“I loved that,” he said. “I loved watching you give yourself pleasure. You’re such a hungry beast. I want to see you do that again and again. I want to watch all of your tricks, learn exactly how you like it best.”
As he said the words, I could see the action-I could imagine showing him how I use the shower nozzle to reach climax. How I like to sometimes go without panties for a day, so that I’m in total anticipation mode when I get home, all juicy and ready to come. There were so many new ways for the two of us to play. The door had only been opened a crack… all of the orgasmic bliss was ready to spill out.
I took a big shivering breath, and then licked my lips. “There will be an encore show in an hour,” I said. “But payment’s in advance.” Then I stroked his hard-on through his black jeans and prepared to receive the adulation of my number one fan.
Reunion
By Alison Tyler
“So, do you remember Terry?” Jill asked me. She was taking me on a trip down memory lane over the phone. Although I’ve always felt I had a decent memory, there were people from our college dorm I couldn’t recall. Not their names. Not their faces. They might never have existed-or Jill might have been making them up to tease me and make me feel old.
“You have to remember Terry,” she continued.
I had only just heard from Jill for the first time after hooking up online nearly two decades after we’d last seen each other. That’s something social media is good for: Making connections with people you were never really that close with in the first place.
“Terry,” I said, trying to place the name with a face, even if it was a face from twenty years before.
“You know. Terry. Terry who would sneak into the girls’ showers and act as if he’d accidentally walked into the wrong bathroom.”
“Oh, yeah,” I said. “Terry.” The shower story had jogged my memory, but I recalled the situation differently. I didn’t remember him sneaking. I remembered inviting him to come into the shower with me on a day that we decided to skip classes. We’d spent a lazy morning soaping each other all over in one blue-tiled stall, and I’d gotten one of my first real tastes of enjoying the male form. Prior to that, most of my erotic encounters had been fumbles in the dark. Terry and I, beneath the fluorescent lights and hot shower spray, had explored each other’s bodies endlessly.
The freedom of being away at school had not only gone to my head-it had gone to my libido. Terry had been one of the first college boys I dated. And by dated, I meant fucked.
I was on the University’s reunion page with Jill now, and over the phone we tried to refresh each other’s memories with snippets of our misspent youth. One of the problems was that we remembered these people from two decades prior, when they’d walked around in ripped jeans and t-shirts with obscene slogans, not business suits and designer brands. Back then they’d had all their hair and none of the middle-aged spread. Sure, some looked the same-and some clearly had been toying with Botox and other avant-garde fillers. But who among us looks like they did back in college?
“What about Danny?” Jill asked. “Did you ever do Danny?”
Somehow, our trip down Memory Lane had taken an X-rated side street into the red light district of our youth, and we were now not only talking about our former friends and acquaintances, but also our former lovers-and the different kinks they’d enjoyed.
“Danny…” I repeated. “Was he the one who only liked to fuck girls during…”
“Their periods!” she squealed.
“I don’t know how he was able to always nail my time of the month. He had an uncanny sixth sense. He always knocked on my door as soon as I went on the rag.”
“Crazy,” Jill said. “I went on a date with him and I tried to tell him we couldn’t, because, I was, you know…”
“And he liked it!”
“’Like’ isn’t even the right word. The aftermath was historic. My sheets looked like something Jackson Pollack would have created.”
Didn’t seem so off the wall now, but for an eighteen-year-old, fresh from the farmland, I had been baffled by the concept. I didn’t think you could do it when you were having your monthly visitor. Danny had changed all that.
“I got into it, too,” Jill confessed. “I felt totally like a woman, or something. I wanted to stand up on the mattress and call out ‘This is who I am, take me or leave me.’”
“And he took you.”
“Every month.”
“Like clockwork.”
“There were a lot of pretty kinky co-eds on our floor, weren’t there?” Jill continued. I realized we’d left the detour that was Danny and returned to the main drag. And speaking of drag, Jill was already talking about the shy boy who liked to cross-dress when he thought nobody was looking.
“You do remember him, don’t you?” Jill asked.
“I think so,” I said, stalling for time. “Why. Did you find his picture? Is he dressed like a girl?”
“No, he’s sort of… androgynous in the photo online.”
I caught up with her. Marcus. Sweet Marcus. When he’d come into my room during a progressive party, he’d drunkenly slipped on my cobalt satin bathrobe and asked if I’d do his makeup. We’d all thought that was a gas until I’d noticed he was hard. After the rest of the students had left, Marcus and I had made love. I’d gotten off looking at his dark eyes ringed with shimmery liner, his lips all red and glossy like cherries. I found his photo now, and I saw what Jill meant. He was good looking as ever, but there was a definite feminine sex appeal to the way he smiled for the camera. I got a little shiver remembering how it had felt to apply the lipstick to his full lips while sitting on his lap.
“Who else?” I asked, and my voice was shaking a little bit. I hoped Jill wouldn’t notice.
“Matt,” she said.
“Which one?” There had been two Matthews on our dorm floor.
“Take your pick,” Jill said. “They each were freaks in bed.”
“I only did the one who thought he was going to be the next David Bowie,” I told her. “He sang for me after we fucked.”
“Oh, Cool Matt. You didn’t do Matt the Stud?”
“No, what was he like?”
“He had to do it in front of a mirror.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“He actually positioned a mirror on the ceiling over his dorm bed. He had the top bunk.”
“I don’t remember any of this at all.”
“And he liked the girls to be on top, so he could see them and sort of see himself if the angle was right. He didn’t like dirty talk, but he requested that girls talk to him about how hot he was.”
“Damn. That’s all sorts of insecurities wrapped up in one hot package.”
“At least he was good,” Jill said with a sigh.
We both silently clicked for a minute, paging through the photos. One stood out for me, and I could tell when Jill had reached the page at the same time I did.
“Oh, there’s Rhonda.”
“Rhonda,” I breathed.
She’d been my first girl on girl experience. From the way Jill said her name, it sounded as if she’d been Jill’s, too.
“How did she get you?” Jill asked.
“You make it sound as if she was a predator.”
“Wasn’t she?”
I was quiet for a moment, remembering. How had I hooked up with Rhonda? There had been a party on the floor-there were parties every night in somebody’s room, students celebrating As or drowning their Fs, pretending to study or having a fuck studying event. Now that I thought back, I’d skipped that particular get-together, reading in my room in spite of the noise from down the hall. Rhonda had come looking for me, a bottle of wine in her hand, which had struck me as classy. Usually, we drank beer or hard liquor. She and I had spent the evening in my bed, taking sips out of the bottle, then taking sips from each other.