[MF] For Usha

This is a true story that I have been planning to write for a long time. Reading it back now before I post, I realize this is a little more personal and confessional than I expected it would be, so I hope you won’t find it boring to read. My name is Peter and this is about a girl named Usha, both our real names (not violating her privacy… there are lots of Ushas out there! There’s plausible deniability). But, Usha, if you’re reading this somehow… I never forgot you ?

This story is essentially the high-water mark of my sex life, so I hope you’ll enjoy. It’s been fun getting this off my chest and exploring those memories, so to speak… (EDIT: Fucking begins in paragraph 13.)

I am in my early-40s now but all of this happened when I was in my early-20s, just out of college and starting what I thought at the time was my career. After years of roommates, and before that family, I was living alone for the first time—quiet apartment, quiet life. I was in finance at the time and often putting in over 12 hours a day, weekends off sometimes, with some tedious travel and lots of daily pressure and competition. I didn’t even have time to spend money, so by all the measures I could understand I thought I was doing okay. Looking back, I can see now that I was lonely and miserable. My social life consisted mostly of drinking with friends from work. In those days I did some early online dating (otherwise known as local chatting on Yahoo– remember that, fellow old people?) and ended up hooking up with a few girls that way (date playlists were usually Limp Bizkit and Korn, so you can fill in the rest yourself.) I’m an alright looking guy, but I didn’t do very well dating in the more traditional sense.

I still don’t remember how these interactions began—in general, there would be a dozen or more people chatting about topics I didn’t understand, and the goal would be to insert yourself in the conversation and hope that somehow you could meet a girl that way. But it worked! After a while, I was a regular and made some friends. Some of the chatroom’s “veterans” even organized meet-ups at a local pub. It was a great way to meet people in person with whom you’ve already established some common ground—even if it just amounts to making fun of chatters that didn’t have the guts to show up.

That’s how I met Usha. She was so incredibly beautiful, I’ll surely fail to do her justice here. Perfect bone structure with a gorgeous caramel complexion and a fantastic smile; big, bright eyes; long wavy black hair that always smelled of citrus and spice. She was very petite, probably no more than 5 foot– I’m 6-3— but her body was voluptuous and irresistible. The confession part of this story is that, even as a very happily married family man of many years, I must confess that it is Usha who will always be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever been with. (Is it unfair to my wife if I add: by far?)

I knew her username from the chat—something to do with wolves—but we had never before spoken in neither chat nor PM. But when I saw her she immediately became the most important person there. At that time, I think a lot of people would assume that these “chat room meet ups” would be full of dandruffy cretins and perhaps one or two entirely ineligible bachelorettes. You could say Usha collapsed those notions. At the time, I really couldn’t understand why “a girl like that” would even think of showing up to our little meet-up, an attitude that probably speaks a great deal to my own base intentions (to merely get laid) and negative self image at the time. I’d come to learn that Usha was just a little lonely and had a hard time making new friends—like everyone else there. In a way, Usha taught me a lot about self perception and how I think about the complexities of other people.

At the bar, we were introduced by a fellow chatter named Ragnarok (wayyy before the Thor movie) and I was a goner. I was a completely melted individual. Usha’s hair was so full of volume I felt like I could inhale her when she tossed. She wore a long, bohemian style skirt that was popular at the time—an outfit that looked something like [this]( https://i.imgur.com/ZWhgbKZ.jpg)… the sandals of her little feet never quite touching mine, but enough to fuel my imagination. Her thin top teased just a glimpse of the sublime. I sat across from Usha as she sipped watery cocktails from a straw held in delicate fingers manicured pink, each of us talking to everyone at the table but always returning to one another. I don’t know how I managed to keep her interest, but for one evening at least I was as charming and disarming as I’d ever be, and possibly even her new friend. Was it love at first sight? No. But I thought so.

No, I didn’t get laid that night (you’re doing great… but just 5 more paragraphs if you’re ready to jump ahead), but what began was an exploratory and increasingly flirty private message that lasted days, followed by long, sleepy talks on the phone that lasted until sunrise, work be damned. We spoke of family and the future and all the related complexities that seemed so inexplicably clear and solvable at the time. We were still kids, really, and we both saw the future as a limitless landscape where anything was possible and nothing was urgent, a view that only in hindsight seems so reckless against the panic of passing time.

When the next chat meet up was announced, I rather meekly asked whether she would attend. Her answer surprised me. I paraphrase, of course, but something to the effect of “we can hang out just you and me if you want to.” Peter the Courageous, of course, still hadn’t asked her out. “There’s always more time, be patient!”—my philosophy in those days. Usha, bless her. Somehow, she was on her way by taxi in the middle of the night, with barely enough time for me to clean my apartment (a major task). My heart was racing and I kept imagining how the scenario might play out— to be honest, most of my thoughts were in nervous contemplation of various disastrously embarrassing scenarios and how to avoid them. In other words, I was unprepared for her.

I lived in a 2nd floor walk-up downtown and neither of us had “cells” so there wasn’t any warning before I heard her gentle knock on my front door. I answered with what I hope was impressively erect posture—I knew she liked “tall guys” and I wanted to give her what she wanted. But I’m sure I crumpled when I saw her— she was radiant, elegant, and with expectant eyes that gazed up at me. A vision in blue jeans and a T. I don’t know if I smiled or just stared dumbly, mouth agape like a fool. But I invited her in at least.

In one particularly confident late-night chat, I boasted that I could “probably” throw her over my shoulder, a notion she seemed to vaguely enjoy. So I planned to put that in action, instantly sweeping her off her feet to carry her to the bedroom like the tall, not quite Viking-ish hero of Usha’s fantasies. But instead I invited her into my kitchen for tea, where we boiled a kettle and had nervous small talk. I couldn’t believe she was so suddenly and confusingly present in my well-swept home.

In the days before “Netflix and Chill”, it really was all about your VHS collection. A film buff, Usha browsed my shelves with curiosity. I was mostly into sci-fi and horror and my shelf was dominated by my complete collection of Stat Trek TOS on double-wide VHS. She wasn’t impressed but was too kind to laugh. Aladdin, The Lion King, and Jim Carrey’s The Mask— her favorites— were nowhere to be found. We settled on Killer Klowns from Outer Space, which at the time I thought was an edgy choice.

Once we settled on the couch, under the gaze of my television, we could safely explore what was happening between us. Usha curled up next to me on my right, her thighs together and leaned against mine, her breast hypnotically soft and pressed to my side, racing my heart. I wrapped my arm around her shoulder and tried to very carefully adjust our position—perhaps to draw her a little closer to me—but Usha responded to my prompt as if it were a command. Her smile gone, she turned to straddle me and we kissed for the first time.

The rhythm of our kiss was slow and exploratory, but with a distant sense of urgency. Her tongue was soft and sweet, and I hoped my breath was as cool and inviting as her own. We kissed deeply and Usha sighed into my mouth, and we both felt myself harden beneath her. She broke our kiss and leaned back just a little, rotating her hips and pressing down with a devious smile. “Oh fuck…” was about the best I could articulate with Usha grinding all over me. I held her hips and touched her skin, charged with energy.

Then, just as I began to wonder if I should make a move of my own, Usha slipped her t-shirt over her shoulders and I had a moment to gaze upon her, the brilliant white of her bra contrasting her caramel skin. I wanted to gaze longer but she too quickly removed her bra, and with a proud and confident smile Usha revealed her breasts to me. She was spectacular, full and ripe with youth, her nipples dark as almonds. Her bold and precocious smile told me she understood her own beauty, and she reveled in revealing it to me.

I feasted upon her tits and she moaned my name– I’d never had a woman do that for me before, and her cries made what was happening feel so much more serious and real. Her cries fueled me and I was aggressive— sucking her breasts, burying my face between them and staking my claim to her; I gripped her ass and fumbled with her jeans prematurely, as if rushing things, but Usha steadied me and allowed me access to her body. She offered her breasts to my mouth again, and I sucked, gazing up at her now while she held my head and played with my hair. I held her tight, lost in her.

Without warning, Usha finally broke my embrace and slid her body down even closer to mine, kissing my lips and then slipping to her knees, spreading my legs. In the back of my mind, I was proud and thankful to be rock hard for her—and I could confidently settle in and watch Usha with wonder. She was so incredibly sexy, her hair tossed and messy, her eyes blazing. She didn’t speak and didn’t react as she unbuttoned my jeans. I began to wonder if she would compliment me for my cock, or say anything, but instead she had me in her mouth before I could even finish that thought. Usha’s eyes told me she was happy and hopeful. All I could do was close my eyes and sigh.

Usha took her time blowing me, letting her nails run all over my chest and thighs, her soft tongue exploring all over my cock and balls. Whenever she opened her eyes, they told me she was at home doing this, totally comfortable and casual in her power over me. She held me in her hands, sucking the head, rolling her tongue against the bottom of my cock, humming and almost smiling. I was in heaven.

Just before I might have felt myself tumbling toward the end, Usha released me and straightened her posture. “Do you have a condom?” she asked with a sweet, affected submissiveness belied only by her beauty and confidence. “Yes—” I grunted, shifting awkwardly on the couch, but Usha pressed her little hand to my chest and settled me again. “It’s okay,” she smiled, “I have some…” and then, with a wink: “I was just checking…”

Usha reached for her oversized purse and produced a box of condoms (a 3-pack, I observed hopefully), and then she finally stood before me. She stripped quickly and without ceremony, as if I’d already wasted enough time with preliminaries. I hurried to join her. When we were finally naked, Usha climbed back into my lap and I felt the warmth of her pussy pressing against my cock—grinding me again. She was so wet, I felt her all over me and I thought she would slip around me before she finally broke away and handed me the condom. I opened it and applied it like a master, and somehow I could feel her own relief pulsing between our bodies. We looked into one another’s eyes and she turned her hips, and all of a sudden I was inside her. She gasped and began grinding me again, but this time it built to a frenzy. In what seems now like an instant, Usha was bouncing deliciously in my lap, holding my shoulders and whispering in my ear. I held on for dear life.

I thought I would cum, but I hit my second wind when I felt my stomach drop at one point, my nerves and anxieties seemingly swallowed by Usha’s body, and I felt stronger. I stood, with Usha still on me, and I balanced her in my arms, and I pumped her like I was lifting weights. I pounded her as hard as I could, gritting my teeth and pushing all my muscles to their limit. The only sounds were the dull, distant sounds of the movie and the heavy smacking of each thrust inside her. I felt Usha’s pussy cumming all over my cock, yet she was silent until finally exploding in a piercing, alarming scream. My body tensed and her own shook in my arms, gasping and panting. I assumed the police would be called, but the neighbors must have been out. Instead, I held her close while she clung to me, coming down from an intense orgasm. When she finally opened her eyes, I saw gratitude.

On her feet again, Usha led me by the hand to my bedroom, which she found without much trouble, and again her invitation wasn’t ambiguous: she bent over the edge of the bed and braced herself. In that bed, we fucked all night. Whenever we tired, we would explore one another in other ways. I feasted on her pussy and rolled my tongue deep inside her, pushing two fingers up into her and strumming her clit with a steady rhythm. In my power, she was mine, and she let me touch and taste every part of her. When I tired, she found my cock and removed the condom, keeping me strong in her fingers and lips. She never made me cum, but she pretended to try—over and over again. It was this kind of passion and rhythm that had us burn through all her condoms and my own supply. So when we finally slipped on our final condom, her eyes now told me she wanted me to take what I needed. Usha spread her legs and on instinct took me inside her, slowly now, and gently. She coaxed me with every particle of her being, with her legs wrapped around my back and her fingers in my hair, Usha whispered to me again.

“I love how you fuck me, Peter—”

“You make me so wet—”

“I want you to cum—please cum for me—”

I had no idea if I could cum. I had gone far beyond what I had ever thought was possible, so I was then in unknown territory. I wanted so badly to cum for her, but I worried that I couldn’t. I even thought something might be wrong. Had I been hard too long? My pace quickened into a panic, pounding her again, and Usha received me with so much grace. But when she finally pulled me closer and kissed my lips, I stopped and kissed her back.

“It’s okay, Peter” she whispered, “you fuck me so good… please… don’t stop… just fuck me till you cum… fuck me till you cum…”

So I began fucking Usha again but in a slow and steady rhythm, each stroke long and full, her pussy entirely open to me now. She held me and kept whispering for my cum, and I pressed my face against her neck as my thrusts became more frantic. All the while, Usha somehow had access to all my desires and she made them real with her words: “Make me yours, baby…” “You’re so big…” “Give it to me…:

I finally tensed up and Usha gasped as I came inside her, whimpering “oh! oh! oh!” with each pulse. I didn’t feel the condom—it really felt like I was seeding her, making her mine. I roared. Usha received all of me and I collapsed into her, spent, and I almost sank into a deep sleep before Usha wiggled out from under me and removed our very full condom. With a smile, Usha placed the condom in the trash and curled into bed next to me. We fell asleep in each other’s arms between kisses and whispers.

The next morning, a Saturday, did not belong to us. By 9am, she had already left and all I could do was bask in the afterglow of the best sex of my life. Usha, I could never do justice to you with my words, and only you know how amazing it was.

We had a few weeks of what I’d now call a burgeoning but ultimately doomed relationship—our plans for the future just didn’t fit, even if everything else felt right. I still don’t remember the specific circumstances concerning why we split up, but I do remember it was pleasant, mutual, and hopeful. I’ve always wished her well, and I hope she’s achieved everything she planned to achieve. She’s half-a-world away right now, married with a family of her own, so perhaps thankfully I’ll never see her again. I have my own life now too. But what else can I say? I still miss you and think about you sometimes.

Thanks for reading.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/bvbciy/mf_for_usha