This is another story from my mid-twenties. (I’m in my thirties now.)

I’d met Melanie at uni, where we took a few classes together. We hung out sometimes, usually with some other friends around. Never alone — but there was definitely some sexual tension between us. She was tall (almost my height, at 6ft), with dark hair in bangs, long legs and a lithe, tight body that reflected her regular yoga practice. And she had a bit of a dark side; that was for sure. I can’t exactly say why. It only came out sometimes — a suggestive comment here and there, a knowing smile shared between the two of us.

And I guess I’m the same. I’m a pretty innocent looking guy — boyish, even now — and seemingly strait-laced. But there’s a kinky mind underneath it all. Melanie had that too.

So, anyway, it’s quite a few years after we’ve both graduated, and I run into her outside a cafe in the city we both studied in. Suffice it to say that she looks stunning. She’s wearing a white peasant dress that’s pinched at the waist to show off her curves, with small gaps that reveal her shoulders.

It’s immediately flirty between the two of us. She hugs me, asks what I’ve been up to, and it turns out we‘re both there for the holidays. I’m staying with friends and she’s crashing at her parents’ house. We chat for a while on the street, and then we decide to go in and get a coffee.

There’s more than a spark — definitely. Her blue eyes are locked on mine, and there’s a deep, burning intensity behind them. She even takes the opportunity to reach over and grab my hand when I tell her some recent sad news.

It’s only around 2 pm when we go into the cafe, but it turns out we have a lot to catch up on. Before I know it, it’s already closing time. I suggest we grab some dinner, and Melanie asks how I feel about Thai. There’s a place around the corner from her parents’ place, which is just down the road, she says.

So we grab a bottle of wine and continue our conversation at the restaurant. We talk about anything and everything. Eventually relationships come up, and Melanie starts telling me about her ex-boyfriend, a controlling sort of guy, who, in her words, wasn’t comfortable with how “sexually confident” she was. “Small-man syndrome maybe,” she says with a smile.

I can feel a tingling in my cock at this point, but I try to keep my thoughts on the conversation at hand. We start talking about me, and I tell her I’ve had a bit of a drought lately. She makes a little giggle.

“How is that even possible?” she says. I feel something on my crotch, and I look down and realize it’s her bare foot. She’s removed it from her sandal and is now using it to massage the bulge in my jeans — a wry smile creeping across her face.

So, by now, I’m pretty sure she’s interested. But, like I said, she’s staying with her parents, and I’m staying with friends, which certainly limits our opportunities. The restaurant closes up and I offer to walk her home. I’m thinking that we might at least share a kiss and leave it open for something to happen another time.

It must be around 10 pm at this point. It’s a warm spring night, and there’s a full moon out. She grabs my hand as we leave the restaurant, and the tingling in my cock returns. We walk a couple of blocks until we come to a small unlit football field. “A short cut,” she says.

But halfway across the field she suddenly sits down on the grass and pulls me down with her. “You know what? I think I might need a little rest.”

The grass is slightly wet. The whole field looks silver under the moonlight. I decide this is the moment. I lean in and we start to kiss — one of those desperate, almost violently passionate kisses, full of all that built up tension. We’re basically clawing at each other. I feel her hand on my crotch, and then searching for my belt buckle. She pushes me onto my back, removes the belt entirely, and starts to pull my jeans and boxers down over my thighs.

Remember: it’s late, and even though the field is unlit, the moon is so bright that you can practically see everything. Anyone passing by could probably spot us. But I’m not exactly going to tell her to stop. My cock springs out, and she smiles in what I have to guess is appreciation. If she’d gone down on me, I would have been happy, but I’m so hard and so excited from the night’s anticipation, I don’t think it will even satisfy me. I want to fuck her.

And she seems to have the same idea. She throws one leg over and straddles me. Then she hikes up her dress. She isn’t wearing any panties, and the sight of her pussy is enough to drive me even crazier.

What happens next is something I’ll never forget. She fixes me with this intense stare, and without breaking it, guides my cock into her and slowly, mesmerizingly works her way onto it. Time seems to stop for a second. A tiny gasp escapes her mouth, and her eyes almost glaze over.

She places both hands on my chest and she starts to ride me, working her whole body forwards and backwards in agonisingly slow and deep thrusts. But she never takes her eyes off mine. I can tell she’s relishing the expression on my face, just as I’m relishing hers. Her pussy is wet but so tight that I can feel it grip the head of my cock as she moves forward and then catch it again before it disappears all the way inside her. Each time she plunges back down, a perfect, whispered moan comes out of her mouth.

I’d like to say it lasted for hours, but it was just a bit too much. When I cum, she digs her fingernails into my chest and holds me there inside her, shuddering, while she grinds herself against my cock to drain every last bit from it.

She’s still straddling me, my cock still inside her. And then she does something else. She pinches my waist with her knees and starts to rub her clit while she looks down at me. The sound it makes, her pussy lubricated by a mix of her own wetness and my cum, sounds so hot, and the mischievous smile on her face only turns me on more.

I watch her as she starts to find her rhythm. She’s doing less grinding now, and just moving in tight circles on my dick as she rubs herself. And her eyes are still on mine. My cock had been going soft inside her, but it starts to get hard again. I’m just enjoying the view, watching her mouth as she starts to moan louder and louder. I can feel the tension building in her body. And then she cums…

Well, she actually squirts. A loud scream of pleasure escapes from her mouth, and a rush of warm liquid hits my shirt in one then two bursts, covering my lower chest and stomach. Perhaps it’s partly the shock, but I immediately cum again too. Her fingers dig deeper into my chest and her whole body seems to spasm for what must be almost a minute.

It was so hot. I’d never been with a woman who squirted, and I never have since — much to my disappointment. What I loved about it was that afterwards she just smiled at me — there was no shame or self consciousness. She didn’t apologize either. (Not that she’d ever need to.) She somehow knew she’d given me something special to remember.

Unfortunately, I still have a soaking wet shirt. But she tells me she can fix that. We get properly dressed and walk the rest of the way to her parents’ place, holding hands and giggling a little. We’re both now hyper aware of what a public place we’re in.

When we get there she runs inside and comes back out with an old shirt that belongs to her dad. “Do you want me to wash that one?” She’s pointing to my wet shirt. “I think I’ll hold onto it for a little longer.” “Gross,” she says, with a joking smile.