Sometimes I get nostalgic for those early days of figuring out how to share.
While good communication is crucial and necessary and all those pretty things, his awkward smile when he invited me to hang out in his dorm room with his new redheaded girlfriend was better.
It’s nice to have the language and the words to express consent and desire, but his raw honesty, his anxious twitch, and his silly smile live in my memory far clearer than all those days of carefully crafted threesomes.
And don’t get me started on the moment I arrived when he opened the door, and I saw her, sitting on the bed, shy and blushing and half-naked. Her white nightgown was anachronistic and adorable, and it was all I needed to know about her interest.
He poured wine from a jug into an old coffee mug, she stood and hugged me cautiously, and the three of us sat back on the bed while anticipation soaked the room in a cloud of possibility.
We shared that one mug of wine because it was the only cup he had. And when she first passed it to me, I thought about her lips and my lips touching the same chipped pottery, and it counted as a kiss. I swear it did.
“Do you two want to make out?” He asked, blurting it as much as speaking. She nodded, I leaned in closer, and he sat back holding the wine as he bit his lip.
When I touched her face, she smiled and looked down, and when she closed her eyes and raised her chin, I heard him sigh. I leaned in, tasting of wine, and I kissed her gently and sweetly as I felt her tongue linger. Her skin was soft, her mouth eager, and I found that I wanted her more than I knew. I wanted her tender and sweet, and I wanted her to look me in the eyes and tell me she was all mine.
“I want you to fuck my pussy,” she said, peering over her shoulder at her boyfriend. “Like really hard and nasty. Just throw me down on the bed and fuck me like I’m some dumb little slut you picked up at the bus stop.”
“Oh fuck,” he moaned as she climbed onto my lap. I kissed her again, realizing that my dreams of tenderness had already vanished. But when she pulled the straps of her pretty white nightgown down and pressed my head between her breasts, I hear myself grown.
“Am I a pretty little girl?” She asked, the white cotton bunched around her waist hinting at what lay beneath. “Am I a pretty girl you want to do terrible things to?”
“Fuck; you never talk like that to me,” he moaned, reaching down and freeing himself from his pants.
I leaned her back, kissing her breast and her stomach as I realized quickly that the game was not the one he had explained to me. It was not a fun afternoon of playing in bed, and it was not her fantasy to be pressed between two cute boys who loved her.
By the time I found her stomach, I had her nightie in my hands, exposing the rest of her. I pulled it off over her head and tossed it to him, where he instantly wrapped it around his cock as he watched his naked girlfriend grind on my lap, pressing her cunt against my hard cock through my jeans.
“You are the prettiest girl in the world,” I said, not sparing him a look. “And I’m going to fucking destroy this tight little pussy.”
“Oh god yes, I want it in me, Mr. Please, let me worship your cock. Let me get you nice and hard for me.”
With that, she slipped to the floor and sprung me from my pants with a childish grin. She took me in both hands, wrapped her lips around my head, and sucked liked it was her first time.
Behind me, my friend moaned as he jerked off faster, and I closed my eyes as she took more and more of me into her mouth.
As I stared at her tangle of red curls thrusting into her as hard as I dared, I felt a hint of anger and sorrow swell up within me, and I didn’t know what to do with it.
I wanted her, yes, but some part of me knew that I wasn’t really there. I was a toy and a cock for them to play with, and in the end, it had nothing to do with me.
“I’m gonna fuck you now,” I said, pulling her up by the hair and tossing her to her back. She was beautiful as she lay down, naked and glistening in sweat as she touched herself and spewed out the most viciously explicit string of wants.
Next to her, her boyfriend had his eyes close as he struggled to hold back, and I wondered what would happen if he came. Would they throw me out before anything more happened? Would he cry and say it was all a mistake? Or would she tease him hard once more while I fucked her until their relationship broke apart in a million delicious pieces?
Most importantly, would she end up mine?
II didn’t give him the time to ruin it. I was on her and in her in seconds, and she cried out dramatically as I penetrated her deeply, telling me how much better I was at fucking her and how good my cock felt. While not quite empty, her words felt unrelated to me, but I found I no longer cared.
She was beneath me; I was kissing her soft lips, sliding into her, and suffocating in her tangle of curls, and nothing else mattered. I shut out his words and her performance. I kissed her cheek and her neck, and for a moment, I allowed myself to remember the love and the tenderness along with my aching desire for someone who cared.
The thoughts pushed me onward, and I fucked her slowly and deep as she moaned into my ear. When I kissed her mouth, it was so she wouldn’t forget me, and I didn’t let her go until our lips were swollen and our breaths were mingled together in a cloud of tender lust.
As the words hung in my mouth, just behind my lips, I realized they would make me come.
I held back as we moved, and then I leaned up enough so I could look in her eyes as I held the back of her head in one hand. I spared one glance for our joined bodies, wanting to remember the site of my cock inside her, and then it was green eyes, a freckled nose, and the things I wanted instead of him.
“I love you,” I said, so quietly only she could hear, and then I started to come as I held her and kissed her and tried not to cry hard enough for him to notice. She held me tightly, her arms around my neck, and for a brief moment, I thought she might say it back.
“Fuck!” He cried, pushing me back as he lurched over us. She opened her mouth to speak — words of love I hoped — only to find his cock in the way as he came on her lonely lips.
“That was so fucking hot, so fucking hot!” he groaned as I leaned back, still within her and somehow still whole.
We cleaned up as best we could, and he poured more wine. Each time I thought she might kiss me, she instead turned away, and each time he laughed and said thank you, I felt more tears well up. So we drank (I drank more) with my hand on her knee as they cuddled together in the afternoon sun.
When I left them, I received the only gift I would get. She kissed my cheek and whispered thank you in my ear in such a way that I heard something else. Something kinder and sweeter than anything we had done.
Two months later, when she left him, it wasn’t for me.