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When I met her, Lindsay was a 19 year old 5’2″ 105lb bulimic goth girl with a black bob cut and dark brown eyes. I found her online, in an eating disorders chat. How did that happen? Well, I’d been starving myself for quite some time and I had decided to talk about it with people on the internet, and amazingly, I found that the subject was almost exclusively discussed by women. Yep, you heard right, someplace on the internet populated almost entirely by women, and most of them weren’t even overweight. Some were even downright skinny! Holy smokes batman, count me in! Needless to say, I kept up with the starving myself. It worked too, I got down to around 150lbs at 6’4″ at one point. Nothing quite like being the center of attention in an all-female chatroom in the 1990s to make an existing problem with not eating a whole lot worse. Almost everywhere else online back them was a sausage fest! I had stuck gold, and I mined that chatroom nightly, talking about food, hunger, and sex with a gaggle of hungry young sluts. Lindsay seemed the most eager to talk about the days events, things she had eaten, what she had done. She also competed with the other girls to talk to me, which was a great sign.
After several months of getting to know her (and many others), Lindsay came to California to meet me. She had decided to come live with me. I picked her up at Los Angeles airport and we talked during the long drive back to my hometown, mostly about music, the things she saw during the drive, the great weather, how cold it was back in Michigan, and so on. We made out at stop lights. We gossipped about other people from the chatroom, especially Jennifer. Jennifer came up as we drove thru the city where she lived, on our way back from the airport. Jennifer was a very tall, very thin girl who was always talking about what she was eating while in the chatroom, before going silent for about half an hour while she was purging. I say was because Jennifer didn’t make it, she comitted suicide a decade later. She was always ethereal, always inspiring, and will always be missed.
Anyway, I had been staying with a friend before Lindsay’s arrival, so after I got her from the airport, we checked into a hotel near the beach. I was going to need my own space to get friendly with this girl! The motel I ended up picking wasn’t the best place in town by a longshot, but it had weekly rates. In fact, it was a really seedy place, and as we unloaded our stuff from the car, the tekirdağ escort management came out and asked us to change rooms. We declined, which I only learned much later was a mistake. For a week we lived in what I later came to call “The crackpipe motel” because the two of us found one stashed in the closet! The TV only got a couple of channels and there wasn’t much to do, except each other. That was fine by me.
I lit a candle and put a drop of sassafras oil into the hot wax. It smelled really medicinal, but it was better than the wet stale odor of the motel. We sat down in the bed and talked a little, then started making out. Lindsay had a really great tounge and I loved the way she stuffed it in my mouth. I got her top off and played with her perky titties, they weren’t very big but they were very nicely shaped. She really liked that, and laid down in the bed. Still kissing her breasts, I worked my way down to her stomach, then slid her out of her pants. I took down her panties and pushed aside her pubes. She had a very nice pussy, if a bit hairy. I stuck a finger inside her and ate her clit until my finger was absolutely drenched in her slickness.
I pulled the finger out and took down my shorts. Advancing on her, I hovered over her and was about to stuff my dick in when she said “Not yet”. Okay, that’s a bit confusing. I laid down next to her, feeling a bit put off by her rejection. “But we can still make out!” she said, leaned over me, and started kissing me again. I put my arm around her and pulled her to me. She responded by climbing on top of me, still kissing me. She laid on top of me while making out with me and I got hard again. She squirmed around and without either of us using our hands, my cock found its way into her and she started bucking back and forth on it and moaning while still kissing me, then collapsing her head beneath mine and just pushing herself onto my cock as hard as she could. She had a young and tight pussy, and it was clenching me in spasms as she rode me, back and forth until she climaxed with a whimper and let loose a small flood of pussy juices and urine. She kept fucking too, even though she had lost control. She climaxed again, letting more wet out, and I grabbed her waist and moved her back and forth over me, while she made grunting noises, until I came deep inside her. Then I held her tightly and we both laid in the damp, then later rolled to the other side tokat escort of the bed. We didn’t change the sheets. Why not, the room service would fix it later, right?
She lost control of her bladder the next night too. That’s just what kind of girl she was, but it wasn’t what she was into. From that point forward, she always urinated before sex and it never made a big puddle again. But I could still feel the damp, when she would lose control of what little she had. I probably should have explored this more, but I was young and mostly just eager to fuck her as often as possible, which I did. The motel had a huge walk in shower, and we screwed in there too.
After a week in the “crackpipe motel”, we moved into a rented room above a garage, where we slept together in a large sleeping bag on the floor. I loved having her body near mine all night, side by side. I often woke up early with a boner just to pull her on top of me and release myself into her young willing body. I did everything I could to keep her pussy drenched in my cum.
I often left her there alone when I had to go across town for the computer related job I had, and sometimes when I came back, large amounts of our food would be missing, tinges of the smell of vomit hanging in the air. Lindsay was always very shy, and never volunteered to talk about it. I didn’t ask, because I knew. She was ashamed of having lost control of her diet again. Ashamed of her new problem. Lindsay’s new problem was vomitting back up her meals. It started during the recovery from anorexia process her parents forced her to undergo a few years earlier. Unhappy with the weight gain, Lindsay started purging. But not enough to keep from returning to her normal weight. While she didn’t vomit a lot, she did it when she felt she had eaten too much.
One day, she excused herself to use the bathroom. I knew what she was going to do, and I asked to watch her. She took a leak, flushed, washed her hands, then returned to the toilet. She started putting a couple of fingers down her throat and nothing really happened, but I got concerned she was going to scratch her throat because she seemed to be fumbling badly. I thought she must be having one of those moments where it just wouldn’t come out. I was wrong of course, she was really just extremely shy about it all. To help her along, I suggested she use a spatula to puke herself, because it had a large flappy end trabzon escort on it that seemed pretty harmless compared to fingernails. She looked confused for a moment, but went with it.
She leaned forward, bent at the waist and head pointed at the toilet, and stuffed the spatula down her throat like a sword swallower and worked it back and forth, but only a little puke came out. After a couple minutes of swallowing the spatula, moving it around, then pulling it out rapidly along with a bit of vomit, over and over, she grew frustrated with my idea and she set the spatula aside. Then she put her hand back in there – all four fingers this time – and really started working it back and forth. This time she was not shy about it at all. Gagging on the spatula had got her frustrated wanting to puke hard, and now she puked herself like nobody was watching, moving her hand with great vigor, her cute little tongue thrusting out along her palm as she retched. Her sides clenched up tightly, and out came a huge stream like magic. It was thick and flowing, and it went right into the toilet bowl. I was amazed and kept watching her empty herself out. We didn’t talk about it afterwards but she said she wanted to lay down because she was tired. Then she rolled onto me and gave me a hug, and I rubbed her back. She kissed me and I could faintly taste the smell of her vomit, but I didn’t mind. I pulled off her tights and panties, flipped her onto her back, and started fucking her, staring down at the form of her tiny breasts bouncing in her black and white striped shirt. While I was pounding away it occured to me that she had basically throat-fucked herself with her hands, and the thought made me climax almost right away.
The relationship with Lindsay didn’t last, nor did she puke very often. I never really got a chance to explore the depths of erotic vomit with her, and I regret that. She was also terrified that she’d puke during a blowjob, which was really unfortunate given the way she handled that spatula! I finally managed to get her to give me head one time when she was feeling open minded about it while we were at a friends house. She took me into the bathroom and had me sit on the toilet. But, she didn’t puke, and I wasn’t aggressive enough to make her puke because I knew she didn’t want to.. she just wanted to learn to suck dick safely, so I helped her through it. But the thought lingered – what if I had just pulled her head down and jackhammered her throat. The thought still lingers, to be honest.
Ultimately, after about three months of living with me, Lindsay ended up hooking up with that same friend of mine in exchange for a ski-trip to Colorado. I never saw her again after she left, but because of her, I had learned a lot, and I thank her for that.
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