*I’ve lurked and read stories here for years. Finally getting around to “giving back” with some memories of my own. This is vintage mid 1990s. Enjoy.*
My junior-year college girlfriend majored in psychology and theater. Let’s call her “Miranda”. Her mother, an Austrian-British emigre, was a Freudian psychologist, and her father, Rhodesian born but London raised, taught classical music at another college. Her mother’s father had also been a Freudian, and had some sort of professional relationship with Anna Freud in London before immigrating to the US. Their house (an hour’s drive from the campus) was a creaky three-floor Victorian, like something out of an Edward Gorey cartoon. I was a scholarship kid, a nobody strictly from nowheresville, out of my league and completely enchanted.
Miranda was short and busty, had black curly hair and pale skin, green eyes, a pert nose, and full lips. She could be loud and funny, or soft and demure, or sharp and serious; she had been a theater kid since middle school and I never knew if I was coming or going with her. Miranda loved to wear a tight skirt with dark colored tights and black leather boots; in my memory she is dressed just like so, with a black bra showing beneath her thin gray tank top, and big loose plunging neckline sweater pulled over, smoking a cigarette held between her fingers, nails painted in chipped black and a bit chewed.
Our first date was impromptu, not even a date; intended to be a casual dinner with a random group of classmates and roommates, each of whom flaked out until it was just us. As everyone melted away, she asked me, “Well I’m still hungry, are you?” and away we went. The meal was casual, ramen noodles and gyoza. We broke the ice by comparing notes on a shared history professor who taught in two seperate classes.
It was then that Miranda announced, without any context at all, that she loved, * loved * anal sex. Well, there was some context– we were talking about things we liked and disliked, but the speed was more like, do you like Japanese food? Yes I do (great, glad I picked this spot). I love French movies, do you? Yes I do (there’s one screening soon, let’s go). I like the beach, do you like the beach? And then Miranda: “The beach? I like the beach. What I really love is anal.” I was completely discomforted and flustered by this bald statement. “In my ass,” she clarified, not unhelpfully. I cannot recall my reply, but I’m sure it was flushed and lame. Just the same, we did end up making out on that first date (on the back of the bus, returning to campus from the ramen spot), but nothing happened approaching actual sex, let alone anal. When I went home that night I kinda assumed it’d be our last date. I remember thinking about how her mouth tasted like Altoids mints and stale clove cigarettes, and how I’d never forget that odd taste.
But when I saw her next on campus, Miranda smiled and we talked and I asked her on another date: we went to see a movie (“Blue” by Krzysztof Kieślowski, screened by the campus film society). Half way through the movie she put her hand on my crotch, and just let it rest there very casually. Her fingers were long, but her hand was slight, and had so little weight over my jeans, but it was the most intensely erotic sensation I had ever experienced. After feeling my inevitable erection, she withdrew her hand and got up to leave the movie.
I followed her down the dark aisle– and down the path to her dorm room, where we drank red wine and smoked her brown clove cigarettes. At some incongruous moment, she took off the skirt and tights and pointed at her hairy genitals. “My cunt is in here. Fuck me in my cunt,” she instructed. I remember blood and the wine rushing to my head as I scrambled out of my jeans while she laid back on her bed and inserted her diaphragm. That complete, she lay there supine, legs spread open, her sweater hiked up, one hand on a heavy breast, the other fingering herself. She guided me into her, and I hammered while she moaned and asked me, “are you fucking my fucking cunt???”. I came quickly; in retrospect I doubt very much she much approached her own orgasm, but Miranda seemed sincerely pleased with herself nonetheless.
After sleeping for a few minutes, she scooted down the bed and took me in her mouth. “Do you like to taste your cunt?” I asked. Her head bobbed in agreement. Soon I was hard again and we were back at it, this time with her riding me. I pulled off her sweater, and pulled her breasts from her bra, sucking and biting at them as she ground on my cock. In control, she reached a concentrated orgasm, moaning loudly and then I came again. After, while I was still buried to the hilt in her wet gash, she reached to the side table and poured wine. We drank and then I reached for her box of cigarettes (cloves came in proper boxes, I wish I still had one). I had deflated and by time we managed to light the cloves I had shriveled out of her; I remember sitting in a wet mess on the sheets, happy and in complete thrall.
For the next few weeks, I saw Miranda a few nights a week, especially on the weekends. We fucked constantly, but she did not mention anal again. Most sessions she would first straddle me, reach orgasm, and then fall back into the pile of pillows at the head of her bed. I’d raise her legs up on my shoulders, heave into her a few times and then also cum. Once, she instead guided me up to her mouth. Miranda violently raked her finger nails into my back when I emptied my thrust into her passive, open mouth.
On another night, she rolled over and simply instructed, while lighting her post-coital cigarette, “this time you can jerk off on my ass”. I reached under and used one palm to push up on her cunt, raising her ass up higher. With the other hand, I smacked her hard, leaving a few handprints on her pale white skin. Miranda yelped with delight. I pushed my middle finger into her wet cunt, and then palmed the slick wet open lips over my hand. I remember vividly her glancing back over her shoulder, a bemused smirk on her face as I used the slick discharge to jerk furiously. She pursed her lips and blew smoke when I came, streaking her plump cheeks with long thin lashes of ejaculate. While I knelt over her, gasping for breath after this unexpectedly erotic experience, Miranda murmered, “I wish I had a picture.” Of my red face, dripping sweat? Or her scarlet marked bottom, criss crossed with cum? “Both,” she said, stubbing out the clove in an empty green Altoids tin on the bedside table.
TO BE CONTINUED…. Miranda part two: Chameleon .
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/rbyejk/mf_miranda_part_one_cloves_altoids