- Back from my trip overseas. Didn’t want to waste time getting back to work. Another anecdote about me and girlfriends for all of you.
Heather had long blond hair and reminded me of Gwyneth Paltrow. She liked to wear a long overcoat with jeans or a black skirt underneath, and high leather boots. We shared a sociology class, began to walk together to the next class, began to meet at each other in the evenings in friend’s rooms, then watched a late night movie together along in a crowded room of students sitting on desks, sprawled on couches, the floor, and scattered pillows. We passed around a jug of corn whiskey.
After the movie, our steps drenched with alcohol, we laughed at our own drunkenness. We walked back to my room. My arm was around her waist. Her slender hip bumped mine as we walked. I was already hard. Before getting to my room, I pressed her back against the brick wall of the dorm. We kissed and I pressed my pelvis into hers. There was no question but what I wanted. She returned my thrusts with her own, moaning into my mouth and almost violently devouring my kisses.
We climbed the stairs to my room. She went in. I closed and locked the door behind us. She turned and flopped backwards on the bed, hands up and laughing languorously as though the room were spinning. Her feet were still on the floor, knees bent, and her thighs were parted casually. Her trench coat had flopped to either side. She was wearing her black skirt with blue tights underneath and a belly button top. The sheen of her skin shown underneath. I stood over her, almost between her feet. She still looked at the ceiling, but her gaze slowly met mine. Her smile changed to something more knowing. Her lips were moist. She crossed her wrists above, plucking at the blanket, waiting for me.
I unzipped. Her expression changed again when she saw my cock, lips parting, legs parting. The thrill of a girl seeing my cock, plainly showing her the what she did to me, already dribbled from the tip. I knelt between her still widening thighs, reached under and pulled her tights up and to the middle of her thighs. I yanked her to the bed’s edge, her ankles up and at my ears, and hungrily opened her. Her eyes turned upward and she moaned. I sunk into heat, wetness and succor of a woman’s arousal. There were no niceties. We were both drunk. I thrust hard again and again. Her wrists uncrossed and she gripped the blanket above her. Her punctured breaths turned to pitched cries and when I finally flooded her abdomen she receptively lifted her back and tugged me against her.
We made love three more times that night, waking in the middle of the night, unable to sleep for our arousal, but none of this is the reason I’m telling you this story. What I remember most is the next morning. We woke, both of us naked and hungover from drink and sex. The sheets were still damp, twisted and pungent with our fucking. I was ready to fuck her again, was hard, but had to piss, and desperately.
I got up. She watched me, hair fanned over the pillow, saw my cock and studied almost idly. Her legs were parted and the corner of her trench coat was draped over her abdomen. We’d slept under it as if it were a blanket. Our clothes were on the floor and over the chair. Books and papers had been pushed off the desk in the middle of the night. The room was a mess but she was full of my come.
Before I’d gotten to the bathroom she said. “Wait.”
“I have to piss,” I said.
“I want to do it.”
She slipped off the bed and stood with the riveting grace of a nakedness. Forget all else. I was ready, then and there, to piss more semen into her; but she gave me a knowing grin. “Don’t you have to piss?”
“Then turn around.” She stepped behind me, reached around, and held my cock. “Can I? I want to feel your cock when you piss. I want to aim it.” My head swam with the sensation of someone’s hand, a girl’s, holding and aiming my cock as I pissed. She moved a little to my side and peered curiously around my shoulder. “Am I aiming it right?”
“Maybe a little lower.”
“Are you ready?”
“Then I want you to piss,” she said. I did. The sudden jet of pee hit the toilet’s tank. She gasped and quickly aimed my cock downward until the piss landed heavily in the water, but she wasn’t satisfied. Before I was half done she was stroking me. My groin tightened and the flow of piss stopped. “Keep pissing!”
She laughed. “Do it or I’ll stop.”
I did, and spurts of piss landed everywhere but in the toilet. At that instant she bit my shoulder and pushed a finger up my ass. I shouted, groaned, and my piss turned to rapid bursts of come that striped the wall, toilet tank and plopped in the water. My knees almost buckled. I groaned again, head thrown back, and shuddered. She had aimed my cock downward and squeezed it from the base to the tip between a thumb and forefinger. A mix of piss and come began to flow again until that too dribbled to a stop.
“Do you ever do that in the morning?”
I shook my head. Speechless.
And that— that is what I remember most vividly. Not fucking her for the first time, not waking up in the middle of the night to drive my cock into her wakening moan, but the next morning when she wanted to hold my cock as I pissed, and afterward when she knelt in so much piss and come and sucked me to another erection.
I had no idea desire could be like that.
William Crimson | July 28 2018