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UPDATE: This post was written about 1.5 hours ago. This is an open invitation to all, and I actively encourage anyone remotely interested to take part, either alone or with a partner.

If you would like to take part, I ask that you either comment here, or post on your own blog stating your intention. And, naturally, you have to confirm your participation after the specified time (or at, if you’re feeling adventuresome). A simple post on your blog will suffice. Or get creative. A link would be appreciated as well, but is not necessary.

Think of it like telecommuting for group sex.

——————————————————————————————————-

For some reason, whilst receiving a blowjob, I thought of you.

As I type this post, there is a brown head of hair in my lap, and a warm mouth wrapped around my cock.  I told her that I needed to write something for work before we fuck, but to continue what she’s doing. So, she is sitting under the desk, sucking playfully and skillfully. I must keep this short because I want little more than to be inside her.

She began blowing me, and I found myself wondering if you were doing something similar. The thought made me shiver.

I pursued that line of thought and came to this conclusion:

I want to cum when you do.

So I offer the following.

Saturday night, July 12, at 9:15 p.m. Eastern Standard Time, I will be fucking someone.

Care to join me?

I said I would eventually finish this memory. It’s a hard one to tell, because I was so absorbed in the moment that there are many gaps in my memories of it. And the things I felt at that time were so strong, and so unfamiliar to me, that they’re difficult to express.

I think this is the moment I truly fell for Tina.

——————————————————————————————————————

I strip my shirt in one fluid motion as I stand, and toss the now soaked garment aside. I lean against Tina and kiss her deeply. She sighs softly against my lips, the sound calm and relaxed, but she grasps at my belt eagerly, almost desperately. I would help her, but I am too fixated on pulling her dress up. She manages to unclasp the belt and jeans just as I slide the hem of her dress up to her arms. She releases me long enough for me to pull the garment over her head and off of her, then her fingers slip into my unzipped front. Cold fingers grasp my cock, and she pulls me toward her, guiding the head, rubbing it along her wetness, eliciting a whimper from her and a gasp from me. I push my jeans past my hips, let them fall to the floor, as I lean harder against her. I glide into her as smoothly as I have ever felt, with no resistance whatsoever, and am immediately amazed by her readiness despite the incredible tightness of her. The height of my desk is seemingly designed explicitly to allow her to sit at the edge while I stand, and I touch my forehead and nose to hers as I rock my hips gently, mindful of her comfort.

I am suddenly aware that she’s holding her breath, and her eyes are closed tight. I pause and stroke her cheek with my thumb. “Hey… are you okay?”

She blinks and looks at me. She releases her breath. “Yeah… it’s just been so long since I had a guy in me.”

“Am I hurting you?”

She shakes her head. “Oh fuck no. Nooooo no no.” She smiles shakily. “The desk is a little uncomfortable on my ass but I don’t care.” She wraps her arms and legs around me, pulling my torso to hers and driving me more deeply into her. We gasp simultaneously, and she kisses my jaw. “Please fuck me harder.”

That’s all I need to hear.

I grasp her hips and hold her steady, and drive myself against her with an audible slap. She jumps and cries out, loudly enough that the conscientious part of me is happy the department is deserted for the holiday, but mostly my libido screams in approval. I fuck her hard, with no further regard to comfort or positioning, and every thrust produces another moan or gasp or shout from my lover. She clutches at me, grabbing my shoulders, squeezing my upper arms, pulling my hips, digging her fingers into my back, in a manner that I have never experienced. It is arousing, certainly, and passionate, but there is more to it. It feels so… engaged. As though this isn’t just about fucking me, but about connecting with me, about being with me and around me and near me. As though there is absolutely nothing in the world she wants or needs more than me. And in that moment, there is nothing I want and need more than her. I lose track of everything–our location, the time, the entire world–and am completely absorbed in making love to her, experiencing her. I don’t know how many times she cums. I don’t know how many times I kiss her, or how many times we laugh drunkenly despite ourselves. But when my orgasm hits me, filling her and releasing me, it is quite literally the most incredible sensation I have ever felt.

Our foreheads are pressed together again, and we are breathing heavily. Sweat drips down our bodies, pooling on my desk. I am still hard, buried completely in her. I kiss her again, and we hold each other desperately. I don’t want to let her go. Ever.

Then I notice my clock and burst out laughing. “Holy shit. We just fucked for three straight hours on my desk.”

She turns her head to the clock, then giggles. She presses her cheek to my chest. “Well… I don’t know about you, but I’ve wanted to do exactly this for over a year now, so it makes sense.” She looks up at me and kisses me again. I see tears in her eyes.

“Are you okay, my darling?” I kiss her eyes, taste the saltiness.

She nods and wipes her eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine…” Her voice is shaky, and she wipes again. “I just… can’t believe this is real. That you’re real.”

I nod and kiss her cheek, and her jaw. “I’m real. I’m yours.”

“As much as you can be,” she says, finishing what I had left unspoken. She holds me tighter. “I’m okay with that. As long as I have you in some capacity, I’m okay with it.”

I hold her just as tightly. I can’t describe what I feel in that moment. But I am certain that I never want to let her go.

Taking a few minutes out of my day to continue the story from yesterday. Sure, I could be working up a manuscript or cranking on a new analysis, but this is more exciting right now.

You may gather from reading this that I was rather unimpressed by Hank’s fucking, and you would be right. He really takes the jack rabbit approach to fucking–get in, hump fast and hard, and get out. I find that terribly boring. But, he had great abs, a tight butt, and a not unimpressive package, so I can’t really complain.

—————————————————————————————————————-

Hanks climbs onto the bed and shuffles toward us on his knees. Kelly watches him eagerly, her body quivering and jerking in rhythm with each slow thrust of the toy. I lean back a bit, opening Kelly’s body to him. He lies beside her, cozying up against her comfortably, grinding his semi-erect cock into her hip. I hear her whimper, and watch as she turns her head, kissing Hank with parted lips.

It’s an interesting thing, watching two people kiss with the passion of new lovers. There is an awkwardness there, as she is obviously unsure how best to kiss someone other than me, but Hank is oblivious to it. He places his hand on the back of her head and kisses her deeply and fully, but with a degree of… ineptitude, maybe? Clumsiness? I can’t place it. But it seems very forceful, lacking in tact. I can see his tongue in her mouth, and she clearly enjoys it, but I don’t see how, given the sloppy, slobbery noises he produces. I would be turned off by it, but Kelly reaches for his groin and grasps his cock firmly, coaxing it to full attention.

That certainly does it for me. Whatever Hank may lack in kissing ability, at least he has a nice package.

I lean in and kiss, then bite at, Kelly’s collarbone. “How about I get out of the way for a minute?”

Hank breaks away from Kelly’s lips and grins. Kelly, eyes half-lidded, her jaw slack, nods and whispers, “Yeah…”

I pull the toy back, careful not to move too quickly. There is a feint *pop* as it withdraws from her, and her hips buck slightly. I  roll off the bed and stand, turning to face them and deftly removing my shirt. I tug at my belt and watch Hank rise to his knees again and grab Kelly under her knees, easily maneuvering her into position. She squeals and laughs at the sudden movement, and says something I can’t distinguish, as I’m already splitting my focus between the show at hand, and getting my pants off (this goddamned belt….). I manage to open my jeans and give them a push down and off my hips just as Kelly grabs Hank’s length again, guiding him toward her. My body tingles with excitement as Hank, still on his knees, pulls her toward him.

I think we both gasp as he enters her.

I am suddenly keenly aware of a number of things, watching Hank begin to fuck my beloved Kelly. I find myself comparing his fucking to his kissing; he drives into her with abandon, like most porn stars I’ve ever seen, slapping his groin into hers at a fast and steady pace. As before, it seems to lack tact, or any consideration for his partner. It’s a decidedly different style from mine–whereas I try to be simultaneously gentle and intense, rarely ever banging away at my partner in favor of taking my time, Hank fucks Kelly as though his only goal is to get off as fast as possible.

Kelly doesn’t seem to mind, though. Her head is pressed back into the pillow, her back arched, her eyes tightly closed. She is pulling at the sheets, her knuckles white, her skin flushed. She makes no sound but for the occasional gasp, and I can tell she is having a fairly intense orgasm.

There is a slight pang of jealousy, perhaps, but it is overwhelmed by the incredibly licentious nature of the entire affair. And I admit, I thoroughly enjoy watching his cock slide in and out of her.

Kelly finally catches her breath, and her eyes snap open. She puts her hands on Hank’s chest and pushes, laughing drunkenly, and says, “Oooookay, okay, slow down there. I need you to last.” Hank looks at her rather stupidly, I think, but he shrugs and slows his pace accordingly. She turns her head to me and smiles broadly.

“I love you,” she says to me.

I smile back. “I love you too.”

Hank laughs. “What, no love for me?”

Kelly practically purrs, and rocks her hips against him, taking his cock a bit deeper into her than before. “You’ll get plenty of love.” He grunts and grasps her hips, hoisting them slightly off the bed, presumably to improve his angle. Kelly looks back to me, and stares pointedly at my cock. I’m slowly jerking off, watching them.

…when did I start doing that?

“Would you like something?” I ask, intentionally coy.

Kelly nods and points to my groin. “That. In my mouth. Right now.”

I don’t feel old, but man, when I think about how long it’s been since this experience actually happened… woof. This was almost a decade ago, before Hank became a portly papa, and before my relationship with Kelly was obviously headed for the rocks. It was also one hell of an amazing experience. Totally a multi-parter. Enjoy.

—————————————————————————————————-

Kelly sits beside the pillows on the bed, her legs hugged to her chest, her chin on her knees. Her eyes are closed. She breathes slowly, methodically. I can sense her tension from my vantage point across the room, in a not entirely comfortable armchair.

“You don’t have to do this,” I remind her gently.

She looks up at me, and smiles nervously. “No,” she says quietly, “I don’t. But I really want to.”

I nod. “Okay then. What can I do to help make you comfortable?”

She purses her lips, thinking, then turns away from me, toward the bedside table. “Maybe use this on me?”

She turns back and holds up the silicon dong we had purchased earlier in the week. It’s a bit longer and wider than I am, but it’s modeled after some pornstar whose name I don’t know, so I’m not really surprised. The box had described it as ultra-realistic, and it hadn’t lied. I would have sworn it was the real deal. Veins run along the shaft, the cyber-skin coating has imperfections akin to a real cock, and the package (haha) is complete with a pair of fleshy balls. I can’t help but be impressed by the thing. The only unnatural thing about it, aside from it not being attached to a dude, is the black nub sticking out of the base.

I smile and approach her. I take the dong from her hand. “Strip. Now.” It’s a command, but I say it with as much patience and kindness as my rising libido can permit.

Kelly takes another nervous breath, then stands on the bed. One deft movement removes the shirt, exposing her lithe dancer’s frame and petite breasts. Her nipples are hard, presumably from anticipation. She hooks her thumbs under the waistband of her shorts and gives a little tug, and they drop to her ankles. Her pussy is at eye level where I stand. I look up at her, and I know she understands what I want without saying it. We connect at that level. She steps to the edge of the bed and brushes her shaven mound against my cheek. I turn my head a little and flick my tongue out, stroking her swollen labia, teasing them apart, exposing her clit. I hear her gasp, and I continue only for a moment, until her lips are spread wide, her wetness inviting.

I draw my head back. “Lay down.”

She drops to her knees in front of me and kisses me gently before lying back on the bed. She situates a pillow under her head, and I climb onto the bed beside her. She watches as I place the dong in my mouth, lubricating it (and, honestly, getting a bit of a thrill from the feel of a cock in my mouth–that’s unexpected). I smile down at her and lightly rub the head against her center. She bites her lip and nods ever so slightly. I maintain eye contact as I orient the toy, and push, just enough to slip the head inside of her. She gasps again. Her brow knits, and her mouth opens slightly, a quiet “Ooh” escaping. I pause a moment, then push again. My saliva and her wetness are a perfect lubrication, and despite its size, the fake cock practically glides forward, into her. Another “Ooh” from her, this one prolonged, lasting as long as it takes for the toy to be fully inside of her. It takes me a moment to determine her moans are from pleasure, though I imagine the stretching is a bit more than she’s used to. I carefully slide the toy back, and she jerks a bit, grasping the sheets and arching her back slightly.

I pause. “Too much?”

She shakes her head. “No… it’s tight, but I like it…” She opens her eyes and looks at me. “Fuck me with it.”

I grin, and take a firm grip under the base of the toy. I begin pumping it slowly, to and fro. I am quietly amazed by how smoothly the thing glides within her–she must be incredibly turned on to be this wet. Kelly grips the sheets tighter and begins rocking against the toy. She breathes quickly, each inhalation short, and each exhalation a quiet “hah” into the silence of the room. I duck my head down, taking one nipple into my mouth. She thrusts her chest up toward me, and as I bite down with my incisors on the perky flesh, my middle finger presses the black nub on the toy. I hear the deep “thrummmmmm” of the motor as it activates, and feel the vibration through my arm, and even through my teeth as it travels up her body. Kelly instantly bucks against my hand, and she wraps her arm around me, clinging to me, her bare flesh warm and clammy. She moans properly, and says what sound to me like, “Oh holy God,” but it’s hard to tell through the groaning.

Then I hear a click from the corner, and the sound of old hinges squealing against each other. Kelly and I both turn to look at the door. Hank steps into the room, freshly showered and holding a towel in his left hand. He is nude, and his cock stands at half-mast, solid but not entirely at attention. I can’t explain the little thrill I get at seeing him there, and I make no attempt to hide the fact that I’m watching his member pulse, slowly growing more firm.

“You guys couldn’t wait, huh?” He towels at his hair a little.

I shake my head. “Nope. We’re way too excited to be patient.”

Hank tosses the towel aside, and grabs his cock, giving it a couple of quick, practiced tugs. I hear Kelly moan again, and I glance down to see her staring eagerly at him, wide eyes locked on his manhood. She stretches out her left hand toward him and makes a grasping motion. “I want that….”

The look in her eyes, the sound of her voice, Hanks’s presence in the room… it all feels so surreal, but my body practically tingles in anticipation, and my cock throbs eagerly against my boxers as Hank approaches the bed.

Yeah, I guess this one will turn out to be three-parter after all! I am currently away from home for research, and I suspect this will pretty much be the norm for me for the next several years of my life, if not all of them. But I have arranged my schedule such that I have an hour or so free every night to write and respond to messages and things.

If you want to be successful at this whole blogging business, you have to be diligent about updating.

The final part of this memory will be coming soon. Enjoy.

———————————————————————————————————————-

The kiss lingers for several long moments. There is nothing overtly sexual about it–no biting, no teasing, no tongue, just a gentle, sweet moment. I finally pull back, my hands still cupping her cheeks. Our eyes open at the same time. We look at each other. Her lips are parted, surprise and desire mingling in her expression. She is breathing deeply, slowly, but heavily. She smiles.

“…oh my.”

My thumb strokes her cheek. “Sorry. I’ve just wanted to do that for so long.”

She bites her lower lip. “Me too…”

And she presses against me, wrapping her arms around my waist as she kisses me again. A faint whimper echoes in her throat, and that’s all I need. Gone is the anxiety, replaced by overwhelming desire. I embrace her tightly, squeezing her body as closely to me as before. My tongue traces the line of her lower lip, and she responds similarly, our tongues dancing against one another. My heart pounds, and my body throbs in anticipation. I grab her waist and guide her back, toward my desk, and she leans against it, half sitting, half standing. I drop to my knees, my eyes level with the lower hem of the red dress. I lean in and kiss her thigh, over the stockings. I can smell her arousal, and it as close to intoxicating as anything can be.

I need you.

My lips glide along her inner thigh, beyond the stocking, moving upward as I draw the dress up and around her waist. True to her word, she wore no undergarments, and my breath catches in my throat at the sight of her. Very recently and expertly waxed, her mound is smooth and lovely. Her labia are swollen and invitingly open, and glistening wet under the fluorescent lighting in my office. She has started to drip down her left inner thigh, and I run my tongue across the wet trail, cleaning and tasting her. She is remarkably sweet with hardly a hint of salt, better than the flavor of any woman I can remember. I follow the trail along her leg toward her pelvis, and lightly press my tongue against her center. Her wetness coats my mouth, and I feel her shudder at my attentions.

I whisper against her, “You were right, clean living makes you taste pretty fucking good.”

She laughs shakily, and begins to say something, but her voice catches and she simply groans as I thrust my tongue as deep into her as I can. I lift her legs at the knees, pulling them up and onto my shoulders to ease access to her. I feel her ankles lock behind me, and I begin stroking her center with my tongue, long, slow movements, from perineum to clitoris, lapping at her wetness, high on the sweetness of her. My hands grasp her hips, shifting her position on my desk, pulling her a bit closer, then move under the hem of her dress and up along her belly, simply exploring the smoothness of her flesh. She squirms a little, suddenly panting, and after no more than two minutes of my attention I can feel her stomach tighten, her hips begin to shake, and she groans louder than before. I feel her tighten under my tongue, convulsing for a brief moment, then I am surprised by the sudden deluge as she cums against me. I groan in my throat, not wanting to pull away for a moment. This flavor is different than before–tart, almost sour, but still not salty, and it drenches my face and chin, my neck, and covers my shirt. She shudders once more, and again, then gasps for air and pushes at the top of my head. I move back obediently and look up at her.

“You didn’t tell me you squirt,” I say with a wry grin.

She laughs again, less anxious than before but still obviously nervous. “Well, it hardly ever happens. I have to be really turned on for it to happen.”

I gesture to my shirt, and the dark patch of moisture that moves from neck to sternum. “I guess you must have been turned on.”

“That sounds like past tense,” she answers. “Presently, I remain turned on.”

I grin up at her, then lean in and lay a gentle kiss on her clit. She shudders and gasps again.

“…me too,” I answer.

“There you go, that’s the right spot!”

I mumble something in response.  Or, rather, I would, if my face weren’t fully buried between Pretty Grad Student’s legs.  Instead, I produce a sound that I hope she interprets as equal parts affirmation and arousal.  I put a deep, throaty sound in there for good measure, as I’ve come to understand that such sounds, like growling or groaning, produce vibrations up the throat, through the mouth, and across the more sensitive parts of a woman’s lower anatomy.  It seems to work, because she jumps slightly and laughs, then purrs approvingly.

I grab her legs and pull them onto my shoulders, then take hold of her hips to pull her forward to the very edge of the couch, where I sit, kneeling, on the floor.  I sit a bit taller, angling her pelvis upward and giving me better access to her.   My right arm circles around her thigh, my hand on her pelvic mound, applying gentle pressure below her navel, as I run my tongue in counterclockwise circles around her clit.  I position my left hand to cradle her ass, using the tip of my left thumb to tease her inner labia, fully exposed and swollen after half an hour of cunnilingus.  I occasionally slip my thumb past her labia, barely penetrating her, each time eliciting a shiver and a groan of pleasure.

“Quit teasing me…”  She says it plaintively, as though she isn’t enjoying the attention.  But I know better.  I’ve got her patterns figured out, and can read her like a book.  I know counterclockwise tongue movements get her worked up but won’t take her all the way.  I know the pelvic shakes are the first step toward a body-rattling orgasm, but it won’t happen unless I press just right on her pelvis.  I know that fully penetrating her with my finger, while applying that pressure and moving my tongue clockwise, will upgrade her pleasure from body-rattling to back-arching, hair-pulling, and full-on squealing.  It makes no sense to me, but it’s what works for her.

I pull my head back just enough to speak.  “But I’m having fun here.”  I draw out the vowels and speak in hushed tones that I know produce more warm breath across her exposed labia.

She whines and squirms on the couch.  “Please, sweetheart, don’t make me beg…”

“You’re already begging.”  I rest my cheek against her inner thigh, flick my tongue across her clit.  She squirms again.

“I wasn’t… I just…”  Another whine, and she bucks her hips up.  “Please just make me cum…”

I glide my thumb across her labia, softly caressing the shape of her.  “You’re sure?”

Her hips move in a little circle, trying to draw my finger in.  “Uh-huh…”

I sigh, feigning frustration.  “Fine.”  I turn my head and resume my attentions to her clit, but work my tongue in slow, lazy clockwise circles.  I press down against her pelvis, below her navel.  I slip my thumb into her, pressing upward against her inner wall, and not moving it otherwise.  Instantly, her behavior changes.  She gasps and throws her head back into the couch, between the back cushions, to mute the squeal of delight that escapes her throat.  Her back arches, pressing small, lovely, firm breasts into the air.  Her fingers lace into my hair and pull my face against her, tugging my hair almost painfully.  I feel her muscles contract around my thumb, then loosen, then tighten again, rhythmically squeezing me as her orgasm spreads through her.  And I continue the motion, slow clockwise circles, tracing the shape of her clit but never fully covering it, helping her forward and through the pleasure, until she squeals a second time and pushes my head away.  She begins to laugh maniacally, running her hands up her stomach to her breasts, squeezing them and tugging on her nipples.

“Goddamn,” she says between heavy breaths, “you must’ve gotten your master’s in pussy.”

“I’m more of a self-educated amateur,” I say with a grin.  I wipe my lips and chin with the fingers of my left hand, savoring the smell that lingers on them.  I then rise and move to the kitchen sink, where I wash them and my face.

“What, no time for me to help you out?”  Her voice is plaintive again.

“Not tonight,” I answer politely as I dry my hands and chin.  “I really just wanted to eat you out.”

“Well, any fucking time, baby.”  Pretty Grad Student grins and walks toward me in her short athletic socks, lithe and lean and tanned and muscled, and kisses me.  I return the gesture, and she presses her hips against mine.  My cock throbs, begging for release, but I bite back the groan, stifling it behind her tongue as it darts past my lips.

I smile at her and sigh.  “Night sweetheart.”  I stroke her cheek lightly, then slap her bare ass.  She squeals again.

I show myself out and return to my car.  A few minutes later, I step into the foyer of my house.  Ashley smiles.  “Hi honey.  Late night?”

“Busy as always,” I answer.  “Got another five pages of the manuscript finished, though.”

“Of course you did,” she says brightly.  “You work harder than anyone I’ve ever known.”  She hugs me around the neck.

“You have no idea,” I answer, and I kiss her.  She gasps, then sighs against my lips, and slips her tongue into my mouth.

I remember where my tongue was ten minutes ago.  A pang of guilt stabs at my chest as a shiver of approval runs up my spine.

Oh lord, am I ever happy you only turn 30 once.  I celebrated this in the most debauched manner possible.  (I didn’t know my body was still capable of processing that much ethanol in one sitting.)  Fortunately, I survived, with a few more battle scars, and another notch on the ol’ bedpost.  Maybe I’ll share in the near future.  But, for now, here is the conclusion to my most recent memory.  Enjoy.

———————————————————————–

I lift my head and place two fingers under Jenny’s chin, turning her face toward mine.  Her eyes are closed, but she opens them as I place my hand against the side of her neck.  We look at each other, and I practically count the seconds as they tick by, waiting for the right moment.  But Jenny surprises me by lifting her lips to mine quickly, and with more eagerness than I had anticipated.  Her tongue grazes my lips, and I hear a faint sound of longing emanate from her throat as we kiss on the front porch swing.

She may not be skilled at flirting, but Jenny is a remarkably talented kisser.

She wraps one arm around my shoulders, and her other hand rests comfortably against my sternum.  Whatever hesitance had previously possessed her has gone; she begins squeezing my shoulders, my upper arms, my chest, almost as though exploring, testing the consistency, the “give” of my body under her fingers.  As her hands discover new places to examine, her kisses increase in intensity, the occasional lash against my lip developing into a full dance between our tongues, moving from my mouth to hears, with an occasional break when she ducks her head just enough to permit her to bite my lip, tugging it insistently, pulling me closer to her, maneuvering me with her mouth against mine.  Before I realize it, she’s pulled me to the middle of the swing and has vaulted onto my lap, straddling my waist.

She breaks the kiss and looks down at me, eyes glassy, lips parted as she pants softly for breath.  I place my hands on her hips and pull her down against me, knowing that her skirt has left only her undergarments between her skin and my jeans.  She rocks back and forth along my zipper, and the hardness beneath, and her glassy eyes almost roll back into her head, which falls back as she groans softly.  She grips my neck, bracing herself as she moves along with the motion I’ve established, and lifts her head to look at me again.

“We need a place to go,” she whispers between thrusts.  “Right now.”

I contemplate this, as deeply as my one-track mind will permit.  “Well… the bedroom is being used by the potheads, so that’s out…”  I glance toward the parking lot.  “We could take my truck someplace, if you wanted, but it will be cramped…”

“UGH.  FUCK that.”  She leans back and begins grappling with my belt.  It only takes me a moment to catch up to her train of thought, and I practically slap her hands away to more quickly free myself.  Jenny reaches under her skirt, and I feel her hand wrapping around my shaft.  Sensitive skin rubs against cotton, then against her own bare flesh, hot and incredibly moist.  She positions herself against me, adjusts the lay of her skirt to more fully cover us, grips the sides of my neck again, and relaxes her legs.  Gravity forces her down, slides my cock into her until I can feel her cervix pressing against me.  Her expression is somewhat pained at first, but as she begins to rock, her face gradually relaxes.  I try to match her movements, but the sway of the porch swing under us prevents me from from discovering a comfortable rhythm.  She is seemingly unbothered by the swaying, using it to keep herself moving with minimal effort, and is too caught up in the moment to notice my difficulty.  Instead, I slide my hands along her stomach beneath the tank top, enjoying the feel of baby fat beneath my hands, the softness diminishing as I move further up along her torso, her breasts small but quite firm beneath my touch.  I explore her body as she explored mine, testing the softness of her skin, the tension of her muscles as she rocks against me, as she finds her release, and I find mine.

Jenny catches her breath and slides off of my lap, groaning in the process.  She adjusts her clothing again as she sits beside me on the swing, then puts her head on my shoulder with a long, satisfied sigh.  “That was truly enjoyable,” she comments.

I sigh and give my own grunt of affirmation.  I slip my arm around her shoulder and pull her in closer to my side.  “Enjoyable, and thoroughly appreciated,” I answer.

Jenny gets situated against me, her head back in the follow below my collar.  I hear her say, almost timidly, “That was a one-time deal, wasn’t it?”

I look down at her.  “That depends,” I say, the concern obvious in my voice.  “If you mean, was that the beginning of an unexpected relationship… I’m afraid the answer is no.  But if you’re asking whether we can do this whenever we want… well, I suppose that’s up to you.”

“You have a girlfriend,” she says matter of factly.

“Which is why this isn’t a relationship.  Well, not yet, anyway.  I don’t know about the future.  I just try to bask in the present.”  I kiss the top of her head.  “And presently, I am thoroughly enjoying your company, and would have whether this happened or not.”

Jenny says nothing for a few moments, then she says, almost defeatedly, “That’s what I was afraid of.”  She turns her head and kisses my chest.  “For what it’s worth, you’re probably the most incredible guy I’ve ever met.  But I’m no one’s plaything.”

“I understand,” I answer honestly.

Jenny quietly rises from the swing, picks up her melted drink, and goes back inside.  I retrieve my scotch, also thoroughly melted, flick the june bug off the rim, and take a long, hard pull.

I slide a bit to the left and pat the space beside me.  ”By all means.  History teaches us that it’s the victor’s responsibility to help the defeated recover.”

“Funny,” Jenny assures me.  She adjusts the long folds of her skirt before sitting beside me.  We immediately begin rocking the swing gently.  ”You’re the first person to beat me at Risk in a long time.”

“Ehh, just got lucky,” I respond.  “Game could have gone either way if the dice hadn’t rolled for me.”

“No, seriously, how’d you get so good?”

Ice rings against glass as I sip my scotch somberly.

“Pfft.  Fine, don’t tell me, then.”  She plucks the cigarette out of my hand and takes a long drag, exhaling as she puts her head on my shoulder.  We’d cuddled on numerous occasions, but always in a strictly friendly manner, so I don’t read too much into it.  We sit in silence, the only sounds those of the creak of the swing, ice against glass, and the occasional drone of a june bug kamikaze-ing past our heads.  It’s a comfortable thing, really.

“You’re an interesting guy,” Jenny remarks from my shoulder.

I quirk an eyebrow and glance down at her.  ”Beg pardon?”

I feel more than see her shrug.  ”You’re not the type to play games, that’s all.”

I pause.  ”Meaning…?”

“Meaning, smart guys who play games aren’t supposed to look like you and Hank.”  Normally I would laugh and point out the ridiculousness of her assertion that I am anything but average compared to Hank, but I detect a hint of a slur toward the end of the s-heavy sentence.  I immediately wonder how many of those cola concoctions she’s consumed in the couple of hours since our game ended.  Presumably, the answer is “many”.

“Hank’s really not that smart,” I say wryly.  She punches my thigh, and I grab her hand, not forcefully, but with enough persistence to communicate my intentions.  She wrestles against my grip briefly, then catches on, and slowly laces her fingers with mine.  She turns her head and kisses my shoulder, awkwardly so, enough that I can tell she’s nervous, and likely somewhat inexperienced at flirtation.  I put my arm around her shoulders encouragingly.

Jenny nestles into my side and sighs comfortably.  She rests her cheek in the hollow just beneath my collar.  ”This is nice,” she murmurs.

“It is.”  I run my hand along the bare flesh of her upper arm shoulder, tracing the thin outline of the tank top, and tilt my cheek into her hair.  She smells of tea tree oil and rum.  Not a bad combination.

“Why don’t we do this more often?”

“Because then it wouldn’t be special,” I answer immediately, as I lean my head back against the top of the bench swing.  “As things stand, these moments wherein it’s just you and me, sitting together, with nothing else to worry about, are wonderfully enjoyable.  Do it too often, and your fondness for these moments will fade.”

I feel her head lift a little, as though considering this.  “You think so?”

“Yep.  You have to do these things sparingly to maintain their significance.  Otherwise it becomes rote.  Or you have to up the ante.”

She moves a bit more, sitting up straighter, but still pressed against my torso.  “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, we will always remember these moments fondly, so long as they don’t happen all the time, or if something else happens to make one night particularly stand out in memory.”

Jenny is silent for a few moments, then she whispers, “Like what?”  Her voice is hesitant, but I can hear tension mixed with excitement.

The devil on my shoulder smiles approvingly.

———————————————————————————-

And that, unfortunately, is where I must leave this story for now.  I’ve written more, but this is such a natural stopping point that I just can’t bring myself to post more of this story here.  Never fear, there will be a concluding third part.

For those interested parties, the reason I have to leave this memory unfinished for the time being is because… and I am loath to say this… I must attend my 30th birthday party.

That’s right, folks.  Bimodal is turning 30 tomorrow, and is none too happy about it.  Don’t be surprised if you see a post about me vs. aging in the near future.

In the meantime, I am going to go defile my body.  I’m talkin’ things that would make Hieronymus Bosch shit his britches.

I have a confession to make.

I am a nerd.

Not just any old nerd.  I’m a super nerd capable of giving the fellas on The Big Bang Theory a run for their money.   I own every video game system that’s been released in the U.S. since the original NES, and my collection of games is truly impressive.  I even have a special chair for retro gaming–a big, comfy papasan that I can burrow into while playing Final Fantasy VI.  I spend thousands of dollars on custom computer gaming rigs just to make sure I can run the latest titles at maximum resolution and settings.  I am a connoisseur of classic and modern board games, from chess and backgammon to Carcassonne and Ghost Stories.  I’ve not only played Dungeons and Dragons for almost fifteen years; I’ve been a DM for seven.  I can (and will) argue that video games are a valid art form, as are comic books.  I watch cartoons, and science fiction television, with unapologetic passion (The Highlander, Invader Zim, Dragon Ball Z, and Death Note are some of my favorite television series ever).  I read Jim Butcher (my favorite modern author), R.A. Salvatore, and Simon R. Green.   The random contraptions I’ve built would bring a tear to the eye of the most avid MythBuster.  And finally, I do science, not because it pays well (it doesn’t), but because I genuinely think it’s cool.

Fortunately, I’m just as passionate about physical fitness as I am recreational gaming and reading.

I say this to give you a bit more information about me, and to provide a bit of background for the following.  It’s my first multi-part post in a long while, because I just don’t have the time to keep writing tonight.  Enjoy.

————————————————————————————

My fingers are laced together, obscuring my mouth from view as I contemplate the scenario before me.  The relative probabilities of success surge through my mind in binomial equations and density curves.  I see multiple avenues of approach, but nothing that comes without a hefty risk.  But the potential rewards…

Beside me, Hank grumbles, “Dude, you’re taking forever.”

“World conquest isn’t something one pursues hastily,” I answer.

I survey the board, assessing troop placement, reinforcements per turn, and relative army strengths in what is the most intense game of Risk I have ever played.  Today is–Lord, this is hard to admit–day three of the game.  What started as a friendly six person Thursday afternoon game has gradually become a cut-throat battle between me and the person across the table: Jenny.

I glance up at her, a lovely specimen of gamer chick, with her fit, pear-shaped frame.  She is observing the board as intently as I am, lips pursed, blonde-and-chocolate highlights framing a slender, almost angular face and blue eyes that flit to and fro in concentration.  I see her focus on Australia.  I’ve been amassing forces there for the better part of two days, preparing for a major siege of Asia.  She knows it’s coming, and she’s been fortifying her territories there.

Hank grumbles again, “Dude, seriously, are you ever going to go?”

I click my tongue and shake my head.  “Patience, padawan.”  I casually reinforce Australia, and drop another few on Greenland and Alaska for good measure.  A quick skirmish from Alaska.  Fortify Alaska.  Then Jenny moves.  As expected, she fortifies Siam, India, and China, ready at a moment’s notice.

But it’s all a ruse.  In Chapter XX of The Prince, Machiavelli wrote that the problem with a fortress is that it draws attention, which is precisely what I wanted.  While she’s been focused on my upcoming Australian attack, she’s left Africa relatively unguarded, poorly enough that I can sweep through from Brazil.  By simultaneously attacking from Australia to keep her from moving her forces, I can control Africa in no more than two turns, then it’s a simple matter of pushing through Europe from Greenland and North Africa while keeping her Asian forces occupied from Alaska and Australia.

My turn.  Drop every reinforcement on Brazil.  Full attack from Australia, Greenland, and Alaska.  Fortify Brazil from Venezuela.  I hear Jenny whisper, “Oh fucking hell,” and I smile.  She sees it coming, but it’s too late.  On my next turn, I unleash plastic figurine hell.  The game is over in 20 minutes.  Hank and Jenny stare at the board, now dominated by my blue armies.  “Dude, fucking really?  I didn’t see that shit coming.”

“I’m the Keyser Söze of Risk,” I answer with a smile.

Jenny busts out laughing.  “Seriously, you had me so freaked out about Australia and Alaska that I never imagined you’d try from South America.  You just brain fucked me.”

“The greatest trick the Devil ever played,” I say as I start cleaning up the board.  Jenny chucks a six-sided die at me.  I let it hit my chest.

Following clean-up, I grab a glass of scotch and excuse myself to the front porch.  The sun has long since set, and Hank has resumed drinking heavily and chatting up the few remaining girls from a party in which I’d taken no part.  I’m mentally exhausted from the three day long battle, and I have no desire to deal with loud music and drunk women.  Instead, I light a cigarette and sit on the porch swing, watching the fireflies dance through the yard, basking in the warmth of the summer night.  I recap the game in my mind, piecing through my errors and considering what to do in similar situations in the future.

“Glad to see you’re enjoying your victory.”  Jenny’s voice yanks me from my reverie.  I look toward the door and see her leaning against the door frame, arms folded as though judging me, but she’s smiling quite genuinely.  She holds up her own glass, a dark soda-based concoction, and asks, “Mind if I join you?”

Kelly’s lips are pressed firmly against my own.  She’s a surprisingly talented kisser, occasionally darting her tongue teasingly across my lips, nipping at them, varying the pressure of her kiss and turning her head slightly to keep things interesting.  Her hands grip my shoulders, and mine rest comfortably on her round, well-muscled ass.  I’ve never kissed anyone this good, or with a body this fantastically toned, and the sensation of her lean, petite frame pressed against mine is maddening.

She suddenly breaks the kiss and takes a deep breath, her eyes wide, and she whispers through panting breaths, “Do you have any condoms?”

I blink in confusion.  She and I had made out once before, but she had been slightly drunk and was in a relationship with a guy back home, so I wasn’t expecting such an abrupt question, or even the opportunity to actually pursue something physical with her.  So all I can manage to say is, “Umm… no?”

“That’s a shame,” she says.  Her fingertips trace circles on my stomach–wait, when did she unbutton my shirt?

“A shame?” I repeat blankly.  “Why?”  Master of witty rapport, that’s me.

“Because if you did,” she answers calmly, “I’d fuck you right now.”

Consider my mind fully blown.

“Do you want me to–”

Kelly cuts me off by grabbing my crotch.  She bites her lower lip as she gives my hard length a tentative squeeze between forefinger and thumb, gasping in what I think is surprise.  “Holy… yeah, that will do.”  She steps away and sits on my bed.  “I’ll wait here.”

I bolt out of my dorm room faster than any man in history has moved before.  In a heartbeat, I’m knocking insistently on my neighbor’s door.  He opens it and immediately starts laughing at me, standing in the hall with my half-buttoned shirt hanging open, my hair unkempt from the aggressively physical make-out session.  “Dude, nice outfit.  She fuck you or what?”

“Not yet!”  I say, a little louder than I had intended.  “You owe me a condom.  Pay up.”

He laughs again as he retrieves a wooden cigar box, which he holds open to me.  “Take your pick.  Lubed or unlubed, colored, ribbed?  I even have some glow-in-the-dark ones that are usually good for a laugh.”

“Don’t care,” I reply.  I take a mixed handful of the small square packages and quickly about-face.  I hear him say something to the effect of, “Optimistic, aren’t we?” as I close the door to my dorm room behind me.

Kelly is still sitting on my bed, leaning back casually on her elbows.  “Did you get one?”

“More than one,” I answer, tossing the fistful of condoms on the bed beside her.  “I took the potluck approach.”

“I bet we can use them all tonight,” Kelly says, her voice suddenly more husky, almost raspy.  The sound makes my heart race in anticipation, and she beckons–literally, with one crooked finger.

I step forward, and she quickly, and a little too expertly, hooks her thumbs through my belt loops, pulling my hips toward her face.  I watch in astonishment as she leans her face toward me, biting at the button of my jeans and tugging, pulling it through the slot with a deft turn of her head.  She grips the zipper with her lips and draws that down as well.

Without thinking, I mutter, “Hope you’re not planning on gnawing your way through my boxers.  This is my favorite pair.”  I immediately remind myself to shut the fuck up.

Kelly looks up at me, eyes gleaming wickedly, and simply says, “Nah.”  Her thumbs hook under the waistline, and she pulls down, freeing me from my jeans and boxers in one easy pull.  She looks away from me, to my fully erect member, and I hear her gasp again.  “Holy shit, are you kidding me?!”  She wraps her hand around my shaft and moves me around as if inspecting me.  The scrutiny makes me slightly uncomfortable, but the feeling disappears as she draws me into her mouth.  I can’t stop myself from groaning as I feel her throat muscles contract, pulling me down her throat.  She makes a small, unpleasant choking sound as she pulls her head back, and she gasps, this time for air.

“Nope, can’t deepthroat you,” she says as she wipes her mouth.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to choke you,” I mutter.

Kelly laughs brightly.  “Don’t worry, it’s a good thing.  Besides, there are plenty of other things I can do with this.”  She stresses “this” by grabbing my shaft again and squeezing gently.  I can barely breathe, I’m so…  Aroused?  Horny?  No, I think the only appropriate word is maddened, driven to the brink of insanity by the anticipation of what’s to come.  Every nerve in my body is tingling, and I am hyperaware of every touch of her skin against mine as she removes my shirt… the sight of her standing and disrobing, exposing pale flesh, tiny yet perky breasts, a well-groomed landing strip… the sound of rumbling bass and high guitar chords…

…wait, what?

Through the walls, I hear, “I’ve been really tryyyyyyyyyyin’, baaaaaaby…”

Oh no.

The music continues, and Marvin Gaye croons to us.  “Tryin’ tah hooold back this feelin’, for soooooo looooooooooooooooooong…”

Kelly and I both look to the wall, eyes wide.  “And if you feel like I feel baby… come on, whoa, come on…”

Kelly quickly presses her fully nude body against mine, dancing against me, and sings along, “Let’s get it ooooooooooooon…………”  She nails the falsetto squeal and laughs again as she rests her head on my shoulder.  “Your neighbors have a fucked up sense of humor.”

“Yeah,” I say numbly, “sorry about that.  I got the condoms from him, so I guess he thought this would be funny.”

“Well…”  She looks up at me, and the wicked gleam in her eyes returns.  “If they want to be spectators, we may as well give them a good show…”

Within minutes, and for the next several hours, the music is drowned out by Kelly’s high-pitched, pleading cries, and I can’t help but think that this is what Marvin had in mind.

The next morning, I walk bleary-eyed into the communal kitchen of my hall, and am immediately greeted by thunderous applause and cheers from my hallmates.  My neighbor gives me a firm thumbs up.

All I can do is bow.