The fall I turned 20, I fell under the charms of a Bad Boy. I’ll call him Henry. He was deep-voiced, with a larger build, 5’10” or so, green eyes, and dark, curly hair. He was ridiculously smart–the kind of guy who always knows the back story of the local band you like, or the latest comic book series, in a delightfully nerdy, intellectual, solid, Pacific Northwesterner way. He wore plaid scarves and a black peacoat, and swore in regular conversation. He was the quintessential devil-may-care type I had always crushed on, but never did anything with. He had this way of looking at me and lowering his already-deep voice in a way that dampened my panties instantaneously. He had knowledge and experience, and I knew I wanted him to use both on me.
My best friend had introduced us–she had a way of attracting smart people to her, and I been envying the conversations they’d have at our community college, sitting at the caf or out on the grass, quoting the greats and hashing out details of their opinions on the books they’d read. I’d never mentioned my crush on Henry to my friend. I felt out of place–I was quieter around Henry, sure I’d say something stupid or irrelevant if I tried to keep up with their conversations. I’m 5’5″, plump, small-breasted, and redheaded, and I’m the “good girl”–a rule-following, church-attending, academic type. I have pale creamy skin that flushes pink at the slightest embarrassment or heat, a sprinkling of faint freckles across my nose, and long wavy hair that reaches down to my waist. I didn’t think he noticed me. I was usually sitting quietly, usually staring at his mouth, biting my lower lip and thinking about what it would be like to kiss him, feeling the warmth spread in the crevice between my thighs as I listened to his voice and imagined running my fingers through his hair.
Our mutual friend was home, visiting for Christmas break from her new university, and I was spending the night at her place. Henry came over for a while, and we went out into the freshly fallen snow to get some fresh air for a bit. It was dark already, and I remember watching the snowflakes catch in his dark curls and land on his beanie and dark peacoat. I grew emboldened, wrapped up in the street light and the glow of the snow, and flirted a bit, clumsily.
Eventually we headed back inside, cold, our boots wet from the snow. My friend had a Skype date with her boyfriend from university, so Henry and I were left to our own devices in the guest room. We were sitting on the carpeted floor, near the door of the room, close to the wall that adjoined my friend’s room so that we could hear the sound of her voice as she talked to her boyfriend. We chatted about random things for a few minutes. I was very conscious of the fact that he was only about a foot from me, my legs crossed as I sat, and my cold feet tucked under each knee to try to regain warmth.
Henry shifted and asked if I was warm enough, and I admitted I was cold. He brushed my long red curls off of my shoulder, and massaged my neck and shoulders with his warm hands, sending shivers of pleasure at his warmth coursing down my body. I lost all pretense, and shrugged out of my coat, turning to face him, reaching out to touch one of his knees.
“That feels good,” I purred.
“You know what would feel even better?” he asked. When I shook my head, he went on. “The feeling of your body on mine. Do you think that’s a possibility?”
I had never been propositioned like this before, and while I was surprised, I was so aroused that I responded in kind. “That does sound intriguing. But you’d have to kiss me first,” I intoned sassily.
Now it was his turn to be surprised. I could tell he had thought it was a long shot to suggest this. “Really? You sure?” “I’m sure.” I thought my heart beating loudly enough that he could hear it. He leaned forward, coming onto all fours, and then rising up onto his knees. His hand slipped under the edge of my sweater, and he firmly held onto my waist and stabilized himself on the floor next to my knee with his other hand. He was gentle and insistent in his kissing. I ran my fingertips down his chest, and under his button-down flannel shirt. I outlined the bulge in his jeans, and felt the fabric grow even tauter under my fingers. I pushed him back so he was kneeling, straight up, and unbuttoned his jeans, kissing his neck. As I pushed them down over his hips, exposing his swelling boxer-briefs, he pulled me up onto my knees, his soft lips moving over mine. He smelled like snow and shampoo and men’s deodorant, the sporty kind. I was intoxicated. Suddenly, a muffled laugh from the other room reminded us that we were not alone, and our time was limited. Henry stopped kissing me, and said firmly and insistently, “Take your pants off.”
I quickly obliged, unbuttoning and pushing my jeans over my hips and pulling my cotton panties down to my ankles while he pulled his boxer briefs down. I faced the door, scant inches away from the sounds of my friend, still in conversation on Skype. I was on all fours, his warm hands caressing my ass as he pressed his hard cock against my butt cheeks and I could feel the sheer size of him outlined against me. “I don’t have a condom,” he whispered apologetically. Now it was my turn to be insistent.
“I don’t care,” I replied emphatically, and arched my back so that my ass ground up against him even more. I desperately wanted him inside me. I moaned a little, and I could hear him inhale sharply and then grunt in approval as his fingers found my labia, and he felt my slick opening. I could feel the tip of his cock as he massaged my clitoris with it, and I exhaled his name. He plunged inside of me, my wet body responding to his engorged manhood. I gasped, and pushed back against him, and I knew he liked what he felt. His hands steadied himself against my hips, and he started a firm, fast rhythm, the roundness and edges of his cock pulsating in my dripping pussy. The suddenness and urgency of the moment quickened my arousal, and I knew we were both going to finish soon.
I rose up a bit, leaning one arm against the door, not wanting anyone to suddenly come in and spoil everything. I ground my hips back against him, fastening him to me tightly, and heard him groan softly as he pumped faster. “God, I’m going to come!” he whispered roughly. “Are you on birth control?” I assured him that I was. Our need was too far gone to be ignored now. We rocked against each other, trying not to make slapping sounds as our bodies collided, building to orgasm. I felt him shudder, which caused my body to tighten and respond in kind. I moaned, rendered less cautious as I orgasmed. He used one hand to cover my mouth as I writhed under him, kept thrusting, and then I could feel him release inside me, waves of orgasm flooding us both, our combined liquids slicking down my thighs.
We fell back on the floor briefly, breathing heavily, fastening our clothes back in their original positions. I turned to face him, kissed him quickly, and smiled flirtatiously again before jumping to my feet. I knew the smell of sex would be on the air, so I opened the door, and as nonchalantly as possible, made my way to the bathroom across the hall to tidy up while letting the air into the hot, steamed-up room. It was perfect timing, because seconds later my friend came out of her room to report on her conversation with her boyfriend.
I was flushed and glowing, but I stayed pretty quiet for the rest of the evening. I knew Henry was glancing at me a couple of times that evening, but I played it coy, only “accidentally” backing into him once when we went to retrieve our wet shoes, purposefully rubbing my ass on his crotch to titillate him, and, later, pressing my lips and flicking my tongue on the cleft between his neck and shoulder when we hugged goodbye. I wanted to dispel the “good girl” impression once and for all.
Henry texted me once we were both home. I knew this was one bad boy who would come back for more, if given the chance.
My friend still has no idea what happened that night, scant feet from her.