The Last Ti[m]e Be[f]ore Growing Up

I’ve been thinking about an encounter a lot lately. The full picture doesn’t paint me in the best light, but maybe sharing will get it out of my system. The story is true, everything that I type actually happened. I’ve changed some things around, minor things for editorial’s sake, major (but not story/“truth” altering) things to preserve my anonymity as best as possible. But, for anyone craving details, this takes place years ago, in the south east.

I don’t entirely remember exactly how I met her. I think it might have been through a mutual friend, maybe I was out at a bar with my friends and we bumped into each other. What I do know is that my long distance (now ex) girlfriend was not there. Maybe that’s obvious, given the long distance title, but it’s an important detail none the less.

But this isn’t the story of how we met, this is the story of our last night. The week before my girlfriend was moving to my city.

Bare with me a moment but humans are filled with their contradictions, the best characters that keep us coming back for more are the ones that don’t make any sense, their actions don’t match their words, or their thoughts. And as spite of how terrible I was being, I was still thought of myself as a romantic at heart. A romantic who felt this other woman deserved closure. I was naive. and that naiveté led me to believe I could. rise above my previous sins, and move forward with my life. And for a moment, I was right.

I wanted her, but didn’t want to want her, so I played dumb all night, resisted, and convinced myself I could control my lust. Each passing moment of platonic inaction was a triumph. She wanted me, but wanted me to crave her. To give in and crawl to her, give own to her goddess before dominating her, aggressively and in totality. She’d always refused to act until I gave in. So we danced like this all night. All Spring really. Since we’d met, we’d been dancing. Pushing and pulling at every opportunity. Our first night together only culminated in passionately making out while worshipping each others bodies as fully as one can without consummating an encounter. That was followed by weeks of silence. Upon finally being drawn into each others orbits again, the palpable passion boiled over, and we fucked like rabbits. But new level of intimacy only led to more of the same.

And so the cycle continued like that, we’d text and mostly argue for weeks at a time, for no apparent reason other than to stay on each others radar, only to meet and fuck each others brains out. We’d swear off each other physically, only to test it in person and tease out our unquenchable lust every time. Inevitably we’d fight again, blame one another for giving in, and go radio silent for a few days before winding up in each others orbits again.

We kept each other at arms length as best we could, for as long as we could, but sometimes it felt like fate would intervene. We bumped into each thanks to a previously unknown mutual friend. Their success and subsequent celebration of that success placed us in a room together. All that led to was my pushing her up against a closed store front, barely concealed by low foot traffic and the shroud of shadow. She pressed into me, arching her back while I nibbled along her neck and shoulders and clavicle. I let my hands explore her for a minute, grasping at everything my mouth couldn’t reach before diving between her legs, drenching my fingers in her juice and playing with her. She writhed with ecstasy before she melted into a puddle in my hand.

But I digress. All that to say, on this last night, we continued to dance around each other. Our actions were practically scripted at this point. Like a chess match, we continued to play, countering innocent enough gestures in kind. And we survived. The bars closed, the city shut down, and we were left with no choice but to go our separate ways. And yet, we lingered. We grabbed a quick bite to eat. We devoured our food in a parking lot in silence. And still we lingered. Somehow, at some point, my hand made it under her skirt, slipping under her thong as I began pressing her asshole, using high school level logic as if not kissing kept everything chaste. And the moment might have faded naturally had it been allowed to play out then and there. But we were interrupted by a car arriving to take her home. Stupidly, craving every opportunity to stretch the last bits of time with her, I followed, still somewhat delusional in my belief nothing more would come of the night.

We arrived at her apartment, only to sit in silence in the back seat of the car unsure of what was coming next. After a moment, she excused herself but lingered before closing the door. I followed, at the point unsure if I’m playing dumb and fully aware of what’s about to transpire or actually that naive.
Out front of her six story walk up. Hints of the sun just barely began to rise over the next morning. She says I can’t come inside, can’t walk her to her door, we both now what would happen if I did, and we’re trying to be good now. So I don’t. But I linger, we linger. wringing the moment free of every last drop of our time together. We kiss as if we hadn’t sprinted over the intimacy barrier minutes before, as if the idea that this would be our last kiss would exonerate us, or save us from what was about to follow. She stepped inside and I followed. We both dragged our feet as we marched towards the stairs, the stairs that presented an unspoken but understood and enforceable, unpenetrable barrier where the building door had failed.

We stood in the first floor hallway for what seemed like an eternity before I grabbed her wrist and pulled her into me. Our lips met again, but this time with more passion. We weren’t kissing, we were devouring each other. I pulled her shirt down, pushing her bands do her arms and practically binding her in the top while I exposed her breasts. It wasn’t a moment sooner that my mouth was all over them, sucking at her nipples, nibbling at her breast, worshipping her curves as she moaned in approval. My hands, curious as they always are, once again began exploring beneath her skirt. Pushing it up, bunching it to meet with the half discarded top. I like to take my time with my fingers, tease and leave women begging for me to actually play with them, craving the first consistent brush against their clit, aching for my fingers to spread their legs apart and dip inside them. I forgot all these moves that morning. My hand, with a mind of it’s own, moved directly for her pussy, and was welcomed with open, dripping fanfare. Whether or not we’d mentally acknowledged anything, our bodies had been aching for this touch for what must have been seven hours now. She bucked at my first touch and we were both just getting started.

Not to be outdone, she worked her hands to slid inside my jeans, barely managing to bother with my belt or zipper. Her hands made for my cock, throbbing so hard in anticipation it seemed it would make me sick, and began stroking me. By then I was lost, the feel of her juice on my fingers, the taste of her lips and breasts on my tongue, the pulse of my cock in her hands, my legs were moving forward before I even knew it, pinning her against the cramped, public, corridor wall while she fumbled to free my cock from it’s denim prison. Our usual foreplay was ignored as I pulled her thong aside and slid inside her, her juices making it impossibly easy to fill her in one fluid thrust.

She yelped before catching herself. For a moment we remembered we were overwhelmingly exposed. The illusion of privacy was provided by the translucent matte of the building door, no one from the street would see us. But it was late, now early. Four was encroaching on five, and early morning gym rat or curious early riser could walk down the stairs and happen upon us at any minute. We stood, motionless, for a moment, her continuing to cum from being so suddenly and completely stretched out, me gathering myself so as to not let the early excitement ruin the party, both of us waiting to decide if we’d be discovered, and judging whether that mattered at this point. Without waiting for approval, I regained motion, sliding and thrusting slowly while my hand instinctively moved to cover her mouth. She whimpered again, bit down, and did everything she could to remain as silent as possible while I tried to pick up speed.

And then I stopped. To this day, I don’t know what possessed me in that moment, but there was something so primal about our craving in that moment that I just acted. Taking her waist, I turned her around before bending her over and demanding she grab her ankles. Obediently, she complied and not a moment sooner was her ass in the air. My fingers, still drenched from her juices, began to play with her asshole, ever so slightly. She’d mentioned a desire to experiment in passing once or twice, but earlier that night was the first we’d ever acted on it. And while before I’d only massaged and placed pressure, with her natural lubricant I was able to slowly slip a finger inside, explore and begin stretching her. It was only a few moments before the teasing was too much, her earlier whimpers having evolved into sexual howls. Her pure sexuality in that moment might have been enough to make me cum, and I damn sure wasn’t going to let that happen. My dick, equally drenched but substantially larger than my lone finger, took a moment for her to get used to. We went slowly at first, using spit and her juices as necessary, but before long, she was taking a quarter of me, half of me, all of me. Each thrust made things easier for me to fuck her, and her more animalistic in her cries of ecstasy. If anyone was awake on the first, second, or third floors, they knew better than to come into the hallway at this point. It wasn’t long before my fingers found their way back into her cunt, pressing against her and stretching her a fully as possible. Feeling my cock while I fucked her was surreal to say the least, but I dared not stop and quickly learned to love that I could feel my fucking her in more ways than the usual one, feel just why she yearned to be filled.

It wasn’t much longer before I filled her asshole up with my hot seed. We barely spoke afterwards. Gasps and deep sighs filled the air more than anything else. I put myself away, too spent to consider hygiene. She fixed her dress and reworked her top and, aside from the sex hair, practically looked presentable. I don’t remember if we actually said goodbye, or just stood in silence for a moment longer before she walked up her stairs and I caught a cab.

I did lie a bit in this retelling, about how this was an ending. I wish I could say I grew up immediately after this, that this one final hurrah got her out or my system. But my emotional adolescence would carry on for at least a little while longer.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/8eony3/the_last_time_before_growing_up