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“Why can’t I get just one fuck? Why can’t I get just one fuck? I guess it’s got somethin’ to do with luck, but I’ve waited my whole life for this day!”
It was 1990, in the middle of a conversation with my friend Cyndi about my prospects at the upcoming winter semi-formal, I spontaneously recited the words of the Violent Femmes’ forbidden anthem, “Add It Up.”
“Just shut up and listen, Will,” Cyndi scolded, pushing me off her sofa while her boyfriend Ron giggled.
“She doesn’t look it, but she’s is a slut. If you play your cards right, I’m sure she’ll put out. Trust me, Jane is a total whore. Can’t keep her legs closed.”
“Well, you oughta know!” I relied sarcastically. Cyndi laughed and punched me in the arm while Ron laughed even louder.
“Assholes!” she yelled as we all fell apart.
Guilty as charged. Cyndi’s boyfriend was my best friend Ron, she was faithful to him, but for sport she made it her mission in life to play matchmaker to ensure that everyone she knew got laid as frequently as possible, bless her.
I suppose it was me who was the slut for willingly playing her promiscuous game, but at that moment, gender politics were obscured by the demands of my gargantuan libido.
Cyndi had done well for me up to this point, finding me two forgettable girls who after lots of effort relieved me of my virginity, but I do I remember feeling incredulous at Cyndi’s less-than-charitible description of her neighbor as a prospective date. But within moments of meeting Jane, I was convinced it was wishful thinking, another one of Cyndi’s wild fantasies.
Jane’s house was as palatial as it was gaudy, especially compared to the ramshackle disorder of my own abode. Her father was some sort of elite corporate attorney and the place was full of pastels, and fake-gold, carved rococo furniture, and tacky portraits. Everything was expensive and nothing was comfortable. Impressive, but not welcoming.
My initial impression of Jane was that she was much the same as her house. She opened the door with a nearly undetectable smile and wordlessly invited me inside to meet her mother. She was no beauty by the standards of the day, but her body called to me. She had a round face had almost black hair and black eyes and pale skin. The contrast was stunning to me at least.
Her shoulder-length poker-straight hair had meticulously cut bangs set against her milky complexion gave her round face the aspect of a half moon. Like Cyndi, she was Jewish, but with her thin slits concealing dark eyes she could have passed for native of anywhere from France to Japan.
Looking lower still, I saw she wore an ice blue silk dress with a thin layer of delicate black lace underneath that peeked out at the hem, sleeves, and neck. It clearly cost a small fortune. It was almost knee length and would’ve been relatively conservative were it not for the fact that it probably hadn’t fitted her properly for at least a year. The fabric strained at her hips and her ample bust, bunching in the middle as every few minutes, she tugged at the hem to prevent her thighs from escaping. Just like her house, impressive, but not welcoming. But I wanted her badly all the same.
“Jane was a double-D cup by eighth grade,” Cyndi had told me earlier. “The rest of us were jealous, but she hated all the extra attention. So if you’re smart, don’t say anything about her boobs.”
I tried to bear this in mind as I clumsily tried to affix a corsage to the front of her dress. Her dress has a relatively high neck line, but unmistakable thin line between her breasts indicated that her bosom was heavily compressed by her garments. I mused to myself that if I wasn’t careful with the needle and the flowers, they might pop.
If she was entertained or impatient with my fumbling she didn’t show it as she stood there impassively watching me finally succeed at anchoring the blooms after maybe the eighth attempt.
Her father was mercifully absent for all this and her mother was reassuring, taking a crude photo and encouraging us with her thick Brooklynese, “have a great time, you two!” as she shoved us out the door.
When we got to the dance, I looked around and I became aware of Jane’s size. No, Jane was not fat, she was a woman surrounded by girls. All my experience up to this point had been with girls who were like me, as skinny as a rail.
This made the present experience more awkward, since I was a late bloomer, more boyish and gawky than a man even at 18, making us appear the most contrasting couple at the event. She had a body that could easily fill an orphanage, and I could have passed for her firstborn. In retrospect, the picture of us as a couple is hilarious but at the time it was mortifying.
To make matters worse, she was nearly silent as I drove her to the dance and I began to despair as I was getting no signals of any kind. I had tried conversation on every topic, school, music, friends, and the various scandals and intrigues of Cyndi’s şişli escort wild life, but at most I’d been able to raise one dry smile, and that was by accident when fumbling with my napkin during dinner. Just my luck. Girls only laugh when I’m not trying to be funny.
Her responses to everything was generally three words of less. Her eyes were thin and her mouth closed with perhaps slight disapproval, periodically scanning the room and we sat. Was she distracted or bored? No, it wasn’t that. There was no impatience or distance in her eyes, but she maintained a cool neutrality through the entire meal.
As my hopes faltered, my erection remained hopeful as I stole glances at the perfect curve of her legs bound into her black stockings.
Cyndi and Ron bounced over from the dance floor to us, Cyndi grabbing our hands dragging us to our feet. Cyndi was a force of nature that could not be deinied. They disappeared into the teeming crowd as quickly as they appeared.
Jane and I clumsily swayed through the end of “Lowrider” when the slow ballad “Lady in Red” came on. We were nowhere near our table, so I smiled sheepishly at her and she obligingly put an arm over my shoulder pressing her chest against mine. My hand rested on the small of her back feeling heat radiate against me.
Even compressed by her dress, her breasts stood out so far that I felt relief that she could not feel my straining erection. It also made it less likely that I would step on her feet, a perennial problem of mine at dances.
But all that changed as she shifted her weight for foot to foot, her belly brushed against my upward-pointing organ. In the periphery I could see her expression looked unmoved. This was the worst possible response. I was torn between relief at not being detected and disappointment for not arousing any sort of reaction.
Despite it all, I wanted her more badly than ever. She smelled of rosewater and I shifted my hand down a bit, letting my fingers rest at the top of her ass. I let my fingers glide up and down the crack, but still no response. Her eyes remained fixed outward, unmoved.
She wasn’t inattentive or distracted exactly. She heard everything I said, but all of her responses were neutral and cursory without being aloof or impolite. It wasn’t that I made her nervous either. She seemed perfectly confident and in control at every moment.
In fact, we were probably the only two sober people in the room. And so it went for the next two hours. Later a clearly drunk Cyndi retreated with Jane to the bathroom as Ron and I set cooling off. He was tripping his face off, which made him all the more fun for me who often played the role of the babysitter.
“So getting anywhere with Jane?” he asked while gently touching his own lips.
“I don’t think so, man” I replied. “I’d say she was distracted by something, but she seems like somebody who’s waiting for the bus. It doesn’t add up at all with with Cyndi told me.”
Ron agreed, “it’s a shame. She’s really hot. Bet her tits are fuckin’ huge!!” he shouted into the air without fear of being overheard over the blare of MC Hammer’s 2 Legit to Quit. It really was funny. You had to be there.
When the girls returned, Ron bounced Cyndi back onto the floor and Jane sat next to me. Cyndi shot me a wicked grin as she and Ron disappeared and I turned to Jane who looked on expressionless.
“What did that mean?” I thought. If their conversation in the bathroom had changed anything, I couldn’t tell. Jane was as unreadable as ever. Present but not engaging, alluring but not flirtatious.
The dance was winding down so I asked here “Are you tired, do you want to go maybe?”
“No, I’m not tired, but we can go if you’d like to,” she offered calmly. There was no impatience in her reply, no sarcasm, no disappointment, just simple neutrality as she waited for my reply.
“Okay, let’s go then.” I helped her put on her coat and daringly took her and in mine, leading her out to into the cold night air.
Her had was soft and warm, accepting my grasp but not returning it either.
“Wow, it got colder,” I remarked, as I opened the door to my Blazer.
“Mhmm,” she quietly mumbled as she slid into the seat I opened for her.
I walked around the other side and hopped into the driver’s seat. The moon was full and it poured through the sunroof into the car, framing her cheeks, lighting diamonds in her eyes as she looked ahead. She was stunning yet somehow remote, like a faraway star.
“What have you got to lose?” I asked myself as I decided to go for broke. Wordlessly, I leaned over to her, taking her cheek in my left hand turning her face toward mine. I gazed into her dark eyes for a moment as two puffs of mist left her mouth into the cold air before gently pressing my lips to hers.
It was the strangest kiss I ever had. She didn’t seem surprised, aroused, angry or anything, almost robotic. But after about six seconds or so, her eyes slowly shut and her lips parted and she leaned into my embrace. My hand slid down to her thigh and I casually slipped my tongue into her mouth as I felt her exhale.
After maybe just ten more seconds of kissing, she gently pulled away, “can we get in the back?” she asked.
Her question struck me as strange in two ways, first because of how quickly she had initiated this escalation in physical romance but also in the non-chalant way she said it as casually as someone might ask for you to pass the salt.
“Yeah, hang on,” I said, my heart pounding as I bolted out of the car around to her side, opening the door and putting the seat down, creating a carpeted flat surface the cavernous back of the blazer. I scanned the parking lot for others and was relieved to see we were unspotted.
She hitched up her dress, exposing her ass as she crawled into the rear, with me just behind her, shutting the door behind us.
As I turned to her, she was flat on her back with her dress bunched at her waist, her hands wrestling her nylons down over her hips. I watched agog as she shimmied from side to side until her pussy came into view. She wasn’t wearing panties. Wow.
My cock churned impatiently, reminding me that it was still unacceptably confined, so I undid my belt and pushed down my pants and boxers over my boyish hips, letting my skinny erection spring free.
I turned to see her roll the hose from her toes, roll to the side and place them in the corner of the car before slowly lying prone, letting her legs part like an unfolding flower.
In the colorless moonlight, her skin and her shiny silk dress were nearly indistinguishable. Her hair, eyes, and her dark pussy cloaked in dark mystery.
“Take me,” she said. It was neither a question, a command, nor a tease. It wasn’t coy, or seductive, desperate, lewd or suggestive. It wasn’t a dominatrix command or a challenge either. It was as unceremonious and casual as asking a stranger to open the door. It was amazingly arousing.
I looked down at clear bead of precum crowning my straining, arrogant penis and I came back to earth.
“I’ve got a condom here somewhere….” I said, turning to rummage in the glove box.
“You don’t have to,” she stated. “I’m on the pill,” she explained as she reached up and grasped by penis, stroking it gently.
“She might even let you take her bareback,” I suddenly remembered Cyndi telling me. “She takes the pill for her acne, so she sometimes lets boys cum inside her.”
“This is it!” I thought. My first real fuck the way nature intended. I didn’t mind condoms per se, but they always added an element of distraction and anxiety, making me second guess every thrust.
For some reason, I noticed my reflection in the window as I kneeled back on my haunches with my pants around my ankles. In particular I recall absurd my erection looked, curving in a semi-circle at an impossible angle, pointing towards my chin, almost like some kind of rare orchid framed by the smooth, white folds of my formal shirt. It looked totally out of place, its proud, natural rigidity stood in complete contrast with my stunned expression of surprise, my shaking nerves, and my rumpling formal attire. Nature is weird.
My heart skipped a beat as desire triumphed over judgement as I crawled over her, lowering my body onto hers. I marveled at her magnificent pussy, the shiny dark curls framing a glistening fleshy rosette. She was my Venus, beckoning me to the heaven of her interior.
True, I technically wasn’t a virgin, but I might as well have been given that my previous encounters lasted only seconds. This time with Jane was going to be very different.
With a volatile mixture of self-doubt and extreme lust, I lowered my hips to hers and tried to restrain myself from thrusting madly. I pressed forward feeling heat and wetness in abundance crushed against the head of my thin organ, but missing the mark. I pushed again three or for more times, feeling my glans slip over the firm nub of what must’ve been her clitoris.
Her face remained neutral as she lowered her hand between her legs, gently pressed the tip of my penis downward and then wrapped her legs around me, drawing me into her.
I gasped as my slim member sunk into her simmering interior. Describing my first penetration of her as a hot knife sinking into butter sounds, cliche, but there’s no better way to describe the feeling pushing myself into Jane for the first time. Surrounded by a darkness and cold air, the relief of melting my way into her is indescribable.
I didn’t thrust as I entered her, I let her set the speed with her legs, letting gravity and her wetness gradually ease inch after inch into her until my my hips rested on hers, buried into her up to the hilt. She looked at me as I felt her loins gently squeeze my throbbing member as I exhaled with surprise that so much pleasure was even possible.
I paused overwhelmed by the situation. I cannot stress how quickly it happened. Not five minutes earlier I was sure I had struck out and yet here I was balls deep inside this woman. I drew out of her looking between us looking at the wetness twinkling in the moonlight as we both sighed as I pushed back into her snug interior.
I repeated three more slow strokes before I felt it. It was that unmistakable tension radiating through my loins and thighs. Some primal part of my teenage mind concluded that I was on the brink of achieving my biological purpose and I would not be denied. I was going to cum and it would be now.
“Oh God, Jane, I’m gonna…”
She knew. She probably feeling my arms shake with uncontrollable excitement against her sides. Before I could even finish my sentence she answered, “It’s okay. Go ahead. Go for it. Shoot it all into me,” she suggested just as casually as one might say, “that’s fine, you go ahead and the last slice pie.”
Her words triggered something deep. Instead of politely dipping my cock into her luscious, silken hole, I suddenly resolved to fill her cunt with every drop of sperm I could summon. I wrapped my arms under her and pistoned in and out of her like an engine as I felt my orgasm approach. I looked at her heaving chest and into her dark eyes as it came.
Glorious rapture erupted from my loins sending waves of joy coursing through every neuron in my brain as my body pumped and convulsed its essence into hers’.
I collapsed onto her, throbbing inside her as my head rested on her shoulder. At this distance I could see places where her makeup covered the blemishes that justified her using the pill. But somehow it made her more real and I throbbed again. She turned to look at me, but for a bit of red flush on her cheeks and her chest there was nothing in her gaze to indicate that she had just been fucked.
“I’m sorry I was so quick,” I stammered as my conscience reasserted itself, realizing that she probably didn’t get much out of the episode. By now I had slipped out of her, letting my sopping erection rest against her pale, smooth thigh.
“That’s alright,” she rejoindered after a pregnant pause. “You can do it again if you want,” she whispered as if it was an afterthought.
That’s all I had to hear. My penis was still stiff as a brick, so I wasted no time in mounting her again. This time I needed no assistance finding the mark and within an instant I was inside her again. My head buzzed as my hypersensitive tip felt every soft hair crowning her pussy part as I sank into her glorious slit.
My senses were heightened as I felt my cock head push past her tiny labia, and I drew a breath as I plunged into her interior again, my balls now drenched in the cocktail of our combined sex. The windows of the car had steamed up to give us privacy as I set about to make her cum. I thrust in, varying the angles, probing every corner my swollen glans could plunder, savoring every sensation.
“Slap, slap, slap,” my hips sounding out a rising, accelerating cadence on her mons with with my eager pelvis. My post-orgasmic erection was simultaneously too sensitive to touch and yet completely unyielding. I couldn’t help vocalize my incoherence with grunts and moans as I lost myself in the act.
My eye thinned as I winced with pleasure, but they widened when I noticed her neutral expression crack. She was no longer watching herself get fucked, instead her lips parted as her breathing became faster while her eyes closed and her head turned to the side, her attention finally focused on interior sensation.
I felt like a god, impaling this delicious female over an over again at will. Emboldened I began to improvise a bit, taking advantage of the blazer’s generous headroom, rising up on my haunches looking down as I watched myself disappear into her, raising her leg to my shoulder, caressing her smooth, firm thigh.
As I nibbled on her ankle I let my hand wander to her pussy, the grasping dark vortex my cock has disappeared into. As I gently peeled her labia aside to find her button, I marveled that I was just now touching her sex with my hand for the first time after already have blown a load into her.
My fingers found her nub and I clumsily flicked my index finger back and forth across it alternating with thrusts. Her eyes remained clamped shut and her breathing became more irregular.
After three minutes or so, I let my other hand wander down to her hip, sliding my hand up to cup her left breast. Without looking up or any visible change in her expression, her left hand quickly swung up to mine, grasped my wrist gently and placed my hand back on her thigh.
It was perplexing to me that she would have no problem offering her pussy to somebody who was more or less a stranger, but would draw the line at second base.
The paradox was dismissed by a feeling of renewed urgency from my cock. She reached up and unbuttoned my shirt, gently caressing my smooth chest for a few moments before closing her eyes again while graciously receiving me. My balls drew up into my body slowly contracting, signaling their readiness for another eruption.
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