Like Music, Like a Dance (True Story, x-post from r/sluttyconfessions)

Oh, look, another car sex story! Or is it another story about a college student?

Yes. Exactly.

Early 2000s — 2002, let’s say, give or take a year. That would make me almost 40, and her 21.

We met in Yahoo chat, as so often used to happen before that went away. She was a student at one of the local community colleges. She’d already finished her RN during the fall semester and was taking some additional classes during the spring before transferring to a four-year school. Still, I like to think of her as a nursing student because I’ve always had a bit of a thing for nurses.

(No, she didn’t wear her scrubs when we got together. That was another nurse, another time and place.)

It was close to finals time — late April, early May — and her classes were stressing her out. I asked her if she needed some stress relief and she said that actually sounded like a good idea. Her finals were a week away, so we made plans to meet up before then, after her last class of the day, and take a drive out into the country.

Her school was close to my office — just about five minutes away, at most. So on the designated afternoon, I told the boss I was going to get some work done outside the office, called home to say I was heading out on a work assignment, and drove over to the campus to pick her up.

She was tall, maybe an inch shorter than I am. And she was a big girl — self-conscious about her weight, she’d told me when we started chatting. I had no complaints. She was beautiful: fair skin, freckles and glorious wavy red-gold hair, almost like polished copper, that fell to the middle of her back. I couldn’t keep from playing with her hair with my free hand while I drove east out of town.

She loved music and the ballet. I asked if she wanted to go to a concert or performance with me sometime. She said she’d like to but might not be able to if the summer job she was after came through, because it would take her out of town.

We left the city behind, got off the highway and started taking the back roads. It wasn’t a feeling of “We’d better hurry up and find someplace and get back.” I had time, and so did she, and the conversation didn’t feel forced at all. I felt a bit guilty for hoping that the job wouldn’t take her away, but I really did want to go on some real dates with her.

After about 45 minutes of driving, we found the perfect place: An abandoned farmstead, with some trees that partially screened it from the road. There was a junked school bus parked there. By the looks of it, it had been there quite a while.

So we parked, rolled down the windows to let in the spring breeze and started kissing, and I loved being able to run both of my hands through her hair. I didn’t rush things, waiting for her to get past some early nerves. I could tell she was comfortable when she started kissing my neck and moaning when I kissed her underneath the ear in return. Not too long after that, her shirt was pushed up, her bra was unhooked to expose her breasts, and I was going back and forth on her nipples with my mouth and fingers. They were tiny and pale, but extremely hard and sensitive.

She started rubbing me through my pants, then unzipped me and slipped her hand inside to touch me through my boxers. I took that as a good sign to unbutton and unzip her jeans while she kicked off her shoes.

Then she laughed: “How is this going to work?”

I asked what she meant.

“I’ve never done it in a car before,” she said. “I was always afraid I would be too big to ride a guy.”

“Scoot your seat back and lean it all the way back,” I said. She did, and I had her raise her hips so I could get one leg of her jeans off — and one leg of her panties too. She opened her legs, and my fingers found my way to her pussy. I played with her clit for a while, then slid a finger inside her — again, waiting for her to get at ease with car sex for the first time.

Her hips started moving faster, and I got on my knees in the driver’s seat and bent down to lick her. That really got her breathing hard and moaning again, especially with my left middle finger still inside her.

All of a sudden, she sat up, kissed me hard and started unbuckling my belt. I helped her out, sliding my pants and underwear down to my ankles. She played with me while I got the condom out from under the visor, where I’d stashed a couple before I went to pick her up, and I climbed into the passenger’s side and got on top of her.

She raised her legs and I slid inside her, kissing her again and stroking her hair as I started to move inside her.

For never having had sex in the front seat before, she was a quick learner. She raised her left leg and hooked it over me so I could get deeper into her, and I raised up on my arms to get even deeper still.

“Doing okay?”

She bit her lip and smiled. “Mm-hm.”

She pulled my shirt over my head and off, tossing it into the back seat. Between the air playing over my skin and the warmth of her as I moved inside her, I was in heaven and I didn’t mind staying there for as long as possible. Judging by her sighs and smiles, and the way she pulled me down to kiss her every now and again, she didn’t mind either.

Sometimes an orgasm hits you like getting t-boned at a four-way stopsign when somebody decides not to follow directions. Sometimes, it builds like music — soft at first, gradually peaking, sliding from sudden tension into climax like a swelling horn section and cymbal crash.

She shuddered, softly, hitched her breath a few times. “Oh. Oh. I’m … oh.” I couldn’t tell if she was talking to me or to herself, or both.

It felt as though we rode the wave for minutes, though it was probably closer to 45 seconds or so.

She took one more deep breath, exhaled a soft “whoo” and giggled.

I laughed, too. “How’s the stress?”

“What stress?”

I stayed inside her for a while, the two of us kissing softly. We kept stopping to kiss as we slowly got dressed again, and at every stop sign and red light on the way back to town. I stroked her hair and her neck as we drove.

We were only able to get together one more time, after her last final, when we went to a big park and took a walk in the woods so I could bend her over a fallen tree. That time was more urgent — “naughtier,” if you will — and that time, when we came it was a full-speed collision.

I was pricing ballet tickets a few days later when she sent me a message: She had the job and they wanted her in just two days. She had to pack the next day and her parents were helping her move, so one more meeting was out of the question.

I still think of her when I drive past an old farmhouse, or see an abandoned school bus sitting in a field, or when I hear snatches of classical music. I wonder how long her hair is, whether it’s still that glorious red-gold, what she remembers when she thinks of those last few days of school.

Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/c49wso/like_music_like_a_dance_true_story_xpost_from