I tried to talk to Cindy about things, about her absent orgasms while fucking. She said, “You’re talking about the vaginal orgasm. Forget it baby, it’s all in the clit. Vaginal orgasms are a myth. I’ve never had one. Not one of my friends has had one. Relax.”
“It can’t be a myth,” I said. “My buddies have it happen all the time. Trust me.”
“Crap,” she said.
“So my friends are a pack of liars.”
“No, their girlfriends are a pack of fakers. They go ‘Ooooh baby, oh my God.’ The faked vaginal orgasm is an art form. Be thankful I don’t do that with you.”
Anyway, she dumped me and I think it was the sex. She kicked me out of her apartment and I moved in with my buddies.
I was in a club one night on Charles Street. I was chatting up a woman next to me at the bar– not for any good reason. She was too old for me. She was thirty-seven and had been left alone when her friend took off with some guy. She was pretty. Her hair was short and curly. Long straight hair was the fashion but she obviously could not have cared less. Her eyes were brown and deep. Talking with her was just plain fun.
Later I was shocked to find myself making out with her in the parking lot. I’d never been kissed the way she kissed me out there. I kissed her back with the same slow intensity. It was a revelation. Kissing, for me, had become a means to an end; it was the road you traveled in order to get laid. Kissing this woman was lovely and dreamy. Yes my cock was a rock but I would have kissed her forever just to taste those lips. She gave me her phone number. Before we parted she pushed her hand against my crotch and gave my erection a tender squeeze. I swear I almost came in my pants.
I called her and we arranged a date. She instructed me to wait in my car at the corner of Elm and 5th. For some reason she did not want to be picked up at her house. When I saw her emerge from a bungalow halfway up the block my blood ran cold. This was a small town and I knew that house. It was the home of Big Sully, a loan-shark collector, a leg-breaker. Sully had gone to high school with my cousin; he’d done time for violent felonies. He was bad news. She slipped into my car, a vintage Volkswagen Beetle. She carried a large canvas bag. “Hey baby,” she said, “just drive for a bit.”
We cruised by Sully’s bungalow and I said, “Tell me you don’t live there.”
“I kind of live there,” she said.
“In Big Sully’s house?”
“Kind of,” she said.
“You live with big sully?”
“Well, we’re kind of married.”
I pulled the Beetle over, slammed the brakes and said, “Are you trying to get me fucking killed?”
She stroked the inside of my thigh and said, “We’ll be careful. I promise.”
“Jesus, why are we here anyway?”
“Well,” she said, “Big Sully isn’t so big in the bedroom.”
“Great,” I said, “why me?”
“For openers you’re a very good kisser.” Looking down at my lap she said, “Besides, I checked you out, remember?”
I felt myself redden at the dick reference. I also popped an erection. “We can’t go anywhere in this town,” I said.
Hoisting her canvas bag she said, “I have a blanket. Take me to Treasure Island.”
Treasure Island was a high school make-out mecca. It was on a bluff overlooking the ocean where kids necked in cars. In addition, there were numerous hideaways where advanced lovers could enjoy serious horizontal activity. Returning to Treasure Island was a trip down memory lane for both of us.
It was damp and drizzly. We walked arm in arm above the beach without speaking. She held the blanket under her arm. I had an erection but I was terrified, not because of Sully; somehow that had passed. I was afraid of myself, of my quick-draw fast-come problem– quickest dick in the west! Soft raindrops began to fall. We made our way back to the Beetle just as torrents of water fell from the sky.
She threw the blanket in back and we kissed in the steamy front seat. It happened again; you know, the kissing. We made out as if we loved one another. That’s when I figured it out. That’s when I learned how to kiss a girl. You don’t love her but you make believe you do. You become an actor. You move this so-called love from your own lips to hers, from your own tongue to hers. It’s true love but it isn’t. Then and there I became a terrific kisser. I learned from her: use the tongue sparingly, let the lips glide over one another, allow the tongues to play. Then it happened– she moaned. Then she moaned again. We sucked on each others lips until they swelled up like plump plums.
My dick was out of my pants; I had taken that liberty. Making out, she was whimpering. This was a first for me. I was breaking new ground. She was getting worked up very quickly, her breath quick and heavy. I was very nervous. How would I bring her off in a VW Bug? There was no room for eating pussy. Of course we would find a way to fuck, but to what end? So I could just stick it in and squirt? But there was something about the exotic kissing that comforted me, something about it that gave me hope. Stroking her throat with one hand, I brought my other hand to her bare shoulder. With a very soft touch I brought my fingertips down along the soft skin of her arm. When I held her wrist I realized that it was the same thickness as my cock– so I stroked it as if it were my cock. I was giving her a hint of what would be a nice thing to do. Her hand found my dick and did a quick survey, exploring it from the tip down to the base. Then she squeezed it and went, “Mmmmm, that’s what I’m talkin’ about.” I was used to the compliment but what good is a big dick that can’t perform?
I continued to stroke her wrist and forearm as if I was stroking my cock.
On the passenger side of the car she quickly stripped herself of undergarments and spun around so that her ass was against the dashboard. By the cock, she pulled me over to her side of the car. I lowered myself into the passenger seat and she mounted me. She was frantic. She managed to squeeze the head of my dick into her pussy. It was dripping wet, but so tight that it gave us some difficulty. Panting, she said, “Okay, give it to me. Give it to me!”
I don’t know what came over me then. In the face of her furious hunger I became calm. A serene patience settled into my bones. I slid my hands up under the back of her shirt, stroked her soft skin and held her. I wrapped her so tightly in my arms that she was helpless– she belonged to me. With only the head of my dick inside her I brought a hand down over her soft, firm ass. I rested a fingertip on her anus and she shuddered, stiffened. I’d never touched an asshole before. I thought, do they really like that? I stroked the hole softly and she sighed. Emboldened, I pushed my finger into it, just the tip of it, and left it there. She tried to ride down onto my cock but I held her too tightly. I wouldn’t allow it– she was my prisoner.
“Now,” she said. “Give it to me now.”
“No,” I said. “Not until you relax.” Indeed I felt her body unclench. I squeezed her even tighter. With fingertip in her ass, dick-head in her cunt, I kissed her lightly on those plump lips. I delivered soft little kisses until she relaxed and went limp. Then, without warning, I attacked. Simultaneously, with tongue and cock, I drove into her slowly, deeply. My twin serpents in perfect tandem fucked her doubly. I squeezed her tighter. She was helpless. I was imbued, for the first time in my life, with a sense of sexual power. Again and again, at a slow sensual snail’s pace, I slid my tongue and cock into her with perfect precision. I was a well-oiled machine. It seemed to go on forever.
Of course, I was very much accustomed to my famous “quickie.” It happened without warning. Her ass suddenly grabbed my finger tightly. It let go and grabbed it again tighter. She threw her head back and sighed as her anus went wild, twitching furiously, clutching me again and again as if to bite off the tip of my finger. She cooed. Little bird calls issued from her throat. It went on for a long time. Finally her anus relaxed. Limp, she fell forward against me. We rested. Then she straightened up, collected herself and said, “Wow. I’m Impressed. That’s some fine fucking for a pup like you. Of course, now you’re in for it kiddo. Payback’s a bitch.”
My cock was in her to the hilt. She said, “This is what you will do: absolutely nothing. You will relax, close your eyes and not move a muscle.” She proceeded to ride me, to glide up and down over me, teasing me with provocative taunts that rendered me helpless. Her pussy was an electric glove of muscle and flesh, human tissue that massaged and squeezed. She would move up, holding only the head of my dick in her cunt. She would squeeze it with her tight muscles. “Take that,” she said, “and that…. and that.” I knew that she was busting my cherry. I wasn’t stupid. Until that moment I’d been a virgin. If this was fucking, well, I’d never been laid. She punished me with pleasure. She reached down behind her and took hold of my balls. She feathered them with her fingertips. I’d be too embarrassed to describe the noises that she coaxed out of me. At one point she said, “Are you sure you’re okay? Maybe I should stop.”
“Please don’t,” I said. I felt myself rising, building. I’m sure she felt it too. With a tickle of my balls and a squeeze of her cunt I moaned and she said, “There there. Poor baby.” That’s when I came. My orgasm was thunderous, an explosion. I held her in my arms. I sucked on her neck. With my eyes closed my mind became a sky-scape. It was the fourth of July– sparklers, shooting stars, tracer bullets. When I was finished it took me a while to compose myself.
No, we did not come together. Why? Because it didn’t happen up on the silver screen or in the pages of a book. It happened in real life. This is a true story. Afterward we talked for a while but she seemed a bit anxious. She looked at her watch and said, “I have to get back before Sully gets home.”
I dropped her off at the corner of her street. We parted with a nice little kiss. I said, “Big Sully doesn’t know what he’s missing.” In the rear view mirror I watched as she hurried furtively along the sidewalk until disappearing behind Sully’s tall hedges. Thankfully, in the rear view mirror, I did not see Big Sully coming after me with a baseball bat.
It had been a momentous evening. I made a woman moan with kiss. I made a woman come with my cock; not just any woman, a mature, good-looking red-blooded American woman– a mobster’s moll. And I knew for a fact that she hadn’t faked it. I had this on very good authority: sphincters don’t lie. I was twenty-four years old. I was a man.
Her bag and blanket were in the back seat. Had she left it behind deliberately? Would there be an encore? Suddenly I was hard, extremely hard. I opened up my jeans to release the beast. It was bobbing and weaving like a fighter in the ring. I put the Beetle in gear, made a left turn, and stroked myself all the way home.
