It was the start of my sophomore year. I began seeing a girl named Jasmine. We met through mutual friends; we became friends ourselves, until one night, I found myself giving her head in her bathtub. But that isn’t the story I’m telling.
Jasmine was what I’d call “Stoner Hot.” She was a brunette with bangs who wore denim pretty often, smoked American Spirits and had a sort of glazed-over expression at all times. I smoked way too much pot myself. Still dealed it at that time, actually. It helped pay the non-tuition bills. But with Jasmine I only ever shared.
One night, we got back to my dorm from a party. I’d had a beer, plus five shots of Jäger in a game of Kings. She’d had a few margaritas. We’d topped it off with a bowl I packed with what weed I had remaining. All this chemical infusion likely contributed to my impulsivity that night. I remember us getting busy quickly. We were kissing as she closed the door and falling down on my bed not because we meant to fall, but because we were so fucked up, we fell over. We laughed about it way harder than was warranted.
After having my head between her thighs for what felt like a while, I rolled on a condom. See, here’s the thing(s):
First, I don’t care much for condoms. Second, I was not yet twenty and had made a resolution around my nineteenth birthday to go for all of my last teenage year unsheathed. Third, I must have hit it raw with like, ten different girls in freshman year. Plus a couple over the summer. Jasmine had asked me to use condoms, so for her, I grudgingly went to CVS regularly.
…So as I was inside her, looking down into her eyes, taking it slow, I felt blunted, again. Like I wasn’t fully experiencing her fully and she wasn’t fully experiencing me.
I pulled out. I unrolled the thing from my junk. I flung it off into some corner. I wondered how Jasmine would react on seeing these maneuvers. She just lay there and breathed. It was when I slid back inside her that she reacted. Her body tensed up and she shut her eyes and sucked in a huge breath of air through her open mouth. I realized that damn, she had never done this before. I should say that I don’t think she was on the pill.
She squirmed a little and I held her face and said, “Relax baby, it’s going to feel so much better this way.”
She just said, “Adam… be careful.”
I moved. Slow at first. I sped up gradually. I had to give her the best sex possible to convert her to my style. In five or so minutes, you could say she was getting her brains fucked out. The mattress was creaking. I was holding one of her legs by the calf, jerking it up in the air. I heard her moaning and felt her nails. Moistness accumulated around my shaft. I was looking at where her ear met the pillow.
I held off for a while. I’d gotten good at holding off. The liquor and pot helped with that. When I went to rehab recently, I hated it how quickly I came even when sober, mostly while masturbating. But that’s also another story.
Jasmine was a ridiculously consistent moaner. Same pitch, same frequency over and over. So I was grateful for the extra information when at some point she squeezed me and was like, “Uh uh uh uh uh you’re gonna make me cum uh uh uh uh uh…”
I felt her tighten up and gush. I moved as fast as I could. Her pussy hemorrhaged fluid. I came balls deep inside her. Didn’t even ask if I could do that part, either. Not that she would have let me pull out at that point, anyway.
We slept the night in my bed. I woke up at one point and texted my buddy back home to boast that I’d just found out Jasmine was a squirter. Really, she was a gusher, but I didn’t distinguish between gushing and squirting at this time. I doubt any nineteen-year-old dude does. The next morning, Jasmine was a little sore, but in a really sentimental mood. We had breakfast in the cafeteria and kissed goodbye. It was a longer, wetter kiss than normal.
Things got weird after that. I began hooking up with this other girl, who lived in my dorm and had been into me for a while, and who I’d ignored for the longest time. Jasmine and I hung out once more but didn’t do anything except smoke. We started avoiding each other. Next time I ran into her, I told her I didn’t want to keep seeing her. She seemed hurt, which surprised me.
It took a couple of years before I realized how that night might have made her feel after the fact. You’re blind to these things when you’re young.