Link to Part 1
Link to Part 2
Link to Part 3
Link to Part 4
There’s no lock on the bedroom door, and despite her certainty that no one is going to come upstairs, we move to an adjacent bathroom. It’s got a walk-in shower cabinet with a glass door, and opposite the toilet is a chest-high antique dresser that’s been repurposed as a sink with a huge vanity mirror behind the basin.
I pull the bathroom door shut behind us and as I lock it she asks me how I want her. I push her up against the vanity and raise her dress from the back without saying a word. She’s frantically trying to pull a pair of light blue panties down over her large, round ass when I grab the waistband with both hands and take them down in one smooth motion. Then, leaving her dress gathered way up her back I grab her waist and maneuver her so her back is arched. She rolls up her puffy sleeves and crosses her arms in front of her at the edge of the sink while I unbuckle and drop my pants.
The buckle clanks as it hits the cream-colored tile and I grab her waist again. But I feel too restricted with my pants gathered at my ankles; I take off my shoes with my feet and step out of my pants completely. My shirt and vest stay on, though; only two months into the semester I’m well on my way to the freshman fifteen.
“Hurry,” she says breathlessly. “I need it.”
I can’t adequately express how much her enthusiasm excites me. I know some guys like timid girls who pretend they’re not interested in sex, but the quickest way to get me hard is to demonstrate that you’re as into it as I am. I don’t mind shy when your clothes are on; it can be kind of cute. But when we’re about to get down to it, letting me know how desperate you are is only going to make it hotter.
When it comes to safe sex, I’m very responsible. The importance of using protection has been shoved down the collective throat of an entire generation as a response to the AIDS epidemic since the 1980s. The Department of Health mailed all of us brochures warning us of the danger. We saw David Kirby on his deathbed. We fidgeted awkwardly on the couch as commercials for condoms aired during prime time with our parents sitting right there. We watched our nerdy high school biology teachers roll condoms onto bananas. We saw rappers flaunting condoms as personal accessories, making a twofold statement: “This guy gets hella pussy”, and “This guy fucks responsibly”.
By this point, “No glove, no love” is as well known a slogan as “Just say no”, “Don’t have a cow, man”, and “Make a run for the border”. I always have a condom on me just in case, even if I’m just going to a night class and coming home. And I’m not one of those guys who keeps the same one in his wallet until it’s years past the expiration date. But actually, tonight I don’t happen to have one because last month I got with my ex and I never got around to replacing it.
I ask Tiffany if she’s got a condom. She shakes her head. “Just fuck me.”
This isn’t the response I expected. Normally that kind of irresponsible disregard would give me pause, but right now hearing a woman throw caution to the wind with regard to getting me inside her is the most erotic thing I can think of. Anyway, she’s half naked and bent over a bathroom sink in the home of some guy who I’ll lose touch with in less than a year so I grab her waist and pull her back to meet me.
She gasps as she takes my cock. I can feel how slippery she is as I move slowly inside her, but for good measure she lets out a long, deep moan from her very soul that slowly fades to a whimper. I give her one slow, agonizingly deliberate thrust and she responds by pulling out the top drawer of the cabinet and putting her right foot up on it for easier access. I tighten my grip on her waist and get to work.
That fine ass of hers wiggles as my hips move in and out. Soft whimpering gives way to full-on moaning again, and I reach around to feel her tits through her top. But she bats my hand away and tells me to pull her hair instead. And then, just in case I wasn’t hard enough already she asks, “Can you bite me, too?” She pulls on the collar of her shirt, giving me a wide swath of skin to graze over. I’ve never done this before but tonight I’m a vampire so I guess I have to. As I lower my mouth to the side of her neck she tells me not to bite too hard. I can leave marks, but I can’t draw blood. Or at least, I think that’s what she’s going to say before my teeth touching skin truncates her sentence.
She clenches tightly around me and moves her hips with more impressive rhythm than she’d exhibited when I saw her grooving by herself downstairs. If there was more oxygen making its way to my brain it might occur to me that if I can keep up with her here, I’d have no trouble keeping up with her on the dance floor. But it takes a lot of blood to power this thing I’m using, and to the extent that I’m capable of thought, dancing isn’t where my brain is at.
I’ve got long locks of black hair in my fist as I thrust my way to Elysium. She’s half climbed onto the sink, one leg all the way up on the counter. Meanwhile her other foot scrabbles against the top drawer for a foothold like a cat that’s trying to escape a bathtub. Try as I might to steady her with the hand that’s still on her hip, her ass bucks against me like she wants to snap my dick in half.
She puts one hand against the mirror as a brace and with the other hand she grabs the side of the counter and pulls herself all the way to the edge of the sink. I pull her head back by her hair and thrust deeper, faster. I say something sexy – “You like that?”, probably – but as soon as the words leave my mouth they’re forgotten. She’s not moaning anymore; the sounds she makes are loud and primal, unconcerned with discovery, and almost inhuman. I’ve never heard sounds like these come out of a girl before.
The front of my white shirt is soaked. I feel it on the back of my neck, around my shoulders, and right at the center of my back, too. A cold droplet of sweat rolls down past my eye and to the tip of my nose, where it hangs out trying to decide whether to stay there or fall off. It’s itchy, but as I look down at myself moving in and out between her cheeks, the sweat doesn’t bother me anymore. I can’t even feel it.
She tells me to bite her again, and I feel her body react as my teeth rake her flesh. After a low and sustained moan of satisfaction she tells me to do it once more. She’s pushing back against the cabinet now, actively working to meet each thrust, and I briefly wonder if I’m fucking her, or vice versa. Her ass crashes against my hips and my balls slap against her pussy like a boat banging against the dock in a thunderstorm. Her back undulates and she shoves herself onto me as I shove myself into her.
I continue grappling with that lush black hair. It’s wound around my fist and the only reason I’ve left her any slack at all is because if I gave her any less than she’s got I’d probably hit her in the back of the head with every thrust. Her squeals are deeper and more urgent, almost a whine. She’s pushing back more violently now. I’m almost there, and I think she knows it because she holds the counter with both hands and her body goes completely still. It won’t be long now.
When I tell her that I’m going to come, she manages a low and throaty “Good.”
“So where do you want me to…”
“My ass,” she says, then clarifies: “On my ass, not -”
I tell her I know, but the thought of coming in her ass takes me over the finish line. As I pull out and jerk myself off onto her lower back, I don’t even try to keep from moaning; it feels too good. I hope all the noise doesn’t turn her off. Anyway, she’s moaning too. As I watch it drip down between her cheeks she lowers her face to the cool surface of the counter and sighs contentedly.
In the mirror I see that the widow’s peak I drew on my forehead with makeup has run into the white makeup I put on my face before I left the house, and now the whole thing is just a sweaty, gray mess. I look more like a monster than I did before we got started. Tiffany’s hair is all over the place, including a few knotty strands tangled up between my fingers, which are no longer anywhere near her head.
“Want me to clean you up?” I ask, and she says yes. I pull up my pants and buckle my belt without even bothering to tuck in my shirt. There’s a hand towel hanging on the rod next to the sink along with a matching bath towel. I wet the hand towel and wash off my makeup as best I can. Then I fold the towel over on itself and mop up Tiffany’s ass and back.
“So how was I?”
“I had a good time,” she says, looking away shyly. It’s not the “Fucking amazing” I was hoping for, but she sounds sincere, and given the circumstances I wasn’t expecting a rave review anyway. Sex in a cramped bathroom is rarely superlative.
After a moment she asks if there’s a dry towel anywhere. I drop the hand towel on the floor and look around the bathroom for another, but all I can find is that bath towel. I pull it from the rod and dry her off, and then the bath towel joins the hand towel on the floor.
“You’re really hot,” I say, and I mean it.
“Thanks,” she says as she pulls up her panties and smooths out the dress.
“Can I kiss you?”
She smirks and says, “You better,” so I do. It’s a quick but very sweet kiss with only a little tongue, and when it’s over she checks herself out in the mirror. The flush is fading from her cheeks, but she’s got a hell of a bruise on her neck that’s going to take a lot longer to go away. She tries to hide it by adjusting her collar, but there’s just no way.
“Good thing I’ve got a hat,” she says as she picks it up and puts it on her head. You almost can’t tell I’d been yanking on her hair for the last ten minutes.
I open the bathroom door onto a dark hallway, and ask if she wants to go downstairs before me. She says no, who cares if we come down together. She’s right – I’m sure no one will even notice – but I wanted to give her the option.
Back downstairs, Tiffany heads toward the kitchen. It’s almost midnight and the party is still jumping. Still, I think it’s time to leave. Nothing is going to happen tonight that will top what’s already transpired. Rather than seeking out Will or anyone else to say goodbye, I decide to just head out. I’ll see them in class next week.
The jean jacket guy is gone when I step out onto the porch. I wonder if he ever just went in, or if he gave up and went back to his dirt pile.
I never did get Tiffany’s number. First thing Tuesday morning for sure.