[M]y ex Ellie [F] on my couch

My favorite posts on here are the ones with some awkward bits that let me know they’re real. Sometimes I’m reading along and enjoying myself, only to find myself wondering – Wait a minute. Is she really so voluptuous and perma-horny, or so petite and perky and perma-horny? Is he really 6’3″ and chiseled with a dong the length and width of a Pringles can? Erotic fiction can be great, but I like it when I know a story actually happened. Here’s one.

Ellie was intense. Always got straight As, usually got her way, and was so paranoid I couldn’t quite believe she was serious. Like she’d say things like, “I don’t want you to sit with her. You’ll fall in love.” Like that was a normal conversation starter. Made for the kind of drama that almost seemed worth it when neither of us knew any better, but it got old pretty fast. She had a slightly rounded face that glowed when she smiled and looked pretty scary when her blue eyes stared at you, which was too often. She had full hips that I loved but that reminded her too much of her mom. Great, full breasts that were a little too sensitive for me to really play with. Her circulation wasn’t good, so her jiggly parts were usually cold. I liked to try to warm her up.

I had been a decent looking guy in high school, or would have been if anyone had ever told me what to do with my hair. I I was about six foot flat and still as muscular as I’d been when a little under two hundred pounds, but I’d added about twenty because I liked eating more than exercising. I was way too full of myself, but apparently not enough to completely price myself out of the market.

We were both new enough to sex to be completely inconsistent, because we didn’t talk. We’d find something that worked, and we wouldn’t know how to replicate it. My favorite experience was the time I started fingering her in the passenger seat while driving my sad little beater on the way to my parents’ place. She was nervous about meeting them, and I wanted to help her relax. She never wore dresses, but she had a nice flower print on, which made it so easy for me to slide her panties over enough to alternate rubbing her clit and sliding my middle finger inside of her. She was usually fairly vocal when we were messing around, but this time she kept her eyes closed and stayed quiet. It took me a while to realize her twitches were orgasms. She started laughing and pushed my hand away and said, “Twelve’s enough.” And then a minute or two later she pulled my hand back, smiled wide, and said, “Couple more.”

Something ruined it for her after. Like I said, she’d get worked up about something, and I’d never know the cause. I did most of our driving, and I made it clear this had been one of the best experiences of my life, and she was welcome to take a ride on my middle finger any time she’d like. But we never did it again. She did apparently share the story at an all girls gathering a couple of months later, though. I know because a friend told me about it, which explained some of the looks I’d noticed getting around campus, including from her. So Ellie set me up for some good dating experiences after we broke up.

A couple of years later she was back in town after graduating. I hadn’t seen her in a year when she showed up at my place unannounced on a Saturday morning. My housemate spent Fridays at her boyfriends, so we had the place to ourselves. Nothing was going to happen, though. We had ended poorly, with her hinting that she might take a knife to one of us. She seemed like she’d chilled out a bit – she even looked tan, which was new. I complimented her, and she said, “Thanks. It’s spray on.” I laughed, and she laughed too. She couldn’t help being honest, when she wasn’t scheming. It was one of her charms, and she knew it.

She said, “You remember how I told you when we were breaking up that one of the best things about exes is that you’re already comfortable with each other’s bodies?” I didn’t remember that. I only remembered the talk about a knife.

Then she was sitting on my face. I mean, there was an intermediate step where she slipped off her jeans, but it was pretty quick. No kissing, no talk. She just gave me this hungry look, pushed me down on the couch, and lowered her pussy onto my lips. And I knew what to do. We didn’t talk this time either. I just sucked on her clit while slipping my index finger inside her. I’d learned a few tricks in the meantime, some geometric patterns that pleased some women, and might work for her, but there was no time for all that. She grabbed my head and began rocking herself on my face. I kept my tongue flat against her clit, curved my finger and timed my strokes to match hers. I was getting ready to slip a second finger in when she gave this moan that turned into a growl and then trailed away into a kind of lonely wolf’s howl. That lasted until she stopped grinding and shook a little. We kept that pose a few more seconds until she raised up, looked down at me, and said, “Exes.” Like she’d been on a tour or something. And maybe she had.

I’d continue the story, but my housemate wasn’t at her boyfriend’s. She came out of her bedroom to see if a wild animal had broken in, saw Ellie facing her on the couch with the top of my head sticking out from below, said, “Oh,” and went back to her room. Ellie laughed, which wasn’t like her. Apparently she didn’t get embarrassed as easily as before. I was proud of her, my spray-tanned, howling ex.

I never saw her again.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/au7w78/my_ex_ellie_f_on_my_couch