I was chatting with a friend about first times. Not necessarily the first time you’ve done something, but the first time you’ve done it with somebody else.

I am, and have almost always been, an internet creature. In my youth I’d fall into these long distance relationships with lots of phone sex and longing building up before we met. Which is GREAT for sex and terrible for building one’s self esteem and sense of worth. Most of them inevitably broke my heart, but the sex WAS great.

Anywho.

B.

B lived only a couple of hours from me. You’d think we would have hooked up immediately but I was a carless twenty something and he was a married man in his forties. (See low self esteem from above. This time in my life was amazing for fucking and terrible for my emotional core. I was young and dumb and thought myself undeserving of ‘real’ love.)

But you wanted a sex story! Not to dive into the emotionally murky waters of ethical non monogamy!

The plan was for B to meet up at my hotel room after he finished work. He didn’t want to wait and took an early lunch and rushed over to meet me.

This threw me off a little, I was expecting more time to prepare. My heart was pounding as I waited for him to arrive, just pacing back and forth in my hotel room unable to sit down or calm down. The knock was sharp, and my steps were hurried to open the door.

I remember.. B leaning in the door frame against the wall. Take note, there is nothing quite so hot as a man taking up all the room in a door frame. I can only describe his look as deeply hungry, like he wanted to devour me where I stood. I don’t remember the door closing. I remember his hands on my hips, my butt, running over the small of my back. Kissing him felt both brand new and somehow like something we had done before. His mouth was soft and clean shaven, and he kissed me like I was everything. I was wearing a tight bodycon sort of dress that draped at the bust. I don’t think I even took it off. He just pushed the fabric up around my hips and dragged my panties off. I’m not even entirely sure his jeans came off, only shoved down far enough to let his cock spring free. Let me tell you, it was a nice cock. Not terribly long but incredibly thick. I didn’t see it, or touch it, not then at least. One moment I was kissing him and the next he was on top of me with that enormous tool pressing into me.

I remember gasping. His mouth was on my throat, I could smell his hair. It was happening SO quickly. It also felt like I was being stretched open, like this was somehow new. My body wasn’t prepared though I was soaking wet, I just wasn’t physically ready for the sheer thickness of it. Just the head of his cock was inside me and it was already so much, I was stretched out tightly and it felt impossible. To his credit he stopped. Pulled his head back to look at me, ask if I was ok. Did I want him to stop. He kissed my forehead tenderly. No. It was another gasp, completely inelegant. I lifted my hips, pulled him closer. He was lost. He fucked me fiercely but not roughly. It lasted all of a couple minutes, maybe less. I came, crying out and feeling those sweet convulsions that inevitably send my partner over the edge. He was lost a moment later, growling out something about not being able to wait. A few minutes later he was gone, and I was sticky with his cum dripping down my thigh. I have trouble now remembering his face but I can picture his fat cock easily. He’d come back that night and fuck me senseless, make up for the nooner we’d had. But it was enough, it scratched an itch I didn’t even know I had.