by Gabi Moore
In an instant we were in a quiet, dark room, the thumping music of the party below seeming to become more indistinct and fuzzy. He leant against the now closed door, and pulled me closer to him. I was tipsy and fell into the pillow of his scent, nestling into his scruffy brown hair. He was so soft and yielding in some places, so taut and firm in others. Drunk, my mouth easily found his, and without really noticing, he had transformed from a shy, nervous boy into someone more forceful, each of his big hands firmly around waist. I relaxed into him, overcome by the distant memory of soap on his skin and the warmth my hands found underneath his shirt. His body felt so lean and tight under my hands; he seemed strong and animal, like the kind of thing you’d find on an ancient Grecian urn in a museum titled “youth.”
“You remind me of a horse,” I said. He burst out laughing.
Oh God, oh shit, I’m such an idiot, do I have to be such an idiot all the time?
“Um, ok? Christy, you’re a fucking weirdo. But I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said, smiling cheekily, pulling me firm against his crotch. The ache between my legs was so strong I couldn’t help but instinctively move my hips forward to answer his.
“Say it again” he said.
“You’re a horse?”
He giggled. “No, stupid. What you said before.”
He said this pleadingly, and so quietly it was though he only wanted the nape of my neck to hear. This time it was easier. I rolled my body against the growing bulge in his jeans, pressing my waist against his chest.
“I want you to fuck me,” I said again. I seemed to mean it more every time I said it.
And the words were magic. The instant I uttered them his entire demeanor shifted. With a surprising urgency, he unzipped and dropped his trousers. His cock sprung out at me, hot, silkier to touch than I had imagined. His mouth was again on mine, swallowing any chance of me saying something else idiotic. He was kissing me deeper now, cradling the base of my neck in hands that started to seem so much bigger, so much manlier than they had a moment before, on the couch.
He stroked his hand down, under my dress and into the cotton of my soon-to-be-gone-forever knickers.
A single finger hesitated there.
“You’re so wet,” he said, and before I could respond his fingers were inside me.
I wanted to scream. The entire room faded away, leaving nothing in the universe besides us standing there, his hot breath against my neck and the feeling of my wet body responding to his fingers. My head was spinning. He stroked gently in, gently out again. His breath was growing more urgent. His cock pressed warmly against my belly, waiting; were all of them that big? How on earth was all of that going to fit in?
“Say it again” he said, thrusting his fingers deeper still, pinning me hard against his body.
Something delicious was radiating out from his fingertips, sending shuddering ripples through me. I felt incredibly, almost painfully hot. I leaned further into it, into him.
“Fuck me” I said, and this time it was me that sounded desperate. Pleading even. I wanted it. In my hazy mind, one thing was clear: I needed his dick, all of it, in me. Now. I squirmed closer to him, asking with my body.
“What’s that?” he said playfully.
“Fuck me” I said again, adding, “please” realizing for the first time how truly hungry my body could be for something.
And he did. Slowly, the head of his cock pressed me open, and as the length of him slid in, I threw my head back with a gasp, overcome with the sheer weight of it, with how limp and yielding my entire body became around him. He plunged slowly in, till the skin of our bellies met. He held me firmly like this for a moment, still, and I swear I could feel his heart beating through his cock, through me. The dull thudding of the music went on below us, my own heartbeat was pounding in my ears, and I felt my whole world swell and grow with each inhale of his, each exhale of mine. He moved slightly inside me, and I felt my pussy respond.
He was big.
It stung, but with a pain that grew and fanned gently out into my body, becoming a delicious, syrupy thick sensation of heat and pleasure. He moved again inside me, like something beckoning me to play. I moaned and grasped him tightly, rolling my hips and pulling him even deeper in. It was a revelation. I loved this. I wanted more. I wanted to worship this cock. I wanted to go the rest of my life with this glorious thing wedged deep inside me, I wanted this blissful haze to never--
“Christy? Christy, where the fuck are you?”
Tara. A sharp, cold voice coming from downstairs, breaking the spell. I dimly saw the outline of a smile curl across his lips. My skin prickled. Laughing, he gripped my hips hard and began thrusting swiftly into me. I was completely overcome by this change in pace, still unbelieving that my body could accommodate him at all. I cried out, my heart threatening to burst free of my chest. What if Tara found us? Something hot and wet was gathering right in the core of me; he was moving rhythmically now, unrelenting, and a giant quivering bubble was swelling and growing deep inside me, threatening to burst all over him any second.
“I’m …I’m coming,” I squeaked and heard him growl in response; he rammed once more into me, nearly lifting me off the floor, and shooting a hot stream inside me. His entire body seemed to curl around mine, enveloping me. I felt his every shudder and twitch as he sent spurt after spurt of warm cum into me. A hot wash of goosebumps flashed across my skin, and I followed by coming myself, hard, scarcely maintaining my balance, gasping against his chest, now slick with sweat.
“Christy? Christy! We’re leaving now with or without you.”
I heard Tara’s voice coming closer. She sounded belligerent. His cock flopped smoothly out of me, and he tucked it back into his jeans, still wet. I had never been so petrified in my life, yet he looked at me with laughing eyes. “Looks like you’d better get a move on!” he whispered, hurriedly pulling my cotton dress back down around my hips.
“I’m coming, Tara, just a second!” I yelled through the door and kissed him again, fully and deliciously, my body still pulsing from my orgasm.
He jokingly waved me goodbye as I clambered down the stairs, my bun even messier than before. I hitched a ride back to the dorms with Tara and a few others, hoping nobody noticed my flushed cheeks. I sat in the back seat, quiet, my body still aching with a new and exquisite throb between my legs. Like a horse indeed.
Tara was ranting about something or other, and she turned back to me. “Why are you so quiet? You know, there were so many hot guys at that party and I bet you were just hiding off somewhere reading their Reader’s Digests or something!”
I felt the slow trickle of still-warm cum ooze out of me. Oops. I had left my blue and white Snoopy knickers somewhere. In the room? Did he have them? Had I left them on the stairs like some kind of skanky Cinderella, only to be found again when my prince came looking for me, crumpled panties in hand? I smiled secretly. Oh well.
Tara shook her head. “Christy, I swear, what you really need is to get laid.”
Exhibit B: Black and Lacy
Quite some time passed before I lost my next pair of knickers, but boy did I lose them.
Despite my raucous introduction to it, sex seemed to fizzle out for me for the next year or so. Tara was still desperately trying to claw me away from my books, and I still clung to them desperately. Some days I would indulge in a little quiet rebellion - not a single soul knew that I had started wearing elaborate, sexy lingerie under my comic book t-shirts and jeans. Tramp-red basques with suspender clips. Thongs with expensive French lace ruffles on the bum. These silky, frilly pieces were pushed far to the back of my drawer, and I guess I thought that I would get around to wearing them more seriously one day …just not yet. I fancied myself packed tightly into a chrysalis made of law school and dumpy clothes, but inside, a devastatingly frilly butterfly was busy brewing. They’d all see, just wait.
It was the summer of my second year when a friend invited me out on a four-day camping trip through the Welsh countrysi
de. At the time, I had been dating a guy who was more or less the male version of me. Translation: it was a disaster of a relationship. Andrew was sweet, and conscientious, and worked hard. But he was also the kind of guy who made me wistful for some passion, even if it was just the kind that made people smash plates on the floor during arguments and have make-up sex afterwards. I didn’t know how we’d make it through four whole days of being in each other’s faces, but I agreed and so me, him, my friend and her boyfriend started making plans for the trip.
Sometimes, I imagine myself in a courtroom, trying to explain (defend?) my actions to a jury of my peers. Was I guilty? When did I go from innocent bystander to pre-meditated instigator? Was it when I willingly packed four of my sluttiest sets of knickers into my backpack? Was it when I sort of decided to pick a fight with Andrew on the morning we left for the hike? It’s hard to say.
But I packed them. And then, in that strange way that life sometimes unfolds, events gradually led to me losing more and more things, until the final evening of our camping trip, when I lost my favourite pair of black and lacy knickers. But I’ll get to that in a moment.
First, I lost Andrew.
“Lost” is stretching it a bit. By now I can’t really remember how, but we got into an argument while packing our bags. One thing led to another, he said, “you think you’re better than me, don’t you?” and I didn’t say yes …but the truth is, I didn’t say no either, and by then things were sour enough that I told him to take a hike, although not literally, because I wanted to do that on my own now. Fine.
The next thing I lost was my tent.
This was more of a problem. My friend Elise, her boyfriend Joel and I set off, spirits high and backpacks full of way more stuff than we honestly needed. I had met Elise in my politics lectures. She was a wiry girl, like a compressed spring covered in velvety tanned skin that made you think of holidays. She was idealistic, fond of getting into arguments with our lecturers, and had dusty freckles, hair and eyes all of the same soft caramel brown.
Joel was – well, kind of the opposite. In fact, the deeper we walked into the idyllic Welsh landscape, the more I was struck by how he seemed to be a walking embodiment of the mossy hills we walked over, the ragged rocks cut in two by silvery streams, the morning mists. He had slate coloured, blue-black hair and dreamy, half asleep looking eyes, eyes that seemed always focused on something in the distance. She was all California girl, smooth as a beach ball, while he seemed like he had been born in a grey woolen jumper. He shared none of Elise’s high-strung energy, but he had his own gentle charm, and the two seemed to get on really well.
We spent hours picking our way through the countryside on the first day; conversation disappeared and we all three fell into a comfortable, silent rhythm. It was on the second day, though, when I was walking upfront, that I heard Elise yelling, “Your tent! It’s going to fall!” I felt a weight shift on my back and spun around just in time to see that my rolled up tent had worked free of its straps and had fallen to the ground. Elise made a swipe at it but it bounced once and then proceeded to roll down the steep edge of the path. Quick as a rabbit, Elise bounded after it, but it fell steeply into the brush and she had to stop, tangled in the bushes. She looked back up at me as the tent disappeared.
“Damn it!” I said, reaching down to lift her up. Joel did the same, and our joint efforts hoisted her up to within just a few inches of my face. She smiled broadly. Joel laughed, and started to pick some twigs off her, saying to me, “Christy, you didn’t say what a camping noob you were. Anyway, if you wanted to sleep in our tent with us you could have just asked, no need to throw away your own, yeah?”
He had on a naughty, sideways smile and a twinkle in his eye.
My cheeks flushed and we all laughed, but it was that moment, ladies and gentleman of the jury, that I knew it: I was going to fuck Joel that night. And I was going to fuck his beautiful girlfriend, too.
We eventually set up camp, and whiled away the hours it took for day to turn into dusk, and then into night. I watched Joel build an impressive fire, admiring his skillful, almost meditative calm. Maybe a person didn’t have to be thinking all the time, and maybe there was something sexy about just doing. Elise and I had a loud, ridiculous discussion about the relative pros and cons of being a lesbian. We were playful, somehow more comfortable with each other after our long, silent hike together, taking turns to say things we thought might break Joel out of his fire making focus and get a rise out of him.
“You know, I can totally see the benefits of getting it on with a woman. Really I can. But I don’t think I could ever give up on men entirely, you know? Joel has such an amazing dick. I don’t know if I could ever live without it,” she said, flicking her sandy hair in Joel’s direction.
My face prickled.
Joel stood up slowly, dusted the soot from his hands and stared hard at Elise from out underneath slightly crinkled black eyebrows. He glanced briefly at me. “You’ll have to forgive this one, Christy,” he said in a laughing voice. “She is indeed addicted to my dick, and it appears she’s forgotten her manners.” He plonked himself down next to her, and planted a deep, slow kiss on her open and waiting mouth.
I was taken aback. But it all felt so right. The clean air, the elemental landscape quiet and primordial all around us, a strong man building a strong fire and beautiful, perky Elise, giggling at my lame jokes. All the sweaty walking and climbing had lead us to this perfect moment.
“Yes! I’m a dick addict,” she said, kissing him all over in return. “It’s true. The government should look into setting up safe injection sites for me in town so I don’t ever have to relapse.”
It was properly night now, and the fire was robust. I wanted them both. I moved my chair closer to the fire and made a show of rubbing my hands to warm them. “Well, I don’t know, as lovely as I’m sure your dick is, there’s just some things that only a girl can give another girl, I think.”
I said this sweetly, instinctively feeling Joel’s warm dark eyes moving all over my body. Elise’s face glowed. We were probably the only people around for miles.
“Oh yeah?” He said.
“Definitely. A dick’s nice and all. But can it compare to another girl’s soft lips? Women just have that special touch, you have to admit.” I met his eyes, and, still holding his gaze, I rose and went over to Elise, dropped to my knees and gently took her face in my hands. She stared in wonder at me, her freckled face open and defenseless. Her lips were parted and already wet, and there was something so exquisitely feminine in the way she looked up at me, expecting. I leaned forward and kissed her lower lip, tasting her with the very tip of my tongue. She kissed back greedily, and my fingers fanned out over the back of her head. I pulled back, leaving her lips still wanting, quivering half open, eyes still closed. I looked at Joel, who seemed to be in deep contemplation of all of this.
“See? Now a big rough boy could never kiss a girl quite like that, could he?”
It might have been a few seconds or an eon that passed in that moment, but eventually Joel, who had been sitting in stony silence, allowed something like a flicker of recognition to pass over his face. It was something dark and elemental. Was it a smile? Before I knew it, he was in front of Elise too, who was now seated like some goddess on a chair with two devotees kneeled before her. He kissed her, savagely. It was a challenge, and when she gasped loudly, his hand yanking back her head, I understood the game we were playing. His other hand gripped mercilessly round her wrist, pinning it to her tanned thigh. He took her chin in his hands and kissed her deeply, and as he drew back, he trailed one of his fingers in her open mouth, staring at her like he owned her.
“I think Elise likes big rough boys, though, don’t you?” he said in a dark, almost inaudible voice.
Elise listened closely, almost bewitched. She caught my eye again. Regaining herself, she shook her head back, laughing. “Now don’t fight, guys. There’s only one way to resolve this, fair and square.”
&
nbsp; In a moment we were in the tent, the light of the fire outside casting a magical golden haze over everything inside. It was warmer inside, and we were soon all naked, our three bodies creating one unified, glowing mass of warm limbs. Joel was somehow in charge, something almost primitive in his grunts, the way he handled Elise, pinning her this way and that way, kneading her body and sucking each of her small breasts hard while pawing the rest of her with big, rough hands. Elise, on the other hand, seemed to melt. No more was she the plucky, in-your-face girl with opinions she just had to share. No, somehow in Joel’s presence she became a kitten, girlishly purring under his firm touch.
I kiss her, taking my time, enjoying every soft fold of her lips and tongue. She was a gentle kisser, and thorough. Out the corner of my eye I see Joel’s hand working rhythmically between her legs. I find myself amazingly turned on by her scent, which seems to rapidly fill the tent, and when Joel lifts one glistening hand to stroke her belly, I see just how turned on and wet she really is. She’s writhing between the both of us now, me kissing her slowly and sweetly on one end, Joel slipping his fingers roughly back into her wet slit, his other hand on his own cock. It was that evening in the tent that I uncovered the existence of unusually thick, heavy cocks – and Joel’s was the perfect specimen.
We paused at some point, briefly kissing one another before looking down at Elise again, deciding how to divide her lovely body up between us.
“My turn,” he said, moving to her lips and kissing her. Her legs were splayed, slick pussy lips opened, inviting me closer.
I had never done this to a girl before. I knelt down between her legs and pushed her legs further apart. I was intoxicated by her scent, barely noticing how dripping wet I myself had become. I was fascinated to discover a sparse patch of blonde hair above soft pink folds that seemed instantly familiar. I gently parted her lips, and began sucking on her clit, which seemed to pulsate in response. Her entire body throbbed and bucked, even the tiniest blonde hairs on her abdomen prickling with ecstasy, despite the rising temperature in the tent. She was beautiful. And I wanted more than anything to make her come.
