Outside Interests

"My parents will kill me if they find out." Why is it that both the best and worst conversations start like this, particularly when you're still a kid. In this case, I wasn't the one saying it, although I had in the past, about cutting school with friends, smoking, drinking, all the stupid shit you do when you're young and rebellious. In this case, though, it was about sex, and my parents might not have heartily approved, but they wouldn't have killed me.

We were dating. It was cute, really; he gave me presents and took me to movies sometimes. We'd kissed once or twice, but nothing more. And now I was asking if I could spend the night at his house when his parents were out of town. I wasn't asking, really, just suggesting strongly. I don't invite myself over to places. But hey, I wanted to be able to fool around, and I knew his folks had a liquor cabinet and mine didn't. I don't want anyone to get the impression that I was a liquor slut when I was younger; it was mostly the prospect of spending the night with him.

He was one of those guys who probably talk a lot of shit when they're with their buddies, but likely didn't even know what a vagina looked like. I didn't hold it against him, really; he was cute, taller than I was (which I like in a guy, since it's more of a rarity for me than for other women), decently-built, and not an idiot. Plus reddish hair, which I'm a sucker for.

"I'm not asking for you to throw a party," I reassured him. "I just, you know, think we could spend a little time alone together. I'm not going to tell anyone." Well, I might tell my siblings. Maybe not Mike, because he might get jealous. He was going through a phase at that point. And maybe not Sheri, because she might want to tag along. That wasn't going to happen. He was my guy, and I wanted to be all alone with him. It was kind of romantic, in my mind, going over to his house, snuggling up with him, being all adult.

Of course, I was fooling myself, but the evening turned out okay anyway. He finally agreed, as long as I would promise not to tell anyone else. It was Wednesday, and for the next day and a half, I turned up the heat a little, kissed him in the hallway surreptitiously, put my hand on his shoulder, leaned into him a little, that sort of thing. By the time Friday evening rolled around and I was knocking at his door with my knapsack full of things, I was half-sure he'd greet me in the doorway with nothing on but a smile. Yeah, that wasn't going to happen.

He was nervous, I was nervous. He wasn't the first guy I'd dated, nor was he the first guy with whom I'd spent the night, but it wasn't like I was the seasoned campaigner. And I didn't really want to seduce him; I wanted him to seduce me. I put out all the signs I could think of; short skirt, low-cut blouse, no bra, touching him, giving him a kiss as he invited me in, bending over a little too far to put my stuff down, asking to see his bedroom.

"You're not going to sleep in the spare room?" Shit.

"Um... okay, I guess. But can't I see your room?"

And then we sat in his room for what seemed like forever. Silence. Finally: "So... do you want to eat dinner or something?"

No. No I don't. I want to take my clothes off. But okay, dinner, fine, maybe a little wine or something? He got the hint on that one, and although I think he might never have opened a bottle of wine before, he managed to get the cork out. I don't care for wine, but at that point, I wanted to try to like it.

We had microwave dinners and wine, probably cheap-ass wine but I had no way of judging. I wasn't into the taste, so I was drinking it in gulps, trying to ensure a nice buzz.

Then we watched a movie. Sitting on separate couches. Oy. It makes me want to kick my younger self, looking at it now, but let's be generous to her. Half-way through, I got up, went to the bathroom, and changed into my pajamas. The T-shirt was too small, and my nipples stuck out rather a lot, and suddenly I was embarrassed to go back in there dressed like that. I can't really say why, maybe just the awkwardness of the situation. But I went back in.

And it was then that I knew he was an okay guy, because he spent the rest of the movie trying very hard not to stare. I like that; acknowledgement, but not being a creep about it. At least, that's how it seemed at the time. So as the movie was winding up, I went over and sat down next to him, leaned against him, and when he didn't pull away, I put my head on his shoulder. It was kind of sweet. He wasn't repulsed by it; he put his arm around me, and we finished the movie and then started kissing. I think he might have started kissing me, but what does it matter? We were both into it.

"You know why I wanted to spend the night, right?" I asked him, finally. "Not to sleep in the spare room."

"Yeah," he said with a chuckle. "I kinda figured that out. You want another glass of wine?"

"Actually, I kinda want to go to your room," I said. "We can be more comfortable there." I didn't tell him that I thought the wine tasted icky; that would have been rude.

He practically jerked my arm off leading me up the stairs to his bedroom again, so I didn't have to ask twice. "Can I touch them?" he asked of my breasts. I just nodded, reached down, and pulled the T-shirt off. After a subjective hour of him worshipping my breasts, I had to hint that maybe there were other things he'd like to see, otherwise I think he might have been content to hold my breasts in his hands for the rest of the evening.

Once I slipped out of my pj pants and was lying back on his bed, totally naked, he pulled off his shirt and joined me, his fingers slowly rubbing my slit the way I guess he believed women like. I moved a hand down to help him, and eventually he was stroking me properly, finger dipping into my pussy and coming out wet, spreading the juices on my labia, until I had a small orgasm, prelude of things to come. "You want to fuck me?" I asked him. Once the chips are down, I'm pretty direct.

"Really?" It was like I was giving him the best gift ever. I never get tired of that, which may be why I shift from partner to partner so often; I like seeing the look of gratitude in the eye of the guy as I let him fuck me. That's pure ego on my part. I'm not necessarily proud of it, and not all guys are grateful, but hey, I'll take it whenever I can get it.

He was Catholic; there was no talk of condoms (which is something I found absolutely ridiculous about Catholic school guys; they'll go through the card, but apparently birth control is a bigger sin than premarital sex, even sodomy). He pulled his pants and underwear off in one motion, and his cock was thick, and felt thicker as he pressed slowly into me, face to face. When his pubic hair tickled the outside of my cunt, I came again, harder because he was spreading me wide, my legs pulling up to wrap around him.

He didn't last long, a minute maybe, thrusting rather more quickly than I would have recommended if I had been a virgin. Then he pulled away and shot a lake of spunk, thin and watery, onto my belly. It cooled immediately as he sat back breathing heavily. "Wow," he said. "I thought maybe I'd get a BJ out of this evening if I was lucky."

"Well, you can have one if you want," I said with a grin, collecting some of the jizz and licking my fingers clean. "And then maybe we can fuck again?"

Now that's a way to begin a good conversation.