I led the Stevens girl and her hourglass figure into my bedroom.
“Lay on my bed, pretty girl,” I instructed.
She sat on the bed and brought her long legs to the duvet. She reclined, letting her head rest on the crook of an arm. Her eyes gravitated to my bookshelves.
She glanced back as I undressed. Her eyes took in my body, recording the image of the man she had traveled to meet. She saw me nude before she knew my name.
She removed her glasses, placing them on a nightstand.
She was quiet as I moved to her side. I lowered my mouth to hers. We kissed, my hands getting to know her body, her hands learning the feel of a man’s body.
I moved to cover her with my torso. I opened my mouth to contain hers, to refocus her tongue and teeth from urgency to ardor. My hands held her cheeks firm before pushing her hair back so that I could see her face.
I pulled back for a look, but my mouth drew me back to hers.
My hips pressed into her. She trembled as before.
“I think we should fuck now,” I said, reaching for a condom.
“Yes, please, let’s,” she said. I could tell she meant for that phrase to sound nonchalant, but it came out fast and tinged with nervousness.
“You okay?” I asked.
“I’m very okay,” she smiled. “Come on, let’s fuck.”
I kissed her as I positioned my cock against her cunt. “I should warn you,” she said. “I’m pretty tight.”
“I know this already,” I said, sliding my head between her wet lips.
“I hear that’s often advantageous for the sensations of the male organ,” she smirked.
“I’ve heard that myself,” I nodded, opening a bottle of lube. “That is, once you get the male organ in there. Here, let me lift your legs up.”
I pressed forward, parting her slowly. She gasped. I pushed a little more, edging my way into her.
Her pussy was tighter than a miser’s heart.
I soothed her thighs and breasts, murmuring as I went deeper into her body.
I dropped my body, pressing our bodies together as we kissed. I felt her pulse race against my chest and though my cock.
“You okay?” I whispered.
“Yes,” she nodded. “God, this is good.”
“It is good, isn’t it?” I kissed her neck and began to slowly move inside her.
She began to move back.
Soon, our fucking followed the fervor of our kisses. I grabbed her shoulders, pressing deep as I flipped us.
“Unh!” she groaned, suddenly on top.
“Now, you grind down on me,” I suggested.
“Oh, that’s incredible,” she nodded. Her face was gone again, vanished into her hair. I caressed her slender waist and palmed her firm ass.
She rode me back and forth before, in an epiphany, finding her rhythm.
“Baby, you are so beautiful,” I said softly. “And you are doing so well.”
“This is so incredible,” she repeated, paying close attention to her body’s sensations as she fucked me, closely studying the effect of sex on herself.
She was cerebral, even in her sensuality.
I pinched a nipple. I raised my head to chew on her breast. I bite hard, holding her flesh in my teeth.
She fucked down on me harder.
I let her enjoy herself for a nice long while before we took a break.
“Sex is really great,” she said, then laughed. “Understatement.”
“I’m a big fan.” I said, standing. “Hey, do you mind if I take some pictures? I want to document your body before we fuck it up too much. That bite on your tit is going to be purple soon.”
“It is?” she said, looking to her breast. “I barely noticed that you bit it.”
“Cool, right?” I retrieved my camera. “So, do you mind?”
“Not at all, for your private viewing.”
“Of course.” I adjusted the lighting. “Though, if we get a nice blurry one, I may ask to post it on my blog. Don’t worry, I’d only do that with your approval.”
“Fine. How do you want me?”
“Just act natural,” I said, snapping. “I’ll adjust my angles.”
We talked as I snapped. I told it that I was only now beginning to photograph my friends in bed. “I’m not the brightest bulb,” I said, peering at the viewfinder. “Three years into this life, and I finally realize I should be documenting it in pictures.”
“You’ve got words,” she replied.
We sat to review the images.
“Look at this one,” I said. “You look just like a fifties pin up.”
“Son, I’m hot,” she laughed.
“The camera loves you,” I said, putting the camera aside. “But now, I guess we can no longer delay the inevitable. We need to see how bad your blowjob is.”
“God, I’m sure it’s awful,” she winced. “I’ve never done it.”
“You’ve never sucked cock at all?” I asked, tugging off my condom and reclining in the pillows.
“Nope,” she shook her head. “Never.”
“Well, that won’t do.” I held my cock forward. “Let’s see what you’ve got. Just try it nice and slow, and I’ll talk you though it.”
“Okay, thanks.” She stepped forward on her knees and lowered her face to my cock. She took it in hand and gingerly licked the shaft.
I petted her hair. “That’s so sweet, so nice . . .”
Her tongue caressed my cock, her pale eyes alternating between my eyes and my cock.
I reached for my camera. “Let me document your first blowjob, pretty.” I snapped some photographs as she brought my cock to her lips. “Aw, that’s just lovely,” I clicked. “Okay, now suck my dick, darling.”
She looked up, her eyes on me and my camera. “’He goes to supper: not where he eats, but where he is eaten.’"
“Source?” I asked.
“Shakespeare,” she said into my cock. “Hamlet.”
“Very smart. Now suck my dick.”
She took my head into her mouth.
“Nice, nice . . .” I commended.
She went lower.
“Good, that’s great . . .”
She went lower still, pulling my cock into her throat.
“Whoa, wha wha wha!” I gasped. I dropped my camera to the bed. “Hang on, whoa!”
She started to pull back. “No, I didn’t mean stop,” I said. “Do that again.”
She swallowed me. I pumped slightly. She had all of me.
I rested my cock in her. She continued to hold me in place.
I fucked slowly. She swirled her tongue.
I took her head in my hands and pushed my cock back into her throat. She didn’t hesitate.
“Okay, come up for air,” I panted.
She sat up and wiped her mouth. “Was that okay?”
“Are you kidding?” I said. “You’ve never sucked cock? Never?”
“Kid, you are a born cocksucker. That’s great head. Really, really great. You must have been absent the day they handed out gag reflexes.”
“Thanks,” she smiled. “But I have a question: how do I breath when you’re in my esophagus?”
“Ah, good question. First, take a deep breath before you swallow me. Second, remember, you don’t have to deep throat the whole time. You can tease with your throat before you plunge my cock back. Also, when you are sucking, you don’t need to keep your lips firm the whole time. You can breath through your mouth.”
“Oh, like this?” she asked, taking my cock back in her mouth. She panted around the sides of my shaft. “Hmmph?”
“Perfect,” I said. “You learn fast. Now, get that cock out of your mouth. I’m going to fuck the shit out of you.”
She sat up. “Yes sir, professor,” she grinned.
“Call me that again,” I said, reaching for a condom, “And I’ll fuck you like you’ve never been fucked.”
“I’ve never been fucked . . . professor.”
“All that is past now,” I said. “Hand me that camera and get your ass to the edge of the bed.”
The next break found us actually leaving the bedroom.
“So, now that we’ve fucked, can I know your name, Jefferson?”
“If you’ll give me yours, pretty girl.”
“You don’t buy ‘Esther?’”
“I do not, no.”
“Smart boy. It’s not my name. I borrowed it from Saul Bellow. Esther Fenchel is one of the eponymous character's love interests in The Adventures of Augie March.” She nodded to the books on a side table. “You should read it, if you can tear yourself away from Valley of the Dolls.”
I laughed. “I embarrassed to say that I haven’t even started Valley of the Dolls.”
“What are you reading?”
“I’m reading this great biography of Bing Crosby . . . ”
“Weren’t you reading that at Christmas?”
I felt a twinge of remorse. “That was just three weeks ago.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“It’s six hundred pages!”
She shrugged. “My name is Nicole,” she said.
I told her my name. “Pleased to meet you, Nicole.”
I poured a bourbon and sat to watch as she pulled out a package of Marlboro Lights.
“I should’ve warned you. I’m a chain smoker.”
“You might’ve warned me of a few things,” I said, sipping.
“There were a few things of which I was unaware,” she rejoindered. “And others you needed to discover.” She lit her cigarette and exhaled.
She looked up, resting the cigarette in her fingers. “’Yet all experience is an arch where through gleams that untraveled world, whose margin fades forever and forever when I move. How dull it is to pause, to make an end, to rust unburnished, not to shine in use.’”
She flicked an ash.
I swallowed the bourbon that rested in my throat.
“Source?” I asked.
“Tennyson,” she answered, drawing a puff. “Ulysses.”
“Impressive that you quote,” I nodded.
“It’s what I do,” she replied, stamping out a dead butt. “It’s how my mind works. I capture language. I can quote Tennyson, Eliot, Shakespeare . . . and your blog.”
“My blog?” I sputtered.
“Yes, of course.” She drew another cigarette. “Remember when you took my panties?”
“Very well,” I smiled, raising my bourbon. I took a sip.
“Do you recall what you said as you took them?” She lit her smoke.
I furrowed my brow. “What I said? Well, no, not exactly.”
Her lighter clicked on the table. “You said, ‘cute panties, did you wear these for me?’”
I looked at her, not following.
“So I provided the next line, ‘I often wear cute underwear for no reason at all.’”
“’The next line?’” I asked, resting my bourbon in a palm.
“That’s exactly what you said to someone else when you first met. So I replied with her response.”
“Wow, are you serious? I said that? And you can quote it?”
She exhaled a plum of smoke. “That’s how my mind works.”
“Incredible. Well, I suppose I need some new material if I’m getting redundant.”
“Yeah, you may want to work on that. Remember in our web cam conversation, when you wrote ‘you didn’t have to be attractive, but it helps?’ That’s what you said to Celia in your first post.” She took a drag. “Well, a paraphrase, but approximately the same.”
“I hope you don’t think I carry a set of stock lines,” I apologized. “I guess my mind just has its limitations.”
She drew a puff and exhaled. “You don’t have any cause for concern. You’re an excellent writer.”
“Thanks. Well, I’m honored to be in your repertoire . . . though a little daunted by the company of Tennyson, Eliot and the Bard.”
“You have one advantage over them,” she said, flicking an ash.
She took another drag. “I can’t fuck dead writers.”
I took a sip of my bourbon. “Nicole, finish your cigarette.”
She put it out. “Done.”