Part 1 of 2
There was none of that first-date weirdness. I made her laugh, which is always a good sign. We spent most of the evening laughing and smiling. We seemed really at ease with each other right off the bat. We both had the same goofy, geeky sense of humor. It felt like we really clicked. It felt nice. And so, at the end of the night, I risked a kiss.
There was none of that first-date weirdness. I made her laugh, which is always a good sign. We spent most of the evening laughing and smiling. We seemed really at ease with each other right off the bat. We both had the same goofy, geeky sense of humor. It felt like we really clicked. It felt nice. And so, at the end of the night, I risked a kiss.
SPOILERS! (Click to view)
She was tall, at least an inch taller than me, and rail thin. She had short, flame red hair with black streaks, and there was a confusion of thin white scars like a spider's web up and down both of her arms. Her eyes were a piercing pale blue, active and full of intensity. She had a great, gorgeous smile that came easily, and an infectious and unselfconscious laugh. Her breasts were on the small side (she obviously hadn't felt the need to wear a bra under her black 'I Hate George Bush' t-shirt), and the nipples were (I thought I could tell) pierced. Her ass, cradled in those soft, tattered black jeans, made me drool.
I thought we had great chemistry. So I was surprised and quite embarrassed when she pulled violently away from my 'goodnight' kiss. She suddenly looked like a woman who has just been stung by a wasp.
"Sorry" I said.
"Don't be," she said, backing away, "I had a really good time."
"Well. Goodnight then." I said
"'Bye" and she disappeared into the dark streets of Brooklyn.
I was kind of bummed out about it, but I didn't stress too much. I wasn't the first time I'd misread signals. Usually not quite so drastically, but whatever. No harm done. So I was surprised when she called my cell phone two days later.
"I'm really sorry." she said. "It's a problem I have. I should have warned you. I have this phobia. I can't deal with physical contact. I don't like to be touched."
"It's ok." I told her.
"Listen," she said, "I really did have a good time with you. So I was wondering if you'd like to go out again? Like maybe tonight?"
"Sure." I heard myself saying. And why not? I did like her a lot.
We had a great time again, and we laughed and drank and talked about math and D&D and comic books, and we both got a little drunk.
At the end of the night, we found ourselves standing on the empty sidewalk, like a couple of shy teens at a high school dance. She was standing facing me, about ten feet away, with both hands in her jeans pockets, fidgeting.
"Listen," she said shyly, "Would you like to -crap I'm really no good at this- Fuck it. Do you wanna come home with me?"
Before I could respond, she went on "You're not gonna get laid or anything. I can't do that. But I thought, you know, we could just masturbate together. And watch each other. If you wanted to."
"Ok." I said.
And so she took me back to her place, a tiny and extremely messy studio on the top floor of a dilapidated five-story tenement building deep in the Lower East Side.
"I've never actually done this before," she said, "brought a guy home, I mean. So I guess I'm feeling a little self-conscious." She took a deep breath and suddenly pulled her t-shirt off over her head. She gave me a fierce, defiant look, and unsnapped her jeans, letting them fall in a crumpled heap around her ankles, then kicked off her black panties.
She stood facing me, hands on her hips, biting her lower lip hard.
She had an amazing body, lean and muscular with subtle curves. Her breasts were small and pointy, and the dark pink nipples were erect, and pierced with thick steel barbells. There was a shock of curly black pubic hair between her legs. She was a roadmap of scars, mostly old cuts and what looked like burns, but they were dwarfed by a vicious red and white scar, nearly an inch wide, that nearly bisected her body. It ran from the base of her throat, straight down her sternum almost down to her navel before taking a hard left turn and tracking the underside of her ribcage.
"You next." she said simply.
It was my turn to feel self-conscious as I stripped under her silent gaze. I could feel the intensity of those pale eyes on me as I stripped. My cock was already very hard, and she giggled a little as I freed it from the tangle of my boxers. That giggle helped put me at ease.
"Let's get on the bed," she said, "I'm really turned on. You're hot! And nice cock by the way. Do you want some lube?" she asked, offering me a small plastic bottle.
We lay next to each other on her bed, head to toe, in a parody of the 69 position. My hands were slick with lubrication. I had a gorgeous view of her petite little pussy, pouting open and wet. I could smell her sex, I could almost taste her, I could feel the heat radiating out of her. My cock was so hard it ached.
"You're cock is beautiful!" she said, petting herself, exposing her pink swollen little clit, "I love how you touch yourself! I can't wait to see you shoot off." She worked a finger up inside her pussy, while another busy finger stroked her clitoris.
I jerked off as I watched her masturbate, inches from my face. It didn't take either of us very long; we were both really excited.
"Please come for me" she gasped, fingers squishing on her pussy and clit, "I want to see you come Just don't get any on me, ok?"
I was so ready! I tickled my asshole with the tip of one finger, and grasped my cock tightly and stroked fast, abandoning myself to it. It started in my toes, curling and arching my body, a shock of pleasure all the way up my spine. I cried out loud and came, squirting come all over my belly. She moaned with pleasure, and her body shook as she orgasmed, again and again, until she was spent.
We did that a lot over the following days and weeks. We'd go out on a date, we'd have a great time together, and then we'd go back to her house and masturbate. Sometimes she'd use a vibrator, sometimes her fingers, sometimes she'd do it with a vibrator in her pussy and a dildo in her ass; and sometimes I'd be the one with the dildo up my butt. It was really amazing, and sexy, and weirder than any relationship I'd ever been in. We never kissed, we never held hands or hugged. And at some point in the second week or so, I realized that I was in love with her.
She was tall, at least an inch taller than me, and rail thin. She had short, flame red hair with black streaks, and there was a confusion of thin white scars like a spider's web up and down both of her arms. Her eyes were a piercing pale blue, active and full of intensity. She had a great, gorgeous smile that came easily, and an infectious and unselfconscious laugh. Her breasts were on the small side (she obviously hadn't felt the need to wear a bra under her black 'I Hate George Bush' t-shirt), and the nipples were (I thought I could tell) pierced. Her ass, cradled in those soft, tattered black jeans, made me drool.
I thought we had great chemistry. So I was surprised and quite embarrassed when she pulled violently away from my 'goodnight' kiss. She suddenly looked like a woman who has just been stung by a wasp.
"Sorry" I said.
"Don't be," she said, backing away, "I had a really good time."
"Well. Goodnight then." I said
"'Bye" and she disappeared into the dark streets of Brooklyn.
I was kind of bummed out about it, but I didn't stress too much. I wasn't the first time I'd misread signals. Usually not quite so drastically, but whatever. No harm done. So I was surprised when she called my cell phone two days later.
"I'm really sorry." she said. "It's a problem I have. I should have warned you. I have this phobia. I can't deal with physical contact. I don't like to be touched."
"It's ok." I told her.
"Listen," she said, "I really did have a good time with you. So I was wondering if you'd like to go out again? Like maybe tonight?"
"Sure." I heard myself saying. And why not? I did like her a lot.
We had a great time again, and we laughed and drank and talked about math and D&D and comic books, and we both got a little drunk.
At the end of the night, we found ourselves standing on the empty sidewalk, like a couple of shy teens at a high school dance. She was standing facing me, about ten feet away, with both hands in her jeans pockets, fidgeting.
"Listen," she said shyly, "Would you like to -crap I'm really no good at this- Fuck it. Do you wanna come home with me?"
Before I could respond, she went on "You're not gonna get laid or anything. I can't do that. But I thought, you know, we could just masturbate together. And watch each other. If you wanted to."
"Ok." I said.
And so she took me back to her place, a tiny and extremely messy studio on the top floor of a dilapidated five-story tenement building deep in the Lower East Side.
"I've never actually done this before," she said, "brought a guy home, I mean. So I guess I'm feeling a little self-conscious." She took a deep breath and suddenly pulled her t-shirt off over her head. She gave me a fierce, defiant look, and unsnapped her jeans, letting them fall in a crumpled heap around her ankles, then kicked off her black panties.
She stood facing me, hands on her hips, biting her lower lip hard.
She had an amazing body, lean and muscular with subtle curves. Her breasts were small and pointy, and the dark pink nipples were erect, and pierced with thick steel barbells. There was a shock of curly black pubic hair between her legs. She was a roadmap of scars, mostly old cuts and what looked like burns, but they were dwarfed by a vicious red and white scar, nearly an inch wide, that nearly bisected her body. It ran from the base of her throat, straight down her sternum almost down to her navel before taking a hard left turn and tracking the underside of her ribcage.
"You next." she said simply.
It was my turn to feel self-conscious as I stripped under her silent gaze. I could feel the intensity of those pale eyes on me as I stripped. My cock was already very hard, and she giggled a little as I freed it from the tangle of my boxers. That giggle helped put me at ease.
"Let's get on the bed," she said, "I'm really turned on. You're hot! And nice cock by the way. Do you want some lube?" she asked, offering me a small plastic bottle.
We lay next to each other on her bed, head to toe, in a parody of the 69 position. My hands were slick with lubrication. I had a gorgeous view of her petite little pussy, pouting open and wet. I could smell her sex, I could almost taste her, I could feel the heat radiating out of her. My cock was so hard it ached.
"You're cock is beautiful!" she said, petting herself, exposing her pink swollen little clit, "I love how you touch yourself! I can't wait to see you shoot off." She worked a finger up inside her pussy, while another busy finger stroked her clitoris.
I jerked off as I watched her masturbate, inches from my face. It didn't take either of us very long; we were both really excited.
"Please come for me" she gasped, fingers squishing on her pussy and clit, "I want to see you come Just don't get any on me, ok?"
I was so ready! I tickled my asshole with the tip of one finger, and grasped my cock tightly and stroked fast, abandoning myself to it. It started in my toes, curling and arching my body, a shock of pleasure all the way up my spine. I cried out loud and came, squirting come all over my belly. She moaned with pleasure, and her body shook as she orgasmed, again and again, until she was spent.
We did that a lot over the following days and weeks. We'd go out on a date, we'd have a great time together, and then we'd go back to her house and masturbate. Sometimes she'd use a vibrator, sometimes her fingers, sometimes she'd do it with a vibrator in her pussy and a dildo in her ass; and sometimes I'd be the one with the dildo up my butt. It was really amazing, and sexy, and weirder than any relationship I'd ever been in. We never kissed, we never held hands or hugged. And at some point in the second week or so, I realized that I was in love with her.
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merlowe