7/1/17
Sometimes, I wish I were a lesbian. It would make my life very simple. Sometimes, the right boy who comes along will fuck your life all the way up, and you know it. You know what they want, and you know what they’ll do and say to get it. Just, sometimes, on the right day, you want the same.
Like Mark, my little sacrificial virgin. Nothing little about him, actually. Fit guy, caramel skin, ten million dollar smile. I didn’t believe him when he told me that he was a virgin. He said he was a late bloomer.
I met him at a freshman party I was misled into, and he was the first person there to not make me feel gross and ancient. He looked like he was just excited to actually be talking with a girl. He was very bad at being smooth. Adorably so. I mean, I can’t fault the guy for being passionate about political science. I just wasn’t sure how to tell him, “Hey. It’s okay. You’ve already made it into my pants,” without coming off as a slut.
I probably found his virginity the most attractive, for vile, selfish reasons. I was looking at a new sex toy, fresh out of the package, never used, and he made my mouth water. When we finally left, early in the sketchy hours of the morning, walking home buzzed through the snow, he reached down to hold my hand. He was much taller than me, so he dragged me around quite a bit, but I didn’t mind his urgency. It was cold out, and he wanted to share his time and warmth with me.
Mark stepped down from the top step leading into his apartment building; he had to stand beneath the streetlight to find the key on his ring. Now face to face with him, I noticed that he wore a small, golden crucifix around his neck. He saw me staring at it, and gave me interrogative eyes. Instead of explaining, I blew a cloud of vapor onto his glasses, fogging them up. He wore very wide, very round frames. Wide enough for my gloved finger to draw hearts in both. He chuckled as he found his key, stepping past me.
Safe inside his room with me, he pulled his sweater off over his head, exposing his bare back to me, for just a brief moment. His boxers treated me to a brief flash of burgundy and white stripes, with the designer name printed on the waist. His pants were sagging, just a little bit, and his perky butt put my self control under the crucible. I failed, and moved behind him to pinch his vulnerable rear. He laughed at me, giving his rear a small shake for me. This time, I just grabbed an entire cheek outright. The fabric of his boxers pulled taut suddenly; his cock had gone stiff and leapt for joy, just for me. I had to sit down, and get out of my boots.
He undressed me to his comfort level, before we started kissing. He touched me like I was his prom date, with unnecessary restraint. “Put your hands here,” I said, without thinking how he might take it. He smiled onto my lips, as his hands glided around to my hips. I was still wearing my undershirt, and my jeans at this point, and he was in no great rush to get me out of them. I pulled off his shirt, and he paused.
“I… Okay, did you want to make out, or… Because, I’m cool with either, you know, I just don’t have a condom, and I didn’t know if you had one, so I—”
“Mark,” I said, holding his cheek and jaw on one side in the palm of my hand, my thumb covering his lips. “Take a breath. We can go as far as you want. I’ve got condoms.” A quiet moment passed, as his gears turned. I glanced down at his crucifix again, wondering why he hadn’t moved yet. “You just wanted to make out, I’m guessing.”
“Yeah…” He looked absolutely defeated as he said this, sitting back down on the other side of the couch. “I’m so sorry, if I led you on. I don’t really… you know… Do this kind of thing.”
“What kind of thing,” I asked. I never checked his age; every time he spoke, I saw another year escape from him, until he no longer was a stud from a party. He was a 19 year old boy. He was someone’s child, still. My stomach turned into a knot when I looked down into my junky purse, spying a pack of flavored condoms in the bottom. I was just moments away from turning someone’s child into my literal midnight snack.
“Go out and… sleep with people I just met. Not that I’m judging you or anything. What you do is cool. I just don’t do it myself, and—”
“Mark, you know…” I had to stem the tide of a volley of confused emotions, before I opened my mouth again. My hand wavered in mid-air as I tried to think of what to say. “That’s… just great, that you don’t do that, you know? It’s not always safe, or ideal. Good for you.” He looked more hurt. “That wasn’t sarcasm, I promise.”
“I mean, I thought I wanted to, but the closer we came to it… I think I’d be too afraid, anyway. I’d be no good at it.”
“Mark, don’t say that. You’re too sweet to be bad at sex,” I said. “It’s easy.”
“I’ve… I’ve only seen a vagina in sex ed class,” he admitted. I cringed a bit, rubbing my forehead.
“Of course you don’t watch porn,” I mumbled. “Mark, I’m so sorry for this, but I should probably be heading out. It’s almost 3, and I’ve got things I need to do in the morning.” He didn’t say anything, as he looked down into the floorboards. “Hey. Hey, look at me. There’s nothing wrong with you. You could have had sex, but you just didn’t want to have it. That’s okay. I’ll…”
This was the moment I referenced earlier. When you know that the boy is about to demolish the established order you had going on in your life. If he wasn’t so fucking cute. If he wasn’t so fucking sweet to me. I was screaming on the inside, but I couldn’t help myself. I wanted this boy to an uncomfortable degree. I needed to hear my name rumbling in his mouth; I needed to feel the weight of his lean, but fit frame bearing down on me, again and again, driving me up the walls in bliss. I needed to hear that higher pitched childish tone that men his age slip into when they’re all alone with you; I needed to drain his patient, aching, tender manhood, and watch him roll over and fall asleep. I wanted to rape his innocent little brain out of his body, for even putting me through all these unwanted feelings. They shouldn’t have let this pure, Christian virgin near a filthy creep like myself. “Let me give you my phone number,” I said. “So we can do this your way. I respect that.”
“Thank you,” he said, as he whipped out his phone. “That means a lot to me.”
***************
13/3/17
He didn’t call. He didn’t text. I put him out of my mind for weeks, even forgetting his name. I found myself, yet again, teased and denied. Pent up, and angry for no reason whatsoever. My friends always notice before I do; I noticed when I cursed out an Uber driver, for taking a longer route.
Sometimes, if I miss my meds for a day, and that day went fine for me (this usually happens on weekends where I do fuck-all anyway), I’ll get cocky and go a few days longer without them. My blood begins to boil, and I get antsy and ornery. Most importantly, my sex drive ramps up, considerably. I get possessed with the urge to fuck everything, and everyone, for the rest of all time. When I get like this, I end up taking whatever laundry needs to be washed, full load or not, down to the laundromat.
It’s usually very empty in there, and dimly lit, like the opening scene of a noir film. With a good, sinful little erotica in my hand, I start my load, with my hips pressed against the warm machines. With black yoga pants, and a smooth, rounded edge, I can usually get very close, very quickly, before someone walks in. I want to be caught. I want to roll those dice: to be caught by the person who is going to be disgusted, or to be caught by the person who is going to finish the job.
Today I was squeaking, and moaning, and I couldn’t stop myself. I was tearing the page beneath my thumb, and digging into the spine with my fingernails. My hips were moving on their own, as I neared closer to my peak; that beautiful moment when you’ve climbed so high that gravity catches up with you, and sends you tumbling all the way back down to earth. And then the cycle stopped. I had to drop to my knees, I was shaking so badly, but still, no climax. Someone walked in, and I went back to my seat, wanting to scream.
“Hey. This is Mark.” That’s what the text read. I missed it while I was busy humping the washing machine.
“Mark who?”
“Mark from the party,” he replied.
“Hey you.”
“Hey.”
We hooked up later that evening. He looked tired, and slimmer in the face, and he wasn’t wearing his glasses today. He gave me the impression before that he wanted to take me out on dates before having sex with me, but he didn’t take me anywhere besides his bedroom again. How could he have known how ready I was for him? How could he have known that he was in for the fuck of his life? His first time was going to be with a dirty freak like me, one who had just spent the last 60 hours with nothing but fucking on her mind. How could he have known?
“I… I finally had sex,” he said, as I was taking off my jacket. I dropped it on the arm of the couch while I processed this news. “I dunno, I thought I should tell you. I thought you might like to hear that.”
How could he have known that his virginity should have been mine? How could he have known the magnitude of the agreement that he just violated? I turned to him with a weak smile. “Really now?”
“Yeah. I got drunk on Friday, and slept with a girl from my class,” he said, like the dirtiest of dirty secrets. I took a seat in the middle of his bed, kicking off my shoes. “Turns out, you were right. I am better at it than I thought I would be—”
“Don’t tell me that,” I said, regretting immediately that I had snapped at him. How could he have known how irritable I was going to be on that day? How could he have known the level of crazy he was letting into his life?
“I’m… sorry?” He approached the bed cautiously. Instead of explaining, I simply dragged him down into it.
“Show me what you did to her,” I said, somehow holding my composure like a champion. I wanted to cry. Show me what you did to her. Show me what was supposed to be mine. Torture me with that knowledge. Give me a reason to resent you. That’s what I wanted. He rolled down my yoga pants, unceremoniously, and began to kiss my inner thighs. It was sensual, and tender, especially the way he placed his hand on my tummy, his thumb anchoring itself in my navel. It should have driven me crazy in the best of ways, but I wasn’t present in the moment. All I could think about was her, and how she felt. I missed it.
He brought me back with a kiss on my hood. I hadn’t noticed his fingers spreading my lips until just then, and I moaned just to make noise. He wasn’t skilled, but he was eager. He moved his entire head and neck to lick me, not unlike an ice cream cone, and his facial hair was wiry and too sharp to feel good. I would have laid there and taken his oral ministrations all night, but I could feel myself getting tired. Yet another side effect of skipping my crazy pills. If I fell asleep, I knew I could scar his ego for years to come.
Then, I remember waking up, after having that thought. He was lying next to me, texting on his phone, and I was still laying there, legs right where he had left them. Time advanced about 35 minutes, in the time that I closed my eyes. “Sorry…”
“It’s alright. Long day, I guess?”
“Mark, I really am sorry…” I immediately sat up, and started to crawl over to him. He pushed me away, once. “Mark, just, let me make it up—” He pushed me away more assertively this time. “Mark, please, don’t be like that.”
“I’d rather not,” he said. I had him pinned beneath me now. I looked into his eyes, expecting anger, or disappointment; I found fear. Reddit, I almost raped this boy. It was *disgustingly* easy. I crawled away immediately after I noticed. I was in tears now. I couldn’t explain why I was so tired without also explaining that I’m a defective human. I couldn’t explain why I was so irritable, and severe with him; I couldn’t explain why I felt his virginity belonged to me and not him.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, covering my face from him, as I patted around for my yoga pants. “I don’t know what just came over me. I’ll just—” He hugged me from behind. Now I was the one stammering over my words, over apologizing. Now I was the one who needed to just stop talking. The hug teetered over into his comforter, with him laying across my back.
“I put you to sleep… That’s my fault, Starla,” he spoke into my ear. My name rumbled in his mouth, and in his chest, and I felt hot all over. His cock laid down in between my ass cheeks, and he began to grind, slowly, as he kissed the back of my neck. His other hand surfed across his sheets, beneath my body, right to my womanhood, and just like that, it was as if we had never stopped.
“Yeah, yeah, fuck that’s fucking hot,” I said, as I felt the wet spot on the back of my neck growing larger. He stopped grinding for a moment as he reached for the condom on the nightstand; this fucking adorable bastard used my ass cheeks as a mic stand for his dick, propping it upright so he could roll the rubber down his shaft. I looked back at his work, to see the condom only half on. I closed my cheeks together as well as I could, and gave his cock one long, slow grind, until I could feel his sack against my cheeks. He pulled it free, and began to tease my lips with his head. “Could the other girl do *that,*” I asked, sticking my tongue out at him.
“We didn’t actually get this far,” he said. “We just did 69.” I didn’t need to hear any more. I grabbed his dick myself, and pushed it in, letting him take me from behind. “Oh, oh shit, it’s—”
“Fuck me, Mark,” I demanded.
“Yes ma’am,” he said. I think my brain orgasmed when I heard that. All this teasing, all the waiting, the let downs, all of it became worth it when he called me “ma’am.” When he said that, he put all of my remaining ego to rest. Now, he had a thick pillar of tender, white, thick, pillowy flesh, oozing its juices all over his cock and his body, ceaselessly. Thanks to the condom, he fucked me hard and deep for hours, taking water breaks every now and then. I had been edging all day, so I gushed thick, warm girl spunk over him several times.
He fell asleep without rolling over, like I wanted, but that was okay. He was on his belly, and I laid down on top of his back, pulling the blankets over us. I don’t know how long I watched him sleep. I guess I assumed that as much as he talked, he would talk in his dreams, too. There was snow falling outside, falling in clumps of thick white flakes, and I stayed awake, wondering how long they would last if they fell on us instead.
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/5zk1lu/starlas_sex_journal_7117_13317