I woke up as my alarm went off at 8am on a cold Tuesday morning in February. The large, deluxe space heater whirring in the corner of the room was fighting a losing battle with the fact this was a basement room in a 100-year-old house in the winter. The cold wasn’t any incentive to get out of bed. Neither was my looming organic chemistry lecture. And neither was the fact that I had raging morning wood and wasn’t alone in bed.
How did I get here?
I had recently celebrated my 18th birthday, caused a minor family scandal by getting a tattoo, and was ready to get on with my second semester at university. My first semester had been something of a mixed bag. Lots of fun college experiences, but my high school days as a science nerd had left me short on social skills and with a minimal sexual resume. I had resolved to loosen up and get out more to change that.
The 5’7, leggy, blue-eyed brunette in bed with me was Em, who was a year older than I was, and had recently transferred to my university to be closer to home after spending the previous year in Washington D.C. We had met a couple weeks ago at a party on the first weekend of the new semester, where we’d been introduced by a mutual friend.
As the party wound down at 2am and drunk college students emptied out into the cold night air, I offered to walk E back to the house where she was renting a room. There were no buses, nobody could drive, and this was 2010, before Uber was a thing. Thank god for whiskey blankets, because it was an hour walk in the freezing cold. We connected immediately during the walk, talking about what we were doing, our interests, our ambitions in life, and how we grew up. I was struck by how easily and naturally the conversation flowed. When we arrived, we hugged goodbye and agreed to stay in touch. I walked back to my dorm room, sent her a friend request on facebook, and passed out. She accepted the next morning.
We met for coffee, which became making out in my dorm room, which turned into staying the night at her place and her lustily sucking my dick before class, which turned into us dating. This happened over a couple weeks, but it felt like an instant. We would later marvel at just how quickly we ended up in a relationship.
Just one problem though—we hadn’t actually had sex yet.
The reasons for this were beyond the understanding of my 18-year-old brain, and it was not a situation I was particularly eager to continue.
So as we laid there, Em tracing her fingertips along the tattoo down my ribcage (something she was always fascinated by), I decided it was time to make something happen.
We start passionately making out, lips dancing, tongues intertwined, hands exploring each other’s bodies. My morning wood was pressed against her stomach and absolutely impossible to miss. E took notice and climbed on top of me, kissing me while her tits were pressed against my chest. I slid my hand up her thigh and brushed against her pussy lips through the fabric of her panties.
She stopped moving and stiffened up, as a worried look crossed her face. “I dunno…”, she said quietly.
“C’mon, I want you.” My graceful counter.
A troubled look flashed across her face again. I saw the wheels turning. Internal battles were being fought. Life decisions were being made. With indignation and absolute certainty, she blurted out something I will never forget:
“We can’t have sex, it’s a Tuesday!”
I responded in the only way I could—I broke out laughing. I managed to choke out a “WHAT?!?” before I was so consumed with laughter I could hardly breathe. I didn’t know what else to do or say. I knew there were many good reasons to not have sex. The fact it was Tuesday was not on that list. The absurdity of this out-of-nowhere non-sequitur had reduced me to cackling, gasping wreck. My ribs hurt, I was laughing so hard. Em climbed off of me and sat next to me, looking bashful and embarrassed.
I managed to get myself under control and catch my breath. “What do you mean?” I asked.
“…I just wanted it to be special, you know?”
In one of the smoother moments of my life, I answered “My first time with you was always going to be special, no matter what day it was.”
Those were the magic words, apparently. Em nervously looked away, but it was clear the levee had broken.
“…I’m sorry I haven’t shaved,” she said.
I told her not to worry as I pulled her in for a kiss. I slid my hand into her panties, and as I made my way past her bush I discovered that while she may have been nervous it was a Tuesday, her pussy was not—it was soaked.
I slid my finger along her wet lips and she gasped when my finger touched her clit. I rubbed her pussy as she moaned for a minute, before she pulled by shorts off and climbed on top of me again. Angling her hips, she slid down on my cock in one motion. She rode me, rolling and grinding her hips against mine as I grabbed her ass. She tensed up and her movements became jerky a few minutes later as she came on my dick. She sighed and relaxed as she came down from her orgasm and I took over, thrusting up in her and emptying my balls in her not long after.
She settled down onto my chest as we both caught our breath. “mmmm…that was good, I felt it all the way down to my toes,” she said.
We blissfully laid there cuddling for a while before it was time to be a responsible student and go to class. The room didn’t feel so cold now. I almost floated to class, excited about a bright and sexually active future with no idea that this was arguably the high point of our relationship, which would last for the next year and a half.
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/m6mg6h/we_cant_have_sex_its_a_tuesday_mf