine — an interesting challenge, given the difference in our heights. And fucking her against the wall, her legs wrapped around my waist. And once more with her on her hands and knees, her brown skin glistening, her round ass rippling with my thrusts, one of my hands squeezing a quivering breast and thick nipple while the other worked at her stiff, slick clit. All of those worked for me very, very well.
Good thing she had that bowl full of condoms.
Margarita screamed a lot that night.
And so did I.
3 — Rachel
The Big Easy
Dear Allison,
I can’t tell you how glad I am that you found my story about Bridget funny. At this point, that’s how I see it – though I didn’t at the time. Dana, when I told her a couple of months later, found it hysterical, and then proceeded to tell me I had been a very good boy for not buying into the whole rape-the-virgin scenario, and even though Margarita had already rewarded me once, she saw no reason not to do so again. And again. And…
Alas, I never did hook up with Margarita again, since you asked. As she predicted, Bridget stopped talking to me after that night – if I had notes in rehearsal, she’d claim she couldn’t read Tony’s handwriting and make him read them. So I never had another excuse to go over to that dorm, and Margarita graduated that June. Besides, she had made it very clear that though she’d really enjoyed our roll in the hay (I had in fact gotten her to scream quite loudly, and several times), it was a one-time thing. Too bad. She was a nice lady — and not just for taking a very confused, very horny freshman and straightening him out.
You also asked if I’m going to tell you about every woman I ever slept with. I wouldn’t be so cruel as to do that to either one of us. Mind, there haven’t been that many. More to the point, I’m trying to give you a sense, as I think I said before, of how I got to where I am now. So I was planning on mostly sticking to the high points. If really you want to hear some really dreary stories of some one-night stands I wish I hadn’t bothered with, I guess I could. But I promise that would be even less fun than what I’ve been sending you.
I dated a couple of women sophomore year – one of them a third-year law school student who was nearly as old as Dana. There isn’t a whole lot to tell you about them – they came (over and over – there, I beat you to the joke) and they went, leaving nothing but increasingly hazy memories.
And before you ask if I’m going to forget you, please believe me: when I forget you and what we’ve done together, you’ll know it’s past time to ship me off to assisted living.
My next serious relationship was the first woman I asked to marry me. Thank god she turned me down.
Cindy was the first actress I fell for, though not the last, was five years my senior, was tall, athletic, and Eurasian, though she’d been adopted by the kind of A. R. Gurney New England family that deals with emotion by mixing up a nice, cold batch of martinis.
I’ve tried to write a story for you about Cindy; the problem is that, though I was in love with her for two years, there wasn’t a whole lot of fun involved. She slept with everything that moved; ironically, though, sex with her wasn’t terribly exciting.
She called herself bisexual, but she was uncomfortable with her attraction to other women. In fact, however, she was far more attracted to women than she was to men. Certainly more attracted to them than she was to me. I got pushed away and told no so many times; it’s amazing (or perhaps ridiculous) that I still kept coming back.
In a way, she wasn’t that different from Bridget. When she finally, finally fell in love herself, it was of course with a woman – one of my teachers, a grad student in the drama department. By that point, Cindy had shredded my ego. I didn’t care that she’d fallen for a women; I just hated that she had, as I saw it then, cheated on me.
Even Dana couldn’t get my head straight. In love with Cindy as I was, I’d stopped sleeping with Dana, but kept asking her advice, which was mostly that Cindy sounded like an emotional mess, that love wasn’t about saving the other person from him or herself – a lesson Dana said that she had learned the hard way – and that I should run, not walk. Best advice I ever got; too bad I didn’t take it.
I will say this: Cindy taught me things about pleasing a woman with my mouth that even Dana hadn’t.
In any case, by the winter of my senior year, I was an absolute mess.
Love,
Ken
In the mid-eighties, I was driving my grandfather’s car back from Florida to California, where I was in my last year of college. My grandfather was dying — I had visited him, twisted and shrunken, in the hospital, and my grandmother, who didn’t drive, had offered me their enormous yellow Olds — and I had just had to break off a two-year relationship with my bisexual girlfriend. That she left me for a woman was irrelevant. That she trashed me to my core had left me a very wounded puppy.
On my second day out of Miami
, full of intimations of mortality and emasculation, I drove into New Orleans. Now, I was and am a lover of the blues, Tennessee Williams, and spicy food, so New Orleans seemed like a good place to forget my sorrows for a day or two on my way cross-country. I had no idea how right I was.
My student guidebook recommended a large hotel just outside of the French Quarter, so I pulled in and wandered into the lobby. There a group of attractive people who were just a bit older than me was checking in. As I waited behind them, one of the women caught my eye — a tall, dark-haired beauty with a knockout body.
“Are you staying here?” she asked.
I said I hoped so. After meeting her, I really did.
She and her compatriots were actors with a professional theatre in New York that toured to schools around the country. I told her that I was an actor too — I was thinking of heading off to a graduate school the next fall. As I stepped up to the register, she stayed with me while her friends went up to their rooms. I found out that her name was Rachel, that, like me, she had never been to New Orleans, and that she was looking forward to exploring the city.
When I finally talked to the clerk, he told me that, in fact, the hotel was booked that night. I was disappointed, in part because I was hoping to get to know Rachel better. The clerk suggested a hotel close to the Superdome — out of football season, they were sure to have rooms.
As I stepped away from the desk, Rachel put her hand on my shoulder. “We’re going out on a riverboat cruise tonight. Once you’ve checked in to your hotel, do you want to join us?”
Oh, yes, indeed, I wanted that very much. We made a date to meet up in a couple of hours and I headed off to find a room for the night.
When I reached the hotel that the clerk had recommended, they only had king-sized beds available. Well, that was okay with me. I showered, put on a fresh shirt, and went off to meet up with Rachel and her cast-mates.
The riverboat ride was magical. It was a beautiful night, the Mississippi rolled lazily around us, and Rachel was gorgeous. Her skin was so pale that it seemed to glow in the Louisiana night. Her dark, almond-shaped eyes sparkled and her wide, sensuous mouth seemed to be inviting more than just conversation.