He’s the reason my econ homework isn’t getting done right now. I can’t stop thinking about him and the way he took me last night, how he handled me, how he made my ass feel so special that I rode a man for the first time ever. He made me feel special. All those kind words he used on me…baby, sweetheart, said my ass was magical, that I was an angel, my skin was dove soft, how I made the most erotic moans, how the hourglass shape of my back was beautiful, and he loved the way my skin rippled over my muscles Said I had the best hips for grabbing too.
He rubbed his cock against my entrance to make me horny and eager, and I felt no shame when I finally took it inside of me. I owed it to him to make him ragged and breathless and dizzy with my body, and I did. Our climax was the most violent, passionate thing my body has ever survived, complete with vertigo as my balls turned inside out and I gushed cum like a broken sprinkler.
That was how I always imagined sex, real sex, not fumbling with clothes and condom wrappers and “hey what’s your name again?” as I’m bent awkwardly over the sofa and penetrated without being prepared right.
I sighed in surrender and threw my highlighter over my textbook. Daydreaming of making love with him is making my pulse quicken and my jeans tight. Fuck it. I grabbed my phone and sent him a text: “I have leftover BBQ ribs and beer. Bring condoms. Now.”
I got a reply back almost immediately: “Thank god, I can’t stop thinking about you. Leaving now.”
________________________________________________________
Post is fictional. Inspired by a comment by sweeeetb1. Models unknown are Ben Driver and Anthony Romero from Guys in Sweatpants.