*As with some of my better stories, this happened during my later years in undergrad. My current relationship is approaching /r/deadbedroom status and I find myself waxing nostalgic. I’m 5’11”, have a decent runner’s build (with an Adonis belt, to boot!), and wear glasses for you fellow dorks out there. Names have been changed. I’ll do a page break or whatever if you just want to read the sexy bits. I like textual foreplay.*
It was the week after Valentine’s Day, 2014. Celia and I had just broken up, in a very, very mutual way. In reality, she dumped me. Grad school, in combination with an LDR is tough on most relationships… and I wasn’t nearly as good of a partner then as I am now. We both made our share of mistakes. No cheating, though she *had* recently started talking with her ex; I was overly neurotic. She was my first **real** girlfriend, and I loved her in spite of myself.
In short, I was fucking miserable and my friends knew it.
Snapped from my reverie. *”Get in, dickhead, we’re going to get food.”*
My best friend Joe decided to take me to a church potluck, not 10 minutes after I got dumped. Free food is panacea to college students, and I was no different. Aluminum trays of baked ziti; giant Sysco bowls of tossed salad that was mostly iceberg. Wegmans cookies. Supermarket Italian bread with butter packets and plastic knives. I was not a God fearing man, but that night I said my prayers with all the love of the saints. Bless rural Catholics and their artery clogging delicacies.
My belly full and my body feeling something other than emptiness, I was… Not quite happy. But less sad. I later drowned my remaining sorrows in swillwater pilsners and a few matches of Melée. The next morning, 8am sausage gravy ‘n’ biscuits with black coffee and post-brunch jazz cigarettes.
^Drugs ^and ^food ^are ^no ^substitute ^for ^therapy, ^kids.
By lunch, word had begun to spread. Best friends told girlfriends. Girlfriends told friends. We’ve always been a vocal and supportive group – still are – despite moves, new jobs, and kids. Joe’s girlfriend Casey decided then and there that she’d throw a friendly dinner that night. “Food and friends always help me through a break up!” Casey later beamed at me as I blushed through her way-too-kind gesture. Joe winked at me behind his Guinness.
At the time, I lived with a few guys in our friend group, while Casey lived with a number of girls in a duplex who were on varying terms with us – some would come out drinking with us, while one wanted so little to do with us that she would actively lock herself in her room when we hung out at the Gals’ House. Ellie was a weird lady. Don’t fancy seeing her again.
Anyway, that night it was me, Joe, my two roommates Corey and Conner, and Casey’s two closer (and nicer) roommates Ashley and Taylor. Ashley was your typical Long Island suburbanite studying Spanish, and Ashley was going for her nursing degree. Both are endearingly pretty, in a girl-next-door sort of way. Taylor is short, brunette, with considerable boobage on a curvy frame – and a beautiful giggle that would make Ilyn Payne smile. Ashley was slimmer, blonde. Perky B-cups and a butt toned from daily yoga. Taylor had been dating her boyfriend from high school, Alex, who was a pre-law student and had an ego to match.
Ashley, on the other hand, had just been dumped as well. *Her* high school boyfriend, a Dr. Crane-in-training, wanted to focus more on his psychiatric studies and sow his wild oats. Ah, Doug was a nice enough guy, but he had a shitty way of talking down to people. I *know* he wasn’t worth her.
——
I leaned down to hug Ashley, her heels lifting lightly off the floor. She smelled like lilac. “I know how you feel,” her kohl-rimmed eyes fluttering at me, lips held in a slight pout. “Doug’s an ass,” I had said. Ashley rolled her eyes, and turned towards the kitchen. “You want a beer?”
Casey was, and remains, an immaculate baker. Dinner was less dinner than a feast: lasagna, buffalo chicken dip, apple pie, peach cobbler, candied bacon, and the best beer work study stipends could buy.
As the night wore on, we talked about all things important to college kids: which one of our professors would win in a fight, where we wanted to end up after school, and who was the best starter Pokémon. The moss guy, Somewhere Warm, and Squirtle, in that order.
I thought it my imagination, but I kept catching Ashley’s eye. A sly smile here, cut short by an anecdote. Laughing at one of **my** jokes. But then, I was imagining things. She was just here to commiserate. She’s just being nice.
*Come to think of it, she had flirted with me before. On the most recent of our many drunken camping trips, I had stumbled away from the fire to take a leak. Ashley jeered from beyond the fire “don’t miss!”, only to be shushed by Doug. “Hard to do that!” I called back lamely. As I slumped into my spot, Doug retreated for another beer. I nudged Ashley and let her know of my marksmanship. She hit me in the arm and called me gross.*
But as the evening grew longer, my roommates headed for home, and Casey’s few remaining friends dwindled, until it was just me, Joe and Casey, and Ashley. By this point, we were a few edibles and many beers in, and were huddled around Casey’s laptop sharing our favorite YouTube videos.
By now, my suspicions were at Defcon 2. Ashley was close *but not too close* to me. “Gary, does Joe want to fuck you? Cause he’s actually closer to you right now.” But I was acutely aware of how sweet she smelled, and the warm pressure of her chin on my shoulder.
With the end of another Vine compilation, a nonverbal cue was had between Joe and Casey. “I think we’re gonna turn in for the night. Plug in the laptop when you’re done?”
Ashley and I spent the next several Jimmy Fallon and Conan interviews falling into one another, painfully slowly. Ashley suddenly had the bright idea to watch the remaining videos in bed. (Don’t let anyone tell you that I ~~don’t~~ have game.)
**The Naughty Bits**
**Click.**
Her turn of the century door latched, and to my pot-addled brain, that sound expanded to fill the room for what felt like ages. The lights clicked off. I felt more than heard Ashley hop in bed. I kicked off my shoes and laid back, my heart threatening to pound out of my chest like a Looney Tunes bit.
Ashley turned to me, her grey eyes reflecting the soft amber glow of the streetlights. “You’re… not really tired, are you?”
“No.”
I studied her lips, freshly waxed with pomegranate Burt’s Bees. I ached to feel them, to taste her, to feel her tobewithher. I cupped her face with one hand, and softly laid the laptop on the floor. I pulled her face towards mine, and kissed her slowly, and deeply. My thumb rubbed at her cheek absentmindedly, my other hand possessed of its own mind, running up and down her thigh.
She broke off, giggled into my chest. “Took you long enough.” I kissed her forehead in reply.
We spent the next several minutes exploring as much of the other as we felt comfortable. With our shirts off, just feeling someone else’s, someone *new* ‘s skin was almost too much. We had lost something like 6 years of relationship between the two of us- me to Celia, and she to Doug.
We were hurt. We were horny. We were raw.
As we moaned into each other, held each other, the assertive part of my brain shook off the bud haze and woke **hard**. I rolled on top of Ashley, and growled at her to take my pants off. She complied, biting her lip as she did.
I didn’t plan on getting laid, so of course I was wearing my rattiest/comfiest pair of boxers that left nothing to the imagination. Ashley’s eyes widened.
Cue the token “I’ve got an eight inch monster dong.” I don’t think I have that. I’ve been told my cock is ‘pretty’. Just under 7″, curves slightly to the left, not too girthy… it’s aesthetically pleasing, if nothing else.
Ashley purred, and any thoughts of us taking it slow seemed to evaporate from behind her eyes. She grabbed my cock without warning, and I squirmed. I locked my eyes with hers as she slowly ran her soft, alabaster skin up and down my shaft. Even when we were together, Celia hadn’t touched me like this in months.
With her free hand, Ashley showed her own assertive side, and pushed me back onto the bed. Wordlessly, she began to run her tongue along my thighs, stopping each time before touching me. It was my turn to bite my lip and squirm.
She made sure I was looking when she slowly lowered her mouth onto me. And lowered. And lowered. And lowered until she had completely engulfed me. I felt my cock twitch inside her, and somebody groaned. *Was that me?* Ashley chortled amicably, and sucked me as she rose up again, her lips parting with my head with a wet smack.
I am a true gentleman, and I fucking love eating pussy. I began kissing Ashley’s tummy slowly, but when I reached to free her from the hem of her panties, she pulled her legs up, cradling my head in her navel.
I could smell her, intoxicatingly. She groaned, and not a fun groan. “I’m on my period…” she gasped painfully. I looked up and said “… So?” Ashley cocked her head and furrowed her brow at me. “You’re okay with it?” Yes! “Well, I’m not. And there will be other times to make it up to me…”
Without waiting for my response, she again kissed her way down my dumbstruck body and took me in her mouth once more. She made short work of me, (despite a pretty awful stint of porn over the last day) and she soon had me bucking and screaming her name through gritted teeth, my fingers gripping her ponytail at the base for dear life.
When I stopped seeing stars, she was there. She gulped animatedly. I kissed her deeply, and forced my tongue to meet with hers. She moaned appreciatively. I broke off, kissed around her jaw and up to her ear, where I hissed, “You’re not done yet.”
I ran my finger lightly inside the hem of her yoga pants. She bit her lip but stayed quiet. “May I? I hate to leave you without something, too.” She nodded softly.
Ever mindful of how sensitive she was about blood, I retrieved my own finger, and supplied my own lubrication. I knew that I found her when she stiffened, as if she grabbed a live wire.
I slowly rubbed at her clit in circles. Agonizingly slow at first, and building speed with… very slow speed. Ashley required the perfect rhythm. I was overjoyed just to make out with her, and know that *I* was going to make her come. After only a few minutes, her hips began bucking into my hand, and she whimpered around me. “Ohmigod don’t stop.” She squeaked, went rigid around my hand, then slumped into the bed.
“Doug never even made me come like that before.”
(Editor’s note: really? Fucking really? Man doesn’t appreciate the clit and he’s HOW old?)
Spent in every way but one, we held each other and drifted off to deep sleep. We woke up once during the night to finish each other off, this time with twice the dirty talk. She made me promise that I’d make her squeal with my cock. I agreed as I shot what felt like the rest of my balls into her mouth.
Alas, the next morning found me hungover emotionally and physically. I retreated from Ashley’s room with a soft kiss goodbye and a weak promise to call. We texted and remained friends until we graduated, but I never did get to make it up to her. I ended up falling for the literal worst rebound relationship that lasted through my senior year. She now lives abroad as a translator in Europe, and by all appearances on Facebook, is quite happy to live out her continental dream.
But some part of me wonders, What If…
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/bm7f63/the_rebound_that_was_promised_mf