I dated him when I was 21. He’s the one who liked to watch me masturbate – have I ever mentioned him? A completely different person than I was accustomed to spending time with. I was in university in an honours program. I rarely drank and never gave my family any cause to worry about me. I was surrounded by friends on their way to becoming doctors, lawyers, psychologists and a menu of other white-collar professionals.
His world? Well, the collars in his world were mostly blue. His friends got together in someone’s basement every weekend and drank. No one went to University. When we got together with my friends, his friends called it a “tea and crumpets party.” A comment like that was so surprisingly clever and witty for them that I couldn’t even get offended.
But we got along well. He was proud and encouraging of my education. He actually didn’t drink much and often we left the beer parties early- by his choice.
He didn’t always want sex either. We could sometimes end up going a month between sessions due to scheduling and not being alone and one other curiosity. Occasionally he would simply tell me that he didn’t want sex that night.
Generally this announcement came out of left field, and rarely when I was attempting to initiate any kind of physical activity. It was so odd that the thought never occurred to me to feel hurt or insecure by it. Although in retrospect, that seems like it would be the natural response for a girl that age.
I think it’s because he never gave me reason to doubt that I was sexy. The night we met was at a bar. He told me that we were dancing without even asking. He simply took my hand and stated it like a fact. The thought never occurred to me to say no.
As we swayed together he asked me if I knew the most sensitive part of a woman’s body. I arched my eyebrow and wondered how risqué he was going to be. I ventured a guess at the nape of the neck, but he insisted that it was the earlobe.
I disagreed with him and was shocked to find myself longing for him to demonstrate that he was correct. I was much shyer back then, and stopped myself from asking him to prove it.
New Year’s Eve that year I was staying at his place. It had been a while since we’d had sex and I went all out (or so I felt at the time) with the stockings and little chemise. He was quite entranced and spent a long time stroking my legs through the lace and nylon. It was almost too much for him and the sex was over quickly and he confessed that he nearly came when I emerged in the outfit.
He more than made up for it later though. The second time always lasts much longer and he fucked me hard and raw. So hard and raw that when he tried to initiate more the next day I protested that I was too sore. I was confident that such a statement would be a balm to any bruising that he ego might take at being turned down.
However, he simply smiled and slowly started removing my jeans and underwear. Wanting to be a good sport I complied and mentally decided to make the best of it.
It was unnecessary. He lay me down and proceeded to lick and suck on my clit. At that time of my life I was rather uncomfortable when anyone went down on me, but that day it was precisely what I needed. In very short order he had me moaning and clawing at his belt buckle, demanding that he fuck me.
Such was the pattern of our almost year together. We would have persiouds of no sex at all, and then when we finally did, it was as if al that time made us irresistable to each other. I’ve occasionally wondered if he saved it all up like that on purpose so it would be more phenomenal (and numerous) each time we actually did get together.
Even after we broke up and he married, he still told me how I did it for him more than any other girl. He even asked me for a striptetase once. Perhaps I should have complied….