That morning, after we fucked, Amy told me that she had a crush on a boy.
I was still half asleep as she sat on the edge of the bed and slowly slipped on her bra. I watched as she fumbled a bit with the tiny bent clasps.
She was a pouting princess sometimes. There was a clumsy little girl charm to her, lazy and proud and seemingly unaware of how beautiful she was. Her little mop of short dirty blonde hair, always so perfectly disheveled. Her curious eyes, always hunting for clues. And her lips. My thoughts and my eyes always came back to her lips. Fat bee-stung, always a little chapped and often imperfectly stained with red lipstick.
Her lips made my cock hard.
She didn’t look at me as she explained that the boy she had a crush on had a girlfriend and that “they weren’t like us.” He was just a good boy who didn’t know any better, but he was tall and charming and had a crooked smile, and she liked him.
If he was good, what did that make me?
“His name is Matt. I see him all the time at school, he’s in the same graduate program as me. Sometimes we go out for drinks,” she said, as she pulled her underwear up her long legs.
Sometimes when we got dressed after sex, it felt like an affair. It felt like we weren’t in my apartment, but instead a seedy motel room and we had to gather all of our things and get out before checkout.
It felt like somewhere there were husbands and wives worried and waiting. It made things feel just a bit more dirty and forbidden, which of course made me hard.
The fact that she was somewhere in the middle of her twenties and I was almost forty certainly made that fantasy a little more potent and dirty.
“He comes to my house sometimes,” she admitted, gauging my reaction from the corner of her eye.
I raised an eyebrow.
“Nothing like that, we just lay on the couch and watch movies,” she explained, slapping me on the arm for my look.
I imagined them on the couch, innocently cuddling. He was in his twenties like her, not in his thirties, like me. She explained that they were similar heights and similar builds and I remarked that it sounded like he was more her type than I was, perhaps. Though she had scoffed at this and said in no uncertain terms that she “liked older men.”
She sat in her panties and a bra, pulling on her socks. As she bent over to pull them up, her ass was right in front of me, plump and perfect in pink boy cut glory. I wanted her again, though we had just fucked an hour before, as the sun came up.
I wondered if I was capable of laying in bed with a woman completely innocently anymore. I felt very old and very jaded and for a moment very broken. I worked to keep up my façade of casual curiosity and friendly banter.
“What goes on, on that couch, I wonder.”
She shrugged. She wasn’t her playful self. She had a crush. She had a crush on a boy she couldn’t have.
I let myself be jealous. It felt good to feel heat in my veins. It was nothing, she wasn’t mine, not like that, but still, I wanted to be her crush again. I wanted to be desired and forbidden. I wanted to be worth breaking the rules for.
“We just lay there for hours, like cats. We watch stupid things on YouTube. Sometimes he brushes his fingers along the inside of my arm,” she said, her eyes closing and her chipped nails slipping against the vulnerable skin if the crook of her arm.
I gritted my teeth.
“Nothing more?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
“God Mark, I told you, he’s not like us.”
What did that mean exactly? Was it bad? Were we doing something terrible? Sure, we both had people we were dating, people we were fucking, all on the up and up though. Everyone knew what was going on. Apparently, he was one of those monogamous people who confused me so.
“Last time he was over, I asked him about his girlfriend. He told me all kinds of stories, most of them very sexual. We were inches apart. He smelled so,” she closed her eyes again, “amazingly good.”
I moved closer to her. She was still sitting at the edge of the bed. I laid as close as I could to her, wrapping my arms around her.
She kept her eyes closed and twisted out of my embrace, standing and looking for more of her clothes.
“He told me how much he likes going down on her. He gave me all these vivid little details, like how he can’t leave her alone after she shaves her pussy. She gets out of the shower, and he follows her around like a puppy begging for a taste and then pulls off her towel and just licks and licks for hours,” she whispered, her hand brushing her bare thigh.
I laughed. That was one thing he probably wouldn’t get from Amy. She didn’t like to shave, she kept her sparse blondish hair short, and I loved the way it looked.
“I think he knows I like him though, last week he told me he probably shouldn’t come over anymore,” she said in a whisper.
She sat back down on the bed, and I wrapped my arms around her, and this time she let me.
“I’m sorry. I miss crushes,” I said into the hollow of her back.
She sighed deeply and laid back down next to me, turning into a little spoon.
“What does he smell like?” I said into her ear.
“I don’t know. He smells like boys. Soap and some cologne. I think it’s Cool Water, but always just a little,” she said sleepily, settling back into a nap.
There was something in the fact that Amy always answered my questions, even when she didn’t want to, that makes my heart ache. I loved her for that. If you could call it love.
I slipped out of bed, and she pulled the blanket over herself. She looked beautiful, with her soft little mop of short brown hair, her fat lips that were always pouting, and her big sad eyes.
I went to my dresser, racking my brain to remember where I put something. At the bottom of a drawer, I found it. A little sample. A little gift a shop clerk put in my bag when I was Christmas shopping. A vial of his cologne. I dabbed a little behind my ears, just a little.
Back in bed, she was purring like a cat. Her body moved magnet-like against mine as I lay behind her.
I heard her sniff, and then again, and her body tensed.
She pushed her ass back against me. My hands moved to her waist. My nose was in her hair, my lips just brushing her ear.
She turned halfway around, our lips just barely missing, and she kissed me on the cheek.
She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out.
My hand moved to her shoulder, paused there, touching her naked skin. My fingers moved down her biceps, then very softly to the inside of her arm. I traced invisible patterns along the tender underside of her arm, up and down the length, following freckles. Her breath caught as my finger explored. She swallowed and bit her lip. Her eyes closed tighter.
We cuddled closer, our mouths near but not touching. I felt her hot breath on my cheek, then my neck. I let my head drift away. I felt myself move so that she wouldn’t bump into my now painfully hard cock. I wanted to touch her innocently, if just for a moment.
Her whole body seemed to react to my fingers brushing her arm. Goosebumps and red cheeks and little soundless moans.
I moved up higher on her arm, then to the side of her chest, little circles and swirls with just the tips of my fingers. I traced the bottom of her bra, and she shuddered. I moved to the top of her bra, dipping down, almost letting my fingers slip under the cotton and lace, but never going too far.
She squirmed, and her hips bucked as my fingers moved back down, to her stomach, then further, to the top of her panties, just grazing the skin, tips of fingers just barely slipping under the waistband.
She grabbed my wrist, holding it tight.
“We shouldn’t,” she whispered.
“I can’t help myself,” I growled into her ear.
“I-I want you to touch me, but your girlfr-” she whimpered, her voice cracking.
“Let me. Just for a second,” I said.
She whined a pained little moan.
“If it’s just for a second it doesn’t count, right?” I whispered, taking her earlobe between my teeth.
Her eyes were closed tightly, she was biting her lip, my finger moved under her panties a little more, she still held my wrist tightly but allowed me to move just a little.
“It’s bad,” she said between short breaths.
“It’s bad, but I need you,” I said, my fingers bolder, her hold on my wrist loosening.
It didn’t matter that we had fucked all night and even earlier that morning. It didn’t matter that we had been hooking up on and off for a few years. Everything was new and forbidden and dirty and wrong and hot. The minute my finger slipped into her I almost came. The hot contact, the wetness, her moans.
Her breath was coming hard and fast, her hands pulling me and pushing me away at the same time.
“There’s no going back if you do this,” she said, loud and a little hysterical.
Her eyes were still closed. I wondered how much of a stand-in I was. Was she picturing his face, his body, or just his predicament?
“It’s okay, we’re just playing,” I said gruffly, pushing her hands away, my cock slipping against her wet lips, the head pressed against her clit, rubbing, so close.
“No!” she said angrily, her eyes opening with a flash.
I stopped. I backed off.
“If you do this you have to mean it. If you’re going to fuck me you have to say it,” she said, grabbing my cock and holding it still, pressed against her clit.
“Say what?” I said with a little laugh, but it broke as I looked into her eyes.
“Say-” she started, but then it was her voice that broke.
“Say you want me,” she said suddenly softly.
“I do. I want you more than anything,” I said and tried to move forward, but her hand tightened on my cock.
“Say you care about me,” she whispered.
I wanted to stop. Her eyes were as wet as her cunt. She didn’t let go.
I leaned in and kissed her cheek. She didn’t want me to stop. I could tell that much. It was a game, but maybe it was something else. Sublimation? Therapy?
“I care about you a lot. I want you and I care about you, and I don’t want to hurt you,” I said.
Her eyes flashed. It was the wrong thing to say. I wondered if she would stop.
“You don’t care about me. You love her. You just want to fuck me,” she said squeezing my cock one more time painfully and then letting me go.
I didn’t know what to say.
She squirmed from under me. She moved to the other side of the bed and took off her panties and laid on her stomach.
“Do it, then,” she said into the pillows.
“Just do it then, if you want to use me that much, then use me. I want it too, but I can’t look you in the eye when you do it,” she said in a cracked whisper.
Should I have comforted her? Should I have broken the scene we were digging deeper into and shook her, held her, what?
She laid there and raised her ass up in the air, ready for me to use. She had a body that drew me in like a siren’s call. Her waist was thinnish, her ass was huge, her thighs were strong enough to crush a man’s head or his soul. Her pussy tasted like salted caramel. Her tits fit in my hands perfectly. She was emotionally raw and honest and brilliant and stubborn and witty. She seduced me with every smile and ever big sad-eyed stare.
I moved to her, straddling the backs of her legs. I leaned over her and got a condom from the nightstand.
Maybe I didn’t need to, but there was something so big about the feelings.
“Are you sure-” I started.
“Just do it!” she hissed, cutting her eyes at me for a moment before I pushed her face back into the pillow.
I took my hard cock in my hand, made sure the condom was on right, pressed against her exposed cunt, and slipped the thick head between her tight lips, pushing in slowly. She was so wet there was hardly any friction.
I fucked her in long steady thrusts, the muscles in my legs feeling strong and sure and the angle perfect to let me slam into her.
I knew her body. I had studied it, with my head and fingers between her legs for hours just like her crush had studied his girlfriend. I knew how the angle my cock was going to hit her g-spot with every thrust.
She wailed and screamed into the pillow. Her soft ass met my pelvis again and again. I held her arm behind her back, hard, and she fought against my grip.
Her moans were turning into rhythmic grunts, timed to our fucking. Her legs were clenching, and her fists searched for at least one of my hands to hold.
I gave her that one safety, one connection in the violence of it all. Her fingers entwined with mine made my heart ache.
What was I doing?
When she came, she came so hard the muscles of her thighs, and her pussy squeezed me right out of her. She bucked and cursed and screamed and as she thrashed I saw a wide wet circle form on my sheet under her hips.
She gasped for air and struggled to collect herself, but I wasn’t done.
I took her hand and bent her arm behind her back again and took her hair in my other hand and pushed her down and fucked her even harder and faster. Hard enough and fast enough that I stopped thinking about who she might be imagining I was or how she felt or if it was too much.
I fucked her through all the thoughts and all the emotion until my head was blank enough to come. My body was aching as I came, being that it was the fifth time in twelve hours.
Then it was all gasping and coughing and trying to find some comfort in our sweaty pile.
She kissed me once. Sweetly. A little of the sadness was gone from her eyes.
Her face was hot and sheened with sweat. I put my hand on her forehead to cool it for a second, and she held it there, closing her eyes and letting out one more long sob.
“I made a mess in your bed,” she said after a few minutes of holding my hand to her head.
“You are the mess in my bed,” I said and replaced my hand with a kiss.
In five minutes she was snoring.
A few hours later, after a long nap, sitting cross-legged on the floor eating Chinese delivery, she was bright and chipper again. She was the girl I kissed the night before.
“So are you going to steal him away from his girlfriend?” I said, stirring noodles with chopsticks.
“No, but I probably won’t say no if he wants to come over again,” she admitted.
I sipped my beer and shook my head.
“That’s no good. Just let him be, he’ll dump her eventually.”
She cut her eyes at me.
“How about I’ll do whatever I want,” she said, spearing a piece of my broccoli with a fork and then eating it in one bite.
“Fine, fine, just don’t come running to me when he leaves you crying.”
She smiled, and as I watched her twirl her fork in my noodles, she lifted her shirt up slowly, just up to the soft fine line of where the swell of her breasts started.
“I thought you like to fuck me while I am crying,” she said in a sweet bratty voice.
I groaned, for a variety of reasons.
Two nights later, her texts started at about three a.m. I didn’t wake up until seven, and when I did, there was a little red 17 waiting on my phone’s screen.
“He texted me.”
“He said they got in a big fight. Not about me, but she brought me up.”
“Do you think I should invite him over?”
“It doesn’t matter because he is working all night.”
“Are you sleeping?”
“Why does this make me so wet?”
“He said they aren’t broken up totally, but they are going to ‘take a break.’”
“I told him I want to suck his cock. Is that bad? I’m kind of drunk.”
“Fuck, I just sent him pictures of my tits.”
The next message was a picture of her in bed, t-shirt pulled up to her chin, pert tits exposed, slight tan lines.
“He is all interested now. But he just wants more picture. Should I send them?”
“Wake up!!!! I need advice.”
Picture of her torso and legs, red panties against her thick thighs, her hand disappearing into said panties.
“This is so bad.”
“He sent me a picture of his cock. Holy shit, it is pretty. I have to suck it now.”
A picture of her in bed again, one hand pulling up her shirt to expose one breast, nipple hard, her panties pulled down to her knees, the pussy I had gone down on and fucked a few days before exposed. Slit red, a triangle of slight stubble.
I felt my cock stir as I zoomed in.
A few more pictures, a few more bons mots, and then silence.
Then another text at five in the morning.
“He is being weird. He is semi-broken up with her but is unsure about hanging out. He doesn’t want it to ‘look like he was fucking me all along’ or something.”
I shook my head at the high school drama of it all while I made my coffee and got ready for work.
That was the last thing I heard until late that evening.
“Take me out for drinks tonight?”
I had met Amy years ago when she was dating my best friend, Allen. She was a bit of a wild child, having moved to Boston from someplace down south. She was going for her BA then, working as a barista and living in the dorms. Allen was one of her professors. It was a horrible idea, but it was damn hot to hear about.
I had wanted her from the first time I laid eyes on her. It was probably her lips. So fat and always pouting. Every time I saw her all I could think about was kissing them.
If she knew, she never mentioned it. There were many nights the three of us would go out drinking. Allen couldn’t keep up with us, though, and Amy and I would end up sitting a little too close, nursing beers and talking about books.
I’d like to say it was loyalty that kept me from making a move on her, but it was really fear. Fear that I was reading signals that weren’t there, and I would get smacked and lose not only a friend but a crush.
Allen ended up cheating on her, moving away with some snotty Connecticut debutant and getting married. It came out of nowhere and broke Amy’s heart.
The first time Amy showed up to on my doorstep, she was in tears, and the minute I let her in, she climbed on top of me.
All those months of tension and want for her had built up to that moment. Her hot mouth on mine was like a drug. We fucked for hours. Fucked and drank and kissed and cried.
It was like that ever since. Good friends who occasionally fucked. Maybe we were something more, but I didn’t know what the word for it was. Maybe we were soul mates who were too jaded to believe in souls.
So that evening, like so many others, we ended up in the dive bar near my apartment. We went there because she was always broke and refused to let me buy her drinks, so we had to go to dives.
That night, as usual, she was drinking well whiskey on the rocks, and I was sipping Bulleit neat.
She was back to pinning. Telling me more about her night of furious sexting with the boy.
“He’s broken up now or is about it be. It’s not fair. We should be fucking already,” she pouted.
I sipped my bourbon and shook my head.
“Patience,” I said softly.
She rolled her eyes.
“Patience is boring,” she grumbled.
As if on cue, the aforementioned crush walked into the bar with a small pack of college boys. I knew this because Amy let out a sort of squeak and tried to hide behind me.
“It’s him! Fuck.”
He was good looking like I imagined. Tall and gangly in a corn-fed midwestern way. Handsome face, strong chin, stylishly disheveled hair, bad clothes.
As he walked by me, I stopped the urge to sniff him. He seemed like he probably had a big dick. I was jealous, and she was mortified. She wanted to hide under my coat, but in seconds he saw her and walked over with his big goofy grin.
“Holy shit, Amy! What are you don’t here?”
It’s funny to feel the mix of sadism and jealousy. I wanted to be possessive of her even though she wasn’t mine. At the same time, I wanted to throw her to the wolves and watch her swoon over him.
“Hey,” she said with a crooked smile, “just drinking.”
They hugged awkwardly. Her hands seemed to linger on his shoulders. He seemed oblivious.
“Hey, I’m Matt,” he said to me, holding his hand out.
I shook it. He was strong. I smiled. I felt old between the two of them.
“Cool to meet you, man,” he said looking back and forth between Amy and me, trying to figure out our relationship.
“Amy told me about you. Another grad student, right?” I said feeling like a creep.
Her eyes opened wide, and she looked like she was going to die.
He laughed, “yep.”
“Any friend of Amy’s is a friend of mine. Let me buy you a drink,” I said, pointing to the seat next to Amy.
He looked over at his friends, who were already descending on shots and single women, and decided he wouldn’t be missed.
“Okay, thanks. So what, Amy, this your boyfriend?” he half-joked, nudging her arm.
“I was about to ask you the same!” I joked back, nudging her too.
She had the look of an embarrassed teenager, actually blushing bright red. It got me hard. Her eyes shined when she blushed, and her pout made her look like a petulant little girl.
“Nope, no boyfriends for me, just whiskey and books,” she mumbled.
The crowd in front of the bar started getting crowded, so when I saw a booth open, we moved over to it and fell into conversation.
Matt was smart and charming. I understood the attraction. There a sort of college bro front but under that he, like Amy and me, was a literature geek and romantic.
When he got up to go to the bathroom, I leaned over to Amy.
“Want me to take off? You two seem to be hitting it off,” I asked in a moment of generosity.
Her big brown eyes flashed with fear.
“No! I mean, this is fun, he isn’t usually so talkative. Could you stay? If I’m alone with him, all I be able to think about is fucking him, and I’ll get all tongue-tied.”
I had never seen her so nervous. There was usually a toughness to Amy, an indifference borne of too many years of being too caring, too emotionally raw.
“Isn’t fucking him the point?” I asked with a furled brow.
She shrugged and drank her whiskey.
When big tall Matt came back, I saw his slightly tipsy gaze focus on Amy. His smile was wolfish. Amy, on the other hand, was sitting in the booth with her legs drawn up, knees under her chin, staring at her drink. Her too long sweater arms were over her hands, and she was biting her bottom lip. Her eyes were wide with fear and something else.
Matt’s friends and some other college kids were yelling about some sports game on the television, and the music had been pumped up to meet the warring sounds.
“This place always gets like this on Friday. Want to get out of here?” I yelled over the noise.
Amy downed the rest of her drink with a slight wince and Matt got up and put on his jacket.
“I’m tipsy and ready for anything. Where should we go?” he asked putting an arm around my shoulders.
Amy’s eyes bulged at the sight of our bonding.
“You two figure it out, I gotta pee,” she said pushing past us.
I laughed, “she’s always like this.”
“So seriously, what’s your story, you’re really not her boyfriend?”
I laughed too loud.
“No, we’ve been friends for like what, five years? I mean, we’ve hooked up,” I said with a shrug.
He smiled and nodded, looking back at the bathroom door.
“I don’t know, but I think she’s into me. She said she isn’t, but the minute my girlfriend dumped me, she was sending me pictures and stuff,” he said.
That’s when I realized he was a fucking idiot.
“I wouldn’t be surprised. And I mean, if you don’t mind unsolicited advice, you should totally hit that,” I said with a conspiratory nudge of my elbow.
He laughed, but his eyes were on Amy as came out of the bathroom.
“So, what’s the plan?” she asked us.
“My place,” I announced on a whim.
Amy turned white, Matt grabbed his coat, and with that, we were off.
Matt walked around my place after he took his coat off, looking at my books, my various bottles of Scotch, my typewriter, my old globe, and all the other affectations I had collected over the years.
Being around Amy, especially when she was radiating raw desire the way she was, made me horny. Not ordinary horny, but that buzzing itching growling kind of horny that stayed with me. Watching Matt wasn’t helping. He was all big hands and a wide mouth and muscles. He was hot, but I also fucking hated him.
I watched her watch him as I filled three glasses with ice.
“This what I’ve been into lately. It’s single barrel rye,” I said pouring long.
We toasted and sipped and sighed.
Amy, knowing my mind and my apartment well, put a Stones album on my turntable. Some Girls. Slightly scratchy, warm and comfortable in my ears.
We drank good whiskey and talked about writers. Hemingway, who they loved and I detested. Fitzgerald who I loved and they were neutral on. Faulkner, who we all had complicated feelings about. Matt was trying to keep up with our literary conversation, which made me feel good. Amy was dumbing things down to keep him interested, which made me pissy.
Again I felt old and jaded. I listened to them go on about books they had just found that I had read twenty years before.
As the conversation became more animated, I watched Amy go from guarded to lively, then to frantic. Matt and I seemed to take turns sitting next to her, pushing and pulling her into our conversation and our personal space. Her cheeks and finally her whole face and neck grew red from whiskey and attention. Her laughter became louder and wilder. Her hands flailing with every opinion, landed on our laps when she was through.
When Matt went to the bathroom, I took the moment to kiss her neck. I expected her to push me away, but she seemed unable to say no to any connection. She turned to my lips and then our hands were all over each other.
When the college boy came back, I stopped, but he seemed to sense our exchange.
He let his lanky frame fall into the deep cushions of my couch, keeping Amy between us and letting his armrest around her shoulders as he yawned, like a kid making a move on a date at the movies.
“You guys are awesome. Why didn’t you tell me this guy was so cool?” he said with a big grin.
I wanted to continue disliking him, but he seemed so harmless, so benignly charming. Still, I couldn’t understand what about him ignited such strong reactions in my Amy.
After Beast of Burden played, Amy put on Tom Waits. Rain Dogs. I watched her sway and wondered when she first heard this album and how it was probably a decade after I’d first heard it. I wonder how a girl who had never been to New York felt about those downtown trains and all those Brooklyn girls.
When she opened her eyes after her brief solo dance, her gaze fell on Matt and the nervous excitement of the night shifted to something else.
She walked with a bass line, swinging her ass she did and put her arms around his neck. He laughed and took a sip of whiskey, but there was no joking in her eyes.
She looked down at him, as he sat on the couch, wide legged and half drunk, and pursed those big slightly chapped lips and focused every ounce of her feminine wiles and held him still with that power.
When she kissed him, I didn’t have to know the backstory to know it was their first. She had the pent-up need of a tiger that had paced around its cage too long. And the poor boy didn’t know what to do with that much woman.
It took me a good two minutes to realize how awkward my position was. Sitting on the other end of the couch watching the conclusion of their months of flirting. Still, what was I supposed to do? It was my house.
When they finally broke apart, she was glowing. A smile from ear to ear. And he was blushing and bashful.
“I need a drink,” I said with what I hoped sounded like a good-humored laugh.
Amy grabbed me as I tried to get up.
She pulled me closer and kissed me, long and hard. She repositioned both of us so that Matt and I were sitting next to each other and she was straddling one of each of our legs.
She kissed him again and then me, back and forth, her mouth reddening from the prickle of his stubble.
I caught a glimpse of Matt’s face, unsure at how he would react, but all I saw were smiles.
I moved and kissed her neck as she kissed his lips. When she kissed my lips again, I sensed him moving to open her blouse.
She had his hair in one of her hands and my collar in the other, pulling each of us to her when it was out time to kiss. Then suddenly she pulled away, pushing Matt and me together.
He looked at her in confusion.
“Now you kiss,” she said breathlessly.
Matt wrinkled his eyebrows.
“Just once, for me?” She added.
Matt scoffed, but then shrugged.
“Whatever, man, I’m drunk,” he laughed, and then turned to me and moved in, his hand on the scruff of my neck, pulling me towards him.
Then I was back in that half-remembered world of stubble and warmth and the confusion of sensations. Kissing a boy again. This time while pinned to the couch by Amy’s thick thighs.
It only took a moment for my head to forget and my body to take over. I reacted differently to a man’s kiss. It was inherently a harder more adversarial thing. I pushed back against Matt’s mouth, hungry for him and at the same time proving some need I had to be an equal aggressor.
We rocked back and forth like that for a bit, kissing, tongues warring, hands grabbing whatever clothes or skin we could find.
When we parted our mouths were wet, and our eyes were a bit wilder. And Amy had come apart at the seams.
Her eyes were shining, and her mouth was agape. Her breath was shallow, and her shirt was open, exposing the lace of her bra and the speckled blush on her collarbone and chest.
Matt took a hungry handful of her breast, growling at the softness. She seemed oblivious, her eyes in mine.
“Is this okay?” I mouthed.
She rolled her eyes and frowned at me.
“Don’t you dare fucking stop,” she mouthed back, noiselessly.
I kissed her sweetly on the lips as Matt mauled her chest and kissed and sucked her neck.
“I’m going to make sure you get everything you want,” I whispered into her ear.
She smiled. It was a smile that I had forgotten she could wear. It was bright and playful. Not childlike, but happy in a way only knowing adults can be happy.
I slipped my hand between her legs, finding wet silk, hot thighs, perfection. Matt wrestled with her shirt and bra until she was in nothing but her little denim skirt and panties. His mouth on her nipples as she ground against my hand.
I grabbed her by the hair and pulled her to me. Her body went limp, and her mouth went slack.
“She likes to get roughed up. You can push her around like a rag doll. She fucking loves it.” I said pulling her back and forth and then pushing her right into him, her face falling into her lap.
He was grinning but obviously unsure. He helped her back up.
She looked like she wanted to jump his bones right there but she just bit her lip and nodded in the affirmative.
He grabbed her hair suddenly and pulled, it looked like a little too hard. Her whole body tensed and her back straightened.
“Hah, she does like it. What else?”
He was having fun. It was all a little tipsy game. He pushed her back at me, and I took her by the hair again.
“Hm, what else does she like?” I asked myself right in her face.
I spun her around and pushed her forward, so she was on all fours, her face almost in his lap. Then I pushed her against so that she was in his lap.
“Well, she’s never complained when I spanked her ass,” I said giving her one hard smack.
She bucked and squirmed and glared at me over her shoulder.
“Well, she doesn’t complain much,” I laughed and spanked her four more times.
She yelled ouch and went to cover her butt.
“Matt, could you help hold her?”
Matt was laughing and grabbed her wrists easily and put her hands behind her back.
“Easy, girl,” he teased, holding her steady.
I spanked her slowly then, not the punishing quick hard blows, measured rhythmic strikes, getting closer and closer to her crotch. Her whole body moved forward with ever hit, into Matt’s denim covered lap.
She raised her hips to this, struggling against her crush’s arms and letting him push her face into his lap.
Matt’s playful attitude was slowly shifting. The lovely familiar sadistic smile was starting to curve in his handsome mouth.
“She’s not going to feel anything through this skirt,” I said, leaning over and unbuttoning it.
She didn’t fight, in fact, she moved quickly to let me pull it off, grunting and pouting as I did.
Her panties were pink silky things, simple, slightly wrinkled in the melee. The crotch was dark, the scent of her pussy was light, but instantly everywhere, and undoubtedly noticeable. I pulled up her panties, uncovering each of her buttocks. Matt eyed her ass hungrily.
I squeezed one thick bare cheek and gave it a loud smack. She jumped. Matt’s hands were strong and able, grabbing her and immobilizing her again. She let herself be manhandled by her crush. Her breasts pressed against his leg as he held her arms behind her back.
I spanked her again and again until she let out a sharp wail of pain and then I soothingly rubbed the red marks.
“What other kinds of stuff does she like?” He said, taking a turn and spanking her ass once.
She turned her head, her hair in her face, and her one eye met mine. She was smiling the smile of a kid who stole a piece of candy. Then when Matt’s hand landed on her again, the glazed look of lust took over again.
It struck me for a minute that they were kids. I mean, mid-twenties, grad school kids, but still. I was in my thirties and inserting myself into their little affair. I should have let them have their fun, but frankly, they were taking too long.
“Oh, you know, she likes to get used as a sex toy. Fucked hard, spanked, roughed up, as long as you are nice afterward,” I said with a straight smile.
“I can be nice,” he said, his eyes on her writhing ass.
It had been a while since I’d been in this configuration. It had been a while since something like this had happened so organically. Yet there we were, pulling off clothes and moving to the bed.
Amy was smiling on the bed. She was in her bra and panties, biting her lip, waiting. The college boy and I were in our boxers. I wasn’t sure how far this was all going to go. I still felt a bit like a third wheel, but what was I going to do? Could I kick them out of my apartment or leave for a few hours while they fucked on my bed?
Matt bent over her and kissed her, mashing her smallish breasts with his big hands. I could see the outline of his hardening cock. It was big, just as I imagined.
As he focused on her mouth and breasts, I moved down and parted her legs. I kissed up her thighs. I pinched her inner thighs, the way I always liked to. Her whole body tensed. She liked the pain, or so she had told me. Perhaps like is the wrong word. She liked being used. I liked making her jump.
Then came a moment that would ring in my memory for a long time after. I’m not sure why, but it hit me at a weird angle. Pulling off her panties and seeing her bare skin, shaved or waxed or something, but freshly freed of any hair. Just the way Matt liked it. She did it just for him, I was certain.
I missed the little blonde fuzz, but I had to admit, it was hot. The nakedness of it. Seeing every bit of her. How the lips of her pussy were puffy pink, the hood of her clit poked out, it all looked extra lurid.
Then, I was going down on her. It’s really one of my favorite things to do. My desire to eat pussy had always outweighed my partner’s desire to have their pussies eaten, which was a problem. Not with Amy though. She liked it almost as much as I liked doing it. It was probably one of the main reasons we got along so well.
As it sometimes happened, I felt myself getting drunk on pussy. The taste of it, the smell of it, the way I could get lost between her thick thighs. As much as I was the one who was rough and in control most of the time, when my head was between her legs she would grab my hair, hold me in place, tell me what to do and when I was allowed to stop and when I wasn’t.
For minutes I closed my eyes and just licked and sucked at her wetness. My tongue slipping in circles around her hard clit, my fingers pushing into her hungry pussy. There was a dreamy haze to everything when I looked up and caught a glimpse of her, sucking his cock. Her hand wasn’t in my hair. She wasn’t goading me on.
Fuck it, I kept going down on her. If we were doing it, I was going to enjoy it.
I admit I want to see that first moment. I wanted to see her desperation as she finally got his cock into her greedy mouth. Though I tried to concentrate on what I was doing, but I had to watch.
She relished it. Held it in one hand and bit her lip as she looked at it. She leaned in and let her tongue slip around the head, then she descended on it. She sucked as much of it as she could, but the kid had a big dick. She eagerly choked on it.
I pushed two fingers into her, but she didn’t seem to notice. I licked at her clit, but she just kept sucking.
Matt moaned and groaned, his boxers only pulled down a bit to give her access. He grabbed her hair and pulled her, making her choke again. As she coughed, I could feel her whole body contract, with my fingers still inside of her.
Since I wasn’t going to get the reaction I wanted, I decided just to get off. I sat up and found the little box next to my bed. I got a condom.
When I came back, she was on her hands and knees, perhaps aware of my plan, or just getting a better angle on his cock.
I stroked myself as I watched her suck his cock. Her face was red, her eyes were tearing, her fat lips were wet.
Mat was groaning and reaching down to play with her breasts, pinching her nipples, slapping them. She just sucked. I doubt anything could keep her away from his dick at that point.
With the condom on, I grabbed her hips tightly. She arched her back. Her pussy was as red as her mouth, swollen, soaked, achingly ready. I sank into her, and she cried out, she actually stopped sucking long enough to let out a high moan.
Oh, the little victories.
I saw Matt smack her lightly across the face, take her hair, put his cock back in her mouth. I knew how much she loved that. She had no control anymore, she was just a toy between the two of us, being pushed and pulled and filled to the brim.
I didn’t like the way he smacked her. It wasn’t the way I would have done it. I tried to concentrate on fucking her.
Naked, she looked young and pretty, all big eyes and bitten lips. One of her nipples was red from Matt’s pinching. Her legs were bare, and her ass was covered in handprints, and a saucer-sized bruise was starting to form on one cheek. Her whole face and down her chest was bright red.
She wanted everything at once but waited for me to set things up.
There was a familiarity to her pussy. The vivid memory of the curves and bumps and tightness of someone you fuck regularly. Yet it was all new because he was there.
I watched as her face became a mask of need. His big cock nearby and caught in her greedy hand.
She held herself up with one hand and pulled his cock towards her mouth with the other, seemingly oblivious to my cock inside of her.
I smacked her ass once to remind her, and she glared at me.
Not now, her brown eyes said. She wanted to enjoy the cock she had wanted for so long.
I fucked her slowly, wondering if it would have been better to let them figure it out on their own. Still, fucking Amy was fucking Amy, and I put both hands on her wide ass and enjoyed myself.
She kissed his pretty cock, sweetly, as coquettish as someone could be while getting fucked from behind.
When she came, she held his cock tightly in her hand. It was pressed to her lips and it looked a little ridiculous. Still, I loved to hear her come, feel her tighten around me.
When she was done, she pulled away from me, panting.
Then it was more kissing, more configuring ourselves around on the bed. The strange feeling of kissing her just after his cock was in her mouth.
Then she pulled away again and I knew that look. She eyed his cock greedily.
I took a condom and passed it to him, holding it in my palm and slapping it against his chest. He caught it and looked up at me with a wrinkled brow.
I looked at Amy, but her eyes were closed, and she was panting.
“Seriously,” I said, trying not to break the mood, but trying to be as emphatic as possible.
He shrugged and ripped open the package, but something had switched, intrinsically, within me. I didn’t like him.
Still, Amy was writhing under them, and they were all under the same wild spell, and the boy was doing right, even if he had to be told to do so.
I took the condom from his big hands and slapped his hands away. I moved down to his cock and slipped my hand around it. It was thick and fever hot, and for a moment I just held it, looking down lovingly at it.
He was tense. I don’t know if it was the first time a guy handled his cock, but I could sense a lot of emotions in him.
I slipped the condom on it, pinching the tip and rolling it over every throbbing inch of him.
I didn’t look up at his face. My vision had tunneled, and there were only his cock and her cunt.
I pulled him forward and then slapped the meaty cock against her, causing them both to jump. I did it again, aiming for her clit.
Then I rubbed the heading his cock against her, slipping it down, down until he involuntarily pushed forward. I guided him in, holding him back and making it slow, achingly slow until their bodies met.
Then I stepped back and watched him fuck my girl.
It’s hard not to be critical. I mean, I knew her body well. I knew he wasn’t fucking her the way I would. Still, I suppose people like different things from different lovers, and she seemed to be enjoying herself.
I tried to stay hard through it, but my heart suddenly started getting in the way.
I tried to focus on the act in front of me. Their bodies strangely similar, same color hair, same build, and my mind suddenly made then siblings doing something forbidden. The wrongness seemed to come out of nowhere, or maybe it was a transposition of the general wrongness I felt about the situation.
She was looking up at him. Her eyes were glazed with lust, far away and almost vacant.
He pulled her this way and that, into doggy style, sort of sideways, maybe he was showing off. Finally, he let go of her and laid on the bed with an exhausted sigh.
“Fuck, okay, enough, now you have to get on top,” he said with a laugh.
She energetically nodded and jumped on top of him.
I was hard again without realizing it. There was something pornographic about their little sampler of positions. Their grunting and sweating and twenty-something energy.
As I watched, I wondered exactly how porno we could get.
I went to my little bedside table, where I kept all my condoms and toys and found a bottle of lube.
I kneeled on the bed behind them and with a well-lubed finger, touched her asshole. She stiffened, but neither looked back or stopped slowly riding him. I slowly slipped one finger into her, and she let out a low moan.
“What?” I heard Matt whisper.
“He’s putting a finger in my ass,” she said between moans.
I could feel his cock jump inside of her.
“Hot. He should fuck you in the ass. Like, double penetration. That would be crazy,” he said with a laugh.
She looked back at me, hair covering her eyes a bit, glassy gaze haunted with raw lust.
“Should I? You can get fucked in all of your holes,” I said with a smile.
Her eyes stayed on mine as the fantasy went to the next level. I knew her. I knew how she wanted to be used. She just nodded, her eyes wild and intense, almost animal.
Matt shifted and was pushing up, fucking her from under her, and I let my finger push deeper into her. I followed their rhythm, waiting until she was ready for another finger.
She whimpered and moaned and her hands went to her ass, to stop me.
“You use your words if you want to stop,” I explained.
“If you don’t use your words, we will fuck you any way we want. We will use your cunt and your ass. Do you understand?”
She looked back at me. The animal eyes. She nodded.
I got some rope, pulled her hands behind her back, pushing her down on his cock, and did a simple tie.
She looked back again, her fat lips trembling.
I put a condom on. Her look was keeping me hard. I slapped her ass once and pushed her forward. She leaned against his chest as he continued to pump into her.
It took time and patience and lube and care, but eventually, she relaxed and I slipped into her. It felt different. I could feel his cock. We found a rhythm together.
The sound she made was somewhere between a moan and a wail. I couldn’t tell if she was coming or in shock, but she pushed against both of us, wanting more.
The jealousy of her crush was nothing compared to the jealousy of watching the wave after wave of pleasure shining in her eyes and face. I wondered what it was like to be filled up like this. Two cocks inside of you. Your hands bound. Have no control and being used and being wanted and being stuffed to the point of almost breaking.
The thought was scary and potent. I had to push it out of my head, or I would come too soon.
“Fuck, this is so fucking hot,” Matt said.
I nearly lost my erection.
“Fuck,” he repeated over and over and he sped up as he was ready to come.
When he finally did come, honestly, I was glad. I stopped fucking her. She seemed sated. I was done.
After, Amy held a pillow to her chest, like a stuffed animal, with a broad smile on her face.
“The cat that ate the canary,” I said, shaking my head and getting thee beers out of the refrigerator.
We drank, we laughed a bit, we were all exhausted. Eventually, we fell asleep. Well, most of us did.
I never slept well with strangers in my bed. A fact that probably kept me from having even more random hookups than I had, which was for the best.
Matt snored. Amy was restless. I faced away from them both, looking to the window and trying to calm my head.
I drifted into sleep eventually and then out. In the dark room, I heard them kissing. Little whispers. A giggle.
I guess they were a variety of reaction I could have had, arousal, anger, jealousy, but more than anything else I was annoyed. I wanted to go to bed. I had enough of Amy’s crush.
Would I really lay silently while they fucked?
I heard her moan and I coughed. They didn’t seem to hear, so I sat up and got out of bed.
“Hey guys, I hate to do this, but I have to be up early. Can I get you guys a cab or are you good to drive?”
It was direct and final. I wasn’t a kid. I didn’t need to play around. Frankly, I was thinking my time with Amy might be coming to an end. In the dim light from the window, I saw Amy frown. Matt, whatever my issue with him, took it well. He just got up and started looking for his clothes.
Amy mouthed “what the fuck?”
I shook my head.
“Go home with him,” I mouthed back.
She just turned away angrily and joined Matt in the awkward clothes hunt. I turned on the light and went to the bathroom.
By the time I passed and washed my face, they were ready to go. Matt gave me a big awkward smile and shook my hand. Amy looked furious. She didn’t even say goodbye.
Some good sending them away did. I didn’t sleep a wink.
The next day I had to teach. I had drinks with some old friends who were in town. I was a bit of a zombie, but no one really seemed to notice. I tried not to look at my phone. I tried not to check for the messages from her that never came.
She eventually texted three days later. Part of me hoped she wouldn’t. The whole evening showed me that I had a lot more feelings for her than I thought and her feelings for me seemed to be pretty different.
“Can we get coffee?” Read her text.
It was completely unlike her. It put me on edge. She wasn’t earnest, at least not on purpose.
Two days later I sat in the cafe and held a book in my hands, but didn’t read it. All I could think about was the weirdness of that night. How something so sexually charged made me feel so cold.
I looked up to see her.
Amy was in the window, sunlight showing the little flyaway hairs in her mop of gold and straw. Her lips were naked, no fancy red stain. Her eyes were made up with blue shadow and short little wings of black at the edges. She was looking sadly down at her latte with its ruined foam art.
She always looked younger without lipstick. It made me aware of the difference in our ages. It was a complicated feeling. Maybe I came into her life with all my experience and messed up her twenties. I don’t know. I was mad because I also wanted her again. Maybe I was fucked up.
I opened the door to the cafe and the little bell above it jingled. She looked up at me. I walked over without getting a drink.
I felt like it meant something that I didn’t take off my jacket. I wondered if she noticed.
She looked like she’d been crying, but I realized that’s how she looked most of the time.
We sat in silence for a minute.
“Sorry things got weird,” she said in almost a whisper.
“Me too. Sorry I kicked you out,” I choked out.
There was more silence and then she laughed.
“He went back to his girlfriend.”
She smiled at me, but her smile faded when I didn’t return it.
Sometimes when the feelings get turned off it’s like a light switch. Some part of me still wanted her in a way that frightened me. I liked having that walk desire. It made me feel alive. Some other part of me had grown unbelievably cold.
She watched me for a while, studying me. I don’t think I was trying to tell her all those things will my eyes, but her face fell and she knew.
“Sorry I fucked things up,” she said to the table.
I just swallowed and looked away, embarrassed by the whole thing, wanting to leave, wanting to distance myself from the whole thing.
I looked at her for a moment, just to see what was going on in those huge eyes. There were red and wet and hurt. My chest tightened.
“Look, it was a wild time, I just got all weird about it. So I should just take a break. Maybe I’m too old for this shit. I shouldn’t have invited him over with us. I thought I could handle it, I couldn’t,” I explained, softly.
She looked out the window. The silence returned. I thought about leaving. I looked down at the table and thought about my exit strategy. I looked up when I heard her laugh, just one short little chuckle.
“Who knew, Mark has feelings all of a sudden,” she said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.
I shook my head.
“What do you like me now or something?” she teased, punching me in the shoulder lightly.
I didn’t want to smile, but she was being ridiculous.
“You liiike me,” she said with a childish taunt.
“Amy, you’re an asshole,” I mumbled.
Her smile faded.
“What do you want me to be your girlfriend or something?” she scoffed.
I honestly didn’t know.
“Because, I’d be your girlfriend if you wanted,” she said, looking down again.
“But I mean, we can still fuck other people,” she added.
“But we’d just, like, talk about it first and stuff,” she said in a rush, her face growing red.
“I mean if you want to,” she whispered, her confidence fading.
I cleared my throat. I swallowed.
“I mean, I think I’m in love with you, so that might work,” I said, trying to stay calm.
I’m not sure where the words came from, but the moment I said them I knew they were true.
She was trying to be cool, but her eyes bulged at that.
“You should have said that sooner,” she whispered.
“I guess I didn’t realize it until I was guiding some jerk’s cock into you.”
Her laugh came out like a popped balloon. Then she was over the table and she was kissing me and we were both crying.
“Take me home,” she said into my ear.
So I did.
On the way we held hands and it felt new and weird and important.
“Promise me we’ll have a good threesome next time,” I said.
“I’m already thinking up a short list of people who might work,” she laughed.
“But tonight it’s just us,” I said, feeling self conscious about the intimacy of it.
She pushed me against a fence and kissed me.
“Fine, but you better make it good then,” she said between kisses.