Sunday, April 30, 2006

Cramming for exams

I'm overrun with motivation--deep motivation, the kind that can only be inspired by shame.

I wasn't good enough to get my prudish girlfriend's clothes off. Her ex-boyfriend back at home, with his Billy Dee Williams moustache and backwards baseball cap, he got the job done. But not me. She made me fall for her, made me open up to her, and then went back to her dorm room and downloaded every morsel of information to her roommate like chemistry notes. I'd show Marlene, and I'd show her meddlesome roommate too.

"So what's your situation," I say to Brenda, with a sly smile.

She looks at me. She's wondering how I'm not affected by the whole thing, how I can smile after being eviscerated by my girlfriend.

"Why?" she smiles.

"Tell me." Being a nice guy didn't work; perhaps being a cold-hearted bastard would be more effective.

"I'm 20. I think I'm too old for you."

"You're funny when you're drunk."

I refill my cup, and the haze slowly returns. I lean in closer each time her voice softens, until our faces are almost touching.

"So, I'm gonna walk home now."


"It's dark out. And it's raining."

"Do you... want me to walk you home?" I ask, my heart fluttering like a trapped bird.

It's strange seeing the room from Brenda's bed. The posters and furniture are familiar, but different somehow. Maybe it's just the angle.

She's wearing striped panties. I have been eyeing them through her white capris all night; so was every other guy in the room. Seeing them in stark relief as she pulls her pants off is pure triumph.

"I can't do this very well," she whispers, as she lowers herself onto me, and the alcohol evaporates from my bloodstream instantly. There is no guilt anymore, no Marlene, no studying to do, nothing except this warm and willing female who happens to be fucking me.

And just fucking her is not enough. My manhood has been questioned, and I have something to prove. So I fuck faster and harder, like the crude, inexperienced kid I am. I'm not patient enough to try different positions, and even if I were, I don't have the stamina or the patience to hold out. But I do know enough to drink in every detail, to see the swatch of pink beneath the tuft of black hair, to watch her pussy stretch subtly as my cock enters her, to notice the jiggle of her breasts and to listen to the squishy sound of wet flesh against wet flesh.

The haze lifts intermittently, sometimes just long enough for me to feel a warm puff of breath against my neck, or the flicker of her tongue against mine. Headlights pass by, briefly illuminating us, and I watch like a bystander, surprised at the coldness of our sex, but turned on by the desperate strength with which she pins her knees against my hips.

"Cum. Cum, Steve," she is saying, as I grow harder and her insides grow wetter. I was too stupid to wear a condom, or even to ask if she was on the pill, and I unload an ocean inside her, oblivious to everything except my own euphoria.


Monday, October 17, 1992

"Did you see Jose out there?"

"What? No! I don't talk to him anymore!"


"I told you that already, Steve!"

"I know, Marlene."

"Why did you ask?"

"Did you... did you and Jose ever--"

"Steve, I'm a virgin! I told you that!!"

"No you didn't! You never used that word, 'virgin'."

"Fine," she says, moving her mouth exaggeratedly. "I'm a virgin! Happy now? Why are you so jealous lately?"

"I'm not jealous."

"Did you talk to any girls while I was away?" she smiles.

That depends. Does "can you get me a towel?" count as talking?

I'm beginning to think I made a huge mistake. How could I have been stupid enough to trust Brenda? I should have known she just wanted to stir up trouble.

I better hope she doesn't open her mouth. And that no one saw me entering or leaving her room that night.

I am still pissed at her for telling Brenda about the tit incident, but if I confront her, I'll have to admit I was talking to Brenda, which would lead to Marlene confronting Brenda, which might lead to Brenda telling Marlene about the creampie I left a few inches south of her appendix.

For once I'm going to be smart and keep my mouth shut.


Friday, October 21, 1992, 7:30pm
Steve and Paulie's apartment

"What's the glans?" Marlene asks.

"It's the head of the penis."

"There's so much about that stuff I don't know."

This is a good sign. She's curious. If she's curious, she'll want to try things.

"What do you want to know?" I ask, supportively.

"Like, when a guy has an orgasm, that stuff comes out, right? Semen?"


"But pee comes out of the same place. So why doesn't pee come out?"

"There's a little valve in there that closes when the man gets aroused."

"What if the valve doesn't work right?"

"Then you call Roto-rooter."



The TV blares incoherently on the other side of the room. Marlene pulls her mouth off mine for a second to look down at the zipper of my Guess? jeans.

"How does it get hard?" she asks, running her fingers across my fly.

"Blood rushes to it."

"Is it getting hard now?'


Her eyes flicker up at me, as if to ask my permission.

"It's okay," I say, popping open the button.

She's touching it over my BVD's. It doesn't matter. I go statue-hard in ten seconds.

"You can touch mine, if you want," she says, averting her eyes.

You have a dick? I guess that explains why Jose didn't fuck you.

Her panties are dainty, like you would find on a kid's doll. I pull them away and slip a finger into her, and my pulse races at the feel of her tight box.

This is no ordinary pussy. Even a novice like me knows that. It would hug my cock, tight and warm, like a homemade sweater. Sexual pleasure is new for her; I'll watch as she makes her first fuck-faces, losing all self-control, succumbing to me totally.

I don't bother pulling down my zipper. The rubbing takes care of that. The outline is clear beneath my white briefs now, and she rubs it ever more feverishly between her thumb and first two fingers.

The head pops out. "Ew! Put it back, put it back!"

I tuck it back in.

"It was...shiny. Why was it shiny?"

"That's when the skin on the head gets really tight. Like on a bald man's head!"

"Oh yeah," she says, rubbing again.

"You're making me slippery," she says, her voice sinking to a hoarse whisper.


"You make me slippery when you kiss me sometimes."

"Oh really?"

"And when you talk to me on the phone. I love your voice."

"Me too," I manage, but I'm only marginally aware of what she's saying.

She's wet now, wet enough to fuck, if she wanted me to. But I'm not going to push it.

And then she finds the right spot, and rubs it just the right away, and I am totally gone. My eyes close and I hear myself moan softly as the first dollop oozes out of me. Nothing happens for long moments, and she probably thinks it's over. But then I cum like only a 22-year-old can, blasting wave after wave in my shorts, soaking them from the inside out. She pulls away too late, and it smears her wrist.

"It's... gooey!" she smiles.

"You see what you do to me?"