“I’m more likely to get an uzi and a rocket launcher than full sex with you.” There was no mistaking what Nancy really wanted from her latest in a many-month-long string of emails. Gone was the gentle flirting: she was setting her cards firmly on the table.
We had met over a year previously. She had been dating a friend of mine and I’d considered her off-limits, but in retrospect my stupid teenaged brain should have been better at reading the signs. She always wanted to sit next to me when out with friends. We’d kept in very regular, downright flirty touch after going to different universities, both now 18 and as single-ish as poly people that age ever are. We’d made it through to what for me, reading a useless arts subject, was to be a long Easter break; for her in those heady days of bursaries to study professional degrees, she had her flat in halls to herself.
So I congratulated her on her uzi and her rocket launcher – she at first couldn’t believe her luck, but I reassured her that I was completely serious – and arranged for her to meet me at the main station in the distant northern city she was studying in. And so I settled in for the long, slow (InterCity Cross Country, how many Midlands towns can you stop in?) train journey to a strange city.
I handed my ticket in at the barrier line and I spotted her immediately. Her beautiful auburn hair was in a tidy up-do. Her red lipstick contrasted with the beautiful freckled porcelain white skin. She was wearing a coat over her uniform dress. The rest of the station concourse was a blur. Only she was in focus. Time slowed right down as I rushed over to her. I wrapped her up in my arms and kissed those red lips.
I don’t know how long we kissed. Eventually we decided to catch a bus back to her halls. A double decker, thankfully. Probably gave the scattering of smokers upstairs (different times…) an eyeful with a long-overdue display of affection that happened to be taking place in public.
We were intending on waiting a little longer. Nancy had just come off-shift and was hungry. So we started trying to catch up on all the random little things in life as she started to cook us dinner in the deserted kitchen of her flat. But we could now kiss one another as we had wanted to for a significant chunk of our young lives. It was turning both of us on. She leant over the table to reach for something, in doing so pushing her arse against my crotch. I held her waist in my hands. She stayed bent over the table. I ran my hands over her hips. I pushed the skirt of her uniform dress up. We knew what we both needed. I pulled her knickers down, and my own trousers and underpants, just to knee-height. I don’t know which of us was louder as we savoured that first stroke, her soaking wet cunt (her word: Nancy always said cunt) enveloping my cock.
I’d have many opportunities over the years that followed to treat Nancy like the amazing classy lady, friend, and lover she was. But whatever this fuck over a table in a cramped student kitchen in the daylight of a March evening lacked in class, it made up for it in raw passion. We were on the verge of making one another finish when somehow we remembered that we hadn’t discussed contraception, but somehow Nancy came to her senses enough to utter the saddest, most reluctant “Don’t cum inside me”. My response was “Where are the condoms?” – we were satisfying our craving for full sex with one another, and then was not the time for just cumming in her mouth. She dragged me to her bedroom and put the condom on me with the speed of a girl who needs that cock back in her cunt.
We fucked on her bed, still half-clothed, this time kissing one another passionately. She came on my cock. I filled the condom inside her. And then, briefly sated enough to be able to think straight, we went back to making dinner.
That night as we fucked again, we really let rip with our noises. The only other student in the building was a deaf girl upstairs (we later discovered that she had had her hearing aid on throughout – oops). Whilst we were fucking, Nancy looked right into my eyes and said, “I love you, [pet form of my name].” I paused. Although we were the luckiest people alive in that moment, this was scarcely going to be a practical or convenient relationship: we were more likely to get that uzi and that rocket launcher. Sensing my hesitation, she said, “Do you love me, [pet form of my name]?” That unleashed the floodgates: after that I couldn’t stop saying, “I love you, Nancy,” although not untinged with a sadness that this was all make-believe.
We agreed to be fuckbuddies, a status we maintained for a decade. We were young and vulgar enough to use it as a pub quiz team name the following night, for which I apologise in retrospect (we came last, foiled by sport and pop culture).
When Sunday morning came, we were to go to church and then for lunch with a nice church family (good old Baptist hospitality). So naturally, as we were lying in bed to squeeze in a morning fuck before church, we both came up with the same naughty idea. Out came the lube. I still remember Nancy’s exquisite moans as I filled her arse with my cum, and then she promptly got dressed and it was off to church with us.
I mentioned that these were different times when it came to the old cancer sticks. As it happened, Nancy was sharing a supply of Gauloises (a classy lady, as I said) with one of her flatmates. The Monday night, we went into the flatmate’s unlocked room for a resupply of cigarettes. The flatmate’s bed was too tempting, and we fucked all night in it. Neither of us thought to make the bed in the morning, and we discovered to our dismay that the cleaners had visited during Tuesday and locked the room. The flatmate never said anything!
We spent a good week making up for lost time. I was sad to have to leave: if only our luck had been different.
Two decades on, Nancy and I still keep in touch every day. Though with her married and with a child, I’m more likely to get that uzi and that rocket launcher than full sex with her. Such is luck.
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/te3wt1/an_uzi_and_a_rocket_launcher_mf