by Sandy Lowe
When I speak again, my lips brush her hair. “But then she couldn’t find my clit. And it’s so hard to be like, ‘My clit is here. Move over here. No, over here.’”
Hot Girl nods. “I’ve never understood that. If you can’t see it, just pull the hood up. It’s the red button.” She looks up and grins at me. She’s so close that my eyes go wide. She’s close enough to kiss.
I nudge her, my heart flips, and I say, “Your turn.” I want to touch her again. My paralysis competes with this edge-of-the-cliff urge that says you could do more, she wants more.
“Ah.” She pretends to think for a little while. My pulse is too high and I feel a little light-headed. “I’m Chloe, by the way.” She nods instead of extending a hand—that would be bizarre, a half-naked handshake in a hot tub. I would probably do that.
I nod back. “Nice to meet you. I’m Liz.” The introduction feels important, like she wants to know my name, or wants me to know hers, before whatever comes next.
She’s still watching me. Easy and slow, like she’s opening a door, she lets the glimmer of sex pool in her eyes. I feel fear and curiosity and cringe-worthy, knows-no-bounds lust slip out of my eyes in reply. I stare at her.
“Well,” her voice is soft, “you know how things are sort of embarrassing at the time but then, afterward, you keep turning them over in your head, and they don’t seem so bad?”
I nod, under her spell. Look at me like that again. I’m wet. My pussy is thick and full.
“And you jerk off sometimes, thinking about them?” She adds, “Maybe it really was hot in the moment but you just couldn’t see it then, because you were too nervous or whatever?”
Chloe continues, “So there was this girl. I’d just met her and I had a huge crush on her already. We were squished together in the back of a van, going to a show. She was funny, seemed cool.”
“I wanted to feel her.” She bites her lip. I shiver. “I wanted more than that. And you know when you can tell that a girl wants it too?” I’m so wrapped up in her that I’m barely aware of the other girls packed in close around us. Chloe’s voice is low, just for my ears. She says, “So I just…”
She sets her hand on my thigh and I gasp in slow motion. My lungs pull in a breath and it trembles up my spine. My head knocks back and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. My pussy contracts, already three steps ahead of me and hopeful.
I try to pull my rib cage closed, tighten my strings, keep my cool. I drop my chin and try to breathe. Chloe keeps talking. “She didn’t really respond, so I just kept going.” Her fingers start to slip up my thigh. For the first time, I feel like I’m fucking. Not having sex, but fucking, losing myself in something so erotic that it devours me.
Keep going. I’m frozen in place, staring at the water. Don’t stop.
I whisper, “What did she do?” I try to smile. My pussy is so full I can barely feel anything else.
“She made some joke.” Chloe is looking at my lips. “I can’t remember. But she was smiling at me, so I didn’t stop. She talked and I just…felt her body.” Her hand drifts higher, up to my hip and the skin just above my underwear.
I find that the face I was so fearful to look at, so afraid to let see me and all my vulnerabilities, looks just as wrecked. Chloe’s eyes are wide and dark. She keeps licking her lower lip. Her chest is rising and falling a little too fast. She presses harder with her fingertips and brings them together, drawing firm lines on my skin.
What does she want? What do I do? How far does she want to go? My voice is so quiet, barely a whisper. “Why was it embarrassing?”
Chloe whispers back. She angles her head like she’s going to kiss me. “Because it didn’t go anywhere.”
I say, “Oh.” My mind is blank. I don’t understand.
Chloe nods, looking at my lips again. “Yeah. She never did anything. Never touched me back or…showed me she wanted it. So I stopped. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“What did you want her to do?”
“Show me she wanted it,” Chloe says again.
I want to say I don’t know how to do that. But we’re still on the near side of casual. We’re still talking like we’re not talking about ourselves, right here, right now. And we are, right? I’m suddenly unsure. Is she just telling me a story and feeling me up because we’re all so sexually liberated and easygoing? She’s clearly turned on, right? What am I supposed to do? I say, “How?”
Chloe shrugs and her touch goes light. “That’s the thing. It can’t come from me. If one person dictates the whole thing, it’s no fun. I took a chance. Now she has to take a chance. Try something I may or may not like.”
I spread my legs. Without hesitation. I clumsily, pushily lift one knee and set it on hers. I stare at her wordlessly, blushing and defiant at once. Like this? Don’t go. Do you like this? Touch me again.
Chloe’s eyebrows knit together, then peak up.
“And if I like it,” her voice is a little rougher, “then I could do something else to show her that I want it too.” Her hand glides over my thigh. She presses her palm flat against my pussy. I’m too far gone to hide from her. I quiver and my eyes roll back. I wonder if she can feel how wet I am through the water, how badly I want it. I can’t control myself; I roll my hips and huff. More.
“Then,” I watch Chloe glance around the tub to see if anyone is watching, “I could do a little more. She already knows I want her.” Chloe lifts one side of my underwear away from my skin. I’m so turned on that I’m having trouble staying quiet. “So I could show her what I could do for her too.” She slides a finger inside me. My mouth drops open.
She’s inside me. My mind doesn’t believe me. She’s inside me. I lean toward her like I’m whispering in her ear, just to hide my face behind her hair. I whimper and she hums from the back of her throat. She’s inside me. She’s fucking me in a tub full of people.
She starts to move and pleasure overwhelms me. She pulses her finger slowly up and down. I’m so full I’m listless. Useless for anything but getting fucked. It feels amazing. I slouch and let her have her way with me. She massages my knee with her other hand and nuzzles against my head. I’m flooded with that feathery tingling that comes before orgasm.
We need to get the fuck out of this tub. There’s a dangerous few seconds where we’re both breathing too heavy and practically on top of each other and I’m dying to kiss her, missing all the levelheaded restraints that would normally keep me in check.
I wonder, distantly, if anyone has noticed us, then dismiss it. They would be wolf-whistling. And who in this tub has actually fucked a girl? I have. I am. Right now.
Chloe tips her head back and looks down at me. Her cheeks are glowing. She asks, unnecessarily, “You wanna fuck?”
“Yeah.”
She pulls her finger out and says, “Wait two minutes, then follow me.”
I nod and look down as she climbs out. I breathe in shakily and push it out.
Julie pushes her way over to me—has she been in the tub this whole time?—and raises her eyebrows. “Getting steamy over here!”
I stare at her. I’m too undone for pretense. I say, “She was fingering me.”
Julie’s jaw drops. She shakes her head, as if to clear her vision, and whispers, “Are you serious?”
I nod.
Her eyes are wide and animated. “So why is she gone and you’re still here?”
“I’m following her in two minutes.”
Julie grins at me, open-mouthed, like I’ve just said we won a trip to Australia. She wiggles in her seat like she’s vibrating with excitement, which makes me laugh. My body feels hollow and spent, like I’ve already had an orgasm.
Nerves knock at the back of my mind. I ask, “Any last-minute tips?”
“No, you’ll be fine.” Julie’s face is serious. “Just remember to breathe and tell her what feels good, ask her what feels good, you know. All that stuff. Just have fun.”
I nod and push myself forward onto my feet. Julie grabs
my wrist. She whispers, “Remember that you’re not doing this to impress her.”
I consider that, then nod again. I grab my clothes in one hand and walk back inside. Chloe is in the kitchen, leaning over the sink and wringing out her tank top. Show you I want it, huh? I pin her to the counter. My lust-waterlogged body is clumsy. I grab her face and kiss her. I mumble into her lips, “We don’t need that shirt,” and pull it off. I tongue her nipples and suck on her breasts like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
She puts both her hands behind my head. We’re dripping on a stranger’s kitchen floor, moaning little sounds at each other, shivering in the air-conditioning. Chloe leads me upstairs into a guest bedroom.
She locks the door and wraps me up in her arms again. In the quiet, I feel the first wave of uncertainty since she had her finger inside me. I kiss her back, sucking on her bottom lip, and hope I’m doing this right, doing what she likes. Chloe’s a talker. She’s a constant stream of murmured words, “oh my God,” “holy shit,” “good kisser,” “come closer,” and I’m nearly silent.
Chloe kneels down and tugs me with her. She pushes me back on my ass and crawls forward till our noses are touching. A stronger wave washes through. We’re really doing this. My senses sharpen and pull the scene into better focus. Chloe’s nosing against me, touching my wet stomach. Her eyes are warm and calm. “You can lick me if you want, but all I want is to go down on you.”
I nod. That feels fine. I won’t have to do anything I don’t know how to do. One of my high school boyfriends went down on me for maybe two minutes, like it was a little performance for me instead of a sex act, so I’m not even really sure what it’s supposed to feel like.
She tugs at my underwear and I lift my hips. Chloe moans when she sees my pussy. She touches the lips with her fingertips and says, “Oh my God, you’re so fucking wet.”
I feel like I’ve been validated. Not only do I want a girl but she wants me back. She’s taking my clothes off and she likes what she sees. She presses on my engorged skin and my head falls back. I can hear the muted sounds of girls outside through the window.
Chloe settles onto her forearms and starts kissing my thighs. I watch her and shiver. My mind still can’t believe this is happening. The farther she works up my inner thigh, the more I buck and moan.
Chloe watches my face when she first licks my clit. I freeze, not sure what she’s expecting. I keep making noises but I’m struggling to listen to my body, trying to figure out what I feel under the scratchy friction of the carpet, her hands on my hips, the water dripping down the back of my neck and cooling on my arms, her hot breath between my legs.
Does it feel good? I’m not sure. It feels like too much. Like an oversensitive nerve being agitated. I feel exposed and realize my stomach is clenched. Remember, you’re not here to impress her.
Fuck it, I can’t feel anything if I’m too focused on making noise. I take a deep breath and fall silent. I breathe out and my body lets go of its grip. I stop shivering. I breathe in and it seems to fill me up from the bottom. The heady smoke of arousal drifts around under my skin. I lie flat on my back and stretch my arms out to the sides.
Chloe moans a little and nestles deeper. She sets the tip of her finger on my perineum. I look down and see her eyes are closed. My deep breaths are the only sound in the room. They seem to soothe Chloe too. She’s moving slower now, licking up from the middle of my labia to the peak of my clit. I breathe in with the stroke, stroke, stroke, and breathe out even slower. Pleasure soaks my loose muscles and starts to lift sounds from my lips.
I didn’t expect a bad girl to be so gentle. She lifts the hood from my clit with her tongue and circles it. She pulls back, admires me, then licks again. I’m buzzing. My breathy noises take on a new urgency. Chloe presses harder against me and I moan in reply. She presses harder still, licking faster. She lifts my labia to either side and flicks my clit with the tip of her tongue. Each touch reverberates back inside me and stirs up something deeper. She fucks her finger into me.
That’s what I want. Take charge. I gasp, “Yeah, like that.” Take me. Chloe responds, surging against me. Her knuckles press against me as she thrusts deeper. I roll my hips, show her how I want it, show her I can speak her language. I spread my legs wider, and she groans, her brow furrowed. The backs of my legs are purring.
I’m whimpering at her with every breath. She lifts off just long enough to say, “Put your hands in my hair.” I stroke it out of her face and tug softly. She nods against me and tips her head into my hand. I feel warm, like I’m giving her something she wants too.
Chloe adds a second finger; I feel like I’m being fucked open. She alternates between long, deep fucks and shallow little curls. The deep ones make sense; it feels like she’s tugging on something heavy inside me. But the short little rubs aren’t doing anything for me until, suddenly, they are. I feel like she has both hands up inside me, squeezing and drawing everything, veins and nerves and liquid into this one spot. I feel my body winding around that spot, organizing itself around the intensity of it.
I think, hazily, that I’m proud of myself for being this worked up with a girl I just met. When I’m distracted, wondering why I’m not stressed out about how my thighs look, she catches me with just the right pressure at just the right moment. I don’t have time to brace myself. It shoots straight to my groin and sparks. I cry out and cry out. She rubs me harder, lighting the spark like a fuse, and I come. My legs lock up and I shudder around her, slurring, “Oh fuck, oh my God, oh my—”
It’s much more intense than any orgasm I’ve ever had with my vibrator. She keeps going and going like it’ll never end. My body moves on its own accord, bucking and contracting. She holds my hip and tries to stay in place over my clit.
When she slows, I open my eyes. I look at the carpet fibers in a daze. Chloe is lapping me up, humming and massaging my thighs. Tiny voice pats me on the back. I think, with relative clarity, that I feel complete.
This is who I want to be. Someone who can fuck around with a beautiful girl in a locked room and come, way too loud, in her arms. I feel like I can carry this ease, the memory of this moment, around with me. That I can wear it with nonchalance in the way I speak, the way I smile. That’s confidence.
Hard, Wet Lessons
Ali Vali
“I’d do her,” Bryn Elliott’s roommate said as they walked to their apartment at the cusp of LSU’s campus. The fall semester had just started, but there was nothing fall-like about the hot Baton Rouge weather.
“Of course you would.” Bryn laughed. “You’re a little slutty.”
“So you’re telling me if she offered, you’d turn her down, Mother Teresa?”
The object of their conversation was English professor Maison Davis, new on campus—a recent transfer from Alabama who had the ability to make poetry and short stories riveting. At least to Bryn, but it could also have something to do with the way she looked in jeans.
“No, I’m not an idiot,” she said, a little too defensively. “But I’m also a realist. She’s hot, but totally out of my league.”
“Did you lose your self-esteem at lunch or something?”
“Again no, but I’m a junior and she’s teaching, we’re not exactly hook-up material.” It hit her as they passed through the university gates that her iPad was still under the seat she’d picked toward the front to get a better view of the professor’s ass. “Go ahead without me.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I forgot my iPad and notes. I’ll see you later.” Bryn wasn’t tall but she’d run track in high school, so hopefully she’d make it before someone walked away with the damn thing. “Please be there,” she said as she dodged people on the wide pathway, and she wasn’t just referring to her iPad.
*
Maison Davis sat in the large auditorium classroom with a red pen and a surly attitude. If these assignments were any indication, the first week’s worth of lectures had amounted to her talking only for the plea
sure of hearing her own voice.
“If Robert Frost had developed a gaming system or an iPhone app that revolved around crushing candy, maybe these numskulls would be more interested in the classics.”
She wrote another note in big block letters on the upper right-hand corner of the page to a female student who’d actually dotted the i’s in her name with little hearts and smiley faces. It was days like this that she thought about changing careers. Perhaps she’d clean fish for a living.
“Please, please, please be there,” Maison heard as the cute blonde who always sat in the second row came in and headed to her seat. “I’m so fucked,” the blonde muttered a moment later.
“Looking for this?” Maison asked and scared Bryn into falling headfirst into the third row. “Okay, that went well.”
Bryn was on the ground holding her head when Maison made it up there, and her tears were something Maison wasn’t prepared to handle. Usually, in her admittedly short teaching experience, coeds cried because they’d flunked her course and she was messing up their GPA. Had any of them had the privilege of meeting her mother, they’d know guilt wouldn’t work on her; she’d been raised by someone who had a doctorate in it.
“Are you all right, Miss Elliott?” She held her hand out and helped Bryn to her feet.
“You know my name?” Bryn gazed up at her with what appeared to be amazement.
Bryn’s open staring had her noticing the blackening spot on her forehead. “Yes, and so will the infirmary when they check out the knot on your head.”
“No, really, I’m fine.”
“Did you finish medical school already and take my class for fun?” Bryn shook her head, so Maison helped her down the stairs, carrying all her stuff.
It’d be a special treat to go from grading papers to sitting in the infirmary with a bunch of hungover idiots. Never mind that it wasn’t so long ago she’d been the hungover idiot trying to prepare for her next hangover on this very campus.
