“Do you have a condom?” I asked as we started to aim
for upstairs.
“No, do you have any? I mean, you said you hadn’t been
fucked in a long time so I didn’t think we’d need one.”
“I mean yeah but I’m not crazy!”
(Seriously people, it’s basically legal to bounty-hunt
abortion seekers in Texas these days, is there anything LESS HOT than trying to
shirk safer sex? There might be one thing less hot, stay tuned.)
He admitted he *might* have a condom in the car so I smacked
his ass and sent him out the door to go get it. I felt impatient and not
exactly hopeful.
But yay! He had one and we went upstairs.
“Okay I want you to kneel down.” He wasn’t so much dominating
as he was gently instructional.
It was nice to have a dick in my mouth again after
aaaaaalllll this time. I really missed the taste (Didn’t make him have the
condom on for this part, probably I should have.) and the fullness in my throat.
“Deeper now,” he said, guiding my head with his hand. The
tip of his dick hit that part of my throat that makes me feel a little squirty
and a little scared. I gagged in a way that I didn’t mind but that definitely shifted
me away from my own room and into porn-mind.
“I want you to spit on it.” Yeah no. I ignored that
request and I humbly ask that everybody look at porn just maybe slightly less.
Realizing I wasn’t going to be spitting on anything, he
shifted to helping me do the best possible job, which I really appreciated.
Love any time spent getting better at penises, learning about angles and
rhythms and…
“Okay now I want to see how tight that pussy is. Take
your pants off and get to the edge of the bed.”
Ahhhhhhhhhh he felt sooooo good. We fit together so
nicely and he was both confident and competent enough that I didn’t have to
worry about a single thing in the entire world for a few minutes.
“Move back onto the bed, I want to fuck you right.” And
ohyes, he did. I hung onto the bars of the headboard and made all the noise and
felt. Just. Relief. Welcome, hooray, thank you.
He started talking about how he was going to take the
condom off and come inside me though, so I said “Wait, what?!” and wriggled out
from under him until he convinced me it was fine, it was on, he was just
talking shit.
(Again! So gross! Be a good citizen of sex!)
A lot of his talk was so much fun though:
“You deserve this. You said you haven’t been fucked
since 2018? Tell me about 2018.”
“It was…this guy...from down the street…and we liked
to watch…Gilmore Girls…afterward we…argued about the…midterm elections…”
And:
“You like this, don’t you? You watch a lot of porn,
don’t you.”
“No just a little…Hentai… once in a while…I don’t…really
need it…I have a good imagination…”
And:
“I love all this hair you have on your pussy. Don’t
shave, do you understand me?”
(Okay points for that but I probably would shave for
The Coach if he asked me nicely.)
And:
“This pussy is mine now, right?”
“Um, no. It’s actually mine.”
But then there was this moment that I can’t quite get
my head around. Now, I don’t mind being objectified as a white woman, that
seems totally fair, a little bit satisfying and corrective. And I should not be
in the business of yucking anybody’s yum or getting protective of a grown man
while he is CLEARLY having a good time.
But:
“You like that. You like that n****r dick don’t you?
It’s okay, you can say it.”
After I winced and looked away, he dialed it back to “You
like that big, black dick, don’t you.”
“We don’t need to make it about race.”
(Okay. I am attracted to black guys (and also, white
guys are fucking terrifying) but I also spend maybe too much time worrying that
they’ll think I’m fetishizing them, that I’m Allison Williams from Get Out. I
should think a whole bunch about this later but first let’s finish the scene.)
After that jarring/heartbreaking moment, we got back on
track.
“Okay are you ready? Can I fuck you harder now?”
“Oh yes PLEASE.”
It felt so good to wrap my arms around his big sexy
strong arms, his muscular shoulders, to kiss him one more time and feel him let
go inside me.
And then he was dressed so fast. He made noises about
owing me cuddling another time, but I knew I wasn’t going to take him up on it.
I put my pants back on the come down and lock him out.
In a warm, fuzzy, kinda-shocked-at-myself daze, there
was exactly one person I wanted to talk to about this. Not super-advisable, but
my guard was all the way down so I texted The Coach.
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