monica
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Monica Part4 free porn video
This is how it happened.
It was my last year of grad school and I was working my ass off. Sure, I was tense, but I had a great sense of purpose. My professors, on the whole, liked me, and as hard as their courses were I always did pretty well. Of course, blowing off steam was an integral part of that. Without that safety valve, I might have exploded - or imploded from the weight of all the things on my mind. But I was happy to discover that grad students, most of us, are on the same page where dating is concerned: Either you're looking for a hookup or you're looking to mate for life; someone to help reduce stress or someone who wants to make that their permanent side gig. It made things a lot simpler.
Pam had originally been the former, but whether through her machinations or the tricks of time she'd begun to slide into the latter. When I returned to school, I told her it was over. She wasn't happy about it, but she knew how we'd begun, and we hadn't been together long enough for it to sting so bad. At least that's what I thought.
I was running across campus one day - not out of panic; I was doing cardio - when I nearly passed by the most impressive set of legs I've ever seen. I was just about to turn the corner of the chemistry lab when they caught the sun in my periphery. I glanced to the side and saw them, the way the light clung to their toned musculature, the way the tight buttocks rose up into a pair of even tighter shorts. The legs belonged to Stephanie, and she was bent at the waist and standing in the grass. She was also running, or about to run, and was stretching for all the world to see. I decided to investigate.
As I approached, she rose up and I caught a glimpse of her cleavage. Her breasts were small, not much more than a handful each, but they moved with a fluid softness - even despite the sports bra. Her nose was a little sharper than I like, but it fit her face well: Brown, contoured eyebrows, an oval face, and cold eyes: Blue and hazel when she was relaxed, kind of green when she was mad or excited. Her long brunette hair was up in a ponytail, but it shined under the afternoon sun, which was currently spearing the two of us from between the trees. She was tall. Those legs.
"Hey," I said.
She gave me a look of passionate disdain. "What?"
"You run around here often?"
Her forehead crinkled as she tried to figure out if I was for real. She had the 'bitch face' down pat and it was going into tiger mode. If I was a smart man, I would have run rapidly in the other direction. But I was a horny man, and I couldn't stop thinking about what those legs would look like in high heels. (I have since seen those legs in high heels, and let me tell you - this bullshit was totally worth it.)
"What do you want, John?"
I was taken aback. "You- Have we met before?"
Once again, the forehead crinkled, this time accompanied by her knuckles on her hips. "I'm Pam's roommate."
Ah. Right. I am not an observant man. In my defense, the few times we went back to Pam's place Stephanie was either out or in her room (and we didn't spend a lot of time socializing, if you take my meaning).
"Of course," I said, trying to recover. "How you doing?"
"Are you seriously hitting on me right now?"
Her stomach was toned, there was a sheen of sweat on her forehead and, I'll be totally honest, the more her sharp nose and sharp eyebrows turned down, the more turned on I got. Maybe it's the masochist in me, or maybe I just have a thing for angry women with great legs. All I could think of now was her insulting me while we did it on top of Pam's kitchen table. True, it's an odd kink, but once you make peace with the fact that you've fucked your sister a few hundred times, you've made peace with most of your kinks.
So I said, "Yes, I'm definitely hitting on you. But I'm sorry, I don't remember your name."
And here's where Stephanie's personality shines through, because at this point she could have easily walked off - or, more appropriately, run off. She didn't. She planted her heels, swayed back on one hip, and frowned and smiled at the same time. "Stephanie," she said, as if even she couldn't believe we were still having a conversation.
"Right, Stephanie," I said. "Stephanie, what's your major?"
"International relations," she said. "Marketing, really. You're an engineer. Pam cried about you for a week."
Ooh, tough to come back from that one. I tried to look sincere (but not so sincere that I wasted my shot, if I had one) when I said, "I'm sorry to hear that. I didn't think Pam was that into me."
"You mean you thought you guys were just fuck buddies."
Yes. Probably shouldn't say yes, though.
I shrugged and opened my hands in a gesture of conciliation. "She's great. We went on a few great dates, but I just didn't feel that connection."
"Uh-huh," said Stephanie, not buying that bullshit at all. "Sounded to me like you felt that connection pretty regularly."
Oh man, Game Over. If this was Independence Day her little aliens would be blowing the shit out of my air force right now. And yet, she hadn't turned away. Her furrowed brows had relaxed and now she was wearing a look of amused disgust. I shrugged again and took a casual step forward. "I didn't realize you were listening."
"Whatever," she said, and I thought she was about to make her exit, but instead she let out a little laugh. "I'll admit it doesn't take much to get Pam to cry, but whatever you think is happening here," she gestured between the two of us, "it is most certainly not."
"No, I didn't think anything was happening here," I said. "I was just saying hello."
"Uh-huh," she said again, her tongue working the inside of her cheek. She turned towards the chemistry lab (this is how bad I had it: even the way her ponytail whipped her neck turned me on) and then turned back to me. She narrowed her eyes. "Were you staring at my ass?"
"Hm?" I said, all innocence.
"You were running, and then you stopped. While I was stretching. Did you come over here because you saw my ass and...I'm sorry, what was your plan coming over here?"
Oh shit. I really liked this girl now. "Babble at you," I said seriously. "Babble at you until I got your number."
I watched her gnaw at the inside of her cheek, her mouth closed, while she weighed me with her eyes. She'd folded her arms against her chest now and I was fascinated just watching her mind work. Tried with all my might not to look down at the way those thighs slid down into those tight calves.
"You don't care how Pam feels at all, do you?"
"Sure I do," I said.
"What would I say to Pam, 'Hey, your ex was checking out my ass so I think we're going on a date tonight?' That's pretty shitty."
"No, I wouldn't say that," I said. "I probably wouldn't mention it. But you'd definitely get a good meal out of it. I mean, there's no fooling you, so I'd probably overspend on the date like crazy to get in your good graces. And you know how it is at grad school - you take those fancy meals where you can get 'em."
"Oh my God," said Stephanie, her mouth wide, her eyes flashing. "You're a creep."
"Is that a no?"
She laughed all the way through her jog, and it seemed like she was still laughing when she rounded the chemistry building. I had half a mind to chase her, but I don't think that would be the feminist thing to do. Instead, I brushed up on my international relations.
* * *
I ran a lot that semester. Sometimes I would pass her by the lake, throwing my arms wide in a 'why not?' gesture that she would shake her head at and then ignore. One of her professors was part of a poker club I belonged to, so from time to time I'd stop by the class to chat and, if she didn't immediately disappear, strike up a conversation with her as she walked to her next class. It infuriated her to a degree, but there was also something in her - that deep, dark, demented part - that was drawn to my stupidity and my tenacity. I know this because she told me.
She told me one day while we were walking across campus. We'd just left the economics wing and I was trying to make conversation about a party I didn't want to go to alone.
"I don't even have to see you anymore," she said. "I can just smell the desperation coming."
I'd only been at this for a week or two. She wasn't wrong, though.
Suddenly, she slapped her forehead. "Oh shit, I forgot to ask Tim if that paper is due this Friday or next." She swung on her heel, and so did I.
"So about this party," I said.
"Not a chance," she said. "When do you and Tim play poker? He's stupidly bad at answering emails."
"Later tonight," I said.
"Well if he's not here..." She brushed open the door to the lecture hall - the empty lecture hall - and cursed. She swiveled on her heel again and then made for his office. I followed, feeling, as I always did, that I was straddling a fine line between being a pest (or at worst, a stalker) and being on the verge of a breakthrough. I was to find out that, either way, she'd give me an answer soon enough. She'd never once told me to get lost, which I found encouraging.
"This paper is kicking my ass," she said, "and another week would be good. Plus there's the fucking firm and their stupid party-" Stephanie worked, as near as I could tell, three different jobs, or two jobs and an internship, in addition to her course work and teacher assistant duties. She was Type A all the way.
"You need a date?"
"I have too much work," she said. We entered the faculty offices and made a beeline for Tim's door. "That's all I do is work. I come home and Pam is sitting on the fucking couch whining about the last date that went awry. Like, I'm here to get a fucking job and as near as I can figure she's here to find a husband or die. It's gross." She did that magical business thing where her face went from utter contempt to bright and bubbly as she saw a professor she was trying to secure another internship with. "Mr. Gaffley! So good to see you! Oh my gosh, how did your daughter's recital go?"
I watched her chat with him like a machine, plugging in all the courtesies that were due and precisely working her way up from the personal to the academic to the brass tacks of her mission. It was cold, it was clinical, it was all bullshit, but it was bullshit that Stephanie used like a precision instrument. I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd given her the internship on the spot. Instead, they made a lunch date with another professor and would take it from there.
And then, before my eyes, someone else she knew - a professor or near enough to it - appeared down the hall and I watched her create a whole other program to get what she wanted from him. It was mesmerizing watching her work. Once that was over, she tightened those perfect gams of hers and continued on her journey to Tim's office. She scanned her watch, and then looked back at me to see if I was still there.
"Well done," I said.
"Yeah, and now I'm late for my least favorite class," she grunted. "I don't know why I'm killing myself for these assholes. Oh right, because I fucking hate myself."
She knocked on Tim's door. After no answer, another knock, and no answer, she turned the knob and poked her head inside. Her shoulders slumped. "Well that's just typical," she said. "Your buddy's gone fishing." Instead of leaving, though, she strode inside and whipped her bag onto one of the chairs. "Get in here," she said.
I did.
"Close the door," she said. So I did.
"Why don't you put that perpetual boner of yours to good use," she said, as she grabbed my arms and forced me against the door. I wasn't sure if it was a bite or it was a kiss, but soon enough I was tasting her. Her fingers dug into the back of my neck as she hissed into my ear, "If you're bad at this I'll slap you with a restraining order the next time I see you." Her other hand was already undoing my belt.
"What if Tim comes back?" I said.
"What if Stephanie needs to cum right now?" she asked. She looked up into my eyes. It was a challenge if I ever saw one.
When she got my pants off, she bent down into a crouch and pulled my cock out of my boxers. She gripped it tightly, inspected it, top to bottom, side to side. "Good," was all she said. "I hate tiny cocks." Then she put her mouth on it, and I shivered all the way down to my toes.
She wasn't at that long before she was up on her feet and tying her hair back in a ponytail. Then she pulled her shirt up over her head and threw it on top of her bag. "Help me pull these off," she said, backing up onto Tim's desk. She unbuttoned her shorts and put her ass up onto the desk as I slid them down her taut legs. Watching her extend those beautiful things only made me harder, and she noticed. I started on her shoes, but she shook her head. "I don't have time. Just pull my panties to the side. I want you to eat my pussy, and don't say you don't do that. Pam talks."
"Yes, ma'am," was all I said, as I bent down to Stephanie's shaved vagina and lovingly traced her clit with my tongue. I heard the sharp intake of breath that might have signaled I was on the right track. She buried her fingers in my hair and shoved me between her legs.
"Fuck," she said. "Deeper."
My tongue probed into her, the sour, acid taste of her, and soon her vulva was enveloped by my mouth. "Mmm," Stephanie moaned above me, and I moaned into her pussy. She liked that, so I did it again, and again as her thigh rubbed my cheek.
"Poor little Pam," I heard her murmur. "You're my little fucktoy now." She pushed forward with her pelvis to signal me to get up. I stood, my cock swinging, and she gave an appreciative raise of her eyebrows. "Now you get to do what you've been jerking off to since we met." She turned her back to me (Jesus, that ass) and pulled her panties down. Not all the way, though, not down to her ankles. She pulled them just low enough to give me access and then bent over Tim's desk.
I caressed that perfect ass and spread her cheeks, opening her up to see her asshole and her pussy. "Mmh," Stephanie groaned. "Have you been jerking off to me?"
"You know I have," I said. I encircled her wet slit with my pulsing cock.
"That gets me wet," she said, as I pushed inside her. "Aww! Knowing you want it so bad. It's that s-stupid - ah - tenacious-n-ness - fuck! - that -" I shoved my full length inside her, not waiting for her to get used to me, and she stopped talking for a few seconds to quiver over the desk. "Ahhhnn," she groaned. "Didn't even...give me a...ahhhh." I pulled out and slid it back in. "I got so wet when I realized you were just staring at my ass," she said. "Listening to you fuck Pam, I, ahh! You creep. You're in-inside me now, I- ah!"
"Stephanie?" I said, leaning down over her ear. I was balls deep inside her, one hand on her hip, the other on her shoulder.
"Nn?" she said.
"Shut up."
I covered her mouth and began to fuck her hard. Stephanie moaned. She screamed. She cried bloody murder as I thrust and thrust, her thighs trapped by her tight panties tightening with every plunge, squeezing me deeper inside the constricting walls of her vagina. Her pelvis banged against the desk. Her knuckles turned white where they gripped the lip of the wood, and her ass turned red from my repeated poundings. I spanked her, I squeezed her, I used her with all the pent-up lust I had stored away for this day, and somewhere in the bewildering tangle of minutes it must have triggered the release that she craved. When she came, I felt her do it: A warm, thick flow dribbled over my balls and oozed down her thighs. "Ahhhhhh," she cried into my moist palm. "I'm so late for class..."
I pushed and pushed, riding her sweet canal until she had me to the hilt. Her legs went straight as I pinned her to the desk. She was balancing on the toes of her shoes. Breathless, she felt me nearing my end, and stammered into finger, "My ass. C-cum on my ass..."
It was painful to pull myself fully out of that tight, athletic body, but I obeyed, grasping myself and exploding across her beet-red buttocks. I heard another cry from her as my semen splattered against her skin, as if this too triggered another release. I came again and again, and she jerked with every new ejaculation, reeling from micro-orgasms that sparkled their way down her legs.
When it was over, I had to hold myself against the desk, my cock shrinking against her buttocks. Stephanie recovered more quickly, though she continued to pant for the ensuing minute.
Eventually she regained enough composure to reach across the desk for tissues. She handed me one and told me to clean up my mess. I grinned as I polished the sticky cum off her muscular ass, and she didn't seem to mind when I gave it an appreciative pinch. She slid a few tissues between her thighs, cleaning up her own cum, and then took a few more to dab at her forehead and under her eyes. I was treated to the mesmerizing sight of her shimmying her panties up her luscious legs and then stepping into her shorts.
"And that didn't even cost you dinner," she said, reaching up to pull her hair out of its ponytail. She combed her fingers through her brown tresses.
I buckled my belt and slung my bag over my shoulder. She grabbed her bag and gave the room a once-over, checking that everything was in place. "I hope Tim doesn't mind that sex smell," I said.
"You can ask him when you see him tonight," she said. I opened the door for her and she stepped out, checking both ends of the hall and walking with only the slightest hint that she'd been fucked like a prize mare.
As if she could read my thoughts, she gave a polite cough and rearranged herself, making sure to check no one was watching. She glanced at me over my shoulder. "Not bad, Johnny."
I grinned and fell in step beside her as we exited the econ building. "You know, I still want to take you to dinner."
"Oh, why spoil a good thing?" she said. "You got what you wanted, after all."
"And what do you want?" I asked.
"I want things to be simple," she said. "Efficient." Tentatively, she reached out and put her hand on my arm. "I wouldn't mind more of that, just like that."
"I want to see you in heels," I said.
That might have been one of the few times I saw her smile without reservation. "I know you do," she said.
* * *
That was the year my dad had his first heart attack. Steph and I had been seeing each other, on and off, for a few months; it wasn't exclusive but it was a little more serious than non-exclusive. Still, those months seemed to vanish like smoke when my sister met me outside the hospital and threw herself into my arms. Our lips met in a hot, wet kiss and we stayed like that much longer than was decent.
I wiped her eyes and helped clean the mascara off her cheeks. We kissed again (and when she jumped up against me I cupped her round ass) and then separated, lacing our hands together as we entered the hospital.
My mother was inside with my dad, who, even in his hospital bed and gown, thought we were all being way too serious about this. We sat around and talked as long as the nurses thought proper, and then they shooed us out, telling us he needed meds and rest. My mother was beside herself and my sister spoke to her softly in the backseat as I drove us all home.
After we put my mother to bed (she literally fell to sleep), Monica and I went downstairs to watch TV. The hour passed mindlessly, the two of us just staring at it and occasionally murmuring to each other, she curled up against my chest, me lying back against the pillows.
"Do you want to fool around?" she asked.
"Better not," I said.
"I'm exhausted too. Can you help me, though? I'm so damn tight."
I thought she was making a dirty joke, but she sat up and drew up her long, golden hair so she could point at her neck. "Here," she said.
"Of course."
I scooted forward on the cushions, my thighs hugging her hips, and reached for her as she held her hair in place. My fingers dug into her supple skin. I marveled at how soft and smooth she felt, how every touch called forth memories and how the scent of her still stirred in me a longing to explore her. Time passed in thoughtless caresses until I stopped trying to massage her from under her shirt and told her to just take it off.
Then my fingers were sliding under her bra, kneading into the knots, and soon that too was on the floor. I continued to massage her, but now nothing stopped me from running my fingers around her ribs to scoop up her generous breasts. Morbidly, I thought to myself what a perfect woman you could make if you Frankensteined Monica's top and Stephanie's bottom together, but the thought passed as quickly as it came. The two had wildly different body types, both were painfully beautiful, and I realized (also painfully) that I was inexorably being drawn into both of them.
By this time Monica was leaning against my chest and sighing softly against my cheek, my hands warming her as I gently played with her breasts. "Want you," she whispered to me.
We could have gone to my room; we should have. But instead she quickly rose and slid her pants down. I pulled mine off while still sitting on the couch, and then she was in my lap facing me, her buttocks coming to rest on my thighs, our arms encircling each other as she lowered herself onto my ready cock. She was wet and smooth and we breathed into each other's mouths as we joined again. It was a slow, tender fuck, the two of us gazing at each other in the half-light of the television, planting small kisses on one another's lips as we comforted each other there in the den.
I reached down and rolled her softness up and down my shaft. She flexed her thighs against my ribs. She pushed her breasts into me and I kissed the tops of them, running my fingers through her curly hair. Her pink nipples stiffened as my tongue skated across them and she cooed to me, not to leave her, to stay, to stay.
She rested her lips on my neck and her head on my shoulder, then held me tight as I slowly built my way towards climax. I don't know if she came then. I do know that wasn't what this was about. This was about being part of each other, of sharing each other's flesh, of feeling each other's lives in the pulsations of our sex. Every squirt of semen that entered her body assured her that I was alive and I was here, and her embrace tightened with each ejaculation. In her arms, around my shaft. We held each other for a long time, just like that, joined together.
When at last we parted I saw that she was crying silent tears. I kissed them away, helped her get her clothes on, then carried her upstairs.
* * *
I didn't stay the night. I wasn't tired, and I didn't want to see my mother or my sister in the morning. I would have liked to return to the hospital and speak to my father, but that wasn't going to happen at three in the morning. So I drove my car back to my apartment.
I was surprised when I got the text from Stephanie ("U up?") and parked the car on the side of the road to answer back. Less than an hour later we were sitting up in an all-night cafe, she bundled in a posh but warm looking jacket, me wearing the same thing I'd had on when I got the call earlier that day.
"I'm sorry," she said again. Stephanie's parents were divorced and her relations with both were strained. Parents, and family in general, were not her favorite topic of conversation, but she wasn't a monster. She reached out and touched my cheek, and kissed me quickly just below my ear.
She sat back in her seat with a searching grin. "You've been with someone else tonight, haven't you?"
I was way past lying to her, not that morning, not at that hour. "Yeah," I said.
"Why did you pick me up?"
"I wanted to see you," I said. It was the truth. "I didn't want to sleep, or be alone." More truth. "And I'm confused." The most truth.
She licked her lips. "Do you want to take me back to your place?"
"Do you still want me to?"
Her expression was inscrutable. "I don't know," she said. She put her fingers to her lips, idly chewed on a nail. "I was up working, and I don't want to go back to working. Nor do I want to sleep." She sighed, and shrugged. "And I don't think I want to call up someone else. I think I want to go home with you."
For some reason I can't explain, the way she said it, just then, almost brought me to tears. It was so simple and so damn friendly.
She saw that, and sighed again. Stephanie could be very tender at very strange times. It was the hour, I think. The hurt and the need and the strangeness of it all. "Johnny," she said, "I think I'm getting to a place where I can't call you a fuck buddy anymore. But I also don't think I'm quite to a place where you being with someone else bothers me. But..."
"But before we go any further than that, maybe we should just go back to my place," I finished.
"You think you're up for it?"
"I'm always up for you."
It sounds like a line. It was a line. But it was also true. She knew that. She could see that. And, when she reached under the table, she felt that.
"Do I know her?" she said.
"I don't think you'll ever meet her."
"Let's stop talking about that," she decided. "I'm here for a booty call, after all. So come on." She stood up and gave me her hand. "This frigid bitch wants you inside her."
I took it and grinned. "Steph, I think I love you."
"That's so sad for you," she said, pulling me out of the cafe.
She made me shower before I fucked her, but before the shower was through she was in there with me, on her knees, sucking my cock. We fucked until the sun came up, and that morning was the first time we actually slept together.
I woke up, briefly, with her hand d****d across my neck and her head on the other side of my pillow. I looked at her, at the bedside clock, at the morning light on the far wall, and wondered where all of us would go from here. And then, with one soft, smooth sigh, I decided to stop worrying, to let the world roll on, and to sleep.
* * *
Several days later I came to the house to talk to my father. He was alone - mom was at work, Moni was at college - and we had one of those good, gruff, manly conversations that mostly consist of grunts and, "It'll be alrights" and "Fuckin' hospital bills" and "Wish I could have a beer right nows."
At some point, I told him I was being torn between two women. First thing he asked was if it was fucking up my grades. "No they're doing pretty good," I assured him.
"Good," he said. "Which one's prettier?"
We both laughed, and it was good to hear him laugh like that. Then he said, "I'm supposed to say, don't be selfish and be respectful and all that, but hell, you think I ever got a chance like that? Thank God your mother ain't too bright, otherwise she wouldn't be with a dunce like me. But you, you find two dumb broads to take advantage of. I dunno if my heart could take that excitement." He grinned and scratched his stubble. "I dunno know what the hell you're supposed to do, k**. One of 'em's bound to get smart and dump your ass sooner or later. Till then, work hard, play hard."
He scratched his chest, right over the place where his heart was beating. "Maybe I'd've said something different last week. Now... It's a short life, k**. Sometimes it gets pretty weird. Sometimes it gets pretty nice. I got a sneakin' suspicion you're mixing your weird in your nice, but you know what?" He shrugged.
Then he leaned over. "Either one the kind of girl you'd bring home to your ma?"
I thought about that for a moment or two. "Uh, well..."
My father leaned back laughing. "Didn't think so." He thumped me on the shoulder. "You stay classy, Johnny."
In retrospect, it wasn't the most helpful conversation. But it did make me feel better, somehow.
After my father died, I would sometimes comfort myself with the thought that, while he wouldn't necessarily approve of the choices I made, he might have at least understood them.
Maybe.
It was my last year of grad school and I was working my ass off. Sure, I was tense, but I had a great sense of purpose. My professors, on the whole, liked me, and as hard as their courses were I always did pretty well. Of course, blowing off steam was an integral part of that. Without that safety valve, I might have exploded - or imploded from the weight of all the things on my mind. But I was happy to discover that grad students, most of us, are on the same page where dating is concerned: Either you're looking for a hookup or you're looking to mate for life; someone to help reduce stress or someone who wants to make that their permanent side gig. It made things a lot simpler.
Pam had originally been the former, but whether through her machinations or the tricks of time she'd begun to slide into the latter. When I returned to school, I told her it was over. She wasn't happy about it, but she knew how we'd begun, and we hadn't been together long enough for it to sting so bad. At least that's what I thought.
I was running across campus one day - not out of panic; I was doing cardio - when I nearly passed by the most impressive set of legs I've ever seen. I was just about to turn the corner of the chemistry lab when they caught the sun in my periphery. I glanced to the side and saw them, the way the light clung to their toned musculature, the way the tight buttocks rose up into a pair of even tighter shorts. The legs belonged to Stephanie, and she was bent at the waist and standing in the grass. She was also running, or about to run, and was stretching for all the world to see. I decided to investigate.
As I approached, she rose up and I caught a glimpse of her cleavage. Her breasts were small, not much more than a handful each, but they moved with a fluid softness - even despite the sports bra. Her nose was a little sharper than I like, but it fit her face well: Brown, contoured eyebrows, an oval face, and cold eyes: Blue and hazel when she was relaxed, kind of green when she was mad or excited. Her long brunette hair was up in a ponytail, but it shined under the afternoon sun, which was currently spearing the two of us from between the trees. She was tall. Those legs.
"Hey," I said.
She gave me a look of passionate disdain. "What?"
"You run around here often?"
Her forehead crinkled as she tried to figure out if I was for real. She had the 'bitch face' down pat and it was going into tiger mode. If I was a smart man, I would have run rapidly in the other direction. But I was a horny man, and I couldn't stop thinking about what those legs would look like in high heels. (I have since seen those legs in high heels, and let me tell you - this bullshit was totally worth it.)
"What do you want, John?"
I was taken aback. "You- Have we met before?"
Once again, the forehead crinkled, this time accompanied by her knuckles on her hips. "I'm Pam's roommate."
Ah. Right. I am not an observant man. In my defense, the few times we went back to Pam's place Stephanie was either out or in her room (and we didn't spend a lot of time socializing, if you take my meaning).
"Of course," I said, trying to recover. "How you doing?"
"Are you seriously hitting on me right now?"
Her stomach was toned, there was a sheen of sweat on her forehead and, I'll be totally honest, the more her sharp nose and sharp eyebrows turned down, the more turned on I got. Maybe it's the masochist in me, or maybe I just have a thing for angry women with great legs. All I could think of now was her insulting me while we did it on top of Pam's kitchen table. True, it's an odd kink, but once you make peace with the fact that you've fucked your sister a few hundred times, you've made peace with most of your kinks.
So I said, "Yes, I'm definitely hitting on you. But I'm sorry, I don't remember your name."
And here's where Stephanie's personality shines through, because at this point she could have easily walked off - or, more appropriately, run off. She didn't. She planted her heels, swayed back on one hip, and frowned and smiled at the same time. "Stephanie," she said, as if even she couldn't believe we were still having a conversation.
"Right, Stephanie," I said. "Stephanie, what's your major?"
"International relations," she said. "Marketing, really. You're an engineer. Pam cried about you for a week."
Ooh, tough to come back from that one. I tried to look sincere (but not so sincere that I wasted my shot, if I had one) when I said, "I'm sorry to hear that. I didn't think Pam was that into me."
"You mean you thought you guys were just fuck buddies."
Yes. Probably shouldn't say yes, though.
I shrugged and opened my hands in a gesture of conciliation. "She's great. We went on a few great dates, but I just didn't feel that connection."
"Uh-huh," said Stephanie, not buying that bullshit at all. "Sounded to me like you felt that connection pretty regularly."
Oh man, Game Over. If this was Independence Day her little aliens would be blowing the shit out of my air force right now. And yet, she hadn't turned away. Her furrowed brows had relaxed and now she was wearing a look of amused disgust. I shrugged again and took a casual step forward. "I didn't realize you were listening."
"Whatever," she said, and I thought she was about to make her exit, but instead she let out a little laugh. "I'll admit it doesn't take much to get Pam to cry, but whatever you think is happening here," she gestured between the two of us, "it is most certainly not."
"No, I didn't think anything was happening here," I said. "I was just saying hello."
"Uh-huh," she said again, her tongue working the inside of her cheek. She turned towards the chemistry lab (this is how bad I had it: even the way her ponytail whipped her neck turned me on) and then turned back to me. She narrowed her eyes. "Were you staring at my ass?"
"Hm?" I said, all innocence.
"You were running, and then you stopped. While I was stretching. Did you come over here because you saw my ass and...I'm sorry, what was your plan coming over here?"
Oh shit. I really liked this girl now. "Babble at you," I said seriously. "Babble at you until I got your number."
I watched her gnaw at the inside of her cheek, her mouth closed, while she weighed me with her eyes. She'd folded her arms against her chest now and I was fascinated just watching her mind work. Tried with all my might not to look down at the way those thighs slid down into those tight calves.
"You don't care how Pam feels at all, do you?"
"Sure I do," I said.
"What would I say to Pam, 'Hey, your ex was checking out my ass so I think we're going on a date tonight?' That's pretty shitty."
"No, I wouldn't say that," I said. "I probably wouldn't mention it. But you'd definitely get a good meal out of it. I mean, there's no fooling you, so I'd probably overspend on the date like crazy to get in your good graces. And you know how it is at grad school - you take those fancy meals where you can get 'em."
"Oh my God," said Stephanie, her mouth wide, her eyes flashing. "You're a creep."
"Is that a no?"
She laughed all the way through her jog, and it seemed like she was still laughing when she rounded the chemistry building. I had half a mind to chase her, but I don't think that would be the feminist thing to do. Instead, I brushed up on my international relations.
* * *
I ran a lot that semester. Sometimes I would pass her by the lake, throwing my arms wide in a 'why not?' gesture that she would shake her head at and then ignore. One of her professors was part of a poker club I belonged to, so from time to time I'd stop by the class to chat and, if she didn't immediately disappear, strike up a conversation with her as she walked to her next class. It infuriated her to a degree, but there was also something in her - that deep, dark, demented part - that was drawn to my stupidity and my tenacity. I know this because she told me.
She told me one day while we were walking across campus. We'd just left the economics wing and I was trying to make conversation about a party I didn't want to go to alone.
"I don't even have to see you anymore," she said. "I can just smell the desperation coming."
I'd only been at this for a week or two. She wasn't wrong, though.
Suddenly, she slapped her forehead. "Oh shit, I forgot to ask Tim if that paper is due this Friday or next." She swung on her heel, and so did I.
"So about this party," I said.
"Not a chance," she said. "When do you and Tim play poker? He's stupidly bad at answering emails."
"Later tonight," I said.
"Well if he's not here..." She brushed open the door to the lecture hall - the empty lecture hall - and cursed. She swiveled on her heel again and then made for his office. I followed, feeling, as I always did, that I was straddling a fine line between being a pest (or at worst, a stalker) and being on the verge of a breakthrough. I was to find out that, either way, she'd give me an answer soon enough. She'd never once told me to get lost, which I found encouraging.
"This paper is kicking my ass," she said, "and another week would be good. Plus there's the fucking firm and their stupid party-" Stephanie worked, as near as I could tell, three different jobs, or two jobs and an internship, in addition to her course work and teacher assistant duties. She was Type A all the way.
"You need a date?"
"I have too much work," she said. We entered the faculty offices and made a beeline for Tim's door. "That's all I do is work. I come home and Pam is sitting on the fucking couch whining about the last date that went awry. Like, I'm here to get a fucking job and as near as I can figure she's here to find a husband or die. It's gross." She did that magical business thing where her face went from utter contempt to bright and bubbly as she saw a professor she was trying to secure another internship with. "Mr. Gaffley! So good to see you! Oh my gosh, how did your daughter's recital go?"
I watched her chat with him like a machine, plugging in all the courtesies that were due and precisely working her way up from the personal to the academic to the brass tacks of her mission. It was cold, it was clinical, it was all bullshit, but it was bullshit that Stephanie used like a precision instrument. I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd given her the internship on the spot. Instead, they made a lunch date with another professor and would take it from there.
And then, before my eyes, someone else she knew - a professor or near enough to it - appeared down the hall and I watched her create a whole other program to get what she wanted from him. It was mesmerizing watching her work. Once that was over, she tightened those perfect gams of hers and continued on her journey to Tim's office. She scanned her watch, and then looked back at me to see if I was still there.
"Well done," I said.
"Yeah, and now I'm late for my least favorite class," she grunted. "I don't know why I'm killing myself for these assholes. Oh right, because I fucking hate myself."
She knocked on Tim's door. After no answer, another knock, and no answer, she turned the knob and poked her head inside. Her shoulders slumped. "Well that's just typical," she said. "Your buddy's gone fishing." Instead of leaving, though, she strode inside and whipped her bag onto one of the chairs. "Get in here," she said.
I did.
"Close the door," she said. So I did.
"Why don't you put that perpetual boner of yours to good use," she said, as she grabbed my arms and forced me against the door. I wasn't sure if it was a bite or it was a kiss, but soon enough I was tasting her. Her fingers dug into the back of my neck as she hissed into my ear, "If you're bad at this I'll slap you with a restraining order the next time I see you." Her other hand was already undoing my belt.
"What if Tim comes back?" I said.
"What if Stephanie needs to cum right now?" she asked. She looked up into my eyes. It was a challenge if I ever saw one.
When she got my pants off, she bent down into a crouch and pulled my cock out of my boxers. She gripped it tightly, inspected it, top to bottom, side to side. "Good," was all she said. "I hate tiny cocks." Then she put her mouth on it, and I shivered all the way down to my toes.
She wasn't at that long before she was up on her feet and tying her hair back in a ponytail. Then she pulled her shirt up over her head and threw it on top of her bag. "Help me pull these off," she said, backing up onto Tim's desk. She unbuttoned her shorts and put her ass up onto the desk as I slid them down her taut legs. Watching her extend those beautiful things only made me harder, and she noticed. I started on her shoes, but she shook her head. "I don't have time. Just pull my panties to the side. I want you to eat my pussy, and don't say you don't do that. Pam talks."
"Yes, ma'am," was all I said, as I bent down to Stephanie's shaved vagina and lovingly traced her clit with my tongue. I heard the sharp intake of breath that might have signaled I was on the right track. She buried her fingers in my hair and shoved me between her legs.
"Fuck," she said. "Deeper."
My tongue probed into her, the sour, acid taste of her, and soon her vulva was enveloped by my mouth. "Mmm," Stephanie moaned above me, and I moaned into her pussy. She liked that, so I did it again, and again as her thigh rubbed my cheek.
"Poor little Pam," I heard her murmur. "You're my little fucktoy now." She pushed forward with her pelvis to signal me to get up. I stood, my cock swinging, and she gave an appreciative raise of her eyebrows. "Now you get to do what you've been jerking off to since we met." She turned her back to me (Jesus, that ass) and pulled her panties down. Not all the way, though, not down to her ankles. She pulled them just low enough to give me access and then bent over Tim's desk.
I caressed that perfect ass and spread her cheeks, opening her up to see her asshole and her pussy. "Mmh," Stephanie groaned. "Have you been jerking off to me?"
"You know I have," I said. I encircled her wet slit with my pulsing cock.
"That gets me wet," she said, as I pushed inside her. "Aww! Knowing you want it so bad. It's that s-stupid - ah - tenacious-n-ness - fuck! - that -" I shoved my full length inside her, not waiting for her to get used to me, and she stopped talking for a few seconds to quiver over the desk. "Ahhhnn," she groaned. "Didn't even...give me a...ahhhh." I pulled out and slid it back in. "I got so wet when I realized you were just staring at my ass," she said. "Listening to you fuck Pam, I, ahh! You creep. You're in-inside me now, I- ah!"
"Stephanie?" I said, leaning down over her ear. I was balls deep inside her, one hand on her hip, the other on her shoulder.
"Nn?" she said.
"Shut up."
I covered her mouth and began to fuck her hard. Stephanie moaned. She screamed. She cried bloody murder as I thrust and thrust, her thighs trapped by her tight panties tightening with every plunge, squeezing me deeper inside the constricting walls of her vagina. Her pelvis banged against the desk. Her knuckles turned white where they gripped the lip of the wood, and her ass turned red from my repeated poundings. I spanked her, I squeezed her, I used her with all the pent-up lust I had stored away for this day, and somewhere in the bewildering tangle of minutes it must have triggered the release that she craved. When she came, I felt her do it: A warm, thick flow dribbled over my balls and oozed down her thighs. "Ahhhhhh," she cried into my moist palm. "I'm so late for class..."
I pushed and pushed, riding her sweet canal until she had me to the hilt. Her legs went straight as I pinned her to the desk. She was balancing on the toes of her shoes. Breathless, she felt me nearing my end, and stammered into finger, "My ass. C-cum on my ass..."
It was painful to pull myself fully out of that tight, athletic body, but I obeyed, grasping myself and exploding across her beet-red buttocks. I heard another cry from her as my semen splattered against her skin, as if this too triggered another release. I came again and again, and she jerked with every new ejaculation, reeling from micro-orgasms that sparkled their way down her legs.
When it was over, I had to hold myself against the desk, my cock shrinking against her buttocks. Stephanie recovered more quickly, though she continued to pant for the ensuing minute.
Eventually she regained enough composure to reach across the desk for tissues. She handed me one and told me to clean up my mess. I grinned as I polished the sticky cum off her muscular ass, and she didn't seem to mind when I gave it an appreciative pinch. She slid a few tissues between her thighs, cleaning up her own cum, and then took a few more to dab at her forehead and under her eyes. I was treated to the mesmerizing sight of her shimmying her panties up her luscious legs and then stepping into her shorts.
"And that didn't even cost you dinner," she said, reaching up to pull her hair out of its ponytail. She combed her fingers through her brown tresses.
I buckled my belt and slung my bag over my shoulder. She grabbed her bag and gave the room a once-over, checking that everything was in place. "I hope Tim doesn't mind that sex smell," I said.
"You can ask him when you see him tonight," she said. I opened the door for her and she stepped out, checking both ends of the hall and walking with only the slightest hint that she'd been fucked like a prize mare.
As if she could read my thoughts, she gave a polite cough and rearranged herself, making sure to check no one was watching. She glanced at me over my shoulder. "Not bad, Johnny."
I grinned and fell in step beside her as we exited the econ building. "You know, I still want to take you to dinner."
"Oh, why spoil a good thing?" she said. "You got what you wanted, after all."
"And what do you want?" I asked.
"I want things to be simple," she said. "Efficient." Tentatively, she reached out and put her hand on my arm. "I wouldn't mind more of that, just like that."
"I want to see you in heels," I said.
That might have been one of the few times I saw her smile without reservation. "I know you do," she said.
* * *
That was the year my dad had his first heart attack. Steph and I had been seeing each other, on and off, for a few months; it wasn't exclusive but it was a little more serious than non-exclusive. Still, those months seemed to vanish like smoke when my sister met me outside the hospital and threw herself into my arms. Our lips met in a hot, wet kiss and we stayed like that much longer than was decent.
I wiped her eyes and helped clean the mascara off her cheeks. We kissed again (and when she jumped up against me I cupped her round ass) and then separated, lacing our hands together as we entered the hospital.
My mother was inside with my dad, who, even in his hospital bed and gown, thought we were all being way too serious about this. We sat around and talked as long as the nurses thought proper, and then they shooed us out, telling us he needed meds and rest. My mother was beside herself and my sister spoke to her softly in the backseat as I drove us all home.
After we put my mother to bed (she literally fell to sleep), Monica and I went downstairs to watch TV. The hour passed mindlessly, the two of us just staring at it and occasionally murmuring to each other, she curled up against my chest, me lying back against the pillows.
"Do you want to fool around?" she asked.
"Better not," I said.
"I'm exhausted too. Can you help me, though? I'm so damn tight."
I thought she was making a dirty joke, but she sat up and drew up her long, golden hair so she could point at her neck. "Here," she said.
"Of course."
I scooted forward on the cushions, my thighs hugging her hips, and reached for her as she held her hair in place. My fingers dug into her supple skin. I marveled at how soft and smooth she felt, how every touch called forth memories and how the scent of her still stirred in me a longing to explore her. Time passed in thoughtless caresses until I stopped trying to massage her from under her shirt and told her to just take it off.
Then my fingers were sliding under her bra, kneading into the knots, and soon that too was on the floor. I continued to massage her, but now nothing stopped me from running my fingers around her ribs to scoop up her generous breasts. Morbidly, I thought to myself what a perfect woman you could make if you Frankensteined Monica's top and Stephanie's bottom together, but the thought passed as quickly as it came. The two had wildly different body types, both were painfully beautiful, and I realized (also painfully) that I was inexorably being drawn into both of them.
By this time Monica was leaning against my chest and sighing softly against my cheek, my hands warming her as I gently played with her breasts. "Want you," she whispered to me.
We could have gone to my room; we should have. But instead she quickly rose and slid her pants down. I pulled mine off while still sitting on the couch, and then she was in my lap facing me, her buttocks coming to rest on my thighs, our arms encircling each other as she lowered herself onto my ready cock. She was wet and smooth and we breathed into each other's mouths as we joined again. It was a slow, tender fuck, the two of us gazing at each other in the half-light of the television, planting small kisses on one another's lips as we comforted each other there in the den.
I reached down and rolled her softness up and down my shaft. She flexed her thighs against my ribs. She pushed her breasts into me and I kissed the tops of them, running my fingers through her curly hair. Her pink nipples stiffened as my tongue skated across them and she cooed to me, not to leave her, to stay, to stay.
She rested her lips on my neck and her head on my shoulder, then held me tight as I slowly built my way towards climax. I don't know if she came then. I do know that wasn't what this was about. This was about being part of each other, of sharing each other's flesh, of feeling each other's lives in the pulsations of our sex. Every squirt of semen that entered her body assured her that I was alive and I was here, and her embrace tightened with each ejaculation. In her arms, around my shaft. We held each other for a long time, just like that, joined together.
When at last we parted I saw that she was crying silent tears. I kissed them away, helped her get her clothes on, then carried her upstairs.
* * *
I didn't stay the night. I wasn't tired, and I didn't want to see my mother or my sister in the morning. I would have liked to return to the hospital and speak to my father, but that wasn't going to happen at three in the morning. So I drove my car back to my apartment.
I was surprised when I got the text from Stephanie ("U up?") and parked the car on the side of the road to answer back. Less than an hour later we were sitting up in an all-night cafe, she bundled in a posh but warm looking jacket, me wearing the same thing I'd had on when I got the call earlier that day.
"I'm sorry," she said again. Stephanie's parents were divorced and her relations with both were strained. Parents, and family in general, were not her favorite topic of conversation, but she wasn't a monster. She reached out and touched my cheek, and kissed me quickly just below my ear.
She sat back in her seat with a searching grin. "You've been with someone else tonight, haven't you?"
I was way past lying to her, not that morning, not at that hour. "Yeah," I said.
"Why did you pick me up?"
"I wanted to see you," I said. It was the truth. "I didn't want to sleep, or be alone." More truth. "And I'm confused." The most truth.
She licked her lips. "Do you want to take me back to your place?"
"Do you still want me to?"
Her expression was inscrutable. "I don't know," she said. She put her fingers to her lips, idly chewed on a nail. "I was up working, and I don't want to go back to working. Nor do I want to sleep." She sighed, and shrugged. "And I don't think I want to call up someone else. I think I want to go home with you."
For some reason I can't explain, the way she said it, just then, almost brought me to tears. It was so simple and so damn friendly.
She saw that, and sighed again. Stephanie could be very tender at very strange times. It was the hour, I think. The hurt and the need and the strangeness of it all. "Johnny," she said, "I think I'm getting to a place where I can't call you a fuck buddy anymore. But I also don't think I'm quite to a place where you being with someone else bothers me. But..."
"But before we go any further than that, maybe we should just go back to my place," I finished.
"You think you're up for it?"
"I'm always up for you."
It sounds like a line. It was a line. But it was also true. She knew that. She could see that. And, when she reached under the table, she felt that.
"Do I know her?" she said.
"I don't think you'll ever meet her."
"Let's stop talking about that," she decided. "I'm here for a booty call, after all. So come on." She stood up and gave me her hand. "This frigid bitch wants you inside her."
I took it and grinned. "Steph, I think I love you."
"That's so sad for you," she said, pulling me out of the cafe.
She made me shower before I fucked her, but before the shower was through she was in there with me, on her knees, sucking my cock. We fucked until the sun came up, and that morning was the first time we actually slept together.
I woke up, briefly, with her hand d****d across my neck and her head on the other side of my pillow. I looked at her, at the bedside clock, at the morning light on the far wall, and wondered where all of us would go from here. And then, with one soft, smooth sigh, I decided to stop worrying, to let the world roll on, and to sleep.
* * *
Several days later I came to the house to talk to my father. He was alone - mom was at work, Moni was at college - and we had one of those good, gruff, manly conversations that mostly consist of grunts and, "It'll be alrights" and "Fuckin' hospital bills" and "Wish I could have a beer right nows."
At some point, I told him I was being torn between two women. First thing he asked was if it was fucking up my grades. "No they're doing pretty good," I assured him.
"Good," he said. "Which one's prettier?"
We both laughed, and it was good to hear him laugh like that. Then he said, "I'm supposed to say, don't be selfish and be respectful and all that, but hell, you think I ever got a chance like that? Thank God your mother ain't too bright, otherwise she wouldn't be with a dunce like me. But you, you find two dumb broads to take advantage of. I dunno if my heart could take that excitement." He grinned and scratched his stubble. "I dunno know what the hell you're supposed to do, k**. One of 'em's bound to get smart and dump your ass sooner or later. Till then, work hard, play hard."
He scratched his chest, right over the place where his heart was beating. "Maybe I'd've said something different last week. Now... It's a short life, k**. Sometimes it gets pretty weird. Sometimes it gets pretty nice. I got a sneakin' suspicion you're mixing your weird in your nice, but you know what?" He shrugged.
Then he leaned over. "Either one the kind of girl you'd bring home to your ma?"
I thought about that for a moment or two. "Uh, well..."
My father leaned back laughing. "Didn't think so." He thumped me on the shoulder. "You stay classy, Johnny."
In retrospect, it wasn't the most helpful conversation. But it did make me feel better, somehow.
After my father died, I would sometimes comfort myself with the thought that, while he wouldn't necessarily approve of the choices I made, he might have at least understood them.
Maybe.
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