It was 3am, and the force of our passion swept the door open. He forced me against the wall, kissing me on the mouth with both his lips, inserting his tongue into it as he did so.
“Are you over 16?”, he panted.
“Of course, baby”, I breathed. “If that’s OK with you.” I rooted through my bag for my provisional driver’s license, but the heat of his eyes told me that wasn’t necessary.
He unzipped. He was hung like a donkey, and stacked like a gorilla. I cast my eagle eyes upon him, and he stared back doggedly at my pussy and great tits. I went hoarse.
Then he entered me, with his penis in the usual way. And when we made love, it was like two hairy box kites, entangled romantically in the breeze, the coloured fabric and inner mesh of our limbs being dashed together by the winds of our attraction, except that one of the kites had a cock (though it was, aptly, in my "box"!).
Also, he was wearing a condom, which I didn’t mention earlier as it didn’t fit into the narrative. I don’t know when he put it on; I know it was definitely before, I just don’t know how long before.
I think it was probably right before; he might have had it on all night, but many girls would think that presumptuous. Not me, as long as it is changed regularly and cared for appropriately, but each to their own.
A lot of people ask me, “what’s your favourite position”, meaning in sex. I’ve thought long and hard about this, and of the two, I think I prefer “on top”. This leaves my hands free for other things, such as tickling, or origami.
I’m a fan of both, though, and often I like to do two or three minutes of each. I bought an egg timer for that; it didn’t work that night, as it was dark, but during the day it can prove to be a real timesaver. It also works for Boggle.
“Oh”, he said, in the ‘I am pleasured’ sense.
“Oh”, I agreed, throwing in an “oooh”, to push the point home.
“[my name]”, he cried, coming pleasantly and in good time. Then there was a silence, a sort of awkward, embarrassed pause.
“I have to…”, he started. “I have this thing. I can’t…”
Many girls get offended by this, but I don’t. He’s done, why can’t he do what he likes? He threw on his jacket, and walked out into the night, and I remained. The next morning I let myself out of his flat, and walked home.