**** NOTE FROM AUTHOR:this piece is racy and graphic even for me, parental discretion advised ****
I cupped her breast over her cotton tank-top while we tongue
kissed on the hill. Cars and people where everywhere. Her nipple started to get
hard through the thin material and I felt it first on my palm, then the space
between my index and ring fingers. I gently pinched it between my second knuckles.
She reached down, undid the fly of my jeans and pawed for my
cock. Pretty soon we were going to be fucking like wild animals on this very
spot, less than a block off High Street with Comfest pedestrians everywhere! I
wasn’t going to stop her but did I really have the guts to go through with it? Lewd
acts are always a fool’s earned, sure to get one caught on tape ... or worse, arrested!
With my free hand I clasped her petite ass cheek. Tight and
firm. Being a larger than average man and her being a smaller than average
women, my grip had room to spare. This seemed to turn her on very much. She
rubbed herself against my leg with increased vigor and had my fully erect
member out for all creation to see.
“My ass fits in your hand?!” she said with genuine surprise.
I took my other hand off her tit and palmed the opposite cheek, squeezing a
gentle conformation.
“I give, take me up-stairs and fuck me with this dick,” she
said flopping my wang around like a hot dog.
“No problem,” I said as I put away my piece, taking care NOT
to catch my erection in the zipper.
Guess it was finally going to happen with the neighbor girl.
I stood up and slung her up onto my shoulder like a sack of dirty laundry. We
had to use her key to get inside our building because mine was locked in my
apartment. I grew impatient while she fumbled and jangled with the two-pound
wad of metal on her key ring.
“Hurry up,” I said. She was still draped over my shoulder so
I had to spin around so she was facing the door. After a couple tries we were
in. The promise of copious amounts of sex was just two stair flights away.
“You can’t stay the night,” she chirped from her perch as I
hoofed-it up the stairs. “Steven and me are on a break, and it’s probably over
between us, but he’ll be back from Cleveland sometime tomorrow.”
Whatever, I thought. I’d worry about her significant other
and getting into my own apartment later. I didn’t want to get into it just then.
At this point I only had one thing on my mind and that was fornication.
In their bedroom I tossed her onto the bed like a kid tosses
his book-bag after a long day at school, egger to get outside and play. I sat
down beside her, began kissing the nape of her neck and then pulled her shirt
over her head. Wonderful quarter-sized brown nipples seem to be staring at me like
eyes. She pulled her jean-shorts and cotton panties off in one swift motion. Her fair-skinned and tone body looked just as
nice naked as I thought they would; the fruit of her strict running regiment. I
admired the perky and symmetrical B cups before taking one into my mouth.
We began kissing again and she helped me with my pants and
underwear. Pulling my t-shirt off, I lay back to enjoy the foreplay she’d
already initiated on my shaft. I pulled her chestnut colored hair back into a
ponytail held it in place while watching with a critical eye. She licked to the
tip and then took 85% of it into her throat without gaging. Impressive. After I could take it no longer, I sat up and
laid her down on her back to start the main event. After I put on a condom I
tested the waters by fingering her flower. She was already dripping wet, so I
slid my dick in.
“Oooooo,” she cooed. “I’m so glad we’re neighbors.”
I had to smile. Couldn’t have said it better myself but
before you go and condemn me know she’d been sniffing around my apartment for a
looooong time, this despite living with her long-term boyfriend. There had been
a few make-out sessions over the last three years, always initiated by her,
with Steven drunk and passed out in
their apartment upstairs. The kissing always ended with her a floor above me in
bed with him and me alone in my bed below, masturbating my blue balls away.
Of course all things have a habit of coming to a head and
our middle-school make-out romance was no exception. What was I supposed to
do?! She obviously wanted something from me and it was only a matter of time
before she got it. Comfest 2012 just so happened to be the night her craving
was satisfied …
**************************************************
Days were growing longer and hotter. Girls were out in next
to nothing and the men were puffing their chests out, chasing them around the
neighborhood like stray dogs in heat. Patios were open for drinking and the winter
was a long forgotten memory. It was June in Columbus and that could only one
thing: Comfest.
Short for community festival, it’s basically our towns’
version of a live music fest, with mostly local talent. Much to everyone’s
delight the cops were known to look the other why for the weekend when it came
to recreational drug use. Apparently even the Columbus Police Department has a
little hippie in them. My droogs and I planned ahead and baked two pans of
ganja brownies with a half-ounce of good mids in each batch. Throw in many
beers and the casual puff of the more traditional joint and you have a recipe
for a groovy time.
We were a block away from the Goodale Park, fest HQ for the
next few days, when it really hit me. The high from eating laced baked goods is
quite different to that of smoking. The tingling body-buzz starts in the
stomach, similar to shrooms, minus the queasiness and awful after taste. It
spreads outward to the extremities and finally the brain making stimuli
cleaner, more intense. Even tapping my leg with my fingertips had a whole new
feeling. I quickly realized I eaten way too much.
As soon as we merged into the throng of people I started
laughing uncontrollably for no good reason at all. My friends did not get the
joke and looked at me uncomfortable and nervous, high off their own respective asses.
The laughing tickled my stomach which in turn made me laugh more and the
vicious cycle continued.
“I’m sorry,” I managed to get out in-between chuckles. “It’s
the edibles.” It was like a bad case of the hick-ups: no control. Thinking about it only makes it worse.
I separated myself from the group, who didn’t understand
what all the hubbub was about and got weird with it by myself under a tree for
awhile. The groups smoking high volumes of dope around me, hiding in the
shadows from all those things passing for people out there, understood me and
understood sometimes you just have to freak-out alone. Once I had calmed down I
wondered around the park and enjoyed the tunes while sipping beers. I only casually
looked for my friends.
After several hours the party and my high had started to
wind down but I had kept on with the sauce, downing one more over-sized beer.
My phone had been on the fritz for a week, so I hadn’t bothered to bring it. I
wished for at least the fiftieth time that I had already gone to the Sprint
store. Walking back to my place I made plans to do just that the following day.
When I reached my build I came to the sudden realization
that I’d also left my keys at home. In my stoned and drunk wisdom I’d figured
I’d be with my roommate Tony and he had his key. Damn. So I sat my
locked-out-no-cellphone-having-ass down on the small hill across the street to
wait for my friends to get back … whenever the hell that would be.
After about ten minutes I looked up and saw her walking down
High Street. Thoughts about how I’d privately admire her from my window,
jogging down the block in her tight running gear, passed through my head. The
perfectly even stride. The way her THO perked up through her spandex sports bra
when she was sweating. The runners high euphoria on her face when she came to
the finish line.
I thought about Steven. Remembered I’d had my tongue in his
girlfriends’ mouth less than a month ago. How I almost had sex with her … but
than all the sudden I didn’t, because women do that sometimes. Things had not
been good between the two of them since before my roommate Tony and I had moved
to the building three years ago. I know this because she told me about it--a
lot. Also, we heard the occasional blow out screaming matches. Broken glass
here and there and slammed doors a plenty.
She saw me when she was about a block away and I waved to
her from my seat on the knoll. When she recognized me in the sea of people she
waved back and crossed the street.
“Happy Comfest ,” she said. “What are doing out here, all by
your lonesome?”
We began talking about our various fest related adventures.
She’d met some girlfriends there to party and I explained why I was a moron
(key) and how I was also high on weed brownies and drunk to boot. There was no
hope for me! I got a playful smirk out of her and it was encouraging.
She looked younger than thirty-seven. She had a decent desk
job down town for good pay and for seven years she had been living with a
middle-aged, drunk, past his prime … piece of SHIT literature professor. Why?! Sure,
he was a functioning alcoholic, but awful when fully inebriated. The type to
get so plastered he’d forget his own name and yell at her for things that only
drunk people yell about, like not returning a texts they forgot to send.
Tony and I would see him out at happy hour by himself. Often
slouched in the corner, where the bar meets the wall, reading a book by
Dostoevsky or someone else equally boring. He’d nod a brief sign of
recognition and go back to what he was doing; always too cool say hello. On
more than one occasion, he’d be so whiskey bent he couldn’t see more than five
feet in front of his capillary-riddled nose. A week after we moved in we found
him passed out in the common hall and we had to help him to his apartment after
he managed to mumble out his unit number. She’d been mortified when she saw us
coming up the stairs, one of his arms draped over each of our shoulders. That’s
actually the first time I ever saw her.
The humidity made moister stick to her skin. I looked at the
tiny drop of sweat hanging above her lip and I couldn’t stop myself from fantasying
about how she’d look naked. We reminisced about the last time we’d hung out, at
a small gathering in my apartment. My people are a fun loving bunch, to excess
some might say and we are always welcoming. Even so, I told her we were all glad
she hadn’t brought Stevie with her that night … especially me.
She had once before awhile back and it did not end well. He
left after about an hour and got wasted all night God knows where, leaving her
alone to wonder what had happened to him. That was the first night I ever made-out
with her.
Last time we hung out the rest of the group had just ignored
her, like the kid no one wants to sit with in the lunchroom for whatever
reason. The “reason” for her was the constant negativity that radiated from her
prescience, due in no small part to her terrible living arrangement.
Regardless, she was a consummate pessimist and she also came off as condescending
with her occasional failed attempts at sarcasm. Basically she was not the party
favorite. Steve and her made a real power couple on the rare occasions they were
actually out together.
During our current extended conversation I realized she
really could be an awesome person when you talked to her one on one. We had
some common ground. We both dug Interpol and I enjoyed her dark, quick-witted
sense of humor. Of course I was still trying to get past second base, but I’m
also intrigued by the outcast. Why am I expectable to people and others are not?
Do they always bring the shunning onto themselves or is it situational? I could
tell she didn’t mean to be a shrew she just came across that way. It also
helped that I found her very attractive.
“Yeah, I’m sorry everyone was being so weird last time we
hung out,” I said after a break in dialog. “But I think I know why. I mean, do
you really have to be so negative all the time? It bugs my friends. Also, are
the chippy comments always necessary?”
There was an awkward pause.
I often do that by mistake. Ask biting, even harsh questions
that have been floating around in my head during conversation without taking
time to judge how they will sound and feel to a recipient. I don’t do it to be
cruel. I just don’t think sometimes. The words just popped right out of my mouth
before I had filtered and softened them. Puts me in jackass territory I know,
but we all have flaws and drugs and alcohol makes them more pronounced.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean it like …”
“No, I’m sorry,” she interrupted in her familiar, scrupulous
way. She was also a little drunk. “I don’t want
to be pissed off and upset about Steven being such a piece of shit all the
time! I don’t want to have to live with that and deal with it day in and day
out. Would anyone?! To be honest I don’t care what your friends think about me but
I don’t want YOU to think I’m a bitch.”
And there it was. A single tear swelled in one of her big brown
eyes and then trickled down her powder-white cheek. Like kryptonite to
Superman; I was powerless. If she wanted to play the sympathy card she would
have my hand beat every time.
“Don’t worry,” I said and hugged her for reassurance. “I
never did.” We kissed and laid back right where we were sitting. It didn’t take
long for things to start heating up.
**************************************************
After we fucked every which way, on again and off again for
about three hours in a booze-fueled romp, she was spent. I was too for the most
part but it didn’t stop me from rambling on and on about something or other
until 5 am. About then I realized she was passed out and probably had been for
some time. I sat up and appreciated her frame, rising and falling with her
rhythmic breathing and thought about my situation. Both of us, naked as the day
we were born, in a bed she shared with some poor bastard who had no idea I had
just banged his lady. Time for me to go.
I covered her with the comforter and tried to make the bed
look less sexed in. She said she cleaned herself up before he got home but it
probably didn’t matter anyway. I’d flushed the condoms and was taking the wrappers
with me. The rest could be explained away and I doubted Steven carried anyway
based on what she had been telling me. I
got dressed with the birds chirping from a power line outside her window. Fuck!
The hangover was already starting and I’d been up almost 20 hours straight. I
would not be making it to Sprint today.
Tony had either been thoughtful enough (or wasted enough) to
leave our door unlocked, but before making this discovery I admired the happy
couple’s book collection. Just to be a dick I took their copy of Friedrich Nietzsche’s The Antichrist. It remembered a
conversation I had with Steve about Nihilism. Probably the only real conversation
we ever had. He was all about it and wouldn’t shut up about it. What a douche. I
saw him in the hall a few days after the crime but if he ever knew anything about
me taking the book, or the whole fucking his girlfriend thing, he never showed
it. We went on being acquainted strangers.
She stuck to her guns and moved out of the building a week
later. We tried to meet up once she got settled in temporarily with a friend
but it never happened. By the end of the summer she planed to be in New York,
taking a promotion she’d always been afraid to go after when she was with Professor
Deadbeat. I planned to leave for Nashville in September out of sheer boredom so
that was probably all she wrote for us … but we’d always have Comfest 2012.
If she’s reading this now, she should know I feel guilty
about taking her copy of (so and so) … and a little bit about the other part
too. At the very least I’d like to get the book back to her if I can but if
it’s Steve’s I’ll just leave it at the bar. It’s the first place he’ll look.
-J.R.
